A/N: Phew! Did anyone else notice that Fanfiction.net was really messed up yesterday? Yes? Good then. I wasn't the only one. And I finally figured out how to use this font stuff! Sorry folks, but I've never used Notepad before to type stuff. Expect longer chapters as a result! Again, thanks to all who actually took the time to R/R my story!

Special thanks to Kelly, cuz she's the only one who reviewed and e-mailed me about my first chapter in the beginning and it's what kept me going! Oh yeah, I'm going to be writing fic over at The Labyrinth (Under Movies for you guys that don't know it) so if you like my stuff here, R/R over there too!

One final note. I've noticed that a lot of you guys think this is a Matrix crossover. I'd love to keep you guessing, but i just want to say now that just because I say, "The One" once or twice, don't go thinking Neo and Trinity are popping up anytime soon. Once again, I don't own Harry Potter (I DO own the Gorenth thing though). Okay now, where did I leave off last time......


Chapter Six
Merlin's Legacy


Dumbledore had to be joking....but one look into his eyes and Harry's was convinced he was serious. "But, Professor..." he protested weakly. "I don't understand. How?" Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose you've always wondered about your scar...." Harry nodded quickly, unconsciously rubbing his forehead. "Remember when you were transported to Voldemort, and you forced his wand to spew out all of his recent curses backwards? Didn't you ever wonder why your father came before your mother, if, for all these years, it was believed that your father died first?" Harry nodded vigorously, though he flinched internally at the quick reference to the day he had been transported by means of a Port Key to Voldemort, and had witnessed, and caused, Cedric's death. He still felt that, had he done something different, Cedric might have lived.

Harry pushed that nagging bit of self-doubt away and concentrated, intead, on the startling mention of his parents. "What about them?!" asked Harry. Maybe, after all these years, he was going to finally get a straight answer about the night his parents had been murdered.

"Harry, your father also managed to survive the Avada Kedavra Curse." Harry's eyes widened. His father had survived an unforgivable curse? "It weakened him so that he couldn't walk, or even stand. In fact, all he could do was watch as Voldemort killed your mother. Voldemort never took a second glance at him, believing fully that he had died. It gave him a chance to recuperste somewhat. However, when Voldemort turned to finish you off as well, something in him snapped. James had always carried a recessive trait of Merlin's, and, in that moment of great fear, hatred, and grief, he managed to do something unbelievable. He..."

Dumbledore stopped as Harry's eyes suddenly glazed over. "Harry? Harry?!" Dumbledore called. Seeing Harry do nothing in response, not even blink, he quickly called Madame Pomfrey to his side, but Harry seemed to be in a trance. Despite their urgings and spells, he remained sitting, staring sightlessly into the wall just to the right of Dumbledore's ear. "What can this be? I must consult some books and treat him as best I can!" Madame Pomfrey cried as she hurried out of the room. Dumbledore touched Harry's shoulder in an effort to push him back against the pillows of his bed. "The poor boy! He needs some rest..." he was thinkning when he was suddenly jolted by an unfamiliar presense.

Dumbledore started and looked around. Madame Pomfrey was still busy flipping through her ancient books. There was no one else. He closed his eyes and concentrated. It was an old trick he had picked up long ago, and it had warned him of approaching dark wizards in his days as an auror.

It only took a few seconds. A look of disbelief distorted his face as his eyes fell open and his hands flew to his heart. "Merlin?" he whispered.

Harry didn't know what had happened. A moment ago, he had been on the verge of learning the truth hidden from him all his life. He had felt anticipation, fear.... and he had blinked to find himself, instead of the hospital ward of Hogwarts, in a torch lit room of a great castle. Harry blinked again, but he remained in the mysterious, new room. Maybe Voldemort had whisked him away.... but right under Dumbledore's nose? That was a little too daring, even for a newly revived, Harry-hating Voldemort. Wait a second... Harry took another look, and it confirmed his sneaking suspicions. It seemed he had never left Hogwarts at all.

