Wow. You guys…the response on the second chapter was even better than the first. I just can't stay away from writing this. I'm sorry for those who didn't like the scene with Luna. I wrote it four different ways, and you don't want to see the other three. They're really awful. On the upside, it got me my first criticism (wasn't really a flame) from Guest: "The scene with Luna felt cheap and lazy."
Thank you Guest! It makes me uneasy when my story doesn't get any criticism. And you're right, I'm not very good at writing emotional scenes. But, I endeavor to improve. That's the point of amateur writing, no? Entertain your readers, and improve your own writing.
Oh, and before I forget. Every time Gryffindor speaks, I hear Liam Neeson. The man just plays the perfect mentor role. Qui-Gon Jinn, Aslan, Ra's al-Ghul…I'M SORRY IF I'M RIPPING SOMEONE ELSE'S CASTING IDEAS. But seriously, name another guy who does the mentor role so well, regardless of genre.
Okay, rant over. One last piece of information. Several people commented that they didn't want a Love-at-first-Sight with Luna, or were uncomfortable with Harry/Luna as a pairing. Let me reassure all of you that I have yet to decide what pairing to make this story. It is completely in flux, so don't read too far into scenes in early chapters.
ON WITH THE SHOW!

Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.

Aristotle

Disclaimer: Nyet.

Book One, Chapter Three: Amicis et Ensis

2 June, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (And he took great joy in using every consonant of that name at every opportunity), frowned as he prodded the object of his interest with his wand, murmuring cantrip after incantation, stringing together a litany of magic meant to probe the nature of unknown objects.

At long last, the Headmaster gave a sigh, and withdrew his wand.

"Just what did you create, Tom…?" He mused aloud, staring at the ink-covered diary that he had been studying for two days. While Harry had held the rest of the room enraptured with the story of his ordeal in the Chamber, the Headmaster had swapped the book with a conjured copy. The copy had only lasted a few days, long enough for Lucius Malfoy to toss it into the fireplace. (Indeed, the charm attached to the copy had signaled its fiery destruction yesterday evening. For all his supposed Slytherin cunning, Lucius Malfoy could be as predictable as his son at times.)

Dumbledore had spent the majority of his time afterward probing the book, trying to discern what exactly the future Dark Lord had done to leave a personality imprint on a plain Muggle diary. It was fairly easy to create imprints on magically prepared objects – the portraits of Hogwarts were proof enough of that – but to create one out of a simple, entirely unmagical object was incredibly difficult. Tom was gifted, to be sure, but such things were less a process and more an art form, and Tom had never had any patience when it came to learning. It had always been a single-minded drive towards the next spell, the next incantation. As driven as he was, it meant that some fields of magic had been tossed to the wayside by the boy. He had poured his soul into studying magic, but –

Soul.

"No, surely he did not," the Headmaster tried to assure himself. The words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

His hand trembled slightly as he raised his wand again. "Anima revelio."

There was a rushing sensation as the spell radiated through his office, a brief pause, and then…

The book glowed faintly, a sickening pitch gleam that turned his stomach, before fading away to its original colors.

Albus recoiled.

"A Horcrux. Oh Tom," he murmured, his voice a mix of sorrow and disgust, "Even then you were…"

Then, something caught his eye. One of the many delicate instruments he had in his office was swinging quite noticeably. With any other instrument, motion was a good sign, but with this one, any motion at all was worrying. Dread building in his chest, Dumbledore picked up the diary, and moved it closer to that particular instrument.

The spinning needle changed its motion, now pointing directly at the diary and spinning about its long axis.

"No…" the Headmaster whispered, his face as pale as his beard.

At that moment, Albus Dumbledore felt very, very old. With a heart feeling like lead, he conjured a box of steel, and placed the diary within it. Eyes blazing with fury, the Headmaster pointed his wand into the box.

"Fiendfyre."

The living flames rushed from the tip of his wand, and Albus could feel them struggling against his control, fighting to break free. The fire burned for a scant few seconds, before the aged wizard clamped his will down on the flames, extinguishing them entirely. Nothing was left of the vile relic, save for a few smoldering ashes.

