Summary: Hermione had a baby, Ron was a POW and Harry hasreturned. An account of the 2nd great wizarding war, of battles still to be won, and the love that endures.

Disclaimer: I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters, their world or their toys.

Author's Note: As always, keep in mind that this was written before Half-Blood Prince came out. (I have not even finished reading the 7th book so this is most definitely AU).

Sacred Bonds: by Rebecca

Camelot…of course

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting once he'd found this "door to the past," but he had run through just about every possible imagining of Camelot he could think of while preparing for his journey. He'd thought of old films he'd seen during the summers (when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would insist on taking him along to the cinema because they were too afraid that he'd "break things" if left home alone). They all varied of course, but the essentials were the same: a glorious castle that housed the knights, noblemen, courtiers and serfs of the great King Arthur's Court. And despite Professor Binns's assurances that it was all myth, Harry still expected to find himself in a Medieval village with structures of stone walls surrounded by a moat, and high towers like those at Hogwarts with red pennants fluttering on top.

But as far as Harry could tell, stepping through the cupboard door had taken him…nowhere. He was still in Little Whinging. He was still standing atop the ruins of his Uncle's house. He seemed to have stepped into the cupboard door and right back out again. "What's all this?"

The old man was standing patiently, balancing on some upturned floorboards near the cupboard door. "Camelot, of course."

Harry sighed, clenching his fists. "Bollocks! We're still in Little Whinging."

The old man looked around and then back at Harry, "Are we? Perhaps I came for you too soon."

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and clenched his temples between his thumb and his forefinger, "I'm sure you mean something by that, but I don't have time for more mind games—"

"Ah but there's where you're wrong, Harry. That's exactly what we do have…time."

Harry stared at him dumbly but didn't answer.

The old man swept his hand out over the rubble and, for some reason, toward the sky. "Tell me, is anything… different?

Harry rolled his eyes and pivoted on his heels, surveying the town and the remains of the house. Then he saw, or rather didn't see…

"The bodies." His own voice surprised him as he answered the man with a squeak. And as he continued to turn, he noticed that not only had the victims disappeared, but the people on the street, approaching ambulances, passing automobiles – everyone. He turned back to the man, "The muggles…they're gone."

The old man was smiling and nodded in approval. "Better," he said. "I was beginning to worry." With that, he stepped down off of the debris and headed west.

He couldn't be sure, but it felt like the man had just paid him some sort of backwards compliment. "Sir?" he called as the two started walking. "What do you see?"

He could sense rather than see the man smile. "Camelot…" he glanced back, "of course."

Harry sighed again and decided that not asking questions would be less frustrating. Luckily, the man continued.

"You, no doubt, see what is familiar to you to help you make sense of this place in your mind. Little Whinging is not your favorite place in the world but it is a part of your world. And so…it is what you see."

"So…" Harry struggled, "this isn't really Privet Drive."

"Of course it is," the man waved his hand nonchalantly.

Harry wanted to scream. "You JUST said this is Camelot!"

"There are reasons it cannot be both?"

Harry rolled his eyes and threw his arms up in the air. "I dunno…PHYSICS?"

At that, the man laughed outright and his hearty guffaw grated on Harry's nerves. "Physics! How archaic! Dumbledore never told me how amusing you'd be. Surely you don't hope to contradict the existence of Camelot with childish Muggle sciences! Why the simplest First-Year charm defies the so-called laws of physics."

Harry was shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. "I know. I was joking."

The man's expression instantly changed. "No. You weren't."

Harry looked up.

"I have a great fondness for levity, but in your voice I hear only impatience."

"I was only—"

"And impatience—" he said, his voice stern, "is what prevents you from being ready. From seeing this place," he stretched his arms wide in reverence, "as it truly is. You must be willing to sacrifice your world to save it, Harry." He brought his hands together again. "You must let it go."

"Let it go?" Harry realized he sounded angry, but he continued anyway. "I've already done that! I've left EVERYONE! My friends? My army? I've abandoned them—"

"Righteous indignation will get you nowhere, Mr. Potter. I have heard it all before." The man pointed an accusing finger towards Harry's heart. "You haven't let anything go."

His mouth was open, ready to object but instead he looked down, fixating on his worn sneakers. Something about this man made him feel as if he were back in Snape's very first Potions class. The disorientation, the worry…the shear panic at discovering how much his classmates already knew, and how much he didn't.

"Come," said the man, his tone once more softened. "There is work to be done, none of which can be rushed."

Harry scratched the back of his head as he followed the man toward the horizon. "Er, well, I don't know if you've noticed but there's a war going on out there –" he gestured back to the cupboard door, "—in my world? A muggle-hating MAD man with thousands of followers?"

