Harry Potter and the Great Conflict

« Written by PSBlasius »

Disclaimer: Copyrights © JKRowling and © Blizzard Entertainment. If I were the owner of Harry Potter™ and Diablo™, then I would not write here for free. No, I most likely would, for fun.

----Author's Notes----

Sorry for the not so small delay, people. How do they say? Ah,I was... super-busy. But the project will carry on! Like right now with chapter five, which is the longest so far, if I'm not mistaken. It will introduce a new character to the story, a character, which might be familiar to those who played with the second instalment of the Diablo games. Last 'all-talk' chapter, I promise. The plot-unfolding will begin abruptly, like... fireworks! And the awaited action-pack hacking and slashing will follow up next! *wink*

But enough of the spoil,
Or else it may ruin my toil.
Thank you for your time and choice,
Enjoy!

----Author's Notes----

Chapter Five – Falling

"No way! Ye can't do it!"

"Ha! Wanna bet on it, old bean?"

"Nah! A gennlemmin—gentleman does not make a sure bet!"

"Have it yer way, then! But ye ain't gonna see any miracle tonight, Paddy..."

"Okay! Lasses and gentsies, kindly steer your attention to this lad o'er here! He's gonna blow a rectangle-shaped cloud of smoke out of his big mouth! Watch closely, for he's the only man alive in the pan-dimensions who can do this! A true miracle!"

Way to go, Tonksie! We've an audience! I'll be famous! I'll show ye, Siriuous! I'll show you good! And lookie-look at that! These folks are full of cash! They pay to see me puff a stupid cube of smoke with me orifice! How... touching.

"Righteous! The bets are placed... Now—what now? Oh, yeah! Now, you can start, Master Rico!" Dora was saying this to me like that.

O'righty, then! Let's perform for the sheep! Sheep, like that creepy old hag'd say! Sheep! Behehe... Hah, the fools don't have a clue that all it takes is magic! Ye just ask the smoke to obey! Like real macho style! You demand it firm n' proper to get into a pose and stay that way! It's not overly much too hard a thing to burp a squ--skwere out of yourself, eh? 'Fcourse not. That, and I've got the powah!

So I concert-ate—concentrated, felt the tickle of me arcane awesomeness. The blur's coming! The blur is good. The blur is proper. I saw no one, not a thing. Oh, it tickled me lips so bad!

Hehe! Everyone was watching me like a circus... ah, circus-member-fellow, whatnot. I'd have liked to tell 'em, like: 'Hey, I'm just smoking, pals! Havent'cha seen a man smokin' yet? I bet'cha did not see anything like this!' But I didn't tell 'em, because I forgot to, I think. Oh-oh-ohh crap! It'd be sooo much easier if I wasn't sooo drunk...

Anyhow. I inhaled the mist from the tip of the stick, right. I rinsed it in me magical mouth to mix it with the occult goodness. Done. And finally--

"Pah!" said I and the fog just hovered into my vision and past it into the sunset. Wait, no sunset. It was a lantern. Man! Totally had me all confused, that lamp did! Point is that the smoke came, all right.

Oh, they gasped and gaped like all of fish-kin's bests! Wow, was I a little good or little bit even more awe-inspire...ing, eh?

Wait, though! Somethin' was not all too right! It was like, hm. One, two, th-fo-five... Six! Could a six-edged cube be called a square? Or what's it's called? Hex Egon! Agon. Ah, bloody geometry...

"Hah! You lost, kiddo!" Sirius told me with his big, stupid grin of smugness.

"I most certainly didn't! Look, it's even so much better than a crappy square! It's... more advanced!" I told him good.

"Nevertheless, it's not a square. The wager was about a shape having four sides and angles. Six happens to be six in all universes. So the verdict: epic fail!"

"Ye know, its'just the matter of perspective. But I'll show you not the second, but the third power! A cube! Watch it, I feel it comin'!"

Come on, mate! You can do it! Concentrate! Inhale. Good! Command the smoke: cube, damn you! Freakin cube, d'ya hear me? The Force is with me! Go!

