Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 7: Surprises

Harry was walking as if in a dream, a place where time did not matter. He could have been walking for seconds or for days. All that mattered was getting to that call. It wasn't like the Imperius curse, no. That he could've countered easily. This was different. This felt right.

Harry snapped out of his trance-like state when he entered a shop. He managed to piece together the fact that he was still in Knockturn Alley and that this was an armoury. Everywhere there were weapons of all sorts: swords, bows, axes, daggers, staffs and many others he had never heard of. However the call was still there, stronger than ever. What had jolted him back to reality was the raw power these weapons gave off.

He could sense the energy flowing in the shop. He could hear the hum of power, he could see the faint swirls of energy, he could smell the thick atmosphere saturated with it, he could taste the metallic force in the air. Most of all he could feel his own magic answering to it.

However, his magic was responding to one variety of this magic more than others. That was what was calling to him, he figured. He was just about to follow this energy back to its source when someone interrupted him.

"Welcome to Wargorn's Magical Weaponry. My name is Gregory Wargorn. Can I help you with anything, young sir?"

The man that had just spoken was in his early thirties. He had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and honey-coloured eyes in an angular face.

"I... it's just... I think something here is calling me... it doesn't make much sense but..."

"Indeed. In that case you should answer that call," a ragged voice replied. The source was a very old man with grey hair, sitting in the back of the shop. This man was obviously blind and he held a beautifully carved cane in his hands. Harry looked at him blankly, not moving.

"Well, go ahead; find which one of these weapons is calling to you, young man." The call was indeed getting somewhat impatient, so Harry decided to follow the man's advice and figure out the rest later. His mind wasn't really up to deciphering what was going on. As he started looking through the weapons hanging on the walls, he absently heard the old man speaking to Gregory.

"You're lucky to see this, Gregory. It is very rare that a weapon calls someone. This is only the second time I have seen it and I am very old."

"What do you mean, Grandfather. How can a weapon call someone?"

"Through magic. Magical weapons have a mind of their own and sometimes they choose their wielder, just like a wand chooses its wizard. It is rare that a choosing is strong enough to call the wielder to the weapon, but as you can see, it does happen. This young man was probably walking close by and the weapon called him. Has he found it yet?"

Harry had in fact stopped in front of a glass case containing five different knives. Two of them were long daggers, two more were medium-length throwing knives and the last one was a very small dagger, the kind you use to surprise an opponent. All of them were made in the same style. The blades were made with some sort of iridescent black metal and the handles were silver decorated with a black design. They were beautiful weapons.

"Very nice aren't they? They are among my favourite pieces," said Gregory, who had walked up behind him.

"Which one is it Gregory?" called the old man.

"It is the Dark Daggers, Grandfather."

"Are you sure? These knives have been in the family for generations. I think it was made even before the Wargorns opened this shop. Which one of them is it, young man?"

Harry was entranced by the sight of the knives and Gregory had to repeat the question before Harry understood.

"All. All five of them. They were meant to stay together." Harry didn't know why he said that, but it sounded right. He barely registered the shock of the two other men. "Could you open the case please?" he asked Gregory.

As soon as the lid was opened Harry reached for one of the throwing knives. When he touched the handle, there was a rush of power. Harry felt the weapon's acceptance and subsequent fusion with him. It had barely lasted a second and when it was over, Harry's mind was finally clear again.

He picked up the knife, no, his knife. There was no way he was leaving this store without all five of them. He weighed the skilfully crafted weapon. It was perfectly balanced and it seemed the grip had been made for his hand especially. When he looked closely at the designs on the handle he realized they were runes, though he did not know what they meant. He asked Gregory about them.

"I don't know all of them," answered the shopkeeper, "I do know this one keeps the blades sharp and that one makes it that any wound caused by this blade cannot be healed by magic, but the other ones are ancient and I have never encountered them anywhere else."

"Those are old weapons, young man," added the shopkeeper, "even I do not know the secrets of their making."

