DZ2's Den of Delights

Hi to all my loyal readers and those who enjoy my stories: The Den of Delights is open once more and for this next one, I'm doing this one as a sort of apology and taster of one of the stories for my poll. Now, don't think of this as some sort of biased indication, but I have wanted to write something for this ever since I posted the challenge: 'Harry Potter, the Prime Morganian.'

So, here we go, enjoy…

Harrison Le Fay

To say that the summer holidays following Harry's fourth year were terrible would be a big understatement;

First, against his insistences and wishes, Harry had been ignored by both the Ministry and his friends at Hogwarts and then, to add to the misery, when Harry had a chance to explain himself, he was shot down by that interfering old fool, Albus Dumbledore!

And Harry did think of Dumbledore as an old fool: ever since the high-and-mighty Chief Warlock had done nothing to defend Harry's honour and pride in claiming Sirius' innocence and then, despite all the signs that he needed him, when Harry was in the Tournament, he was left alone again. When he'd sought answers, Dumbledore had cast him aside like some forgotten piece of trash, leaving him to suffer, claw his way through the tasks and then, at the end, watch helplessly as Cedric Diggory was murdered.

And now, when Harry needed him most, Dumbledore just shipped him back to the Dursleys without so much as an explanation and left him there, leaving Harry without contact from his friends, from Sirius, from anybody!

To be honest, it made Harry angry to think of the reasons for the old man's work, but it made him even angrier to think that, in the long run, he was nothing more than a commodity to Dumbledore.

A means to an end like some sort of obedient pet!

Clenching his fists, Harry tried not to think about it, but the more he thought about it, the angrier he got: looking up, the young wizard saw only the darkness of his room and the locked state of his door. Another new addition from the benevolent people that Harry called his relatives: after the fireplace incident, Harry had returned to find his door re-bolted, the cat-flap only accessible from the outside while the door was locked and unlocked first thing on a morning and last thing at night.

'Stupid Muggles,' thought Harry, his fingers now clenched so tightly that they were almost stabbing their nailed tips into his palm, 'Stupid Dumbledore: stupid so-called friends! What's the point of being some sort of shining light to them if all I am is something to bow and kowtow to their wishes like Oliver-flipping-Twist? Please sir, I want some more life or death moments; please sir, let me risk my life again, sir! I am more than that: I am more than them!'

Suddenly, without warning, Harry gasped as he heard the latch on his door unlock, but he was sure that he hadn't said anything; keeping his hands clenched, the young wizard moved to the door, but he'd barely gotten close before a gust of magic blew through his room, which opened the door at the same time.

"What?" asked Harry, "Did…did I do that?"

Relaxing his fists at last, Harry peered out into the hallway: it was eerily quiet.

The Dursleys had gone on a special night-out to celebrate Dudley's latest achievement: becoming the new junior boxing champion of his local school. It was a stupid thing, really: Dudley used his fists for almost everything rather than using his brains.

Being cautious as he remembered Moody/Crouch's words about CONSTANT VIGILANCE booming in his head, Harry looked around once more before he tested the door of his room. The lock was as new as ever and yet, just by somehow willing his emotion into the action, Harry had caused the lock to shift and the door to open, but how had that strange gust of magic blown around him?

For a moment, Harry considered sending an owl to someone for advice, before a laugh escaped him as he realised that it was lack of communication that had gotten him so riled up in the first place. Any sort of trouble and they'd just ignore it, contradicting him about keeping his head down and being a good boy.

'Merlin, I hate them,' thought Harry, moving down the stairs where he managed to prepare himself a quick sandwich and, as he munched lightly on it, he considered alternatives. There was a chance that he could somehow get in touch with Sirius and Remus, but he had no idea where they were and, if anyone close to Dumbledore caught wind of him sending Hedwig or any owl, then…

KNOCK! KNOCK! DING DONG!

The sound of the doorbell and the knocking sound at the door cut off Harry's train of thought; looking around, Harry considered a way to help himself out. If it was an attack of some sort, then he'd be defenceless: he didn't even know how it was that he'd used his magic in the first place.

To add to that, the front door was double-bolted and only the Dursleys had the keys, while Harry was like the bad dog locked in the kennels.

Still, he couldn't ignore a knock, no matter what the reason for it being here; approaching the door, Harry gulped before he asked, "Who…who is it?"

"Am I addressing Harry Potter?" A man's voice; that was what replied to Harry's question: a firm, but strong male voice that seemed to radiate both confidence and power.

With a gulp, Harry nodded before he realised that the man on the other side couldn't see him, "Erm…y-yes: who are you?"

"I'm a friend," replied the man, his voice calm as he asked, "Aren't you going to open the door?"

"Err…it's…it's locked," Harry answered, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth before there was another audible click as well as another slight burst of magical energy and the door unlocked, before it swung open, revealing Harry's guest.

He was a short, rather portly man with dark hair and even darker eyes, though when Harry looked at him, he thought he saw an eerie tint of gold to the man's eyes: he was dressed in a long grey coat and suit with a black tie that had a spider-shaped jewel upon the knot. His face was marked by a short goatee-style black beard that seemed to remind Harry of a web and, as the boy looked, he then saw that the man carried a short cane with a blue-jewelled hilt, the jewel currently glowing dimly while the man inspected him.

"Interesting," muttered the stranger, his voice low, but edged by amusement as he added, "I've heard about your infamy, Mr Potter, but if I'm being honest, I was expecting someone a bit more…well, more!"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry murmured, before his eyes narrowed as he asked, "Who are you and…how did you open the door like that?"

"Of course," sniggered the man, "My apologies: my name is Maxim Horvath and, for want of a lesser term, Mr Potter: I am a Sorcerer, a being with magical skills far greater than average witches and wizards."

"And…" asked Harry, a little wary of the man as he asked him, "What…what do you want with me, Mr Horvath?"

"Maxim, please," replied Horvath, before he smiled with a hint of pure amusement as he added, "Or just Max, if you prefer: anyway, what I want, Mr Potter…"

"Harry."

"Harry," Horvath continued, "What I want, Harry, is you."

"Me?" asked Harry, his voice edged by a hint of fear as he asked, "Why?"

"Because I wish to help you," Horvath replied, tapping Harry's chest with his cane's jewelled head as he added, "Help you discover the power inside of you; power that has been blessed down the generations and discovered by the right bearers. Now, Harry James Potter, it's your turn to claim the legacy and the power with it."

"Power?" asked Harry warily, his eyes narrowed as he asked, "What power?"

"The power," answered Horvath, standing his cane on the ground as he added, "The power of the Prime Morganian, child of Morgana Le Fay herself!"

Harry had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say to that…

So there it is, then: like I said, the challenge associated with this one is on my poll, but I don't intend for this to sway your votes; I just wanted to give an example of how I'd respond to it if it wins;

Anyway, next instalment to the Den coming soon…