Previously on Defiance…
The mist faded, and everyone could see the shock in Harry's eyes as he felt his entire attack disintegrate to dust by that black mist, as he fell on his knees, unable to maintain his consciousness as the magical exhaustion hit him hard. Dumbledore fell down on his knees too, still awake and in control, happy in the knowledge that he had averted a catastrophe, though a part of him couldn't feel saddened as he felt a very familiar connection erase itself from his magical core...
The allegiance of the Elder wand had faded from him, and if his hunch was correct, the wand in question had sworn its allegiance to its blood and true master, one who had come to acquire full possession of it at last. The wand of Peverell in the hands of a Peverell, and it soothed the old man's heart that now that Harry had his chance to liberate his rage and demonstrate his defiance, it was time for the truth.
"Brian?"
Albus Dumbledore, one-hundred and sixty-three and quite tired, looked up from his position on the rock. He had simply rested on the uprooted, two-foot wide rock, not even caring to transfigure a chair for himself. As it was, the Elder wand was behaving almost, as any other normal wand would do- more precisely, a wand ill-suited to him. Right now, his fingers craved for his old birch wand that was at the moment, resting in a well-crafted contraption in his office, but he did not have enough power in him to summon him at the moment.
"Master Thüringen?"
Samuel Thüringen gave him a sharp glare, making Albus backpedal instantly. "I mean, Samuel." That seemed to do the trick as the old mage in front of him smiled in return. "I must say Albus, what I received and what I expected, were completely different things. That is contrary to what I normally expect from Albus Dumbledore."
"The boy is powerful, and you know that." Albus defended. Samuel raised his palm and explained, "I do not doubt the boy's capabilities, nor his power. In fact, it would be safe to say that his power exceeds your own. I was talking about your performance, Albus."
"Whatever do you mean, Samuel?
Samuel glared at him. "Do not insult my intelligence, Albus. This… farce, that you and the British call a duel, was a power struggle, clean and simple. Something that I would have expected from some amateur, not from a Transfiguration Master from you. I saw you dueling, Albus. All you were doing was trying to incite a reaction out of the boy and propel him to use his magic."
"You know very well that had I fought like I could, the duel would have finished five seconds into the start?"
"Then why do that? I admit he boy has got skill and power, but why raise him to a pedestal that should take him years, if not decades to acquire on his effort?" Samuel pressed.
"Because he needed to win, or at least demonstrate his best, though I fear he has not used all of his skills and concentrated on a brute force strategy. Else, I fear I would have lost him to darkness, Samuel. That boy, over there," Dumbledore pointed at the body of a fallen Harry Potter who was right now, being nursed by Madam Pomfrey, "-has lost a lot in his life, and most of it, because of me and my decisions." He sighed, "I became too much involved with the bigger picture and lost track of the fact that I was dealing with a human child, who has his own life, his own mentality, own emotions, and importantly, his own choices. I decided his life for him and that caused him to have a life not dissimilar to the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort. This fight, this was his shout out to the world that he was Harry Potter, he was powerful, and not one to be messed with. He needed this, and he needed to send those blows against me, since he considers me his nemesis at the moment."
"You bled off his anger? All of this, to calm him down?"
"That boy is a child of Prophecy, Master Samuel." Dumbledore confessed. "I might be older, wiser, and more knowledgeable, but I am infinitely less valuable than him. Besides, he is a child of Peverell. I assume you know what I mean." He gave him a pointed glance as he raised his wand subtly.
"Are you going to hand it over?" Samuel asked, perfectly clear, about what 'it' was. Dumbledore nodded. "I will, when he is ready. Besides, the wand has shifted his allegiance to him."
"Oh my," Samuel exclaimed, "how did that happen?"
"Sacrifice. I sacrificed my control over the wand's allegiance; else, his spell would have destroyed me. You saw the battle of wills. It was incredibly stupid of me to lock myself into a power struggle with him."
Samuel nodded unperceptively.
"Are you going to take him in as your apprentice?" He asked finally.
"I will, but he has to accept it; and knowing him, it is going to be difficult." Dumbledore returned. "There are a lot of things I need to come clear with the boy, and then, I hope, the boy will find it within himself to forgive me and train under me as my apprentice."