The man was silent a few moments before he finally responded. "I have noticed."

"Well, that's why, I mean—" Harry cleared his throat, aware of the fact that he sounded like a right idiot, "that's why I came. I need to—"

"You've come here to find a way to defeat Voldemort," the man responded quite candidly.

"Yes."

"That is your first problem."

"Sorry? That's a problem?" This bloke was sounding more and more like Dumbledore.

"I was able to reach you because you tapped into a magic so powerful, it allowed me to open the doorway from my world into yours. That is not a feat so easily attained, Harry. As of right now, you have only grazed the surface and only when your emotions are the most volatile. Your mission should not be about Voldemort.. It should be about you." He took a few steps back and folded his hands together. "So tell me again. Why are you here?"

Harry thought for a moment, unnerved by the sense of urgency with which he wanted to answer the question correctly. "To become more powerful," he said, finally.

The old man grinned, "Precisely."

They continued walking side by side toward what Harry still saw as the outskirts of Little Whinging. For a while, neither man spoke. The imprints of his Sentinels were blending together more cohesively now and his thoughts felt more his own. So Harry used the silence to try to make sense of everything. He'd gone searching for his destiny and instead found a massacre. He'd grown powerful enough to demolish his childhood home, yet he felt like an amateur. Camelot apparently bore a striking resemblance to the most pitiful town in Surrey, and the new sage in his life seemed to see right through him. "You haven't let ANYTHING go!" The man's words struck a very sensitive nerve. After all, in his mind…Ginny's face was so clear.

Eventually, they trekked for what seemed like hours to the very edge of town, through the familiar avenues, parks and villas of his rather forgettable childhood. All the while, Harry was poignantly aware of the vast emptiness of the place, a town devoid of every living soul, save for him and his odd companion. And yet, it didn't feel deserted. There was something calm, almost whimsical in the air. The colors of the trees, the grass, the roads, and cottages started to shimmer together, spilling into one another like an impressionist painting. But at the same time, every leaf, every petal seemed to jump out at him, each clearly and individually defined. The wind seemed to whisper to him in voices so clear and yet he could not make out the words. They trudged down through Blackwater Valley and up again, the vast countryside stretching before them, and Harry paused, turning back. Down the slope they'd just climbed was a pathway Harry knew led to an outdoor picnic area where the Dursleys held a few of Dudley's birthday parties when he was very young. A little further on, he knew, was a stream that led to a small pond hidden deep within the park –a favorite escape of Harry's during those parties where he spent his time catching frogs and lizards, hoping and wishing for a different kind of life. It didn't add up. This place was Surrey…and yet it wasn't. The sites were familiar, and yet foreign to him. He wanted so much to understand but it seemed so far out of reach. And even more unsettling was the look on the old man's face when he turned around. There he was…waiting…expecting…knowing what Harry's questions were before he even asked them. "Where AM I?" he begged of his host, surprised at the sudden and earnest desperation in his voice.

The old man put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You are in Camelot, Harry," he answered in almost a whisper. And though it was the exact same response he'd given all day, it somehow sounded different. "Look," he said, and he turned Harry away from the town and toward the horizon.

Harry looked and started, fairly certain that what he saw had not been there seconds before. Just over the hill, amidst the familiar trees and rocks of the countryside, he saw a strange ethereal glow. He moved closer, nearly blinded by its glistening brightness though it hurt not to look. It had no mass, although it was massive, stretching a good four or five meters across his field of vision, and was pulsing in various shades of purples, reds and pinks. Staring into its glimmering beauty, Harry was reminded of his old divination lessons, of moving photos of stars, nebula, planetary rings. Such rings were spiraling around the amorphous form, vibrant and iridescent…like those that had engulfed his friends during the Sentinel Spell. As they spun, Harry peered closely at its core, at a streak of blackness running through the purples and reds. He heard it then, the faint sounds of children laughing, of wheels turning round and round in successive rhythms. He moved even closer and gasped. They were the voices he'd heard before but could not identify: the familiar symphony of the average park-going muggles, biking, playing and laughing throughout the valley. The other side, he thought, they're on the other side!

"Yes, Harry, they're on the other side." Harry jumped at the old man's voice. Had he said that out loud?

"But how—"

"Camelot, Harry, is the source of all magic, existing on a plane both beyond…and beneath your world. Before you is a rift, a tear between the dimensions of your world and of mine, and through it, you hear the sounds, the faint echoes of those who are oblivious to the magic surrounding them, protecting them."

"Protecting them?"

"As it protected you. Rifts like these are made by only the most powerful wizards. This one was crafted 17 years ago, when Albus Dumbledore brought you to live with your Aunt and Uncle in Surrey."