He didn't know how he had recognized the room as the hospital ward. But all his instincts screamed that it was. He touched the wall, and yelled as his hand passed right through. "Harry..." a voice, harshened by great age, called to him from a darkened corner of the room. He twirled around.

"Who's there?" Harry cried. The voice didn't answer. Never one to back away from adventure, he crept cautiously toward the corner. His steps become longer, and soon he was running toward it. What was happening? Instead of reaching it as he had anticipated, the wall always seemed to be a set distance away. His feet raced, and Harry felt the stone beneath his feet as he ran faster and faster. But each step brought him no closer to the voice. it was as if he were standing still, rather than gasping for breath and wearing his heart out. A dry chuckle alerted him to the other man's presense.

"Who are you?" panted Harry as he finally stopped to regain his breathe. The voice, again, seemed to come from the dark corner, but refused to answer a second time. Wait! This seemed familiar somehow... Harry realized what it was. The first part of the Gorenth Test had been like this, only it had been Dumbledore's voice that had called out to him. Harry did a quick about-face, and raced in the opposite direction. As he had anticipated, the corner came into view, and Harry collapsed near a bed that had been hidden there all along.

"So....you're not as brainless as it would first appear..." croaked the voice with amusement. Harry turned toward the sound and found, at last, the owner. A small old man with a long white beard and a tiny pair of glasses lay swamped in covers in the bed. Harry jumped. "Why does it take so long for me to see things in this place?" he thought to himself in resentment.

"I suppose an introduction of some sorts should be made," said the man. "I am Merlin, and you, my young friend, happen to be my last descendent. I have much to disclose to you, but, at present, I am afraid I must return you to your time. One bit of advice though," he paused, "keep your wits about you. Things are about to get very interesting, very fast. Remember what you have learned here." With a flourish, Merlin waved his hand in Harry's face. Blinking, Harry found himself sitting, once more, in the hosptial bed, with Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey staring worriedly at him.

"Harry!" cried Madame Pomfrey. "I was about to douse you in hazel oil!" Dumbledore sat back, a pleased, triumphant expression on his face. "I believe you want an explanation...." Harry, dazed, could only nod. "This was all foretold. The Order of the Phoenix has much to teach you."


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Wormtail, Voldemort's loyal servant, crept softly into the chamber where the master himself slept. Voldemort had developed a sudden fascination with naps, though Wormtail couldn't think of a single reason why. Perhaps the strain of finally being brought fully to life was beginning to tire him? After all, he had lingered, bodiless, for more than a dozen years.

Shrugging, he balanced the tray of food in one hand as he tapped, cautiously, Voldemort's shoulder. "Aaargh!" shouted Voldemort as his blood red eyes lept open. Wormtail jumped in fright, and the tray ended up overturned and splattered on the floor. Grabbing his wand, Voldemort shouted, "Crucio!" and Wormtail, bewildered and frightened, fell to the floor in helpless pain. "Never, ever, disturb my sleep again." said Voldemort quietly. He waited a few more seconds before lifting the curse. "Never again!" sobbed Wormtail. Voldemort grinned. "You have learned your lesson then." It was a wonderful pick-me-up after the horrors he had seen in his dreams.

Voldemort his strength increasing, had, one day, become aware of a watchful eye. He had gone insane with paranoia, doubling, then quadrupling security. And still, that eye, that feeling of being watched, persisted. He had absently rubbed the scar that the Potter boy had given him, as a mere babe, all those years ago. The mark upon his chest was a matter of great secrecy. If word ever got out that he had scarred Potter, and Potter, in turn, had scarred him..... Not even the death of a thousand wizards and witches would satisfy his hurt pride. He had sat, thinking of the best way to revenge himself upon Dumbledore and Potter when he had unexpectedly fallen asleep. And what a dream he had had! He had seen a boy with dark hair and brilliant green eyes bent over...what did those muggles call it? A frying pan. A fat man, an even fatter boy, and a comically skinny woman stood by him, yelling and provoking him. Voldemort felt Harry's anger increase as he mindlessly flipped the bacon. As he stirred, Voldemort gaped in surprise as the bacon turned into black, squirming creatures, wallowing in the oil and bacon fat. Harry, however, was too wrapped up in whatever it was he was thinking and noticed nothing. He sighed and Voldemort saw the black creatures disappear as Harry repressed his anger.

