A fragile young maiden, appearing no older than twelve, stood upon a vast field in southern England. She was garbed in a dark gown with shimmering gold hair that fell down her back in gentle ringlets. Within her hands she held the Holy Grail, a divine artifact that takes on the form of a brilliant golden goblet.
With a wave of her hand, golden sparks appeared in the air around her, fluttered about and then fell to the ground a few meters in front of her, becoming a lovely pale blue upon contacting the earth.
"My Queen, is this the place we seek?" one of the mages that served her asked.
The girl paid her servant no heed as she walked to where her spell had fallen. She looked deep into the earth, past the Ley Lines that flowed just beneath the surface, and into the depths of the world. She saw the intricate web that those who studied the Root of Creation called the Foundational Ley Lines. Those original fonts of power which gave form to the world.
"Ah, what splendid fortune. After much searching, here is a place where seven Foundational Ley Lines intersect."
Her minions were of no assistance when it came to matters of the Foundational Ley Lines. Very few mortals were able to see or comprehend them. Humanity was simply too far removed from the Root of Creation to understand such things. But there were some humans who, like herself, possessed a direct connection to the Root of Creation.
No doubt, that rogue can also see the Foundational Ley Lines, the girl lamented as she called to mind her hated nemesis.
She then turned and addressed the five mages that had accompanied her, "Go and erect wards to alert me of any intruders who would interfere with this ritual."
Her servants bowed their heads in reverence to the mistress they served and fanned out. They each held up a slender wooden wand and began to mutter spell words of detection. A thin, translucent veil appeared along the boundary that her servants had created.
Each and every one of these mages were servants, devoted to her and the Mage Association that she had created, the Cult of Heavenly Wisdom. She had learned much from her defeat at the hands of the Black Prince seven years ago. Alone, humans were weak and insignificant creatures, but should they band together, they could make a noticeable difference. She had learned to turn this to her advantage, doing as her enemy had done and gathering together humans to do her bidding. Those who shared a similar goal, the destruction of the god slaying kings.
She was rather fortunate to have been able to slip past the notice of the enemy who called these isles home. With the resurrection of the child who styles himself a Dark Lord, that old wizard has found himself preoccupied with combating this returning foe. All while being under attack by the humans who lead their society. The group of mortals that call themselves the Ministry of Magic had proved to be very useful to her. With only a few well placed servants she had been able to create an impressive amount of chaos amongst the mages of this land. Freeing her from the watchful eye of that powerful wizard.
And with this, I will be one step closer to reviving my beloved master.
She held the Holy Grail aloft and began chanting. "Blessed cup. Vessel of life. Pour forth your contents, the nectar of creation, the blood of the divine. Let this sacrifice of power be made to quench the thirst of eternal Gaia so that she might birth a champion …"
The girl continued chanting the spell words that would bring forth the accumulated magic that had been stored within the divine artifact. Slowly, dark red liquid began to pool within the grail. Once it had been filled, she turned it over and spilled the contents onto the earth, directly atop the point where seven of the Foundational Ley Lines intersected.
" … Invincible hero, the maiden calls out to thee. Come forth and fulfill thy destiny as the strongest steel. Take in hand the Divine Sword of Salvation. Become the King Who Manifests at the World's End and strike down those who have sinned against the natural order."
The earth greedily drank the dark red liquid, accepting the magic which would serve as the catalyst for the spell to call forth her master.
With the ritual complete the girl was left exhausted. With this, she had performed the ritual four times, she only needed to repeat it thrice more. But this was her purpose. The purpose of Guinevere, the Witch Queen of Brittany. For she is the Divine Ancestor summoned into the world by the Ancient Right of the Mother Earth Goddess to create the hero who brings about the end of the current era.
Seeing that she had completed her task, Guinevere's servants rushed to her side.
"Is it done?" one of them asked
"It is," she replied. "Come, we had best return to Brittany. I would not risk overstaying our welcome."
"Oh, you're going already?" a chipper young voice said.
Guinevere saw that a boy had made an appearance. A youth of fifteen years. His face was both delicate and handsome, with dark hair and a small mark tattooed onto his forehead. However, he was no mere boy and she could discern both his identity and nature at a glance.
She thus gave the youth her most respectful curtsy, "It is an honour to meet you, Lord Verethragna. The conqueror god. The invincible god of victory. He who possess ten incarnations."
