Disclaimer: Rowling and Zelazny, something and something, but not something mine.

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The Trump of Merlin

Always

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You are smiling a fake smile. Sirius is trying too much. He's visibly tired and drained, yet he insists of carrying on with a cheerful mood. He's trying to get you liven up as well, but you don't know if that's a good idea. In the past few hours you have been sent a fake vision from Voldemort, endangered you fellow classmates, fought in a swordfight you lost horribly, spent two hours healing, and had spoken to the oldest wizard in the planet. You don't really see anything to celebrate.

"Sirius."

"What?"

"You're stalling." You look around the piles of junk he was digging through. "Can we go and see him now?"

He gives up. "If you really want to. I don't believe anything good can come out of it. But, let's at least give you something I promised." He strolls towards a corner he apparently didn't check on purpose and after a minute or two, takes out a few blades and scabbards. Couple are rusty, but the rest look fine.

One of those fits the blade. The scabbard isn't perfectly fitting, but at least holds the sword firmly at your side, the Black family coat of arms engraved on the outside.

"I think it belonged to some ancestor of mine, probably a ceremonial blade for some fancy ball, thrown away after one use." Sirius throws the original sword back into the pile unceremoniously. "I hope you don't mind the markings, when I'll get a new wand, I'll transfigure something else for you."

"It's not that important..." You wave it off – you don't really care aside from keeping the sword itself. "Can we go now?"

Sirius leads you down the stairs, then to the end of the corridor and down into the even darker an gloomier part of the house. There is only a handful of rooms with heavy steel doors. Sirius opens one of them, and goes in first. You follow him.

There, his right leg and both hands chained to the wall, stands the stranger from the third card. The chains are long enough to allow him sit on the ground or take a few steps, but not much more. There seems to not even be a single mark left of Snape's visit. The light in the room is from a few candles, spelled to last longer. It's the room full of shadows and you are starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Where's Snape?" you whisper to Sirius. "Why isn't he here?"

"He left when you were still asleep." He whispers back and puts a hand on your shoulder. "I wanted you and me both to cool off before seeing him. Nothing was going to change in an hour and Snape said he had all he needed for an antidote."

You give Sirius a hard stare. Why did he lie? Still, if you had gone just after waking up, you would have done something you might have regretted later.

The man in chains laughs a chilly laugh. "You know, you can talk outside? I was trying to get some sleep."

Anger is slowly rising inside you, but Sirius hand is keeping you in check. "Who are you?"

"Luke." He smiles. "I'd offer my hand, but as you can see, I'm slightly at a disadvantage."

"Why did you try to kill us?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I was trying to kill only you." He rattles the chains slightly, shifting to another position. "I regret what I had to do to girl; she was the one that gave me this." He touches an already fading scar from the Severing curse. "I only reacted out of instinct."

"Why?" Your voice is shivering. "Why did you try to kill me?"

Sirius squeezes your shoulder with his left hand. It looks like he isn't happy either.

Luke gestures at your side. "I wanted to take it back. It belongs to me."

"It's mine." How many times will you have to repeat it for him to understand?

"Maybe it is now..." He trails off. "Maybe it isn't. Do you even know its name?"

You touch the handle slightly and whisper. "Werewindle."

His eyes betray his astonishment, even as his face remains neutral. "My father made it. A long time ago. How did you come to possess it?"

"I found it."

"Very well, keep your secrets." He licks his lips. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"No," Sirius pipes in.

"Pity," Luke rolls his eyes. "So, kid, whose are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who are you working to? Merle had similar hair. Any relation? Is that your true face, even?"

You're getting tired of his games. "I want some answers from you."

He smiles. "Well, I'm all ears..."

You ponder for a second, is it a good idea to let on that you have no idea what is going on? Probably not, but do you have any good options? You decide to try and play safer for a start.

"Who were you talking to, just before you attacked me?"

"Random." He falls silent.

After a few seconds of his silent breathing you ask once more. "Not going to give any details?"

"No."

