DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. In fact, Taylor Ross is the only thing in this story that was not influenced by anyone. except maybe, myself and my sensei.
1. The Sword
On my eleventh birthday, I got a letter from someone called "The Secretary of Magic". Basically, it said that I was chosen to go to a special school for people with talents like mine. At first, I had no clue what it meant. Then, I figured it must mean my skill with the martial arts, more specifically my sword. I had won countless tournaments with it, and my master had let me use real swords. My parents were overjoyed to hear that I had been accepted at a very large, prestigious school, and immediately set about buying all of my equipment. Surprisingly, the letter said all I needed was my swords. I could bring clothes and a few personal items with me if I wanted, so I stuffed a few books in my bag, a few pictures, and my black belt.
I boarded the plane, and sat next to a fellow student. The boy sat with an air of extreme self-importance. He sat straight, and I could tell that he had been brought up in a very wealthy area. After a while we started talking.
"Hi, my name is Rudy A. Blackthorn, Jr. I'm going to be a wizard!" the kid next to me said. He sounded very posh, and for some reason, I felt like hitting him. It passed, however.
"My name is Taylor Ross. I guess I'm going to be a wizard too, but I don't know why I need to bring my swords." I said, genuinely wondering why he had a wand while I had been instructed to bring swords.
"Oh, if you were told to bring swords, you're going to be a Wizard Slayer. Totally different." He said, with the same air of confidence.
"Well, doesn't that mean I'll have to kill wizards? And how do you know, anyways?" I said, disappointed and a little disgruntled.
"No, it means you're going to hunt down the bad wizards. You see, wizards are totally defenseless when they cast spells, and they need someone to protect them. So, the Wizard Slayer takes advantage of the time needed to cast a spell, and kills the bad guy. They also protect the good wizards. And I know because my dad teaches the Wizard Slayers. But only certain people get to be Wizard Slayers. See, some people have what's called "resistance", and they can shrug off spells like a piece of paper was thrown at them." James said, confidently.
I could see that he really knew what he was talking about, so I listened to him, and asked him all the questions I could think of. By the time we got to the airport, we had become good friends, and we agreed that we'd stay in touch. I then left for Wizard Slayer School.
The first three years were really hard. It reminded me of the rumors I had heard about boot camp at the Marines. We ran drills, did push ups, and woke up real early. Also, the teachers would constantly test our resistances. At first, they would line us up and shoot small charms, jinxes, and hexes at us. As they weeded out the weaker ones, they would randomly shoot more powerful spells at us. After several years of this, there were only ten of us left, when there had originally been hundreds of us. Then, they tried the Imperius Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses. It was less painful then the Cruciatus, and much less dangerous than the Adava Kedavra. Only two of us succeeded and one of us with much difficulty. I, on the other hand, felt nothing as the spell washed over me. I had proven my strength, and went on to the next level.
The next level, as it turned out, was actually much easier. We would spar each other, or wizards, or one of the many creatures a wizard might summon or control. After these sparring matches, we would spend hours learning about the many spells a wizard could use in combat. For a long time, this is what we would do day after day. Then, the day came when we would graduate.
"Every Wizard Slayer gets this sword," the main instructor said, holding an enchanted sword up, "It's standard issue. They all have the same abilities, and come in many different shapes, so you will be able to choose your own type. You will also be required to forge a soul item. It is the light equivalent of a Horcrux. You will not be able to fully die until your soul item is destroyed. You may also choose to give it as many abilities as you wish. Good luck on your journeys, for you are now full fledged Wizard Slayers."
With that, he stepped down. I looked at my calloused hands, and thought about the seven years I had spent training. I stepped up to the arms distributor, and choose a katana, the samurai's main battle sword. Then, I spoke to Mr. Blackthorn, James' dad. He agreed to help me forge my soul item, which I had decided would be a wakizashi, or short sword. He also said that Rudy would help. For some reason, I knew that he was entirely different from Rudy. He had an aura of humble power. I thanked him, and went to see the head of the school to receive my first assignment.
"Well Taylor, there's this British Dark Wizard that's been causing a lot of trouble for the past ten years, and the British Ministry wants some help taking care of him. His name's Voldemort, or something like that. After you forge your soul item, I want you to head to England and help any way you can. Good luck, Taylor. We're counting on you."
So that's exactly what I did. After creating my soul sword, which was an object of awesome power, I boarded a private plane to England. Rudy A. Blackthorn had also given me a necklace that he told me would come in handy when facing Voldemort. It was gold, and had a large silver 'S' on the back.
The flight was uneventful, but when I landed, I met up with the British equivalent of a Wizard Slayer. They were called Aurors, and they were good at their jobs, even though they themselves used magic. One of the Aurors was a short, gnarled man by the name of Alastor Moody. We became fast friends, because we were opposite of each other. He was old and experienced, and I was young and fresh out of school. We didn't know what to expect, but we agreed to face it together.
We did exactly that. The followers of Voldemort were called Death Eaters, so I gave them what they wanted. They ate the death that my blades carried. My soul sword increased my natural healing powers so much that it seemed that I was invincible. That is, when their spells actually managed to get past my incredible resistance, which was bolstered by my two swords. My swords both had magic abilities that aided the fight, like the power to stop time, raise any allies that fell from the dead, and imprison my enemies into a small globe hundreds of feet under the earth. We were getting close to Voldemort, and he knew it. That's when it happened.
One night, a year after my arrival, Voldemort found and killed a family that had resisted him one too many times. They were called the Potters. When Mad-Eye and I arrived to save them, however, it was over. Voldemort had stationed Death Eaters outside the house so that he would not be disturbed. By the time we had either killed or arrested the Death Eaters, James and Lily Potter were dead, and Voldemort was standing over a child, whom I later learned was named Harry. Voldemort raised his wand, and before I could use one of the remaining runes on my sword to protect the child, Voldemort sent the killing curse at the boy. But to my amazement, the child was barely harmed, and Voldemort was screaming in mortal pain. Voldemort dropped, and all that was left of him were his robes, still smoking.
All that the boy had to show of his survival was a lightning bolt scar. As he was rushed out the house by a giant of man named Hagrid, I stood and pointed my katana at the boy, attempting to get a reading on his magic resistance. My sword stayed blank, which could have meant two things. Either he had been protected by something else, which showed he had no natural resistance of his own, or his resistance was so high, that mine seemed like a fly compared to it. I prayed for a compromise.
Several years have passed since that day. I have been involved with many things, most of them involving Gringotts and their Curse Breakers. I have met very interesting people, such as a young man called Bill Weasley, Aurors that still persist in putting up the good fight such as a young woman that goes by the name of Nymphadora Tonks, and a good-natured werewolf named of Remus Lupin. I had not imagined for a moment though, that Lord Voldemort, or, as some people call him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, would return. I had thought him entirely dead, I had seen him disappear from the house, leaving only smoking robes. But one summer, he did return. I was twenty-nine years old, an experienced Dark Wizard hunter, and a battle-scarred veteran of countless campaigns. That day, I set out on my quest to find the Boy Who Lived. I set out to find Harry Potter.
