The seasons passed as they had from the dawn of time. Harry Potter excelled in the skills of knighthood, eager to prove himself as more than a boy blessed with noble birth. He rode the fastest horse in the land, Nimbus. He won tournaments in archery, sword fighting, and jousting. Frequently he received tokens of affection and a letter or two from admirers, all of whom he thanked with a flushed face but gently explained that he could not return their fondness.

His heart, he would only admit to himself, belonged to an angelic peasant girl he had known for fifteen years. Harry suspected his mother knew. He had worried she did when she took Luna on as a servant in the castle. Perhaps Lady Lily understood her son's emotions. Perhaps she wanted to prove to Harry that the girl was nothing more than a servant, beneath him. Regardless of her motivation, the Lady of the castle had given Harry something that he had long been denied: the chance to see Luna whenever he pleased.

Although the castle was large, with rooms and items enough to spend a year cleaning and not make it to everything, Harry could always find Luna nearby after a lesson or when he left his bedroom. More than once he had spotted her through a window, looking down on his training with Nimbus. There was the minor flaw that they could no longer disappear together on Sundays, as his mother was too keen not to notice. Instead, they spoke briefly in corridors and left hidden notes for one another in his room, one of the spaces Luna was responsible for cleaning, much to Harry's chagrin.

Harry never told Luna of his deep feelings for her for two reasons. For one, he was strongly convinced that she would never return his love, at least not as anything more than friends. Never did she show the awed enthusiasm of the women who approached him as he walked in the castle courtyard. She was the same loyal friend he had always known and cherished. Secondly, and more importantly, if by some miracle she did have feelings for him, it would only hurt them both when they were reminded that they could never be. They were two very different people who crossed paths but were never expected, never allowed, to follow a route together.

The worst part was having to leave Godric's Hollow. At least once each month Harry rode to Hogwarts to speak with Sir Albus Dumbledore and other champions of Weasley. While no direct attacks had been made on their territory, reports of Slytherin riders and spies had reached even the ears of the northern-most citizens. It had been decided at the last meeting that a representative would be sent into Slytherin territory to request an audience with the King in hopes of heading off potential tension and conflict.

Gathered around a table where a large map of the kingdom was splayed out, five captains of the guards for separate castles, including Burrow, listened as Dumbledore spoke. His crooked and aged finger traced the serpentine path that linked all of the sightings.

"Why now?" the man to Harry's right asked gruffly. He crossed his arms over his wide chest. His muscles bulged enough that Harry had to take a small step to the side. The man's shaggy black beard hung all the way down to where his forearms crossed.

Dumbledore pierced the large man with his strikingly blue eyes. "No explanations have become apparent to us, Sir Rubeus." He looked back to the map, his brow furrowed and the creases in his forehead, deepened by age and war, marked his worry. "It feels different than before. My best assumption is that their king has foolishly decided that now, after two decades of peace, is the time to stir the cauldron, if you will."

"We should make the first move!" A man only slightly taller than Harry with shoulder length, curly black hair leaned over the table. Harry knew him; Sirius Black from Grimmauld, the easternmost castle, near the ocean. "We could have all of our troops along the border within a fortnight, if not less, and ride through their lands, covering the countryside and taking their towns."

Dumbledore shook his head. His silence only enraged Sirius further. "Our inaction will only endanger our citizens, Albus, you must know this!"

"Enough." Dumbledore spoke with such finality that Harry felt he had been yelled at. "Irrationality, hasty decisions, and a callous outlook are dangerous to our citizens, Sir Sirius. We will conduct ourselves as we always have, with dignity and compassion." No one else was willing to challenge Albus' leadership.

At that moment, the double doors to the room flew open. A thin man with wispy gray hair fell to the ground. Only then did Harry notice the blood running down the messenger's back. Sir Albus was the first to reach them man, kneeling to help him sit up. The man groaned with the movement but was able to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "They are coming," he choked out. "They are coming." His chest fell with his last words and he moved no more.

Despite the lifeless man in his arms, Dumbledore spoke with authority. "Sirius, Rubeus, Harry, and I shall ride to meet the encroaching forces. Remus and Alastor shall ride to the nearby castles. Alert every warrior that they are needed. Go now."

While those told to stay out of the fight were clearly displeased with the order, no one wasted precious seconds arguing. The four remaining knights called for their armor. Harry only briefly noticed the body of the messenger being carried away as the plates of his armor were set into place.