"I am surprised, Albus. All these years, you never showed any interest in taking one, and now suddenly- what I mean is, it is clear that you have known the boy and his power for years. Why now?"
Albus fidgeted.
"You know you can tell me." Samuel stressed.
"It has to be under oath." Samuel nodded and Albus raised a powerful dome all around them as Samuel took a secrecy oath.
"The boy was supposed to die."
Samuel raised his eyebrows.
"Not like that," Albus returned hastily, "-his body housed a fraction of the dark lord's soul and-"
"So this is why you had come to me inquiring about horcruxes all those years ago."
Albus nodded gravely. "I was working on a way to prevent his death, but I had found none. Therefore, I decided that the boy would at least get a childhood to enjoy with friends if nothing else. In my arrogance, I took wrong decisions and I destroyed the boy's childhood in more ways than I can imagine. The fact that the boy isn't already gone dark by now is nothing but a miracle." He paused, looking up to face his mentor and friend, "-now that he has somehow, freed himself from the horcrux, I can teach him to be Voldemort's true equal, if not surpass him. Hence, the offer of apprenticeship."
"But what if he doesn't wish to fight for you? As far as I can see, he is quite defiant. Are you sure you are not taking his future decisions for granted?" Samuel pressed.
Albus sighed. "I am not. However, I trust Harry and his impeccable capacity to love. I am hopeful that he will take the right decisions."
Samuel nodded gravely. "I suppose I shall see your… miracle boy, soon then if he agrees to apprentice under you?"
Albus nodded.
Daphne watched Harry fall down on the ground unconscious, and unknown to her, a shriek had escaped her voice seeing him fall. She had tried to run up to him but the wards separating the dueling platform and the spectator stand held, stopping her from reaching across to her friend, tutor and now betrothed. She had witnessed when Harry had locked Dumbledore in a battle of wills, and almost won it, especially when he had fired off the other wandless burst. She was sure that Dumbledore, the mighty Albus Dumbledore would lose and her betrothed would gain a name in the world as the one who had the power to defeat Dumbledore. Then it happened.
Dumbledore was losing, and then suddenly that black fog thing shot out of his wand and engulfed Harry's entire attack, vanishing away Harry's spell and the power struggle to nothingness. It had happened faster than she had recognized. One moment Harry was pushing the clashing energies towards Dumbledore and the next-
"Dad, I want to go see Harry, NOW!"
"I understand, my dear, but I do not think that Harry is in a position to meet anyone at this-"
"NOW!"
Cyrus sighed. "Very well. Let me see if I can convince the stubborn Poppy Pomfrey."
Meanwhile at the Hospital wing…
"Poppy, try to understand that I need to see Harry." Sirius defended hotly.
Poppy Pomfrey had been the Hogwarts Matron for over twenty-five years, and she had not done that by bowing down whenever someone decided to go all male and stubborn over her. She put her foot on the ground and glared back at Sirius, who mentally whined at her stubbornness. "Understand this, Mister Black, you might have gotten the reputation of a mass-murderer, but this is my Wing. I am not allowing anyone near Potter until his magical core heal itself back to normal."
Sirius felt his knees go weak. "How is he, tell me that at least."
Poppy considered the question. "Not good." Seeing the crashed look on Sirius's face, she expounded upon her initial statement. "Potter's core is undergoing some kind of abrupt changes. It is pulsating one moment, morphing the next, it is almost like he is undergoing his magical maturity, but that is impossible since he is only fifteen at the moment."
"He is stronger than most wizards, wouldn't that-?"
"Black, Albus Dumbledore reached his maturity at twenty-one." Poppy hesitated, "besides, even if this is his magical maturity because of some kind of mutation of his magical core under duress, his body is burning. I mean, literally burning. His temperature is way beyond the acceptable limits. I tried to bring him back to consciousness but his magic is rejecting treatment. It is almost like… he is undergoing some kind of metamorphosis."
Sirius looked scared. "He will be alright, right?"
Poppy looked down. "I don't know."
