Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

REVELATIONS II

"Flipendo". Harry shot the revulsion jinx at the man's hair, causing it to flap and tug away from the man's head. The Frenchman gradually woke up to an annoying feeling- someone was tugging his hair.

"mmblmmll… Apolline, stop please, I just wanna mmnlmmll…" Harry continued to cast the short-lasting spell until Jacques opened his eyes and looked around.

"Harry! Is that you?! Good Lord, you look- um, healthy! God, I knew this would happen, but- Damn! You really went to town on yourself, didn't you Harry?" Harry grinned as he thought about the changes he had thoroughly logged happening to him. He had grown from the stunted five foot to a healthy six foot four, with his shoulders broadening a bit to accommodate his bulk. He was lucky that the metal coating his bones was basically a liquid. His arms had lengthened slightly, also accommodating his height, and had expanded in girth a bit with whipcord-thin ropy muscles. His hands still held their long fingers- devoted to catching the Snitch in Quidditch. His eyes had retained their characteristic slightly slanted, almond shape, and the Killing Curse-green irises, and he had long since lost his glasses. He kind of missed them, really. His cheeks, however, had hollowed out slightly, making him look more gaunt and serious, but leaving his nose to retain its previous prominence, and yet leaving a man who looked like nobility. Harry knew his back and stomach were now rigid and ropy, too- swinging a four hundred-kilo sword can do that. His hair, however, was tied back in a long ponytail that was held together by a piece of string. The long, jet-black locks flowed down to his waist, showing his forehead- and his scar- prominently. Harry knew he should not be afraid of he was. Instead of trying to stick to the shadows- and thereby allowing the wizarding public to make their own assumptions about him- he would step out into the light, and make them all wrong. He would show his new, improved self, and destroy anyone who decided they didn't like it. It was his, wasn't it? His own life, to do with as he liked.

"Yes, Monsieur Delacour. I… put myself through the grinder. I used everything that came through the room, until I was a master at it. I can defend my mind, and attack others'. I can brew the most complex potion to perfection, conjure behemoths to fight for me, charm muggle technology to do what I want; I have studied the past- hidden and official- and I can predict certain things in the future; I can alter my appearance at will, I can even do things that no other wizard has even managed to do. I have mastered the Dark Arts, and yet I am still myself. I can summon spirits of light and dark to fight for me, to give me advice, to train me even further. I can wield swords, spears, axes and hammers. I can use scythes better than even Death himself. I am a Warrior-Mage to the bone. All I need now, is my Armour. I am not capable of my full abilities without it. I know how to get it, but I need help. Will you help me, Jacques Delacour?"

Harry took a deep breath, concentrating on his poker face. He was pulling Jacques' leg with the dramatics of his speech, and yet every word he said was true to the last letter. He looked forward to his reaction.

Jacques Delacour stared at Harry, at the nonchalantly threatening figure. He could do all that? Jacques wondered how long the boy- no, man- had spent in the Room of True Self. He had helped to charm that beauty with the help of seven goblin Warders, and six other humans- the most accomplished warders and Curse-Breakers that human and goblinkind could offer. All had entered a pact to protect the secret of the Room from Voldemort. He knew it would do amazing things, but he didn't know how.

A prophecy had gathered them, saying that the Lightning One would need help to accomplish his mission. The fourteen had gathered in the French Alps, and surrounded the site with so many wards that the air shimmered. They had excavated the site, and built the Room of True Self.

The metal had been refined by the goblins, with the magical properties being donated by their magic and the magic of the mysterious ore. They had built a manor house atop the Room, to protect it from prying eyes. Then, the fourteen had taken a vow of silence, sworn upon the magic surrounding them, that should they mention the room or its location, or even the others in its construction, they would die. The magic had gone one better, however. If they were in the situation where they would tell, it would decide if they could tell or not. Until now, many had tried to weasel it out of the humans- what had they been up to for twenty years? The goblins had it harder. Many of them suffered for the unexplainable absence, and were deducted their statuses.