The horses were prepared by the time the men made it outside. Harry's hands fumbled with the saddle and he was last to leave the courtyard. He kicked Nimbus lightly and soon caught up.

The thunder of horse hooves would have drowned out any words they could have spoken. Harry tried to focus on everything he had been taught. Suddenly the lessons all seemed to be little more than child's play. He was surrounded by men that had been in the last war, the year of his birth. His hands had to re-grip the reins every few minutes. He leaned forward, eager to arrive at their destination.

It was a great relief when the small group crossed over the river that separated the two territories. He let out a held breath, taking some peace in knowing the fight would not take place on Weasley land.

If it had not been for a stream of light filtering through the trees to the left and reflecting off a bit of metal, the men on horseback would have fallen deep into the trap laid out for them. Harry's eyes picked up the reflection and he immediately veered in that direction, drawing his sword. At first the man hiding in the brush, the soldier that wasn't hidden well enough, remained still. When it became obvious that Harry had no intention of slowing down or turning back, the man let out a cry, something between a shout and a shriek, and tried to draw his own weapon.

The other knights had stopped when they heard the shout. It took only a fraction of a second for the other hidden enemies to show themselves, already given away by the one Harry had pinned up against a tree with the tip of his blade. Sirius had a wild glint in his eye; a fight was exactly what he had been hoping for. He drew his sword as well and picked out a few targets.

Before any blood could be shed, Dumbledore called out, "Bring forth your commander." His weapon was still safely tucked away and he was surveying the men that surrounded them, looking for the one that could control the rest. It was silent. Harry's eyes darted back and forth between his captive and Dumbledore.

Finally, a man on a brilliant white horse came through the edge of the circle and smiled wistfully at the knights in the center. "Dumbledore," he greeted with mock civility. The man was not dressed for battle. He wore fine garments with delicate embroidery. The fabrics were black and a silver snake was poised on his chest. He had straight, bright blonde hair that fell past his shoulders.

"Lucius." Both Dumbledore and his mount were perfectly still with a calm that only came with experience. Rubeus and Sirius worked to keep their nervous horses from moving. Lucius and Dumbledore stared at each other with emotionless faces. "Why have you brought us here, Lucius?" Albus finally asked.

"I neither requested your presence nor demanded an audience. No word was spoken to bring you on to my land."

"I have found that actions speak much louder than words," Dumbledore said calmly. "And you have shown me, by way of allowing your men to cross our boarders and sending back an injured messenger, that you wish for nothing more than contact. So here we are."

Harry felt uneasy about their present situation. Although he had one man cowering before him, there were at least two dozen still half hidden in the bushes encircling his companions. The knights had the upper hand of being on horses, but he knew it was not their intention to run. Nor was it likely that these were the only forces brought to the battle. Harry wondered briefly if they were losing precious time, being further encircled by the enemy.

The corners of Lucius' mouth curved upward. "Ah, that, I suppose, is my responsibility, though not of my doing. Draco?" Another man approached the inner circle on a nearly all black horse. His hair was an equal shade of blinding white as the older man's. "My son, you see, has been named captain of the guard. Perhaps he was exercising more power than he is actually allowed, unknowingly of course." Draco had a look of pure smugness that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

"And the welcoming party?" Albus motioned toward those that formed the circle. "Surely you weren't expecting us if it was merely an accident."

If Lucius had another silver tongued response at the ready, no one ever heard it. An arrow whizzed through the air and stuck in the skin visible between the armour plates at Dumbledore's elbow. Shouts erupted and Lucius's men began running toward the three in the middle. Harry looked back at his captive only to realize the man was bent over and grabbing his sword off the ground. Harry spurred Nimbus, knocking over the man as he rushed to join the others.

The horses were rearing up, angered and frightened by the attackers; Hagrid's mount actually knocked a man down with his flailing front hooves. Dumbedore yelled. He had pulled the arrow from his arm and was swinging wildly at a man who appeared to have no armor at all. The man fell to the ground, a gash from his hip to his shoulder seeping blood. The Slytherins were poorly armed, but there were enough to pose a threat and it would have been dangerous to try to jump over them lest they raise their weapons and slice the horses' bellies.

