He held the object close, feeling its power, its strength.
The journals he had gotten marked him as the last living descendant of both of its wielders.
Gods and demons had desired it over the years while only two beings had even had the ability to carry it before he found it locked away in his family vault.
The golden armor found had been the key to the truth.
A shield with the crest of a single dragon.
Silver edges, polished to a mirrors sheen that reflected his green eyes perfectly.
It sang like an angel when it danced in his hand.
Now he believed himself ready, the words of the most powerful wizard to ever walk the face of the earth had stated another prophecy, but this one a blessing rather than a curse.
The one who inherits this blade will bring the return of Justice to his people. And he will be the rebirth of the Line of the Dragon.
He stood there in the armor, the perfect fit as he watched his opponent.
Long since had he realized that the Sword of Gryffindor had no claim on him for while the lines were inter-related, he bore a greater weapon. While he had been proclaimed a lion, he was the heir of dragons.
Voldemort moved to cast as spell.
And then Harry spoke.
"Excalibur Be My Strength!
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