"What can you tell me about your trump?" You use the word you heard from Nicolas.

He lets out a short laugh. "Well, there aren't many lying around, for one. But, one can never really track where all of his are." He shifts again, leaning against the wall. "I think I know your problem, kid."

"Stop calling me that," you snap.

"I don't exactly have your name, to call you anything else."

"Harry."

"Alright," Luke says slowly. "Look, Harry, I think that we started everything on the wrong foot. I know that now it may seem that I wish you harm, but it was nothing personal. I was just trying to get the sword of my father. He's dead, and Werewindle is priceless to me. I'm sure you understand. Your man, the one I talked with before, has the cure... When the little girl wakes up, we should talk again. Then, I'll answer the questions honestly, and will help you with whatever problems you have."

"Voldemort?" You mutter under your breath.

"Sorry, never heard of him."

Sirius frowns. "Everyone knows about Voldemort. He's the dark lord that is rising in power again..."

Luke just shrugged. "Well, I'm not everyone. A powerful wizard is not completely new to me; I think we could work something out. Again, it's probably best to wait a little. I'd use whatever hospitality you can spare till then."

You leave him there, still chained to the wall.

"Werewindle?" Sirius asks, once you return upstairs.

"It's the name of the sword."

"How do you know?"

"Magic." You smile at your godfather.

"Harry." He looks slightly disappointed. "This isn't the time for jokes. When did you learn the name?"

"I..." You stumble looking for an answer and say something that sounds almost right. "I think I heard Luke thinking about it."

Sirius scratches his head. You are thinking the same thing as he probably is. Did you manage legilimency somehow, or was Luke the one who tried to read you?

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Albus Dumbledore arrives together with Nicolas Flamel. There aren't that many people in the house to greet them. Remus is sleeping again; Tonks is looking after him, so there's only Sirius with you, massaging his already healed right arm. Kreacher is the one looking after Luke. The elf is under stricter orders and Sirius is still thinking whether he wants it dead or not.

Still, both old men are radiating power upon their entrance. It is kind of strange calling Nicolas old, as he looks both younger and healthier than your godfather. Sirius offers his hand and Nicolas shakes it. After that, his eyes turn to you.

"Harry Potter." He smiles. "It's good to see you in the flesh. You have stirred some forgotten arts, and raised the curiosity of the old minds." He gestures to himself and Albus. "I hope both of us will be enough to shed some light on the questions you might have."

"Thank you," you mutter, slightly overwhelmed by their presence. You can feel Werewindle pulsing at your side, reacting to something inside Flamel.

Albus nods, levitating a wooden box up to and onto the table. It unfolds before your eyes, and disappears, leaving the three paintings from the Department of Mysteries.

"What are these paintings?" You were promised answers and you want them.

"They are similar to the trumps. In fact, they all share very similar properties and each and every one of them have been painted by one wizard."

"Who?" It's Sirius, who voices a question.

"Merlin."

You scratch your head. Something isn't right. The painting of London looks too new... And Hogwarts... "But, isn't Merlin a lot older than Hogwarts?"

Albus has the usual twinkle in his eyes. "Merlin is special..."

"He was the only wizard to manipulate time to such an extent," says Nicolas, "I don't want to boast, but my life's project was based on the source of his power. I'm sorry that I can't say much more, as the arithmantic and alchemical equations would bore you to an early demise. It's not a well known fact, but he even went to Hogwarts for a year or two, I believe."

"Really?" Sirius grins. "I bet he was a Gryffindor."

Albus chuckles. "Slytherin, actually. Took only N.E.W.T. level Divination and Herbology, if the rumours are to be believed. He could probably have taught anything else himself."

"But we have strayed from the course," Nicolas smiles at the horrified expression of your godfather. "The paintings are the pinnacle of his work; they would have change the way we all travel and communicate... It's sad that the secret of their usage requires something only Merlin had. And, apparently – you."

"How are they used?"

"Well, you have succeeded in contacting me? That means you are doing it right. Merlin left no exact instructions for them. They have never worked when I tried."