"So you were able to discern my identity with nothing more than a glance. You have earned my praise, witch."
"Your praise does me great honour, My Lord. To hear your words and look upon your visage fills my heart with such joy."
The boy merely laughed, "Yes, I suppose it would. After all, the memories of your past self still exist within the spell that birthed you."
This confused Guinevere. She had only shown Lord Verethragna the reverence that was due to him. She had no memories of him to guide her actions.
"Might I inquire as to what you meant by such words?"
"It is unimportant. What is important is that you do not perform the Ancient Right of the Mother Earth Goddess."
Guinevere was struck dumb by this request. Asking her to not perform the spell was tantamount to asking a human not to breathe.
"I do apologize, My Lord. However, I cannot agree to such a request. It is this one's purpose to revive the mightiest steel. I cannot stray from that path." Guinevere gave the god before her a polite bow of apology. Looking upon Lord Verethragna's face she was only met with an amused smile, something that worried her greatly.
Before she could ever react, she was seized by her servants and thrown to the ground. Guinevere struggled, but it was to no avail. She cast spells in an attempt to force her servants to unhand her, but they too had no effect. Despite her frail appearance, as a Divine Ancestor she was physically superior to any human, and her magic should have overwhelmed these mortals with little effort. Using her Witch's Eye she could see that something about them had changed. They had acquired a measure of divine power.
"You, unhand me. Have you forgotten who I am? Unhand me!" she cried.
"It won't work. They're already under my control," Verethragna stated. He casually walked up to the Divine Ancestor that had been pinned to the ground, and knelt down to look her in the eye. "Now, if you would be so kind, I will be taking the Grail from you."
No! Without the Grail I cannot summon forth my master! Guinevere struggled even harder against the mortals that Verethragna had taken control of with his Authority. She was desperate to escape. I cannot let him take the Grail!
And so she called out to her champion,"Sir Knight, come to my aid and rescue me! Protect thy mistress in her time of need!"
Verethragna deftly hopped back and dodged the streak of silver that had been aimed at his throat. At the same moment, the mages that had once served her fell to the ground in bloody pieces. Before her was a regal knight, clad from head to toe in pure white armour, riding atop a white steed and armed with sword and shield. Her faithful protector, the Knight of the Lake, Lancelot du Lac.
Sir Lancelot was a sight to behold. As gallant and beautiful as he was powerful. But Guinevere still felt a twinge of fear. As strong as her knight was, she could feel within the very depths of her being that he could not win against Lord Verethragna.
"As demands duty and chivalry I have come forth to protect my fair queen. Alas, when I look upon you, My Lord, I cannot help but feel regret. An overwhelming sense of sadness. I feel as though we should not be enemies. That this knight should be fighting alongside thee," Sir Lancelot said, prompting Guinevere to admit to herself that she too felt the same way. There was something about Lord Verethragna that made her want to serve him. To devote herself to him in the way that she was supposed to devote herself to her master.
"Yes, we needn't be enemies," Lord Verethragna said, prompting Guinevere's heart to flutter at the thought, "so long as you give me the Holy Grail."
Guinevere stood, and once again gave a reverent bow before saying, "It is regrettable, and I must admit that refusing you does pain my heart. However, I have a duty to my master that must be fulfilled, and to do so I will require the use of the Holy Grail."
"Then I have no choice but to take the Grail by force." The shift was instantaneous, a flash of golden light. Gone was the handsome youth that she had just been conversing with and in his place stood a magnificent warrior, his golden armour glowing like the light of the sun.
The attack came quickly. A golden sword materialized in the god's hand and swung so as to remove Guinevere's head with a single slash. She was helpless to defend herself. She could do nothing more than watch as the blade came ever closer to taking her life. However, Sir Lancelot was not so helpless. The peerless knight could perceive and counter the invincible war god's strike, intercepting the golden sword with his own and turning the slash away from the mistress he served.
"Your blade shall not reach the fair queen Guinevere so long as Lancelot du Lac stands guard!" her brave knight roared. He urged his steed forward and with great effort used a flurry of sword slashes and thrusts to push back the golden warrior.
Each of Sir Lancelot's blows came fast and strong. When he had done battle with the Black Prince, the God Slayer had needed to use his Authority of lightning speed to avoid these attacks. But Verethragna handled her knight's onslaught with ease. Guarding and parrying with a masterful display of martial skill.