"Pah!" I said again. The smoke rushed out again. And this time: "HA! There's your four-angled, convex, geometrical, rect-angular goodness presented only to you, only tonight by mightily humble myselfness! Pay time, doggy!"

They 'aww'-ed again! They loved me! And I've shown Sirius not to mess with the big, bad, cube-puffing Sorceror!

"Observe and be awed! The Cycle's only square-shaped smoke-circle creator has given us his masterpiece! In 3D!" Tonks was saying grandly to me audianceses.

Ah, the sexy Dora—Doras! I wanted to snog 'em cubed!

"Dora, my nymph! I love you! Both of you! Come hither, I wanna get acquainted with your tonsils!" I told them with a silly grin. She were so beauteous, that her prettiness could not be stuffed into just a single body. So there were two of them instead. Oh, goodness, I've never been with two women before! And she's twins!

"Calm down, Wonder-boy! And a little further away, please. You're reeking of ale... and cheap tobacco. Are you all right by the way?"

So caring and sweet! Ooh, I loved 'em!

"Distinctively positive, my babies, be assured! I'm all hyped! Come on now, let's dance! Shake your asses! Yeah!" So I can feel up your nice round asses! Oh, I did not say it aloud, did I? Or I did, did I not, for they laughed together! And so nicely! Like a chime...

"There's no music playin, Harry!" they sang happily.

"There isn't, is there? Unacceptable! Sirius, the most perfect of all me godfathers, ever! Do sing for us!"

"No way in hell!" was all he said. Hell? Hehe!

"But there is! We did find the way from down there..." I explained to him, as it was a matter of fact. In fact, it was.

"What?"

"We came from hell, Padsy! There IS a way!"

"Don't call me that and I ain't gonna sing!" he told me in his sulky-doggy tone.

"You don't have to pay me if you sing?"

"Nope."

"Next round on me?"

"Nay."

"I'll scratch your belly for an hour while you're Padders!"

"Deal!" he grinned. There you went! Everyone had a weak point, a surface to attack; ye just had to find it. Sirius possessed some strange sort of infatuation with his canine-self – a 'thing' I've never wasted the time on to comprehend.

My magical Godfather then pulled out a whole, full-sized guitar from his pocket – it might be collapsible, or the feat involved magic – and began singing an Irish song of delirious merriment.

Wait a minute! I suddenly realized that I wasn't that drunk anymore. I looked over at Dora – now the one and only, her twin having disappeared - and found her grinning in the middle of sheathing her wand not very subtly. On my demandingly quirked eyebrow, she just shrugged.

"Go and wash up! Tussled, reeking drunks really don't hit my fancy."

Which was probably a good thing. I too could smell my own eau de rum, so I was totally on agreement with her. Sirius meanwhile begun playing and I started to dance my way towards the counter with a persistent grin plastered on my face.

It was the same Irish song that could always be heard in some form or fashion in our favorite pub back in London. It was conveniently an Irish pub and despite that neither of us were Irish, we were still welcomed – and after a little time, renowned. It helped that my eyes were green and that Sirius had a four-leaf tattoo on his left forearm – prison-tattoo which he got for being lucky in a gambling game for inmates, as he explained. The gambling involved a slice of cloth, something nasty, good timing and patrolling dementors... Don't ask! I didn't either. And I don't plan to.

So this little tune was ever-present in our pub – playing from the jukebox, coming from the radio, someone singing it or playing it on a musical instrument or even whistling it. Good thing it was a good, melodious and catchy tune; it didn't get old.

