Yuletide of Harry's 2nd Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The great doors of the castle slipped all of a foot open, a figure swathed in a warm, dark cloak slipped through the space. Harry's whole body was buzzing with old magicks, having given the hlaut, an offering of a sacrifice in the old ways. His own blood, burned with lengths of wood cut by his own hand in the Forbidden Forest. Harry had become too jaundiced to believe in an all-powerful all-merciful creator, and these old rituals brought his magic to the surface, churning through his veins by invoking beings of power beyond mortal ken.
It was as he was crossing the Entrance Hall that he espied a bulky figure, stood in the shade of the Christmas tree. Harry halted, wand slipping down his sleeve into his right hand from the bracer that held it. His other hand slipped into the back of his belt, drawing out a long stiletto knife. This was no teacher he recognised, nor was it the well-liked groundskeeper, Hagrid.
"You'll have no need of those, yet, young Potter." a warm voice announced as the large man turned to face him.
The stranger was clad in robes of subdued burgundy leather, the only hints to wealth and power being a gold clasp of a roaring lion's head holding his cloak closed at the neck and a similar clasp of silver depicting some form of stag that buckled his umber-coloured belt. No wand was visible, though could well have been hidden within the loose confines of his red leather robe.
"Who are you." Harry's voice sounded across the hall, low and emotionless as he continued to slowly slip his weapons into his hands. He'd relish a little information from which to build some biting repartee, followed by swift mortal combat.
"Peace, I bring a gift on behalf of Godwin, the Sorting Hat." the stranger announced; "It is by his authority and power that I have entered through all the defences of this castle unharmed."
Harry slowly returned his knife to the back of his belt and allowed his wand to return to the bracer where it lived when not in use, but within a moment's reach. For all his enjoyment of combat and the magic that buzzed through his veins, he feared that, against one who could penetrate the school thus, they would do little good.
"Perhaps you'll come to regard it as your right hand." mused the man, bending over a large leather sack with both arms searching through it before coming out with a parcel, wrapped in crimson velvet and bound about the centre by golden rope. He turned to Harry offering it to him; "This is no toy, but a tool, a tool of war. You may yet call upon it in your hour of need, but now it is given freely."
Harry stared up into the careworn face, a somewhat bushy grey beard adorning it, searching the man's eyes for any deception before slowly unwrapping the parcel. The velvet fell away as the gold rope was released, revealing burgundy leather and gleaming metal. Harry's hand wrapped around the cool leather of the grip, and with one smooth movement, unsheathed a sword, the blade gleamed cold in the firelight.
"When the Lion bares his teeth, winter meets its death. When he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again." the stranger breathed as Harry examined the runes running down the cold steel.
"You recognise what it is..?"
"A lion's sword. Enough weight to deal a terrible blow, yet not heavy. Balanced close to the hilt." Harry cast awed gazes up and down the blade, giving it a few test swings, for it was like being reunited with a missing limb. Gleaming, perfectly balanced and razor sharp, he felt magic pulse through his veins as he gripped it.
"This is a sword for giants among minnows. It is a tool, a weapon with which acts of heroism may be performed, and, as easily, it can be used for acts of the deepest darkness. Thus it brings with it a burden, a burden of responsibility. Are you prepared for such?"
"And what is to be my burden?" Harry asked, finally lowering the sword and letting the distant flames flicker off the mirror-finish.
"To turn the tide. You know, as well as I do what foulness resides in this world, lying beyond these walls. And it is merely the rot, the worst of the symptoms of a far worse disease. One that can only be cleansed by fire." the stranger's face was solemn, lines deepening in it; "Can you bear it?"
"I don't know." Harry admitted, thinking over his words; "But that doesn't mean I can't try."
"I have one last gift, who will make himself apparent to you soon, but I should go now, and let you sleep and feast the Yule away, and perhaps think of a name for your blade." the solemn face broke into a wide smile that could have lit up a room; "In time, perhaps, we shall meet again. Merry Christmas!"
A deep throb of laughter followed the visitor as he hoisted his sack over his shoulder and vanished into the huge fireplace, a burst of flames obscuring him, and then when they died down, showed the hearth to be empty. Harry found the scabbard, the velvet wrap and the golden rope lying at his feet, and carefully sheathed the sword, wrapping it once more. He did not need it... yet.
Turning to head for the staircase, Harry came face to face with a grim apparition. The one known as the Bloody Baron.
"My lord." Harry greeted him respectfully, never so foolish as to underestimate the power of the spectres who haunted the school.
"Mister Potter." the ghost replied with a slight incline of his head; "I wish you a... fruitful... Christmas and ask that you join me at dawn a day hence in the old Armoury Tower. And bring your sword, you shall have need of it."
"My lord?" queried Harry.
"I will instruct you there in the art of the sword for an hour at dawn and an hour at nightfall, every day." the Bloody Baron continued; "And as calling me 'my lord' will become tedious very quickly, you may address me as Nádasdy, Count Ferenc Nádasdy."
Then the spectre drifted off, leaving Harry to his thoughts and the weight of the sheathed blade in his hands. With a glance around, he tightened his cloak around himself and set off up the seven floors to the Gryffindor Tower.