Albus Dumbledore strode into through the hallway; the pepper-up potion he had taken had threw off much of the tiredness from the duel, if that could be termed as a duel. In hindsight, perhaps he should have taken the boy a little more seriously, given the amount of power he had been throwing all over the place. Maybe if he had used his own abilities and finished the fight, it would have been a better idea, but he had no regrets. After all, the wand of Peverell was now in the rightful owners of the blood descendant of the Peverells. That family had always interested him when he was a young and budding apprentice, studying under Samuel Thüringen as a young recruit of the Battle-Transfiguration guild. He still remembered Samuel's lecture about the origin of the term—Warmage and its link and descendancy from the Peverells.
"The term Warmage, while having some similitude to the word 'battle mage' has got a lot of differences than the latter. War mages were an ancient group of mages who could be related to the bloodthirsty warlords of the East in terms of their actions and their conquests."
"Like dark lords?" One of the students, Serena spoke up.
"Not really. Dark lords have an agenda, which is usually to hold dominance over others."
"And they don't?" Said student questioned back.
"No, they do, just that their agendas are more… pedestrian and primal at the same time."
"As in?" Albus asked.
"The Warmages, or rather, should one say, all Warmages, were descended from one single family." Samuel paused, raising everyone's curiosity, "The Peverells."
Albus was aback with surprise. "The Peverells as in the tale of three brothers—Peverells?"
Serena burst into laughter. "Only you, Albus." She chortled. "Only you would believe in the kid's tales." Albus grimaced, not wanting to share how his ex-best friend, a rising dark lord at present, was a major seeker of the items talked about in said kid's tale.
"That is offensively short-sighted of you, Serena," Samuel chastised, much to Serena's surprise. "Why, the apprentices in the Artificer's guild would be able to prove the way the three items, also known as the Deathly Hallows, have passed hands all through the course of history."
"You cannot be serious!" Serena retorted.
"On the contrary, I am." Samuel explained, "However, we digress. The Peverells were the only family to have Warmages- they were concerned with two things- one was protection of their own, and the other was conquering newer magics and add them to their bloodline."
"Add magics to their bloodline?" Albus pressed.
"Yes. The Peverell family magic was parasitic, although the family name went extinct around nine hundred years before the creation of Hogwarts."
"What happened to the magic then?" Albus pressed.
"Excuse me?"
"You said that the family name went extinct. It is quite natural that the family changed to something else, or at least, was merged into another."
"Very astute, Albus." Samuel congratulated. "Our magical records state the birth of another family around the same time when the Peverells went extinct." He paused. "Potter."
"Wait, Potter? Like Charlus Potter?"
"Yes."
"But the Potters are traders." Albus defended.
"Yes, they are. A family of traders that owe their original existence to a family of butchers. As per as magical records state, the Peverell family grimoire is sealed inside the Peverell vault at Gringotts under blood wards. To date, no Potter has stepped inside the Peverell Vault, as neither of them has had the magic qualifying them to access the contents within."
Samuel allowed the students to absorb what he said, before he continued, "Back to Warmages, now. The earliest Warmages were the creators of the arte of battle-transfiguration, though some tomes state that they had somehow combines the war-magic of Le Fay and the transfiguration principles employed by the mages of the temple of Morrighan into one, and used it extensively in their conquests against other families."
"So they were barbarian." Serena commented.
"Yes and no. They were barbarian in their approach, but magically, they were the most powerful stronghold. They protected the magical land of Albion from the external invaders from other continents many times. In fact, they were the main line of defense against foreign invasions."
"Barbarian—parasitic magic-main line of defense. Wonderful!" Serena commented sarcastically. Albus ignored her. Serena Thüringen was one of the most brilliant transfigurators he had ever seen, but she was remarkably close-minded about other things. Quite a paradox considering that transfiguration was heavily dependent on imagination.
"So what happened to the Peverells?" Albus pressed. "I mean, you make them sound nearly invincible, and yet the family magic changed into Potters."
"Legends say that it was an invasion. A catastrophe. One that had nearly ravaged the magical land of Albion. An invasion that obliterated the Peverells. The Peverells had lost, and they had lost brutally and the invaders were about to plunder into our lands."
"And then they vanished off from the surface of the earth."
"What do you mean?" Serena asked, the hype having piqued her curiosity.
"Something happened. The records do not state how, but something happened, and the entire invasion was destroyed. Overnight."
"Who or what did that?"