The dream abruptly ended and Voldemort awoke with the knowledge that he and Harry were indeed bonded. Harry, in his dreams, must have been the watcher that had stalked Voldemort's existence. But, unlike Harry, Voldemort remembered his dreams with a crystal clarity.

What convinced Voldemort of the dream's validity was that he had recognized the creatures Harry had summoned. They were death eaters, creatures Voldemort, in awe of their power, had named his followers after. The scene played out in his dream had confused Voldemort for hours. The summoning of death eaters, REAL death eaters, was very powerful dark magic, magic even Voldemort himself couldn't just call up whenever he felt like it. Death eaters represented the utmost suffering and could, if released, drives muggles and wizards alike insane til they eventually died.

It was then, that Voldemort decided that Dumbledore was to be forgotten, even his quest for power. What he concentrated on now was eliminating the threat Potter posed. "And he's but a child!" Voldemort thought to himself, as, in his now regular dreams, Potter displayed all the symptoms of being the long-awaited Phoenix.

"He's but a child....." Voldemort had repeated to himself, as he suddenly gave an evil cackle. Perhaps, Harry wasn't as set in his good ways as he had previously believed. Perhaps, he could be turned... into the legendary Dark Phoenix.

Voldemort, now filled with a sense of purpose, had set to work. The night the Potter boy had turned fifteen, Voldemort had used up all the power he had been accumulating and preserving in his being to summon the Dark Hail, a storm that would keep Harry away from Dumbledore's protective care. He had then rested, believing the boy safely isolated in that charmed home of his. Once his strength was back, he was going to storm the house with another set of powerful curses, grab the boy....but he had dreamed, and in this dream, he had seen Potter rush out, deflecting the magical hail as he did so. Voldemort had awoken with a scream of fury. It had seemed, at the time, that Potter was going to be tougher to get to then he had originally planned.

And daily, the child's power grew. Voldemort remembered how the barest flicker of emotion could now translate itself telepathically to Harry. Voldemort could only see Harry in his moments of extreme angst, but Harry! Harry could now see through his eyes during the briefest bites of unconsciousness, though he still couldn't remember what it was he had seen. Voldemort shuddered as he remembered how his most trustworthy, highly placed spy had told him of Harry's supposedly unintelligible mumblings. Dumbledore had been out of the room when Harry, still asleep after his brief sojourn into the Gorenth Test, had stated, under his breath, that the Ministry had been attacked by Voldemort. But that was impossible! Voldemort had briefly toyed with the idea in his head, and had then angrily dismissed it as impossible (...at least for now.) This could only mean that Harry had read his mind, and that, in itself, was reason enough to kill him quickly before anything else developed.

But still, the idea of a subdued Harry under his control was something that delighted Voldemort. The perfect way to revenge himself upon Dumbledore, the man he had feared (and still feared!) as a schoolboy at Hogwarts, was to turn his precious little prodigy into his own, willing slave. No matter that Harry might be the Phoenix. He was Voldemort! And only the foolish stood in his way.

Voldemort smiled at the memory of his ealier over-estimation of Harry. The Dark Hail had been a mistake, and he had a new plan now. If Dumbledore did what he thought he'd do, and continued to train the boy, then Potter was as good as his....

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A/N (2): Hope you guys liked it! I did this in response to the reviews I got. I crammed it with as much info as possible, except perhaps the details of the Gorenth. But that's coming up! (hint hint). Don't expect much more anytime soon.... I have a project due in a few days, as well as a test and another test and another test coming up this week. knayram silently screams. Wish me luck!