The headmaster slumped into his chair, head bowed. How was he to tell Harry that he himself was a Horcrux? The knowledge that he must die to finish Voldemort off once and for all could break the boy. It would be far better to wait until he had grown a little more. The idea of the deception he would be practicing – with a child, no less – made the bile rise in Dumbledore's throat. But, for the sake of the rest of the world, he would take the burden of those sins onto his shoulders.

It was only a few more to add to a mountain, after all.

Then, a quiet little voice spoke up in the back of his mind. He could tell Harry, and trust the boy to cope with it. He recognized the voice – it was the one that had whispered in his ear that there was something wrong with Gellert, all those years ago.

He had ignored it then, and the consequences had been devastating.

He thought for a moment about the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had grown up brilliantly, if a bit withdrawn. Petunia had obviously managed to set aside her bitterness, and raised the boy right. The boy was friendly, did well in his classes (With the exception of Potions and History of Magic), and was loyal to his friends. Moreover, he had survived two lone encounters with the Dark Lord in the past two years, and had triumphed both times. The first time against a full-grown wizard, and the second against a millennial basilisk and an empowered Horcrux.

Harry was strong. He would be able to bear it.

Albus Dumbledore nodded to himself. Before the students went home, Harry would know.

3 June, 1993 Hogwarts Castle

Harry had gotten up that morning before the sun rose, and, as he had the previous four mornings, quietly slipped out of Gryffindor Tower and down to an abandoned classroom in the North Wing. He closed the door, and summoned Gryffindor from…wherever the sword went when he wasn't using it.

The spirit, as usual, put him through a punishing routine of exercises. Push-ups, sit-ups, kicks, suicides…no muscle avoided the punishment. Only after he was dripping with sweat and gasping for breath did Gryffindor teach him anything.

You need to be able to use these skills in the middle of the battlefield, Harry. You will be tired and disoriented, and you won't have time to recover yourself.

Gryffindor had said there were four arts of combat practiced by the Shinigami. Unarmed Combat (the spirit called it Hakuda)seemed to be a combination of several different martial arts, not that Harry knew any, and Gryffindor seemed to take a sadistic glee out of making Harry repeat every single technique until his legs felt like burning lead and his arms were numb. That, and practicing basic sword strokes (Gryffindor called it Zanjutsu), was the most exhausting part of Harry's lessons. Fast Movement, or Hohō, was something Gryffindor had flat-out refused to teach Harry until he was "good enough to survive hitting walls at inhuman speeds". The last discipline was spells. According to Gryffindor, there were three kinds of spells practiced by Death Gods: Destructive, Binding, and Healing. The most important thing about these spells (Kidō – Demon Arts, Gryffindor had said, then laughed when Harry asked if they actually were demonic) was that they weren't cast with a wand – or any kind of magical focus, actually – they were cast through the hands.

Alright cub, the first part of using Kidō is finding your magical core.

The familiar warmth built up in Harry's chest.

Do you feel that warmth, cub? Grasp it, the same way you call for my sword.

Harry reached out with a metaphorical hand, and felt for the heat sitting in his chest. He pulled at it – The warmth exploded outward, flowing through his limbs, and tinging his vision a red-gold. A delighted laugh flew from his lips. Harry felt as if he could leap clear over the Astronomy Tower, or maybe wrestle Slytherin's Basilisk again…

Focus, Harry!

Harry blinked, and came back to himself. Magic was flowing off of his body like liquid fire, and the air seemed to shimmer with heat. Frantically, the Gryffindor tried to pull his magic back within himself, but it was like trying to hold back a river with a sieve.

It is your magic, Harry! Do not hold it back! Direct it as you wish it to do!

Harry clenched his eyes shut, and willed the magic to withdraw into his body. At first, it fought him, like a petulant child; it didn't want to be restrained again! It wanted to move, to act, to do what it was meant to do! Gradually, though, the red-gold fire bent to his will, slowly sinking back into him. It did not return to a single spot in his chest, though. The fiery warmth sang through his veins, bringing a smile to his face. Gryffindor radiated approval.

That was the hardest part cub. Western wizards are not accustomed to casting without a focus; from the moment they consciously practice magic they use a wand, and their core is held in place. This is safer than casting with an unbound core, but less flexible. The most powerful of Western wizards may be able to force their magic to obey their commands without a wand, but even then it requires that they use a focus, usually a hand. Eastern magic needs no focus, and thus can be manipulated more freely. There were some Shinigami that were capable of creating new Kido spells in the midst of battle, simply because they were able to shape their magic to accomplish what they needed. Western magicians sometimes need years to develop new spells.