"Some say he was a God. Some say it was the Peverell family guardian. Others said that the Emrys had resurrected back to protect the world he had worked so hard to establish. But someone came down, someone like lightning tearing down the sky, and exterminated the invaders out of existence."
Nobody spoke a word.
"Records state that near about the same time, the Potters sprung into existence. A family of traders, with nothing but ordinary battle-magic they held as their family magic. That is as far as the records go.
Albus gazed at his Master silently.
"I suppose this is the first time when the wand of Peverell is going to be in the hands of one. I just hope Harry listens to what I have to say..." Albus mused to himself as he strode towards the Hospital wing.
He stood in front of a rather desolate valley, with fires burning of rooftops as lightning tore across the night sky. Enormous amounts of magical energy shot out and struck the rock, throwing up a spray as huge tides washed away thousands of soldiers, killing them, blowing them away as the mages tapped their staves and the ground shook, a testament to the powers of those earth druids who could call the powers of the earth for their aide. And there he was, standing on top of a cliff, one hand holding his familiar yew wand and the other holding a very special wand, one he had received as a bequest from his dear departed brother- a wand, which his brother promised, would help him to do the inevitable.
Blood ran down his arms as his fingers tightened around the two wands- it was time for slaughter. He was the last of the Warmages- slaughter and destruction was in his blood, after all. It was time for the invaders to pay for their sins.
"Peverell, your time has come. Lay down your wand and I will give you a painless death." Andros roared. The battle-hardened mage, with his golden hair flying all around like static electricity, and his hazel eyes shining like two fiery orbs, looked at him and raised his sword. "You will kneel, or you will die."
He smirked as his wands sparked at the tip. Death, Death was an old friend, and Death would not come until he had done his… his duty. After all, there was a reason why he was standing here, despite being chopped off and burnt, only to come back and then, eaten up by a Nundu pack, and yet here he was, ready to fight as if there was no tomorrow.
"I am afraid, Andros. My time has not come. I wonder how many proofs you will need before you believe that. Though, I am afraid, you won't be there to get anymore proofs either…"
Andros laughed. The kind of laugh that sent shudders down the spine. "I suppose you are right… You have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead. Well," he grinned evilly, "it gives me the pleasure of killing you again and again." He raised his sword as he yelled, "Slaughter him to pieces!"
The ancient cloak bellowed all around in the wind, and despite the destructive curses raining down on him, none of them could actually pierce through the ancient cloak. The spells seemed to hit it and then sink into it as if into some eternal void. His hands moved on its own, as if they had gained some sort of sentience as he gave in to his magic- magic against which he had rebelled all his life, magic, which now took in charge of the primal mind that was driving him into battle.
They hurled devastating spells and he transfigured them into rocks and threw them back, his yew wand manifesting firestorms that raged down the valley, burning and obliterating mages every minute. His other wand was more special. Andros hurled a magical outburst and his wand sent up a black fog like substance, engulfing the entire attack into itself before vanishing into nothingness. Power… such tremendous power... the feeling of omnipotence surrounding his mind, the sounds of the explosions singing in his ear as he became Death and danced through the valley, killing off mages right, left and center. The magic had come at a very steep price, and he would be damned if he would fall before the invaders were destroyed…
The dragons and the wyverns belched great flames at him, but his wand procured elemental forms of those creatures, forged out of the mighty Fiendfyre, as they burned the dragons themselves. Tonight the battle would end, for now and forever. The invaders would have to die- there was no other option. After all, he thought with a smile, Death comes for everyone. Some just have a tendency to look for it, and some wield it more efficiently than others did.
Andros lay on the ground, bitter and burnt, his eyes half-accepting the imminent death that was hovering over him… "How… how… what is that power?"
He smiled. "This is the power of the Master of Death." He raised both wands towards the heavens as a mighty fork of lightening descended down from the sky and surged down into a humongous power stroke into the earth, the fury of the strike reverberating into the heavens as fifteen-year old Harry James Potter woke up with a start.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am honestly shocked by the response my story has been getting. 1500+ followers and over 500+ reviews in less than a month. I am very flattered. Thank you to each and every one of my readers and reviewers for demonstrating such an interest in my story. I know I do not reply much to the reviews, but i assure you that I read each and every review with great diligence.