Not everything is adding up, but you nod, mostly content with the explanation. "What about the sword?"

Nicolas finally takes notice of the blade, hanging at your side. His eyes widen, but he collects himself rather quickly. "Could you take it out?"

You obey, drawing the sword slowly, and, still holding a firm grip, extend it forward for him to examine.

"A thing to admire, it is of an interesting craftsmanship..."

"Do you like my other works, Bleys?" You whisper. "Or do you want to lie to me further?"

Nicolas recoils as if slapped and answers something in a strange language you have heard before. Your head is pounding like there is a stampede of elephants running everywhere. He and Albus both share a worried look. You stagger and almost fall to the ground.

"Harry." Dumbledore looks really worried. "You need to put the sword away."

"No," You straighten up, legs shaking, and twist the blade to point it at Flamel. "No. Not before he answers me." Your left hand dives into the pocket drawing your grandfather's trump, and you show the picture to Nicolas. "Tell me his name! You have to tell me his name first! Tell him the name."

Albus has a wand in his hand, but Nicolas doesn't. He isn't event trying to move.

"Tell me my name!"

"Brand."

You drop the blade on the ground and collapse beside it.

You come to it as Sirius is putting you into the bed. It takes him some effort, as his right hand has only just been healed. "Where is the sword?"

"I'm sorry, Harry." He pats your arm. "You need to rest."

"I need the sword."

"No, Harry, it's too dangerous. Please, listen to me. Rest."

You trash around for a few frantic minutes, as Sirius is slowly trying to calm you down.

"I'm sorry." You finally give up. "I'll try to sleep."

"Good." He ruffles your hair. "I'll be back in an hour to check up on you."

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Maybe twenty, maybe forty minutes later you realize you won't get any sleep and should probably stop even trying. You start reliving the ministry again. Then, it hits you – Ginny is dying... Kingsley died because of your foolishness. Neville and Hermione are in St. Mungos. You almost lost your godfather. Had he really been down there, he would have died.

You sob in the dark, eyes watering against your will.

You hit your side in anger. It hurts. The pain helps a little.

You still need to see them. It will hurt, but you have to. To speak with Ron, to whisper to Ginny, to hold Hermione's hand...

Getting out of the bed, you slowly walk downstairs. It's silent in the house, the steps are slightly creaking. Sirius is in the kitchen, sleeping, his head resting on the table. There is a small piece of paper, crumpled in his hand.

You carefully tug it out, without waking him. It's a letter, a really short one.

Ginny's awake. We'll come in the morning.

Arthur.

You feel slightly relieved. Of course, you still need to see them, and there was no word about Hermione, but now you are willing to wait at least until Sirius wakes. Or should you wake him?

You are woken from your thoughts by a few muffled sounds, coming from downstairs. Taking out your wand you rush down, the floor creaking with your steps. Sirius manages to sleep through all that.

As you reach the room with the steel door, you understand what the noise was about – Kreacher is throwing all kinds of insults, some of them so loud that sound reaches through the heavy door.

For a second you think about turning back. But then – he had told you to come and speak with him when Ginny woke. And he has promised answers. Maybe you should call Sirius? No, Luke is chained and has no weapons.

As the door opens, Kreacher quiets down, and shuffles himself in the corner. Luke is awake and his eyes are searching for yours. But you remain in slight shadow.

"You're back." Luke smiles. "And I thought all I had, was the company of a crazy deformed midget."

Kreacher grinds his teeth at that, but Sirius had ordered him staying silent in front of certain people, one of those – you.

"You promised me answers."

"I did. I gather the girl is awake?"

You nod, asking the question that's bugging you since you heard the name. "Who is Brand?"

"Genius. Visionary. Madman." Luke smiles. "He was my father."

"Was?"

"He died."

You find the grandfather's card in your pocket and show it to him.

"Yes, that's definitely him."

"I..." You struggle to say the right thing. "I was told that he is my grandfather."