Harry nodded. Okay, so why was I able to…unbind my core?

That is one of the effects of the enchantments that were reforged into the Sword. Because I am not just bound to your soul, but your magic, and so I can help you loosen the bonds your magic created around itself.

Will I still be able to use my wand?

Of course, Harry. Your wand will not abandon you because you have a new ally.

Abandon?

The wand chooses the wizard, cub.

That's what Ollivander said!

Ollivander? Was he an old man, large eyes, pale skin, tangled white hair, and liked to act like a Seer?

Yes…Do you know him?

Never heard of him. The lion abruptly changed the subject. Now, the first Kidō spell is incredibly simple: it has no incantation, and can be cast through a single finger, even by a beginner. Now, repeat after me:

Harry raised his right arm, holding out his index finger towards a spare desk. Concentrating for a moment, he directed his magic into that finger.

"Way of Destruction Number One: Thrust!"

The magic pulsed outward, striking the desk. The old piece of furniture lifted off of the ground like a leaf in a tempest, and slammed into the pile of desks at the other end. The desks shattered, and fell to the floor as a pile of splintered wood.

Harry stared at the wreckage. Gryffindor sent Harry an image of the lion covering his eyes with a paw.

Cub….

"Er…oops?"

"So…Hermione?" Harry asked awkwardly at breakfast. Ron and Luna looked up from their own food at his hesitant tone.

"Yes Harry?"

"I have a hypothetical question for you."

The bushy-haired girl perked up. "Okay."

"Say, just hypothetically, that someone was hypothetically in a hypothetical abandoned classroom, and a hypothetical desk, just happened to , er hypothetically fall apart, hypothetically of course –"

"Harry," Hermione cut in, "We've already established the fact that this is hypothetical."

"Right…er…so I was wondering…how hard would it be to, erm…fix the desks?"

Hermione's eyebrow rose. "I thought there was only one desk?"

"Well, there may have been…five or six desks…" The raven-haired boy trailed off.

"You okay mate? You look a mite bit…ill." Ron sounded concerned.

"Harry…what did you do?"

Harry cringed slightly at Hermione's tone. "I…mayhavekindofbrokenthedesksp racticingaspell."

Hermione covered her face with a hand. Ron stared. Luna giggled at their expressions. "What spell were you practicing, Harry?"

"Er...I'll show you later."

This wasn't enough for Hermione, and the brown-haired witch began pestering him for information. Harry resolutely withstood her interrogation, shifting the conversation to next year's electives. Hermione had, against Harry and Ron's urges, decided to take all of the available courses. Harry and Ron had both picked Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, which Ron argued was a much more reasonable schedule than the impossibility that Hermione's would be.

"Really Hermione! You're going to have to be in two places at once! You're brilliant, but that's impossible!"

"Oh, it's not that hard," Luna piped up, "Being in two places at once, that is."

Ron stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth, staring at Luna. The blonde Ravenclaw cringed, sure she had just managed to alienate herself again, but Ron simply cocked an eyebrow after a moment. "How do you figure?"

"Well," she began with relief, "If you can have two persons in one place, why not have one person in two places?"

Ron blinked. "That…actually makes sense."

"Oh, be reasonable Ronald," Hermione countered. "Having the same person in more than one body is called possession."

"But you have to admit, it still counts as being in two places at once." The Weasley argued back.

Luna felt a strange warmth as she watched her friends – friends! – bicker lightly with each other. In a few short days, the Gryffindor table had become more of a home than Ravenclaw tower had ever been. She still half-expected to wake up in her dorm, the last few days nothing but a dream. Harry nudged her with his elbow, smiling. "Thinking deep thoughts, Luna?"

She smiled back. "Not really, I'm just…so happy."

And she was. She felt as if she could lift right off the ground if she wanted to, without so much a levitation spell. The Great Hall seemed even more lively and colorful than usual, and Luna couldn't help the smile stretching further and further across her face.

