A.N Thanks to all of the people that reviewed. I highly appreciate it, and I'm glad that there are still people around that are happy to follow the story. And I am trying to make the chapters longer.

So, all my wonderful reviewers, this one's for you. Read and enjoy.

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Chapter Seven

"You…you lost it?"

"Ach. Only fer a wee while," he answered, his accent unconsciously thickening, "I was lucky tha' I didna lose meself entirely."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"There used ta be a man, an Immortal, called Darius. He was one of the fiercest generals that ever walked the land, until he met a holy man at the gates of…and took his head. The power of the Quickening…it changed him. He hung up his sword, and became a priest. Darius wasn't really Darius any more. The Immortal was so good, and so pure, that the utmost essence of whom he was; was transferred. And in one case that I've known, the opposite happened."

Connor paused, and winced, at the memory of what had happened to Duncan after his old student had taken what had become known, these days at least, as the Dark Quickening.

Harry could tell by the expression on Connor's face, that it was a touchy subject. Whoever said that he'd been absent the day subtlety had been taught didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

As Connor had spoken, he had been driving, steadily, in the same direction. And now, after slightly longer than an hour, he was turning onto some narrow metal road, which, looked as though it hadn't actually seen any metal this side of the new decade. Harry wasn't sure that he could recall ever having seen it before.

But then again, that wasn't actually saying all that much. He didn't exactly keep his eyes peeled for tracks that lead to the middle of the middle of nowhere.

He drove down the road for a further fifteen minutes, with the trees almost seeming to come forwards simply in order to lean over the two intruders, and see who they were.

Finally, he stopped the car, and slid smoothly out of the drivers seat, stretching his arms above his head, and the muscles in his legs, in order to limber himself up after sitting for the last hour and a half.

Then he looked at Harry, who had made no move what so ever, to get out, and rolled his eyes.

At seeing an adult pull off the action so efficiently, he gave a tiny snort, and turned a smile in towards himself.

"Come on, boy. Grab you things, and lets be moving again."

Harry reached down to the floor of the car, and picked up the still wrapped sword, before sliding out of the car, locking door, and hurrying after Connor, who was already making his way down the road-become-path.

"Listen," he said suddenly, to the young one walking beside him, "and tell me what you hear."

Harry made to pause, so that he could listen properly, but Connor shook his head, "No, keep moving. And listen."

It wasn't the easiest of tasks, with leaves crunching, and twigs snapping underfoot, but he still tried; straining his ears to try and catch what Connor wanted him to. But it felt like a hopeless task, and he was rapidly losing patients with it. It didn't even feel like there was any point to it.

Finally, he gave a frustrated sigh, and shook his head.

"Nothing. I don't hear anything," and, in saying that, it felt as though he were letting Connor down, and disappointing him. He was a failure, and a disappointment, just like the Dursleys had always said that he would be, "Maybe you should go back to the drawing board, and chose someone that can actually learn."

A split second later, a hand grabbing his shoulder, and spinning him towards the older man's chest stopped him. He looked up to see Connor scowling sharply at him, "Let me tell you, right here, you stop being so damned hard on yerself. If I'd a thought you couldna learn, then I'd have never taken you under wing. It doesn't matter what you've been told in the past. Tis yer future, that starts here and now. There'll be plenty o' other people, who'll be along, to give you a hard time, and try to run you down. So you can stop making the job so easy."

He wasn't sure what to say. He'd never had anyone talk to him like that before, not to affirm him, not to tell him that he was worth something.

All that he could do was look up at Connor, who was staring directly into his eyes, without breaking, or looking away. Without blinking, or flinching, or pulling back. Just like any normal person would, he supposed. It was a nice change.

Connor, Adam, and Duncan; they all treated him like a person, rather than something the needed to be squashed, then wiped off a boot heal.

Finally, he blinked, and twisted away, feeling a little calmer, and a little more centered. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the older Immortal nod.

"So, tell me. What's different? What can you hear? What does it tell you?"

He tilted his head to one side, but still he heard nothing. Yet he stayed, and, after a few agonizingly long moments, he heard that very same nothing in an entirely different way.

"There is nothing to hear, here. Nothing –just not no people, and no particular thing that stands out, but no birds singing –No crickets chirping, or wind blowing through the trees, or wasps buzzing past."

He could see the approval in Connor's expression, so he tried to carry on, eager not to lose it.

"It tells me…" finally, he trailed off, looking to the older man for further guidance "…You know, I'm not entirely sure what it's meant to tell me."

"Good enough, lad. You can learn a lot, by paying attention to your environment. You can't always trust your eyes. Some times you have to rely on other senses. Reach out, with you magic, and tell me what you get."

"Reach out with my magic? How am I meant to do that?"

"Close your eyes, and take a deep breath."

Harry did so, drawing a deep, slow breath, and holding it until Connor told him to let it slowly out. The he drew another, and another. Finally, after what felt like ten minutes of simply breathing, Connor spoke again, low, and directly beside his ear.