Jacques' heart swelled in pride at the work of so many. He knew that Harry would save them from the hidden agenda of Voldemort. At Jacques' eyes began to tear up, Harry's poker face slipped. He grinned like a madman, and then cackled in raucous laughter.

"Hahaha! Monsieur Delacour, I was being melodramatic! It's not really so cool as that. I practically spent three years reading, fighting Sonny, and making shit out of muggle tech, runes and potions ingredients. Oh, and my grandfather's gun chest decided to make an appearance, too." Jacques' smile and teary eyes didn't waver. In fact, they grew.

"Harry, when I found out you would have to be there for three years- at a minimum- I was worried that you may go insane from lack of contact with another person. I'm just so happy that you've come out of here on top! I- Just one second." Jacques wiped his eyes on his sleeves, and then looked up.

"Harry, you are important to me. You, as you stand now, are the result of my life's work. No, not the work you know about. I am one of seven humans who attracted the attention of beings called Valyrians- they had a prophet, who gave us a prophecy. A champion is needed, one who can unite the races of Earth under one banner, ready for the coming exodus into the stars. It is foretold that one called the Lightning One would step forth and strike down the champion of Chaos, the one who would see us rot here. They foretold that he would be a champion of the cause on every world he deigned to go to. He would journey through time and space, doing as he wished. There was an armband crafted to give the champion the kick-start he needed to overcome the meddling of his controller, and to give him an advantage over anyone he met.

Harry, you are the Lightning One, soon to be the Black Knight of Dark Souls. Your metal protections are impervious to the physics described in muggle teachings. They protect your bones, your life-force. The prophet told me, four and half years ago, that the Philosopher's Stone- the one held at Hogwarts- would soon be destroyed by that fool Dumbledore without the consent of its owner. An agent stole the remnants of the Stone and brought it to me. Now, the only thing left to do now is to impregnate your very being with the alchemical properties of the stone. The point of the Stone was to allow Nicholas Flamel to carry on his own work- discovering the Lightning One. It allows the bearer to be rejuvenated should they become ill, or should they age more than they wish to, shed their years. The point is, Harry, is that you will need the Stone to continue your work. Do you understand? I'm offering this to you to ensure the continued existence of your line. There are some benefits, Harry!"

Harry was, understandably, gobsmacked. So there really is true Seer somewhere…, Harry thought. He pondered the effects of what would happen should he take the Stone. Never-ending life. Once it was part of him, there would probably be no going back. But… Harry could guess what would happen. If Voldemort really was holding back the races of Earth, then there would probably be some kind of tangled mess of a master plan involving Harry and death. He knew he'd need everything he could get to beat the crazy bastard.

Harry sighed. He knew that from now on, he'd never live a normal life. "What do I have to do?"

Jacques had explained everything to him. The Stone dust needed to be in his blood while Harry performed enough magic to exhaust him. Then, when his magic built back up, it would not notice the foreign magical signature of the Stone, accepting it as its own. The only problem was, there were several ways to have the Stone in his blood. Just pushing the dust into the blood stream would clog it up, killing him. If they performed a switching spell on it, then Harry would lose too much blood to be conscious to perform the magic. They were stumped, until Harry had an idea.

"Jacques, would the dust still be compatible if we injected it into my skin? Like a tattoo?" The older man looked up from his notebook, in which he had been writing down the ideas so far. He looked confused.

"What's a tattoo?"

"Oh! Well, basically, it's a kind of picture that is marked on the skin of someone with indelible ink. The ink is injected one spot at a time into a certain skin layer of the recipient, were it stays. There are all kinds of tattoos, and you can have them pretty much anywhere. People have them on their eyes, tongues, soles of their feet and palms. Sometimes they have some kind of symbolism to the recipient too." Jacques looked freaked out at this.

