Cedric the Saxon finished his last evening patrol of the walls of Caereryr Castle, deep in the wild valleys and mountains of Wales, the last of the great Roman forts, around which, several further fortresses had been built, a Norman stone motte-and-bailey, then a huge medieval fortress and finally the artillery bastions of a Tudor fort.
It had been his home for fifteen-hundred years. His prison. He should never have crossed Lucius Artorius Castus, Arthur the Potter. It had been a mistake. Arthur could have claimed his life, but ensorcelled him to the bloodline of his own family. Bound, eternally. A curse, to see the world change before his eyes, bound within the curtain walls, unable to change anything himself. It was worse than an honourable death at the end of a sword. And yet, in years more recent, he had not been detested by the Potters, not an enemy. He had grown rather fond of some of them, no more than James, and his consort, Lillian.
Stepping into his study, he ran his hand down the shaft of a double-bladed battle axe, mounted on an elegant stand he'd carved centuries before in his spare time. It stood next to the aged colours of the Sixth Legion, which leaned against the wall in the corner of the room.
Cedric was physically a huge, bear-like man, with long, dirty-blond hair and a full beard with a few locks plaited, including the ends of his moustache. When doing his duties around the estate, he wore simple leather boots, nearly knee-length, loose cotton breeches and a wine-red tunic, with a seax short sword thrust through his belt.
However, stood on a stand in the shape of a man was a set of padded dragon-leather armour with several chainmail pieces laid over it and a wine-red robe woven with Saxon runes for protection, and a Saxon broadsword lay against the door, not used as anything more than a fire poker for many a year.
Settling back in a chair, he was just reaching for a bottle of mead when two of three simple crystal panes set in a stone square on a shelf shattered suddenly. They indicated the life signs of two of the last three Potters had been extinguished, and suddenly, most of the bindings on him dissolved. The last of his charges was defenceless, under-age, and it was to him that the burden of defending the family was laid.
Cedric contemplated for a few seconds simply leaving. A thousand years in a magically-saturated environment had lent him some magic of his own, he'd learnt to manipulate it. He could go anywhere in the world... a world he didn't know. He stood up, and with a simple gesture, utilised a switching spell. The air around his body was suddenly switched with dragon's leather and chainmail.
Shaking loose the mental cobwebs, he picked up his sword, tying the belt about his waist, before hefting the axe in one hand. He smiled. It was a thin, unpleasant smile. Then he vanished in a burst of grey smoke.
Long strides took him down the village road. Brushing aside the wards on the house like dust from a piece of furniture, Cedric spun around to see a small, pudgy boy, not a man by his standards. The figure was trying to sneak away from the property, so he slammed the axe into a nearby fence post and reached into a pouch.
His fingers came into contact with a strip of leather with a heavy weighted end. A bolas. Swinging it easily around his head, he hurled it with deadly accuracy. The metal weight dealt a dull blow to the back of Cedric's target's head. A second gesture from his hand wrapped the unconscious person in ropes, to be dealt with later.
The door was already blasted apart by an explosion. James Potter lay dead at the foot of the stairs, a bloodstained arming sword in one hand and a wand in the other, the bottom of the house a battlefield, torn apart by spells, conjurations, transfigurations. With a respectful nod, Cedric closed his eyes and continued on up the stairs. Stepping over what looked like a disgarded robe to find Lily dead, eyes closed as if asleep. Clutched in one hand was a ritual athame and the other hand had a long, shallow cut along the palm.
Blood magic. Not a subject he knew much about as he had no magic of his own in his blood. Something he'd have to change, Cedric amended as he approached the crib. With a freshly-bleeding scar, the youngest was still alive.
"Elf!" Cedric barked.
The Potter elves were the strongest of their kind, well-bred, like dwarfism-affected humans, but with better coordination. He wasn't surprised any more when they suddenly appeared with a bang.
"Sir?" asked the elf who appeared, clad in a long forest-green tunic.
"Take Hadrian to the castle. Kill anyone who threatens him." Cedric ordered before turning to face the discarded robe... with a wand lying by it.
Not Lily's.
He drove one of the points of the battleaxe's heads into the wand as he stepped over it and strode down the stairs. He intended to have a nice little discussion with the individual he'd incapacitated outside.
Sirius arrived in a gunshot sound to the sound of screams. Dashing forward, he found a huge bearlike man bending Peter, the traitor, over a tree stump while hefting his axe.
"Black, oathsworn son of the Potters." Cedric greeted him.
"Cedric." Sirius replied, holding his wand in a loose grip, ready to loose a vicious cutting curse. He'd always been more wary of the Potter's sinister manservant than James. "If I find you had anything to do with this and hurt my godson, then by all that's unholy I'll-"
"I cannot harm a member of Artorius the Potter's bloodline." growled the Saxon; "I'm about to kill one of your friends. I think you should watch."
"He betrayed them willingly?" asked Sirius.
"Yes. Led his master right to their door." Cedric replied; "Luckily their spawn's alive."
"Then... just do it. But where is my godson?" Sirius requested.
"In my custody Black." said Cedric, planting Pettigrew's face into the stump with one boot as he delivered a blow to his neck with the axe, severing it smoothly.
Then there was a swish, indicating displaced air as a portkey delivered another visitor. This time, an even bigger figure, tightly curled black hair all over his head.
"Hagrid! What the hell are you doing here!" demanded Sirius.
"Dumbledore told me tha' Lily an' James'd been killed. 's it true?" asked Hagrid.
"Yes." Sirius nodded soberly; "The rat betrayed them. Voldemort came. Harry's alive."
"Where? Dumbledore told me ta take 'im to 'is aunt's house." said Hagrid, brightening up.
"He's in my custody." growled Cedric, fingering his bloody axe.
"Who're you?!" demanded Hagrid.
"Cedric, sworn bodyguard, manservant and attack dog to the Potter Family." Cedric responded; "Now go and tell your boss that if he wants Harry, he can come and get him himself."
"You're not going to give Harry to Dumbledore! You heard Hagrid, Harry's aunt! Petunia loathed Lily!" Sirius roared as soon as a portkey whisked Hagrid away.
"Calm yourself Black before my hand spasms with my axe in it." warned Cedric, silencing Sirius; "Of course I won't hand the scion to an outsider, but I want to know how this Dumbledore type knew about the attack. Then I can get on with my job of keeping the Potter Family alive."
He was once again fingering the haft of his bloody axe. If this Dumbledore got in his way, he'd kill him. And then train Hadrian to do the same to any obstacles. Some said he came from a long-gone era, which was true, and some disapproved of his methods, but they did produce results.