Harry's eyes grew wide and bleary, dazed by the flood of information.

"The spell he cast to ensure that you would be safe among the muggles, that you would be protected from Voldemort while you matured and grew into your powers, was bound to this rift, able to draw on the magic of Camelot in order to sustain its potency. Your family, and indeed the entire muggle population of Surrey was protected by this enchantment—"

"If that's true, then why was that family murdered—"

"Dumbledore is gone, Harry. You know that. This rift was once twice this size. When he left your world, the bruises he left in my world began to heal. Besides, this spell protected you from Voldemort…not his wayward followers."

Harry looked at the man and then back at the rift. Like a child, he stretched his arm towards it. His hand seemed to go right through the rich nebulous energy, and yet, he felt resistance, as if it pushed against his palm. "Dumbledore made this," he said, more to himself than the old man.

"And you, Harry…made that."

Harry turned back toward the town and nearly fell over. Stretching across the rooftops of Surrey, several kilometers wide, was another rift, pulsating in the same rich reds and purples. A thick black streak ran through the wisps and waves of warm, bright colors decorating the sky, while dozens of shimmering bands wound and twisted around the center. And even from such a great distance, Harry could tell that its nucleus was positioned just above what was left of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry gulped, "I did that?"

"The energy released by your fury, Harry—You drew on pure magic, raw magic. You opened up a rift and pulled that power right from my world."

Harry stood and gaped. "Why didn't I see it before? When I first came through?"

"You didn't want to," he answered quietly. "Man has always been blind to what he does not wish to see…Always."

There was something of a touch of regret in his voice that caused Harry to tear his gaze away from the glittering horizon. "Always?...How long have you been here?"

The man was quiet for a moment, an almost imperceptible frown across his face. "Many…many years," he said.

Harry stared at him, wondering if his response was some sort of clue. "Have you ever…left?"

The man looked out at the skyline, looked back at the remains of Dumbledore's spell and then smiled at Harry, "only to retrieve those who need to learn."

Harry thought for a moment and looked back at the sky. The rift was nearly five times the size of Dumbledore's and almost filled the horizon. And he had caused it. He made it happen. "I don't understand."

The man was silent and waited.

"If I did that, I must…well, I must be pretty powerful already."

"You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Then what is it I need to learn?"

It was as if Harry had unwittingly uttered some sort of cue. The Old Man's gentle countenance vanished, replaced by a sinister look of might and dominance. He stretched out his arms and the sky turned black, plunging them into darkness. Harry felt the wind lift him skyward, toss him around mid-air and then drop him hard back down to the ground. Terrified of what he'd see, he twisted around and looked back at the old man…who was no longer clad in a shabby 18th century English suit. Instead, long royal blue robes cascaded down into puddles of thick, velvet fabric around his feet. His silvery hair was wildly untamed, practically standing on ends from beneath a tall wizard's hat. And his eyes, his piercing green eyes seemed to glow, illuminating the darkness around him. Harry gasped in horror as he caught a clear glimpse of his face. He would know that face anywhere – memorized it since the day he'd first seen the profile on a Chocolate Frog collector's card…Merlin. The old man was Merlin.

Amidst his shock, Harry felt something twitching beneath his belt – his wand. "Hey!" he cried, but it was too late. Harry's wand had been plucked from its holster and he watched in vain as it traveled toward the living legend. Merlin caught the wand…and snapped it in two.

"Are you mad?" he cried, flooded with worry. His wand - his Ollivander wand! The wand that shared its phoenix-feathered core with only one other person in the world – destroyed by the father of all magic!

But Merlin grinned and shook his head, seemingly amused by Harry's apparent ignorance. "Forget everything you thought you knew, Harry Potter," he said in a booming, powerful voice that was not consistent with any of the wise, mystic, sage-like tones used by British thespians to portray him in the past. He couldn't help but think that this man sounded an awful lot…like Voldemort. And no sooner had he made this observation than Harry found himself completely surrounded. Dark, shadowy figures encircled him. Some looked like dementors, some death eaters, but mostly to Harry, they looked like knights. Black, armored knights with swords drawn, rearing back their horses like the life-sized chess pieces he and Ron once faced.

"It's time," said Merlin, who seemed to be floating above them.

"For what?" he cried, angry, scared, helpless.

"It's time you learned who you really are!" He waved his hand toward the knights, poised and ready to attack, and mechanically, they started to close in. "Fight, Harry. Your destiny depends on it."

Harry whirled around, grasping instinctively for the wand he no longer had. And in the few precious moments before panic and adrenaline completely consumed him, he realized…his training had begun.