"Well, well, Potter. And here I thought you couldn't get any more pathetic. Not just a Blood Traitor and a Mudblood, but now you've added Loony Lovegood."

Draco Malfoy had been surprisingly silent for the last few days, but it looked like the school's reprieve from the Slytherin's mouth was at an end. Harry, to his credit, didn't even turn around to look at the Malfoy.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron spat, bristling defensively. The Slytherin ignored him.

"What's the matter, Potter? Cat got your tongue? Or are you as tired of having Loony next to you as everyone else and won't admit it?"

Luna flinched as if she had been struck, and shrank in on herself. Was it true? Did Harry feel the same way everyone else did?

Harry stiffened at Malfoy's remarks, then gently and deliberately set down his fork on the table. Still not turning to face him, the Gryffindor answered.

"Her name is Luna, Malfoy, and I would thank you to use it. I don't like it when people insult my friends." There was a warning tone in Harry's voice, one that Malfoy, apparently, didn't pick up on.

"I'll call them whatever I like, Potter¸ and the fact that you call these pieces of trash your friends only proves that you –"

But at the word 'trash', Luna saw Harry's entire body tense. She glanced at his face. His mouth had thinned into a narrow line, and his jaw was tight with anger – had his eyes just flashed gold for a moment?

Slowly, Harry got up, and turned to face the Slytherin and his cronies, his fist trembling.

"Draco, I will give you one warning. Walk. Away. Now. Before I do something you'll regret."

The Slytherin faltered slightly at the positively lethal glare in Harry's eyes, but he kept pushing, trying to get Harry to react. Getting the Gryffindor in trouble, after his father's disgrace, was the least he could do…

"What are you going to do, Potter? Tell a teacher? Or are you going to hit yourself with a slug spell – oh wait, that's Weasley's job. Maybe you'll get Loony to help you cry in a corner? I can't say I'm – "

The blonde Slytherin was cut off abruptly by a feeling of intense heat and pressure. It felt as if he was being crushed under a massive weight and being baked in an oven all at once. He, Crabbe, and Goyle all broke out in sweat, and the two larger boys took a half-step backwards.

Luna too, felt it, but for her, it was not a smothering, all-consuming heat. It felt like the friendly warmth of a campfire; it was both comforting and encouraging. She found herself standing up, facing the Slytherins. Malfoy was nothing but a bully, and an annoyingly loud one at that. Out of the corners of her eyes, she spotted Ron and Hermione rising to their feet as well. If their expressions were anything to go by, they, too, felt the strange warmth. The big surprise, though, was when, from a few places down the table, Neville Longbottom stood up, looking more aggressive than even Ron did.

"Malfoy." Neville's voice didn't quaver in the slightest. "No one wants to hear your noise. Sod. Off."

The Great Hall was dead silent. A majority of the students (and even a few of the Professors) were openly gaping. Neville "Cowardly Lion" Longbottom had just told Draco Malfoy to get lost. The only ones who seemed unaffected were the Gryffindors (and Luna) in the immediate vicinity of Harry, who all had turned their glares on the blonde Slytherin.

Malfoy's mouth flapped uselessly for a moment, before he spun on his heel and stalked off, trying to preserve any shreds of dignity he had left. Crabbe and Goyle fled after him, looking more cowed than people of that size had a right to be.

The silence lasted for only a few seconds after that, as conversation crept back into the hall, and the students at the Gryffindor table took their seats. Ron stared hard at his best mate, as if trying to read Harry's mind without Legilimency. Luna thought his expression was quite funny (although she didn't tell him that).

"Harry…what the bloody hell was that?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, before answering. "I'll tell you about it after dinner tonight. The fourth classroom on the left side on the fourth floor of the North Wing."

Everyone nodded.

"So, let me get this straight," Ron managed, his eyes wide. "The Sword of Gryffindor – which you pulled out of the Sorting Hat – has a spirit inside it that looks like a giant lion, and knows everything Godric Gryffindor knew?"

"Erm…yeah."

"…Wicked."

Harry blinked, as Hermione, Luna, and Ron all spoke in unison. Gryffindor chuckled.

You have good friends, cub. To accept such a truth so easily…

The lion's voice suddenly changed tones. Wait a moment…Homenum Revelio.