Padfoot's Pad – our HQ and 'Den of Sweet Sins' as he liked to call it – was above the pub. That was our lovely home. It was a huge apartment situated in the corner of the block of flats - an old building with art-deco style interior apparently. Being quite under-informed on the subject of arts and interior building, I could only appreciate the huge open rooms and the spacey, circular balcony protruding from the corner. It was way too cool! Overlooking the City – you could watch the everyday muggle crowd trashing by underneath your gaze. It was like watching people from the Heavens. And during episodes of overenthusiastic self-assurance – 'Jerk-James flavored déjà vu', as Sirius liked to call them -, I felt like a god watching my creations. Yeah, ego-period and heavy alcohol consumption. But I am not a drunkard. I just tend to go overboard those few times I happen to night-out in a pub. Yes, sometimes even I felt this explanation lacking, so then I reasoned with this: I am the Chosen One, who have to murder a kickass powerful, experienced, evil-to-the-core, dark wizard. I'm near sixteen, he'll be seventy, come December's end. He's a sociopath, I'm simply social. He's... bald, yet I am bold. And I can utilize our shared talent, Parseltongue in much more creative ways. So, I consider myself justified to occasionally throw the wand in, sign off and have fun. Besides, one has to learn where one's limits are. I haven't passed out yet from too much juice – one of my unofficial achievements. I sure won't include this fact in my resume, though.

Ah, good times! It was like another life entirely: with Sirius and me the only ones there alone – I'm not counting our, well, mainly his occasional nightly "entertainment". We were away from the magical influence, but not fully part of the muggle existence either. Sirius took up the task personally to shape me into a mature – in his dictionary: mature meant the responsible, but adequately wicked expert of women, wand and pranks –, happy-go-lucky rogue. One stage of this process was the pub, where nearly all aspects of this 'maturity' could be observed and practiced - except the wand bit, well, not too openly at the least.

Oh, good times, wonderful times...

And I'm fully aware that Sirius had a massive influence on me. One can argue whether it was bad or worse. In retrospect, I'm certain it was for the better bad. I evolved, changed for the better by being no so good. For I'm not so sure I could have taken some of the obstacles life-slash-fate hurled before my path being my 'old self'. With a 'sirius' attitude, I'm more resilient to the shit that hits the fan - a fan held by the Hand of Fate in front of me constantly, wherever I go.

However, if I don't freshen myself up now, I won't be having any 'good times' with Dora here at all. And that was set to be the main quest for tonight. And Harry Potter does not fail in his quests! Well, not anymore, freshly counting again from the one huge failure of not being in the proper universe to save it. But hey, I get to save another one, and this job I voluntarily pick as a side-quest... so maybe I will get bonus karma-points, right?

Right.

"Heyo, Zerda! Get me a glass of water, will you?" I said to the big barbarian bartender once I successfully arrived to the counter. His face was flushed and a permanent grin threatened to split his mouth in two, it was so stretched. All these marks neatly indicated the obvious: that he was well afloat with ale. Remarkable, that his balance and coordination – with which he manipulated the dirty glasses between his cloth-covered peels of hands – was as impeccable as when he was sober.

"Water?"

"Water."

"You wanna drink water?"

"Yes."

"Why d'ya wanna drink water?"

"Because I'm thirsty—?"

"You thirsty, you drink ale! Mead if you're a pussy... Water is for the squeamish sorcerers to soak their pale arses in!" he roared with his thundering laughter, several patrons near joined in to the cacophony.

"Well, I'm a kind of sorcerer..."

"And are you of the squeamish pussy type?" he asked disbelievingly. That was flattering actually. It was always a high compliment for me, when a battle-scarred, badass-huge, berserker barbarian gave you the benefit of doubt that you might actually not be a squeamish pussy...

"Not since I last checked."

"Then what's with the water?"

"Let me clarify: I'm a bit drunk, not-squeamish, anything-but-a-pussy sorcerer, who wants to sober up, unless said non-squeamish-not-a-pussy sorcerer wants to pass up his mind-bogglingly-gorgeous girlfriend's pleasure promising proposal," I said with irritation, having lost my patience with the bear-like giant. He was funny and kind, but my urge to be with Dora was greater than my tolerance for verbal sparring. Couldn't help the rhymes, though!

"Ahh... Woman business! Why didn't you start with dat?" he asked as realization dawned on him. He looked a little up, behind me and I guessed he was watching Dora.

"Why the hack else would I want to sober up in the middle of the parade?"

"I didn't know you wanted to sober up!" he muttered defiantly, still not looking at me.

"I've already told—ARGH! Just gimme a cuppa water already!"