There was a moment's pause as a rumbling sound wound through the trees and shook the ground. Harry's stomach lurched when he realized it was hoof-beats. There were others, no doubt better armed and armored. Lucius and Draco had already steered themselves away from the battle, though it would be over quickly. When the horsemen broke through from the back, Harry was prepared to clash swords. What he wasn't prepared for were the fifty knights that crashed through the northern half of the circle, taking down the Slytherin attackers.

The newcomers were from Weasley; Alastor or Remus must have reached them very quickly, although it was no secret that as a whole they were the fastest army the lands had. The warriors from Hogsmeade, a small castle only five miles from Hogwarts, had arrived to turn the tide of battle.

Harry was immediately reminded of those that retreated, and turned Nimbus south in pursuit. The sounds of the fight faded quickly in the dense wood and he relied on his eyesight rather than his ears to find his target.

The woods became dense and much darker. The roots of the trees sprung up in the spaces between trunks and bush, making galloping impossible. Harry stilled, straining to hear over Nimbus' heavy breathing. There was neither a rustle of leaves nor the snapping of a twig; he was alone.

Suddenly a roar ripped through the trees, "Draco!" It was not a call of sadness or loss, but of anger. Lucius was obviously unhappy with his son, but why?

The answer came swiftly – Draco was upon him. The pale man had jumped from a tree branch above and wrapped his arms around Harry, forcing him to the ground. The hilt of his sword slipped from Harry's hand and Nimbus, startled by the sudden action, ran back the way they had come, leaving Harry pinned under the weight of his attacker.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco sneered. Harry looked to his right, seeing that his sword was too far for him to reach, but not too far from Draco if he stretched. He looked up into Draco's eyes, gray as a wintery sky and so full of rage. "The celebrated young knight that has seen no battle and felt no loss." Draco couldn't have been more than a year older than Harry, yet he spoke the words as though he had lived to see enough. His hand moved near his boot and Harry realized this was his only chance.

With great effort, Harry rolled the two of them to the side, pinning Draco against a tree trunk. The man cried out as his back was smashed into the uneven roots and his arm was crushed below Harry's knee.

"Why did you tempt us here, Draco? What could you gain from such provocation and a loss of men?"

"Fear, Potter. Even now, you have men riding to every one of your cities, warning them of an invasion. It will happen again and again, until one day it's true and you will be attempting to handle soldiers that have been falsely called to arms and serfs that don't believe you because for weeks, months, maybe even years they will have lived in fear." Draco smiled up at Harry.

"They have nothing to fear." Without further comment, Harry rolled away from Draco and scooped up his long sword. It was four times the length of the dagger hidden in Draco's boot and Harry was over him before his injured arm could go for the puny blade. "So long as the kingdom of Weasley has men to fight for them, they shall never be afraid. And they will always respond to the summonses of duty, no matter how often they are called. For years we so have we defended our borders and so we shall, with honor and without asking more than to fight for our King, for there is no greater reward." Green eyes stared down gray with harshness unusual for Harry. "Go. Now."

Draco considered Harry's order, testing to see if he meant it, before scrambling backwards. Dirt and dried leaves clung to his now tangled hair and fine clothes. Harry watched the man turn tail and run. He thought he heard the faint cry of "father!" after some time. The young knight sheathed his sword and turned to face north, to return to battle, only to find Sir Dumbledore atop his horse not fifteen feet away.

"You let him go," Dumbledore observed.

Harry's cheeks burned red. Even though Draco was clearly misguided, he had been right about Harry's inexperience with war; he did not want to kill anyone he didn't have to. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be, young man." Harry looked up, confused. Dumbledore dismounted, though he still towered over Harry. "A man's life is undervalued, especially by another wielding a weapon. It was nobler for you to let him live, to give him a chance to rectify his ways."

"And if he doesn't, sir?"

A quiet moment passed between them. "Those who repeat their mistakes find just ends eventually."

Harry wanted to argue, but the words didn't form.

"I believe," Dumbledore said, gracefully mounting his horse, "Nimbus is waiting for you near the river."

Harry walked alongside Dumbedore's copper red steed in silence until they made it back to the safety of the flowing territorial border. Nimbus was waiting obediently on the other side, chewing on a bit of overgrown grass.

"What shall I tell the Lord and Lady?" Harry asked before the elder rode off.

After a moment of thought Dumbledore replied, "Make them aware that there is no immediate danger; however, we shall be more on guard."

It was the same message Harry had been told to deliver to before. It did not feel the same, at the very least it felt less honest, but Harry nodded. He would not disobey.