"I had predicted that this would be the inevitable outcome, given the circumstances. Very well then! I shall slay the guardian before turning my sword against the bearer of the Grail!"
The two combatants seemed to be battling each other to a stalemate, their blades clashing and filling the air with the ringing of steel. But to Guinevere's horror this was soon proven to not be the case. Lord Verethragna's sword changed suddenly to become a spear, slipping past Sir Lancelot's sword and shield to pierce the knight. Only his skill saved him from suffering a fatal wound. By twisting his body out of the spears path, the golden blade only cut into the side of his body, effortlessly slicing through her brave knight's armour. A desperate swing from Sir Lancelot's sword forced his opponent to back away, but the knight had still been left grievously injured. Blood flowed from the wound on his side, leaking down his leg and dripping onto the ground.
Once again a change came over Lord Verethragna, transforming him from a golden warrior into a large bird of prey. With a flap of his wings he took to the sky, soaring above their heads, growing faster with each beat of his wings, until he vanished. The god had begun moving so fast that he could no longer be followed by the naked eye.
Guinevere called out to her knight as memories of her nemesis, the Black Prince, invaded her mind, "Sir Knight, be weary! Lord Verethragna possesses an Authority of god-speed!"
"So it would seem. But this knight is no stranger to facing foes with such abilities."
Sir Lancelot's sword glowed and changed, becoming a long silver lance, his weapon of choice. He then urged his horse into motion. Once it had reached a gallop, the horse jumped and took flight, running across the sky as though it were running across the earth.
The gallant knight and his trusted steed charged at their foe, entering the realm of god-speed. Such was the swiftness with which he rode, her loyal knight had also disappeared from Guinevere's sight. He would only appear again when he sought to turn, for her knight could only achieve god-speed on the charge. Unfortunately, Lord Verethragna possessed no such limitation as he continually attacked Sir Lancelot at god-speed. It was a testament to her protector's skill that he could fend off the invincible war god as well as he had. But as the battle dragged on, more and more gashes from the bird's talons appeared on his armour. Regardless, her knight never lost heart, defending himself as best as he could while searching for an opening to attempt another charge. Twice he would find such an opportunity, galloping forth at god-speed with the intent of striking down his foe with a single mighty blow.
Lord Verethragna, as a bird of prey, lacked the attacking power to breach the knight's armour, while the only attack that Sir Lancelot possessed with enough speed to reach Lord Verethragna was his charge. Unfortunately, due to the predictable nature of her knight's attack, the god could easily evade. Their clash had quickly become a war of attrition. Guinevere was saddened by the knowledge that eventually her knight would be worn down by Lord Verethragna's relentless assault. Sir Lancelot's defeat appeared to her as an inevitability.
Such was the fate of any who would face the invincible war god whose domain was victory in all things.
Lord Verethragna flew through the sky upon swift wings, striking the knight with sharp talons, searching for a weak point in Sir Lancelot's defence. But the knight remained stoic and held fast against the god's assault. Eventually, he appeared to find another opening and charged towards Lord Verethragna, disappearing as he once again entered the realm of god-speed. A moment later, a massive shockwave knocked Guinevere off of her feet. She was thrown backwards and tumbled across the ground, coming to a stop several dozen meters away from where she had been standing.
Groggily, she pulled herself back to her feet, her head still throbbing as Sir Lancelot returned to her side.
Guinevere gasped upon seeing him, "Oh Sir Knight. What a wretched state you have been reduced too. To have fought so hard to protect me. I must thank you once more for demonstrating such valiance."
His once flawless white armour was now streaked through with horrendous gashes, and the wound on his side was leaking red blood. Beaten and exhausted, he looked as though he only barely had the strength to keep hold of his lance and shield.
Dismounting from his horse, he knelt before her as his noble steed faded away and vanished, "Apologies, my fair queen, but it would seem that this is the limit of your knight's martial ability."
Guinevere stood before him, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss upon the visor of his helmet. "Do not apologize to me, Sir Knight. You have fought valiantly in my defence. Go, rest and recover your strength."
Sir Lancelot lowered his head, "Good fortune unto you, My Queen." With that farewell, the white knight faded and vanished like the morning mists, leaving fair Guinevere alone upon the empty field.