He finally averted his attention back at me and grinned even more, which was truly an incredible feat, despite also being very disturbing. "I don't have water here. Go outside and put your big face into the horse's drinking trough!"

The patrons around us cracked up with laughter again. I glared as murderously as I was able to and gritted my teeth to hold back the snap. My survival-instinct learned to overlap my foolishly hasty and big mouth. It would not do any good if I taunted Zerda into something that would probably end with the dissonant accord of my bones being crushed. So I decided that a minor prank as revenge was as good a venue to follow as any. It would be hilarious and nothing serious. I whipped my want out with the speed of the thing my scar looked like and launched a nonchalant, nonverbal, non-harmful little charm.

In result, a brightly fluorescent, vivid lime-green Mohawk spouted out from his bald scalp.

There was a suspending moment of silence and wary breath-holding. Zerda froze and slowly lifted a hand to his new hairdo. His fingers brushed its top and then he whipped around to face me. I already conjured a big mirror for him, behind which I was smiling just a tab bit too smugly. Or perhaps it was just the result of my tightly clasped jaw, so my teeth wouldn't rattle as fear shook me with the thought: 'What have I done again?'

He looked at the mirror, than at me and finally snapped his head back to howl with laughter. Everyone was soon to start yowling with mirth again and I slipped out of the ring of suffocating people unseen, heading outside.

The pre-dawn air was a little cooler tonight, the crickets chirped relentlessly around, the noise of merrymaking danced from the tavern and a few dog-barks sounded from the distance. Into this nice little setting I walked out, and immediately spotted a stone well in the middle of the 'courtyard' that looked promising to yield me some refreshment. I stopped at its side and leaned over the edge to glance into its pit. It was looked darker than deeper - I mean it was probably not that deep to look so deep, yet it did. Still not clear? Yeah, I didn't get it either. It had an aura. Like it was luring and repulsing as well.

Shrugging mentally, I reached for the reel and with a little effort, began to pull the bucket up. The wooden shaft groaned as the thick rope coiled around its girth tightly. It sounded like the wail of an agonizing man in that situation. Was it distorted by the chilling hollow of the deep well that beckoned and nauseated me at the same time? I tried to swallow, but my throat was very much unlike this moist and mouldy fount. When I started to lose hope that the bucket was ever going to surface, it did. And I almost had the chance to sigh in relief. Almost.

It was too dark yet to see the bucket or its content perfectly, but the unnerving scent that slithered into my nose caused me to pause. My wand came readily to my awaiting grip and the whispered lumos revealed the reason of the unnerving smell. The bucket was rotten and covered in some gruesome goo. The water in it was fluid-like, not some vile syrup that would have made the bucket look like it did. But the water was oddly black. Even with the harsh mage-light coming from my wand, it didn't reflect like 'normal' water should have. It was eerily black, like liquefied death, but a flimsy, faint-green sheen appeared to emanate from it.

My lips twisted in primal revulsion and my stomach followed suit. I released my grip on the reel and let the bucket descend back rapidly into the deep. The contents of my stomach lunged to follow after it momentarily.

When the reflex that had me heaving ceased, I turned and leaned with weak legs against the side of the well, panting.

"Urghh..." was my only follow-up commentary.

Honest to Goodness, that smell reminded me of death. Rotting, bloody, gory death. I shivered.

But good relief! I spotted that drinking-trough Zerda was talking about. It was near the fence to which three horses were tied to currently. I swiftly moved towards it, eager to get away from the well. It frankly scared me out of my shit. Oh, well... you know.

One of the horses looked up at me and snorted in sympathy, almost as if it could smell the stench as well and likely have smelled for awhile. I patted its neck and ducked under it to crouch beside the trough. It seemed that I left my luck someplace else, probably in England, because the water in the trough was stale. Even the faint memory of thirst left me now, no matter if the green algae in the water wouldn't have minded lending me their 'accommodation'.

I growled angrily at the trough as if my fury could purify it. But then, I realized that it could. Returning my snort of sympathy to the horse I swished my wand and chanted a forceful Evanescso at the water. The happy-ignorant alga colony, along with their 'dwelling' vanished, gone to the next great adventure, leaving behind the dirty, gooey wood. After a thorough Scurgify, the trough looked better than new and I quickly filled it with fresh conjured water. The horses neighed in grateful approval.