Harry felt a pulse of his own magic rush outward, and all his friends were briefly illuminated in glowing colors – Hermione was a pale blue, Ron an orange-crimson, and Luna a strange off-white. The pulse rippled outward farther, and a fourth person was illuminated, standing out in the corridor. Harry raised an eyebrow at the familiarity of the deep brown-red magic.

"You can come in now, Neville."

There was a startled yelp from outside, before the door creaked open, and the Gryffindor sheepishly stepped into the room.

"How did you notice?"

"Lucky guess," Harry fibbed smoothly. Luna glanced sidelong at him, and Harry could tell she wasn't fooled in the least. "How much did you hear?"

"Well, everything."

Harry affixed Neville with a sharp look. "You know that if you tell anyone…"

Neville nodded, surprisingly serious. "Harry…that sword, whatever it did when you stood up to Malfoy… I wasn't afraid of him. I felt…brave. That feeling hasn't gone away, either. I don't want to give that up. You can trust me, Harry."

Harry blinked. ….What did you do to him, Gryffindor?

I did nothing, cub. Your magic is imbued with your bravery, your determination, and your will. When you allowed it to escape your body and have an effect on those around you, it apparently inspired courage in those around you.

Huh…that is interesting.

"So Gryffindor plans to teach you, Harry?" Hermione enquired, forehead scrunched in thought. At Harry's nod, she continued. "Is there a reason? Besides just learning new magic I mean."

Ron and Harry both raised an eyebrow. "Hermione Granger is asking if there is another reason besides learning? What is the world coming to?"

Hermione flushed slightly and swatted at Harry's arm. "Oh, stuff it."

Harry grinned impishly. "Well, there is one other reason. Lord Far-Too-Many-Pseudonyms. I ran into him last year. He was possessing Quirrel then, so I figure he'll eventually find another idiot to possess. When he does, he'll come after me. I want to be as ready as possible; maybe I can kill him enough that he'll stay dead."

Ron swallowed hard. "You're going to go after him, mate? You're mental, you know."

Harry stared right back at him. "What's your point?"

"…is there room for a Weasley on this crazy carpet of yours?"

Hermione grinned. "Count me in, Harry."

"I'll help too!" Luna chimed in.

Neville was quiet for a moment, traces of his old lack of confidence flickering across his face, before he, too, nodded.

"You can count on me."

Harry looked at his friends. He had just told them that he was basically planning to take on the darkest wizard Britain had ever seen, and they had all said they would follow him, with barely any hesitation. His eyes slightly wet, he smiled back.

Good friends indeed, cub. Good friends indeed.

And CUT! So, good chapter? I know a lot of you will be annoyed by this chapter, specifically my portrayal of Dumbledore, and probably how quickly Neville gained courage. To address those: First of all, Neville has demonstrated that he has a core of steel underneath all the shyness and self-doubt, it just took a while (and being a member of La Resistance) to bring it to the front. Harry's magic, as Gryffindor said, has actual effect on those around him – it's sort of (read: almost exactly) like reiatsu, (spiritual pressure) yet another Bleach concept. His foes feel like they're being smothered by pressure and heat, while his allies have their courage bolstered. This kick-started Neville's Inner Gryffindor. He won't start roundhouse-kicking Snape in the face, but he will certainly be better than his canon counterpart.

Dumbledore. A character who has been portrayed as everything from saint to demon. It's my belief that despite all his manipulations, Dumbledore genuinely wants good for others. That aside, I think that he also loathes himself. We see in the books that he has never forgiven himself for his little sister's death, and I'm willing to bet that every sacrifice he has made since then weighs on him. He continues to manipulate because he wants to avoid staining the consciences of others with the sins that come from fighting evil. He who fights monsters, and all that. Anyway, this Dumbledore is making a different decision, resulting from discovering Harry's Horcrux earlier than canon. He certainly isn't a saint, but he's trying to do better.

And the fifth member of Harry's little band joins up. Next chapter: a meeting with Dumbledore, and Harry demonstrates that wizards do indeed lack logic.

Authors are lot like Dementors, except we live off reviews, and we (usually) don't suck the happiness out of the room. FEED ME!

Here's hoping you all had a wonderful holiday, and a Happy New Year!

CracktheSkye, out!