"So, your guardian has finally reached his limit. Had he been a proper Heretic God, instead of a Subordinate God, he may have been able to fare better against me," the wind said as it swirled around her before returning to the form of a handsome youth. Lord Verethragna appeared largely uninjured, with the sole exception of the minor injury upon his chest. He gently touched his wound and then looked at his fingers, now stained with a smattering of blood, "His final charge was a remarkable attack. Had I been a lesser god then it may have been capable of slaying me."
"Yes," Guinevere replied, "My Lord's strength truly is a wonder to behold."
Lord Verethragna smiled before once again changing his shape, this time taking on the form of a ram. Upon adopting this new visage, the wound that Sir Lancelot had inflicted upon him began to heal, and within moments it vanished.
Upon returning to the form of a youth, now free of any injury, he said, "Now that you have climpsed my power I will ask once more, will you hand the Holy Grail over to me?"
Guinevere thought hard about this decision. Refusal meant death, and throwing aware her life, which Sir Lancelot had fought so valiantly to defend, would dishonour her noble protector. But handing over the Grail would jeopardize her mission to resurrect her master.
Perhaps it would be best to hand him the Grail and simply wait for an opportunity to retrieve it, she thought. I may even be able to add Lord Verethragna's power to the accumulated magic that the Grail contains.
"Very well …"
However, before she could give her answer, a purple light appeared, surrounding Lord Verethragna and binding him. He screamed in pain as he struggled against the spell that assailed him. A spell that was completely unknown to her.
How is this possible? What spell could be powerful enough to affect a god as mighty as Lord Verethragna in such a way?
Lord Verethragna continued to struggle, his visage changing constantly. He would repeatedly shift between his ten incarnations, but not a single one could free him from the spell.
"Curse you, mage!" Lord Verethragna bellowed as he was consumed in a flash of light and disappeared.
Guinevere stood upon the field, stunned by what she had just witnessed. She tried to sense the god's presence and was confused by what she found. It was as though he had been torn into ten pieces and scattered upon the wind.
"Wow, that was pretty close, huh," the voice of a chipper young man said from behind her. Guinevere turned and was met with what she could only describe as a young man in his mid-twenties, wearing a wizard's robes. The hood was pulled up over his silver hair and he held a long wooden staff in his hand. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, however, she could not place how it was that she knew him. But it was his existence that troubled Guinevere most.
"What manner of being are you?" she asked. She could see the divinity that he held, and yet he was not a Heretic God. His was a presence similar to that of the god slaying kings. The Divine Art of Usurpation always left a mark upon the soul of the one who received their divinity by such means, instilling a natural sense of revulsion into any deity that encountered them. However, she felt no such thing from this man. He possessed the qualities of a God Slayer, but was not one.
"Hmm, I suppose you wouldn't remember me. After all, I never met you. Well, regardless, it doesn't really matter. I just wanted to prevent Verethragna from getting the Grail. If he had done that he could have thrown the whole plan for a loop," the man replied with a charming smile and twinkle in his blue eyes.
Guinevere frowned, "And what plan do you speak of?"
The man simply approached her and patted her head as though she were a child, "You're so cute when you pout." She petulant swatted his hand away, prompting the strange man to laugh and turn to leave.
"You just keep on doing what you've been doing, Gwennie! Toodles!"
The man vanished with a thunderous crack as he apparated away. Leaving Guinevere, the Witch Queen of Brittany, alone once more.
The weather was hot. So hot that it had forced the residents of Privet Drive to flee into the cool interior of their homes. Some windows had been left open to tempt a stray breeze inside while others remained closed, relying on the air conditioner to keep the occupants cool. Even the yards and gardens had not been spared from the heatwave. Up and down the street there wasn't a green lawn in sight.
However, the blistering heat couldn't deter one young man. As the end of another long summer day approached, Harry Potter lay on his back, hidden amongst the flower bed. Beneath the open living room window of Number Four Privet Drive he could hear the evening news. Stories of little consequence followed one after another, but he paid close attention all the same.
He had long since given up on trying to watch the news inside. His uncle, Vernon Dursley, loathed having Harry live under his roof and could barely manage to stomach his nephew's presence. But, stomach it he did, allowing Harry to remain in his home. What Vernon couldn't tolerate was Harry using any of the luxuries that he had worked so hard to buy.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Vernon Dursley shouted upon finding Harry in front of the television one morning.