I sighed. Let's not be so uptight and chose to easier way! I raised my wand above me and repeated the Aguamenti spell. Chilling distilled water poured on me, drenching me in a blink. It was refreshing, though a bit cold as the early morning breeze touched my wet clothes. I 'bathed' quickly, rinsed my mouth, dried up in a minute and stood to take a short stroll in the cool air.

And, as it often was the purpose of lone strolls at night, I mused.

Problems always found me. Trouble was Problem's best mate or maybe lover, as they tended to come hand in hand or in embrace. This fact didn't make me any special; everyone had problems, anyone could get into trouble. It was just that my Problems tended to include fates – not just people's, but that of culture's too. And my troubles nearly every time involved mortal danger. Remembering Leah's explanation about this soul-cycle, it would be safe to state that a cosmic target was painted on my forehead.

Was it general, a universal law for accidentally-made-heroes to attract danger no matter where, when and how? Maybe yes, maybe no. But it was universal fact that heroes didn't turn their back on those dangers. I don't count myself a hero and in spite that I also am incapable of letting others fight and suffer in my place - which behavior automatically nominates me as one.

This latest problem was also quite inevitable. If I hadn't used that overpowered patronus on Izual, we would be dead. If I had declined the gift, not only I would have insulted an archangel greatly, Master Cain probably would have lost interest in helping us. If I had given the Shard to him... I would be dead. Killed in a fight where he would have forced the separation. Or because of the trauma of willing separation. I simply can't see myself parting with it. It is mine and I am its...

Ouch!

Something zapped me! No, the Shard zapped me. And in the zap was a message. Oh! Right, sorry. She is mine and I am hers.

No shit about that wrought-in conscience. And a feminine conscience at that. Again, my luck! Strange how kickass-powerful, sentient, celestial artefacts always seem to be feminine. Or if not, the one who would wield it would always be a heroine. Or if not, there has to be at least one gorgeous babe somewhere in the story, who gets involved with the hero. Strange how Miss Shard found her way to rest on my chest – and that Leah was so interested in this fact. And strange why I am thinking about her and not someone else, who is also gorgeous, also has some interest in a thing, only inside my chest and is already involved with me. Involved with me and not my chest or the shard stuff on it, or the whole stuff a little bit to the south. I would not mind that particular interest, though...

Ouch! Hey, quit zapping me! I was just theorizing! Honestly...

I stopped when I reached the other side of the tavern's perimeter and I leaned in to support my torso on the wooden fence. That's how I raised my gaze to the still dark sky. It was cloudy, but patches of deep, dark blue and indigo were already there. What was odd, in spite of the clear patches, was that no stars showed. Not one bright spot on the vast canvas. The moons were hidden too – both of them. Probably behind a cloud, for there were a half moon and a quarter moon yesterday. I hope Remus won't be overly affected by this bi-lunar cycle—

Shh! My ears perched. I heard something scuffle against the ground behind me. I straightened up and my hand moved to the right angle, so that with a little twist, my wand would pop into my grip. And I waited.

Silence greeted me, apart from the crickets and the revel in the tavern. I fine tuned my ears to the fresh memory of the scuffle, so I could recognize even the softest version of it, should it occur again.

There! Again.

My wand came to my hand like a thought comes to a trained mind – flawlessly, seamlessly, faster than light -, but I did not turn. I concentrated and cast a silent revealing charm behind me. Homanun revelio would indicate if any human presence were in my vicinity. I adjusted the power so it would not reach the tavern, where the spell would go overboard with the crowd inside. The wave of magic spread out behind me and in my mind, a circular picture not unlike a sonar's display was drawn. And sure enough, affirming my good hearing, there was a presence a good ten feet from my back, slightly to the left.