"Now, focus on my voice. Forget the wind, and the smells, and anything else. Let the world fall away from you, and picture, as you do, tendrils of light seeping from your skin. Reach out, with the tendrils, for the nearest tree."

He reached out. And out, and out even more, far beyond what he had expected. And finally, just when it felt as though he were nearing the end of his range, he felt something. But it wasn't one of the hulking, giant, oak trees that were all around. In fact, it was a scrawny little sapling pine. He opened his eyes, to look for it, and instantly, he was back in the dark, shadowy, cool forest.

"What the?" he asked, slowly, looking around.

Connor grinned at him, and put out a hand towards one of the trees. Or at least, he went to –because where his hand should have met rough bark, it instead went through it. The tree, just like all the rest surrounding them, in this area of the forest, at least, was an illusion.

And just like that, in a heartbeat, he got what Connor was telling him about now trusting his eyes.

"They're all fake?"

"Not all of them, but at least seventy-five percent, around here. No one is quite sure why, or how this area came to be, but it's as good a place as any for a wizardling Immortal to start off his or her training. Now, unwrap you sword, and we'll see how much of a feel you have for the blade."

He did just that, reaching in to the cloth in order to grasp the handle of the weapon, and unwrapping the cloth from around the sheath.

And in one smooth move, which had Harry watching in awe, Connor drew his own sword from under his coat, slipped the coat off his arms, and flipped the sword around in his hands, bringing it into a perfect fighting pose, and gave the boy an easy grin.

"When you come up against an Immortal opponent, the first thing that you do is introduce yourself by your original name."

"Why?" Harry asked, as he rather more awkwardly drew his own weapon, and attempted to bring it up, into a matching pose.

Connor grinned, and Harry could practically feel the confidence radiating off of him. He was quite clearly a man who had been born to the sword, lived by it, and planned to die by it. He was glad that they were both on the same side; otherwise he would be in a whole lot of trouble right now.

"Why? Because of honor -If you're facing what could be the end of your life, then you want someone to remember your name, if only the person that kills you. And it's respect, to know whom it is that you're facing. Also, a real name can give you some idea of what to expect. Not all white men are English, and not all black men might be African, or such. The style of name gives you an idea of your opponents age, and from that, his or her skill. Lets you know whether you stand a chance, or would be better served by running away, and fighting again in a few years, or decades."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

He couldn't help but tense slightly, as Connor took a small step towards him, and grasped his arms, moving them slightly. Even that tiny adjustment made the sword feel more natural in his grasp. Then he stepped back again, and looked at his stance overall, and came forward to correct his leg, shifting it back further.

"That's better. Now, take your weight on your back leg. Use it for balance, to push yourself into the blow, and give yourself more force behind a block and strike, or drop back entirely, and get yourself out of range."

He demonstrated, briefly, all of the things that he'd mentioned, before slowly bringing his own blade up, to met Harry's, giving him a chance to respond appropriately. Seconds before the blades met one another, he spoke again, and paused.

"You're coming in with the far-most piece of the blade. What's that going to do, if your opponent has enough force behind it?"

"I don't know."

"It'll snap it clean in two, lad. When you come to block, especially when in combat with a stronger, bigger opponent, you use the stronger area of the blade," he lightly taped a spot, down near the handle with his own weapon, "down here. When you come to strike, only then do you cut forward with the killing edge. You met the blade down low, slide if you have to, then step back for your own strike. That's the most basic of techniques."

He demonstrated, before taking up the offensive again, and putting the boy through the set of moves at a reduced pace, a few times.

"Why's it necessary for me to know this anyway? I mean, if someone comes at me with a sword, what's to stop me from drawing my wand and blasting them?"

A look, that could only be described as disgust crossed Connor's face.

"And you'd shot a human Immortal in the back when he looked away too, would you?"

The anger in his tone took Harry aback.

"Of course not."

"Because if you would, then you're clearly not the person that I was lead to believe that you are. It's a technique that only a coward would use, to strike someone in a way that can't be defended against. It's a matter of honor. If you're an honorless, cheating coward, that won't give people a chance to fight back, then the world would be best served if I took your head right here and right now."

"What's so bad about wanting to survive?"

"Nothing's wrong with wanting to survive, but if you lost your honour, then you lose your self respect, and anything else that might keep you even remotely human."

In a heartbeat, Connor had settled into a proper battle posture, and was starting to circle around the boy before him, as he waited for the reply that he was hoping he would hear.

And he continued to talk, keeping his voice as even as was possible.

"You can survive, you do have a chance to thrive even, and you don't need to sink to the level of those that may be around you in order to do so. Others may do that, but that's not the way we play the Game."

Harry swallowed, "Sorry," he said, looking at Connor, "It…it's just a lot to deal with. I'm sorry for saying the wrong things. For asking the wrong questions."

"Never apologies for your questions, boy. Just be sure that you don't start down that path, because it's a hard way back."

Harry was shaking. He was sure of it.

Then Connor lowered his blade, and to Harry's amazement, tugged him into a brief, one-armed hug, until the shiver had subsided.

"I don't know about you, lad, but I think that we've done enough for one day."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I'd second that."