"I'm watching the news," replied Harry, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Why?!"
"To find out what's going on," Harry said, his tone mocking.
"Don't get smart with me, boy! Why do you suddenly care so much about what's going on?!" uncle Vernon asked, his face starting to turn red.
"I just wanted to see if anything was happening."
"Well, there's nothing for you to see. Not like your lot would wind up on the news anyway. There are already enough freaks making their way onto these programs. Nobody wants to be hearing about … them!" his uncle spat before pointing a meaty finger at Harry. "I don't want any more of your nonsense in this house, boy. Do I make myself clear?" Harry just nodded in response. "Good. Now don't you go messing around with my television. I don't want you breaking it."
Uncle Vernon didn't really care about the TV breaking. No, he just didn't want Harry using it. His uncle was nothing more than a bully, refusing to share his toys.
This is what led to Harry lying in the garden, eavesdropping while his relatives watched the news. He desperately needed information about Voldemort. Disappearances, murders, mass destruction. Anything which could be considered a sign that Voldemort was making a move. But there was nothing happening.
In the living room, Harry could hear the news cast discussing the latest celebrity affair.
"Can you believe that woman, Vernon," aunt Petunia said. "The trollop has no morals."
"No discipline. That's the problem with these rich celebrity types. Too much time and money makes them loose and irresponsible. I say, they wouldn't possibly be able to handle a single day of real work."
"Nothing like our little Duders,"
"Quite right, my dear. Strapping young man! Just like his father!"
"To be out having tea with his friends!" his aunt simpered. "Just goes to show that our boy and his friends were raised right. I just hope that he gets home before dark. I couldn't bear the thought of him running into one of those shifty types."
"You worry too much Petunia. Besides, even if someone tried anything, Dudley would sort them out. School boxing champion! I couldn't be more proud! The boy's turning out to be a real man. Not some scrawny little pansy like the Miller's boy a few houses down."
Harry couldn't help but scoff. The Dursleys looked down on anyone that wasn't normal, or at least what they considered normal. In reality they just looked down on anyone that wasn't them. The fact that they still thought Dudley was some god sent angel only proved that they didn't know what they were talking about.
Regardless, Harry stopped listening to the television. If they were talking about celebrity drama, then that could only mean there wasn't going to be any news of the variety that Harry was keeping an ear out for.
It has been more than a month since he returned to Number Four Privet Drive and every day he tried to catch a glimpse of something that proved Voldemort was on the move. And everyday he found nothing. The muggle news wasn't reporting anything strange and The Daily Prophet wasn't running anything that suggested there was a homicidal Dark Lord on the loose.
Because of Rita Skeeter's so-called 'journalism' last year, Harry had no real interest in reading the Daily Prophet. But he still kept an eye on the front page. If there was going to be any news regarding Voldemort, then Harry figured that it would have to be on the front page. He just couldn't care less about whatever else the paper had to say. So he would throw it in the bin if there wasn't anything he cared about printed on the front.
Another day, and still nothing, Harry lamented. How could nothing be happening! Voldemort has returned! I saw him! I watched Cedric …
*Crack*
A loud bang broke him from his thoughts. Harry bolted upright, pulling his wand from his back pocket. He looked around, scanning his surroundings for the source of the noise. But, he saw nothing. All he could see was the neighbours poking their heads out of their open windows to try and see what had made such a loud noise. Of course Harry's aunt and uncle were no exception.
"What's going on out here!" his uncle roared before his gaze fell on Harry, his wand still in hand. Uncle Vernon's face turned purple as his features tightened. "You!"
"Vernon!" Petunia squeaked. "The neighbours!"
His uncle seemed to pull himself away from whatever tirade he was about to launch into long enough to notice that all of their neighbours were staring at them.
He cursed under his breath before calling out to them in an obnoxiously loud voice, "Did you all hear that car backfire!" He gave an obviously fake laugh to try and brush the whole thing under the rug. But it seemed to satisfy the neighbours, each one retreating back inside as they threw suspicious glances towards the Dursley's home.
Vernon rounded on Harry before hissing, "Put. It. Away!"
"I didn't do anything," Harry insisted as he returned his wand to his back pocket.
"I told you that there would be none of your nonsense under my roof, boy!"
Harry couldn't help himself, "Even if I did do it, I wasn't under your roof. I'm outside."