Okay. Procedure will be the following. Roll to the right with a slight turn ending in a low crouch. It is a likely possibility that I'm just panicking and the presence is friendly, so a strong Protego would suffice. If the target has any problem with that... Well, I'll ask questions later. Or won't. Blast, if it's Dora or Sirius, I'll never hear the end of it. They will roll on the ground laughing at my skittishne—

There, the scuffle again!

I jump-rolled to the left and had to twist around as I landed backwards to the sound and I threw up an Aegis shield, which would held its ground against a barrage of exploding hexes. It gave off a hard, pale-blue light, so maybe it was better that the flimsy-misty white layer of the Protego which would obscure my vision rather than enhancing it.

Yes. Yes, I overdid it a bit. So what? Adrenaline surges do funny things to the children of men!

"Impressive..." drawled a deep voice.

I've never heard it before, so I tensed and sprung up. I sprung up, because I landed behind several wooden barrels and I could not see my target. I strafed swiftly to the side and in the open, I leveled myself into the low-aggressive dueling stance. I found that this stance was better for defense than the actual defensive stance; for the opponent often wavered in their intent if faced with a hotshot man ready to go wild and violent on the slightest provocation. The prey often became the hunter that way.

The target was in sight now; clear, straight ahead. But it was unresponsive. It stood still, straight-backed, in no stance noticeable or known by me and I couldn't see any weapons drawn either. I, on the other hand, didn't relent, though. I stayed in my low-stance, ready and alert. No one fooled me twice the same way.

"Quick, agile. With reflexes only found in war-weathered warriors. And yet, so young. Barely a lad..." continued the stranger with this inspection I could not place.

"Show the face belonging to that voice! Slowly!" I commanded.

"Cool and collected, but imperious as well," he added. I thought I could hear a smile in his voice. The figure in front of me was just a silhouette, nothing distinctive in its shape. The light of my shield did not reach him. He – consciously or not – remained outside of its radius.

"I might lose my cool if you kept me waiting any longer..." I threatened and to emphasise my point I pumped a little harmless magic and intent to the tip of my wand, creating a spark of light – a basic lumos or a muggle sparkler, if you will.

"Ease up, lad. I won't attack you," he said in a calm manner. His voice was silky, soothing and... I dunno... It caressed me? Ah, that sounds so wrong! But it did feel good to my ears. Never mind that, Harry. You had to, well, keep your cool. Heh! Behold the clear exhibit of how good I am to live up to my threats. Let's make another one, then!

"Of course you won't. I won't give you a chance. Your voice may be angelic, but your face that of a demon's. Show yourself!"

He didn't respond right away. And when he did, he ignored my demand and spoke his own mind.

"You move like a sword dancer, yet I can't see a sword with you. You use a kind of magic which does not mark the sorcerer's elementalism. You wield a wand – a rather plain and rudimentary one – but you are clearly not one of my kind."

"Which is?"

He ignored me again. "I will have to title you as... a wizard..." he said the word with intent, as if he wanted to convey some hidden message with it. He became silent afterwards again.

I was mildly surprised that he used the term which described me the most aptly. I was beyond doubt a wizard. I was born one. And trained to be the best of bests ever since. I had to. Not that I was anywhere there, but a man can dream, can he not? So his observations about me were unnervingly precise and true. Quick, agile, with acute senses and reflexes, moving around as a professional auror instead of the common stationary dueling styles and of course wielding a wand. It was also surprising that he recognized the piece of wood in its true purpose. No one did so far. Or if they did, they forgot to mention. And he said, plain and rudimentary. What did he meant by that? I refused to be offended, as we were strangers here as much as they were strangers to us. Strangers with strange habits and culture.

And what the heck did he meant by 'my kind'? Was he not human? Part human? Blast and curse it to Hell and back thrice and spit on it then, for all the shit I tend to step into! ARGH!

Anyway...

Anyway.

He said wizard. Wizard, more precisely. He said it clearly, slowly, with meaning, intention. And as someone who... who want to measure the other's reaction to the word. Hmm... interesting.

"You may be right by doing so," I replied after the little pause.

"Hmm... interesting," he said my earlier thoughts. And then, he apparently lost the intention to continue speaking. I fumed silently.