"It is possible." He nods. "I guess that this makes me your uncle. Still, I would have placed you with Corwin's line; he had the same eyes Brand did. Where are your parents?"

"They died."

"Pity." Luke scratches his head, shackles shaking, it doesn't look that he cares much about it.. "Who killed them?"

"Voldemort. When I was a year old. How do you know that they were killed?"

"Those of Amber blood rarely die in any other ways. Given our lifespan..."

Amber – it's the word that radiates some hidden meaning. The word, that's powerful by its own...

"Amber?" you can't help but ask.

"It's the City that all of us hail from. Amber is of Substance, and everything else is but a Shadow."

"I don't understand. Where is it? Why it's different?"

"It's almost impossible to explain. I could bring you there, if you would like me to..."

You stare at nothing for a while unsure how to respond to the proposal.

"How did you find the Werewindle?" He's the first to break it apart.

"It called to me."

"So it truly is yours." He laughs. "I didn't expect that."

"I don't want it anymore." You confess. "It whispers to me. I'm afraid that it's changing me. I called Nicolas by a different name; I knew its name without hearing it from anyone."

"Nicolas? What did you call him?"

"Bleys."

Luke swears in some other language. "Look, I think I know how to help you. You haven't walked the Pattern yet and probably don't even know what it is. I'll have to show you, and you'll have to walk through it."

You blink at his enthusiasm.

"Harry, it is very important that you do so. And, we need to do it before Bleys makes his move."

"But isn't Nicolas...?"

He interrupts you. "Your 'Nicolas' held your grandfather chained in a tower for a few years. Your 'Nicolas' attacked Amber with an army to conquer and rule. Bleys is the one half of Amber has been looking for years. He is up to something and it's not going to be pretty, nor good. When he recognises me... We have to leave before that." He stands up, and offers you a hand – free of the chains. "I'm offering you help, and I'm not asking anything in return. The control over Pattern would give you a weapon for whatever foes you might have here. Your Shadow's magic shouldn't affect you as much. It means that the magical spells will have to be more powerful to hold you."

"Why should I trust you, you tried to kill me?" Still, there is a possibility he's telling the truth – he is your uncle after all, he didn't know that before. He does sound sincere enough...

"And now, I'm trying to help you. I have stayed here when I could have already escaped and perhaps even stolen the father's sword. Let's say that I wish to amend the hurt I inflicted upon your friends."

You hesitate, but then shake Luke's hand. You are going to risk it.

"Good," he whispers, "lead me out of this place, and I'll show you what you can really do."

You're probably gone mad, but asking Kreacher to let you both leave was enough to counter any order about Luke Sirius had told him. Then, struck by an inspiration, you ask him to bring you the sword. Kreacher grins like his lifetime wish had just come true and pops with it just after a few seconds. You get the feeling that the little elf is enjoying every chance to get at Sirius. Kreacher is probably trying to get himself killed.

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Werewindle at your side, you leave the Grimmauld Place number 12, Luke leading the way. After a few streets the world starts feeling strange and you feel as if you were riding aboard the Hogwarts Express. Except that you are just walking. The night sky flickers, some constellations shift places for a moment, but then it violently slaps back into place. Your head starts hurting, and Luke is swearing like a sailor.

"Forgot the way?" You smile at him.

"Something is blocking it..."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" you whisper, your hand clasping Werewindle's handle, "A golden cage fit for the royal blood. Just imagine what could I have created, had I the Jewel in my hands."

"Harry?"

You snap out of it. "Why did you let me take the blade?"

"What, and leave it to Bleys? And you probably wouldn't give it to me even if I asked. Don't worry, it won't harm you. Now, please, be silent, I'm going to try and change something else."

You both wander for two hours, maybe more. Luke finally gives up, after so many headaches you both can barely stand.

"Harry?"

You grunt something in response.

"I need you to look into the blade with your mind. There must be something that could help..."

You want to say that you have no idea how to do it, but then it comes to you. As simple as breathing. "There is an island. Something is there..."

"Do you know where it is?"

"No." You make a pause. "But there was a painting..."

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