"You little …" his uncle turned even more purple with rage. "I oughta …"
"You oughta what?" Harry asked as he crossed his arms, knowing full well that he was currently standing out of his uncle's reach.
"I know that you're up to something and when I find out what it is you'll wish you were never born!"
Harry just gave his aunt and uncle a mocking look, "Sure."
"Don't you take that tone with me boy!" Vernon shouted, drawing some of the more curious neighbours back to their windows. "Why were you hiding out here anyway?"
"I was listening to the news."
"Not this nonsense again!" Vernon bellowed. "I told you before, your lot -"
"Vernon! The neighbours are still watching." Petunia whispered urgently.
Harry could see that his uncle was having a hard time controlling himself. He had been miserable for the last month, but riling up his relatives was one of the few things that had managed to put a smile on Harry's face recently.
At one time Harry would have been afraid to make his uncle so mad. But after facing Voldemort multiple times, killing a basilisk and surviving the Triwizard tournament he no longer found himself intimidated by such a pathetic man. Harry knew that if he really wanted to he could hurt his uncle in ways too numerous to count, and uncle Vernon was also aware of this. He would bluster and shout to try and feel powerful, but he was too afraid of Harry to actually do anything.
"Why do you care about the news so much?" Vernon demanded in a much lower, but no less threatening tone. "Don't your kind have their own bloody newspaper or something? Isn't that why those ruddy owls keep showing up?"
"It is."
"Then stop listening to our news! You get your freak news so you don't need to be mucking up our peaceful lives!"
You say that as though I actually want to be here, Harry mentally snarled.
Harry was quickly growing tired of this conversation, and his relatives in general. He suddenly turned on his heels and set off, away from Number Four Privet Drive.
"Come back here, boy! I'm not done with you yet!"
"Darling, please! Let it go!"
Uncle Vernon's shouting had drawn more of the neighbours to their windows. As Harry walked away from the house and began making his way down the street, he would meet some of their gazes. Most of them seemed to regard him with looks that ranged between mistrustful and scathing. A youth of fifteen, Harry had a rather rough look to him. He was slightly skinny and awkward in the way that boys his age often are. His black hair was naturally wild and unruly. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt, torn jeans that looked like they needed a good washing and shoes that were so beaten and worn it was a miracle they didn't just fall apart. In all, it made for a rather shabby appearance. Which was what led the overly snobbish residents of Privet Drive to turn their noses up whenever they saw him.
Harry just needed to get away from Number Four. He couldn't get away from everything that was bothering him, but he could at least get away from that place. So he walked in no particular direction as he wandered his way to one of his preferred places to be alone. An old playground on Magnolia Crescent that was starting to fall into pretty serious disrepair. Harry took a seat on one of the swings, the rusty chain creaking under his weight. He looked out towards the setting sun as it neared the horizon and painted the sky a nice mix of red, yellow and orange.
Harry knew that he shouldn't have antagonized his relatives like he did, but he just couldn't help himself. After Voldemort's return and Cedric's death, Harry just didn't have the patience to deal with the Dursleys. He chided himself for once again losing his cool. He knew that the best way to deal with his relatives was to lay low and ignore them, as they were equally happy to ignore Harry so long as he was out of sight and out of mind.
I'll just wait until it gets late and sneak back in without them noticing. Maybe I can even send Hedwig off to Hermione, Ron and Sirius.
The amount that he had heard from his friends and godfather had been one of the main things eating at Harry over the last few weeks. The problem was that they weren't telling him anything about what was going on or what they were up to.
Ron and Hermione's letters were always filled with excuses and apologies. Claiming that they weren't able to tell him anything. Sirius, on the other hand, only wrote to tell him to stay out of trouble.
The worst part of it all was how alone he felt. They all clearly knew something and were keeping from him. He wanted to know what it was. He wanted to see them and talk to them. He didn't want to be alone anymore.
All this uncertainty and isolation was really getting to him. His friends, Mr and Mrs Weasly, Professor Dumbledor, Sirius. None of them were telling him anything. He wanted to help with whatever they were doing, but he didn't even know what was going on in the magical world. He just knew that he should be doing something. He should know what the hell was going on outside of his relatives' tiny little world instead of nicking newspapers from trash bins or lying in flower beds to try and piece together what was happening.
Harry let out a heavy sigh, growing more and more frustrated with each passing moment.