"I'm glad that I can keep you intrigued. Please, don't reciprocate the effort. Patience is not one of my stronger traits."

He hummed in a distracted way – a way that told me that he was perfectly at ease and barely paying attention to my tense stance or glowing wand-tip. Barely being the keyword. As I said, no one fooled me twice with the same trick. Actually, this one did not happen with me, I was smart enough to figure it out on my own—Ah, c'mon! Concentrate, Harry!

"I'll show myself if you tell me you name. The real one."

I was mystified. Truly. So in my confusion, I could only think that it won't hurt me or anyone to tell him my real name. It had no meaning here after all.

"Harry James Potter, I was named thusly at my birth." This archaic speech became some sort of fixation to me for some reason.

"A birth that happened not in this world..." he said to my shock.

And he stepped into the light-circle.

My first reaction was almost the most blackest of the darkest dark curses in my repertoire – yes, those included. Almost. The similarity was huge. But it was just that. Similarity, not identity.

Instead of long, straight platinum-blond hair, he had that in a stark-white colour. Instead of ice-blue eyes, he had silver. The tall, prominent nose, the jutting chin, the wide jaw, the high cheekbones, the low brow with the aristocratically curved eyebrows – they were almost the same. Almost. Instead of the expensive and spotless black robes, he wore a plain and simple black cloak, cape on.

Instead of Lucius Malfoy, before me stood a man who could have been his twin.

"You look very surprised. Perhaps, I am not who you expected? Or maybe... precisely the same?" he drawled slowly. He was reading me all the time, studying my reactions, little facial muscle-motions.

But he made a huge mistake: he assumed that I assumed something. That makes an ass out of you and me, buddy! Cubed!

"I expected you to look like someone I couldn't have possibly expected, but you expertly represent the exception, by being the exact replica of the excrement of a man I expected the least to ever see again."

Now, figure this one out, Mr. Mystery Malfoy de'Coy! Decoy—de'Coy... got it? Hehe! Meanwhile, I'll allow myself a clap on the back and a proud mental smile. I sure can improvise, man! And I'm witty, yes. High-five!

But then, I was rendered surprisingly perplexed, for he... chuckled.

"Hah! What a keen mind and silver tongue! But rest assured, I have no family and very few friends; friends who mystify even me with their willingness to actually be and stay my friends, despite my wish of the opposite. And I would be aware if anyone would try to parade in my skin by use of magic. So, perhaps, I really am that man you were reminded of by my appearance."

So, I encountered a lone-wolf with issues of self-depreciation and perhaps a self-built and firmly planted inferiority complex, with the difference that he believes in his inferiority instead of fighting against it. Curious.

But I will not assume anything! I will evaluate him along the way. Maybe he reveals more – intentionally or otherwise.

One thing was certain, though. He was not Lucius Malfoy.

Joy.

And I'm a bit disappointed, frankly...

Weird.

When I intended to relax my stance and lower my wand a bit, I realized that my knees were already straight, my wand held loosely in his direction, but pointing before his feet. It seemed my body decided for me already, automatically, by instinct. He did say that he won't attack me. However... I'll try a small test.

"You may resemble the man, but you are nothing like him," I told him with the questionable amount of conviction I felt carefully well veiled. One thing that he really was not Lucius, but any link to that man would mean trouble – Warning! Approach cautiously!

"Careful with such assumptions..." he drawled and took a half step ahead, towards me.

In a blink I was back to my 'Wrinkle your nose and die!' stance. He stopped. I smiled. He just contradicted himself...

"Hypocrisy can be bad for your health too..." I said in my best imitation of his drawl.

"Of course," he conceded and inclined his head. "How silly of me..."

"Lucky of you," I corrected. "If you had some kind of weapon in your hand while you took that step, perhaps you would be worse off than being simply 'silly'."

"And what makes you think I don't have a weapon in my hand, young one?"

Of course... How silly of me... Blast it, Potter! The cloak! It covers his entire body neck down. His hand could be easily wielding any sort of weapon. He looks kind of like... He had a magical vibe, but contrarily to that his body is quite bulky, well built, so maybe he's not a wizard...erm, sorcerer. Magician, whatever. Either way - his hands are hidden! I could be very dead right now!