"You willingly inject ink into your skin? Doesn't that hurt, for muggles, I mean?"

"Well, sometimes, depending on where it is. But desensitising charms would take care of that sharpish." Harry grinned. He actually really like the idea of getting the Stone tattooed in. The runes he could use would help him even more! If they used a magical ink that never faded or something like that, then it would be fine for life. But, he would need to guard against damage, such as cuts or burns…

"Jacques, how would I guard the tattoo against damage? If it gets damaged, the Stone may stop working… I'll need to come up with some designs or something. Have you got any books on symbology and stuff? Or, have you got a computer I could use?" Jacques laughed at that last part. A computer! Really!

"Harry, muggle technology doesn't work around magic! You should know that!"

"Jacques, I've managed to make a way to stop the interference. There's so much information on the Internet, you'd be surprised. Hell, I could even sell the idea to all the Muggleborns out there, suffering withdrawal symptoms from their precious tech!" Jacques' eyes lit up.

"Harry! I forgot! You need to sign your emancipation papers before you take the Stone! I can't believe I forgot!" Jacques started rushing around his office, looking for something.

"Aha! Here it is!" He was holding up a yellow-white folder with the label 'Harry James Potter' on it. "This has all of the necessary papers for becoming a legal adult. When you take the Stone, you will probably want to revert to being fifteen to make your training more believable. And Harry- you won't lose any of your hard-fought fitness, you'll just shrink a bit and get a little bit more puppy fat around the edges." Jacques laid the folder on the table in front of Harry and opened it up. One sheet of parchment was inside, with all of the legal jargon you could never want to see. At the bottom was a small dotted line. Harry looked up.

"Have you got a pen?"

With the document signed, Harry stood up. He knew from his studies that the goblins of Gringotts would be sending a representative to accompany him to his family vault. Probably preceded by an owl.

"Jacques, I'll need some way of returning here in case things go south. Could you make me an emergency portkey for the return trip, and key me into the wards just in case? If there're too many Death Eaters, I want a line of escape. They still think I'm weak, don't forget."

"Oh, of course! The goblins will be coming soon to take you on a tour. Probably Ribshaker, who is the head of the Potter accounts. Come to think of it, didn't you say that Dumbledore was stealing your money? Planning on leaving you a pauper, no doubt. No money, no influence they say in the Wizengamot. Don't confront him about it, Harry. Go straight to Ragnok- he's an old friend. Head of Accounting at Gringotts. Don't forget that Goblins like to be flattered about their wealth and bloody-ness. And-"

Jacques was interrupted by an owl alighting on the windowsill of his study. The owl was small, yet very sturdy. As Jacques stood up to open the window, the owl flew off and then swooped into the now open window. The letter was dropped into Harry's hands, and then the owl was off back out of the window. Harry looked down at the envelope. It was sealed with a mouldy-looking wax, and the edges seemed to be slightly moth-eaten.

"How long have they kept this letter?

"Ah. That… That letter is- Harry, what do you know of your family?"

"They were purebloods as far back as the Founders and Merlin. Before that, there are occasional traces. I know that I'm descended from the Peverells. So is Voldemort, now I come to think about it. He used some Dark Arts to keep his soul tethered to this plane. He will still age, but he can make a new body every time his current one dies. Anyway, I don't know much besides the occasional name. Charlus Potter was Lord Potter, Duke of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff. Duke of Old Mercia, Azkaban, and Hogwarts, too. I'll probably need to ask about that, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Except, you mother was descended maternally from Charlus, too. She only told your father the prophecy that Dumbledore believes in because Dumbledore broke the vow of silence he made with her. She loved your father, have no fear of that. Just consider this when you open that letter: No matter what, you need to focus on defeating Voldemort. Don't forget that you can live." With that piece of advice in mind, Harry gently broke the aged wax.

I've been so busy recently, that I had no time to update on Friday. So, have two chapters on me!

HPatBK

SaHFF