Voldemort is back and nothing seems to have changed, he thought miserably. How could nothing have changed?! There has to be something going on, but I don't know what is happening! And why the bloody hell won't anyone explain anything to me!
A part of him wished desperately for everything that transpired during the third task to have been a bad dream, but he knew better. There was no way he could hide from the truth. Voldemort had regained a body and returned. The magical world was likely at war, Harry was all alone, and Cedric was dead.
Recently, his thoughts always seemed to come back to Cedic. He was constantly asking himself 'what if'. What if he hadn't insisted that they both take the cup? What if he had noticed Pettigrew sooner?
What if I hadn't been so weak? Luck was the only reason I got away from Voldemort. If I had been more powerful I could have stopped Pettigrew from bringing his master back. Or better yet, just killed the snake faced bastard myself.
He felt completely useless.
So Harry just sat there on the creaky swing as he was bombarded by oppressive heat and watched the sun creep its way over the horizon.
"That was hilarious, Big D!"
A loud and obnoxious voice broke the silence of the park and knocked Harry back to reality. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, but at some point the sun had disappeared. The stars and the moon now dominated the night sky.
"Little punk shoulda known better than to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."
Harry could tell who was walking his way thanks to the racket they were making. He would know those voices anywhere. Harry caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye as they walked along the side of the road. Dudley and his gang: Piers, Dennis, Gordon, and Malcolm.
So much for having tea, Harry thought as he recalled what his aunt was convinced Dudley and his friends were doing.
Harry wasn't so naive, and neither was anyone else in the surrounding area. Dudley and his friends were notorious bullies when they were younger and they had recently graduated into more serious offences. Now the gang seemed to spend most of their time smoking, vandalizing property and beating on anyone who was either younger or smaller than them. Harry thought that the way Dudley beat up younger kids was pretty pathetic, but he was getting so good at it that it was actually starting to become concerning.
The boxing may have helped shave off a few pounds but it just went and created a whole new problem.
As Dudley and his gang swaggered their way down the street, closer and closer to where Harry was, he wondered whether or not they would notice him. If they did, he knew that they would come and start trouble. Dudley wouldn't actively confront Harry if he was alone, being too scared of his magic, but his cousin was stupid and so desperate to seem tough that he would if his friends egged him on.
A darker part of Harry's mind wanted them to notice him. It wanted them to approach and pick a fight. Harry still had his wand. He could easily take care of them. Show them that he wasn't weak.
Fortunately, they didn't seem to notice him as they walked by and disappeared around the bend that led back the way Harry had come.
Harry groaned and ran a hand through his messy black hair. Even if they had picked a fight with him, it would have only ended with Harry getting in trouble for using magic on muggles.
Well Sirius, are you happy? I didn't do what you would have done.
Harry then got up and began making his way back to Privet Drive. Now that Dudley was on his way home, that meant it was time for Harry to get back. Curfew at the Dursleys' always seemed to be whenever Dudley happened to get home. The last thing Harry wanted was to be locked out of the house for getting back late. Sure, he could just use magic to get in if he needed to, but he wasn't supposed to use magic outside of school.
It didn't take long for Harry to catch up with his cousin. The funny thing was that Dudley wasn't alone. His friends had clearly all gone their own separate ways, but Dudley had somehow found himself in the company of a girl.
Harry couldn't help but feel bad for her while wondering who she was.
In the end it didn't matter, he would step in regardless. It was an unfortunate truth in their neighbourhood that girls needed to stay away from Dudley and his gang, since they had a hard time taking no for an answer.
However, before Harry could intervene the girl said something that made his cousin back away. Dudley seemed to stammer out a reply before turning on his heels and fleeing as fast as he could, occasionally throwing nervous looks back towards the mysterious girl.
That certainly hadn't been what Harry was expecting to happen.
What in the world could have spooked him so much … Harry's thoughts suddenly trailed off as his mind started to come up with an answer. Is she … ?
The girl just stared at Dudley's back in stunned silence. It didn't take long for her to get over her shock and let loose an indignant huff as she angrily muttered to herself. Upon calming down she seemed to notice Harry. She then began making her way towards him, her steps light and confident.
Harry, for his part, was on edge. Tense and ready for anything, his hand drifted towards the back pocket that held his wand. However, once the girl got closer and he could fully take in her appearance, his mind ground to a halt as all of his tension melted away.