Harry had turned towards the old man when he had answered. He noticed a target hanging on the wall just behind him. Without thinking, Harry grabbed his knife by its blade and let it fly with a flick of his wrist. It landed straight in the center, slightly quivering.

"You...uh...have experience with knives I take it," asked Gregory, slightly taken aback.

Harry had a fleeting memory of cutting up vegetables for Aunt Petunia. He quickly banished it.

"Not really," he said. He stretched his hand towards the wall, as if beckoning someone to come. Surprisingly, the knife came flying back and Harry easily caught it from the air. He turned to the shopkeeper.

"How much for them?" Gregory was stunned and it took a few seconds for the question to be processed.

"Um, they are quite expensive, twelve hundred Galleons to be exact."

"I'm taking them. However I don't have that much money on me right now. I'd have to go to Gringotts to get it."

"You could always write a payment agreement. You simply sign with the imprint of your key and the money will be automatically withdrawn," explained Gregory.

"That would be perfect," Harry answered, relieved he wouldn't have to leave without the knives. However, something occurred to him. "Do you have any sheaths for these?"

"Don't tell me you forgot to offer him sheaths, Gregory? The least you can do for such a sale is to offer them free of charge," interjected the old man.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Gregory apologized, "It's just, I'm a bit unsettled, you know. So, where do you want to wear the daggers?"

As if they had heard the question, the knives flew up in the air and placed themselves on different parts of his body. The two longer daggers hovered near his ankles; the small one was floating behind his back while the throwing knife he was holding flew to his left side, suspended horizontally just below his ribs. The second throwing knife attached itself to Harry's left forearm, handle towards him.

Harry was puzzled as to why he didn't have a knife on both forearms until he felt something warm in his back pocket. His wand was meant to be there. Somehow IallI his weapons were cooperating, as if they had a mind of their own… He looked at Gregory who was completely flabbergasted this time.

It took a while, but finally Harry had a pair of dragonhide boots with integrated sheaths, a small sheath for his lower back, one for his left side and a special one for his forearm that expulsed the knife blade first with a flick of his wrist. Enthralled with this system, he got one similar for his wand to be strapped to his wand arm.

When Harry finally left the store, he was feeling a lot more confident. Of course he didn't know anything about weapon fighting yet, but he planned on training and he already felt at ease with his weapons.

Harry was walking back to Diagon Alley when he stopped short. He had glanced at the display of a shop and caught sight of his reflection in the glass. His disguise was wearing off! Damn those twins! They told me the spells would last for twenty-four hours! He pulled his hood over his head to hide his now near-black hair. He hurried back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

He slipped in the back alley and entered through the back door without knocking. George, who was opening boxes, jumped and turned around.

"Oh, Harry, it's just you. Finished shopping already?"

"Not quite! Your sweets have a much more limited lifespan than what you told me."

"What do you...?" Harry pulled down his hood. "Merlin! What did you do?"

"Nothing, that's what! You're lucky I didn't get recognized! Those sweets of yours must be faulty."

"All the others we tested worked perfectly. Well, except for Tonks, but that's because she's a Metamorphmagus George's voice trailed off.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Harry, I think you're a Metamorphmagus too. I mean, that's exactly what happened with Tonks."

"How the hell could I be a Metamorphmagus I haven't shown any signs until now!"

"Well, Tonks mentioned she didn't find out until she started working on self-transfiguration in Hogwarts. Before that the only indication was the fact that her hair never changed."

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said, sitting heavily on a box, "my hair's never changed much either."

"We could test it if you want."

"How?"

"Eat another of those self-transfigurative candies and try to change back by will."

Having nothing to lose, Harry ate a candy that gave him long pink hair. He closed his eyes and focused on how he always looked. He felt a tingling on his scalp and when he opened his eyes, George was staring awe-struck and his hair was back to normal.

"Wicked" breathed George.

TBC