Red. That was the first thought that crossed his mind upon seeing her. A stunning beauty in a red shoulderless dress that gave a tantalizing glimpse of her impressive bust, hugging her slender waist while the skirts flowing down to her ankles. Her dainty feet, clad in white stockings, were fitted with red low-heeled shoes while a red and black mantle was loosely draped over her pale shoulders.
However, it was her face that truly pulled his attention. Her hair was a long, straight river of gold that framed angelic features, with full red lips and two blue eyes that seemed to shimmer under the street lamp.
Harry shook himself back to his senses.
Now is not the time to be ogling some girl.
"Good evening," she said once she had come to a stop a few feet in front of him.
"Evening," Harry greeted back as some of his tension returned.
"I assume that you saw me speaking to that rather uncouth boar a moment ago?" she asked.
"I did. Why? Did he say something to upset you?"
"Yes," she replied shortly. "All I did was ask him one simple question and he suddenly called me a freak. It was very rude. That boy clearly needs a thorough lesson in manners."
"I … see."
"Regardless, I shall ask you instead. I do hope that you will prove to be more useful. Where might I find Harry James Potter?"
It only took a second for Harry to draw his wand, but before he could even point it at the mysterious girl and stun her, he stopped. She was holding a slender steel rapier, the point pressed lightly against his throat.
How the hell … where did she get a sword? And how did she move so fast?
Harry had practised drawing his wand countless times in preparation for a moment just like this one. The disguised Barty Crouch Jr. had been impressed with his reaction time and draw speed, something that Harry continued to practice after returning to Privet Drive. He knew that he was at least pretty quick on the draw, but this girl was much faster. He also had a feeling, just by how she held her sword, that she was a better fighter than he was.
"My my. It would seem that you are even more boorish than the last one," the girl said in a playful tone. "Luckily for you, I am feeling rather gracious. So I will forgive you. If you can answer my question."
"Who are you?" Harry demanded.
"So impolite. You should give your own name before asking a lady for her's."
"Says the one with a sword pointed at my throat."
The girl only smiled in response, the tip of her sword biting ever so slightly into the soft flesh of his neck.
Seeing no other option he growled, "Harry Potter." The girl blinked a few times before she frowned and started closely examining his face.
"Really?" she asked, withdrawing her sword and using the tip to brush aside his bangs, revealing the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Harry's jaw clenched as his grip on his wand tightened. There were very few things that he hated more than having people gawk at that damned scar.
Seeing that telltale mark on his forehead seemed to make the girl relax and lower her sword. A part of Harry actually felt insulted that she would let her guard down so much. Almost as though she doesn't even consider him a threat.
"Well, it seems that you really are him."
"Yeah. Now, who are you?" Harry was running very short on patience. "Did Voldemort send you?"
"W-what?!" the girl sputtered, indignation maring her lovely face as the tip of her sword was once again pointed at him. "To even suggest that one such as I would be associated with the likes of the Death Eaters! How rude! Apologize!"
"R-right. Sorry."
With a huff of annoyance the girl once more lowered her sword as Harry looked at her forearms to confirm that she really wasn't a Death Eater. All he saw was creamy, unmarked skin.
"Good. Now come along."
The girl began walking away, her sword disappearing from her hand in a flash of silver light. But Harry made no move to follow her. His mind was reeling and he didn't know what he should do.
Noticing that he wasn't following her, the girl stopped and called back to him, "Hurry up. We've spent enough time standing in the middle of the street."
"What? Where are we going?" Harry asked, completely at a loss for how to deal with this girl.
"Isn't it obvious? I want to find a cafe so that we can have a seat and get a cup of coffee. Oh, you will be treating me, of course."
The girl began to start walking again, clearly intending for Harry to just follow her. However, Harry had no intention of just going along with whatever this girl wanted. He still had questions that he wanted answers to.
"Hold it!" he barked out, once again growing angry.
"Yes?" the girl replied, giving him the same annoyed look one would give a child that keeps asking stupid questions.
"Who are you and why were you looking for me?"
"Oh? You don't know who I am? Well then, I will have to rectify that," the girl stated before assuming a posture that was both proud and elegant. "I am Erica Blandelli, a knight of the Copper-Black Cross, and I was sent here to gather information on the Dark Lord known as Voldemort."