I sighed and straightened up. And on some strange whim inclined my head. My wand remained in hand, held aloft.

"I reckon it's the bane of mankind – one of the many: to always assume even if you try not to. But you did promise the harmlessness of your intentions, be them whatever they are. And what I already learned during my short stay here is that the people of Sanctuary respect virtues and traits. You held to your promise, so that would make you a gentleman..."

He chuckled again.

"That's an assumption again, young one..." he warned with amusement and with a little edge.

"No," I argued. "That's a logical deduction. After all, you did nothing yet whereby you could have broken your promise." Seriously, what's with me and archaism? Probably the climate.

"Appearance can deceive."

"Very true," I said and grinned. My wrist flicked – my left, wandless one – and a magical gust of wind blew against the Stranger, blowing his cloak off from his torso.

He wore a black leather boots and pants combination. And a black linen shirt atop of which leather straps crossed each other over his chest to hold two leather pauldrons on his shoulders. Several leather bags and potion bottles dangled on the intersecting lines of those belts. His hands were covered in black gloves and were positioned near his wide belt around his waist; right thumb hooked into it, left hand gripping the handle of an elaborately carved ivory bone-dagger.

This, I sized up in about one second. I was already lowering to my offensive-defence stance.

"You really want to fight, don't you, young one?" he asked with a sigh.

I didn't answer.

He slowly, deliberately, while maintaining eye-contact with me, extracted his dagger from its sheath and held it in front of him in a position quite unfitting for a fight.

"However--" he started and switched his grip on the handle, slowly, so that its sharp tip faced down. "—I don't... and won't."

And with that, he dropped to a crouch so suddenly that I didn't even have the time to shift a muscle. He remained that way, though. Head hanging low, on half knee, dagger plunged to the hilt into the hard soil. I didn't launch any colourful beam of light out of panic thankfully. I just remained still and observed the odd behaviour.

He was still, not even breathing. Odd. He gripped the handle of his weapon with one hand, the other was placed palm down on the ground.

And then, I noticed.

The cool night air drew his breath. It was barely visible as it was not that cold and obviously he was whispering. The little cheating chanter!

I was about to spring to the side, but faster than possible, large and thick tentacles in the color and texture of bone sprouted from the earth all around me. I crashed into one of them and recoiled painfully. My shoulder hurt, but it was a minor problem.

I was caged.

I was imprisoned in a bone cage. It was inside my still holding Aegis. Clever, but will it hold against my Reducto?

"Reducto!" I intoned and the teal-blue beam shot out of my wand and into the gross column of bone.

It didn't crumble into dust, though, as I expected. It absorbed the curse and made a crackling, sizzling sound. And resisted, stood undamaged.

I growled.

And I heard him chuckle again. He was standing right in front of my shield, smug and relaxed, twirling his dagger in his hand.

"Harry James Potter. Talented you may be, but still very young, lacking experience..." he said very sagely with a shake of his head, fair hair swinging around him.

I gritted my teeth, but a plan 'B' already formed in my head.

"You know... Underestimation is even worse than assumption," I told him and then, with all my intent and power, I willed myself behind him while leaving a bit of that intent behind - making a interesting twist to my disapparation.

There was a twin Pop! Almost simultaneous and I was standing behind him, while a solid looking ghost image of me remained in the place I left.

Unfortunately, the mirror-image of me was fading more rapidly than I wanted and he realized my ploy immediately. My wand hand whipped forward, his body twisted around. And when our swift motions came to an end, we stood less than one foot away, my wand at his throat, his dagger at mine, boring into each other's eyes.

We stayed this way for a little awhile, neither of us moving, nor even breathing and definitely not blinking.

When the urge to breath got too intense, I slowly exhaled and took another gulp of air. The razor-like edge of his dagger scraped my jugular even as I tried to make the faintest movement. He blinked – apparently air was not so vital necessity for him. These were small, insignificant things otherwise, but in this situation they were somewhat of an ice-breaker.

"Draw," I stated, but there was a hint of a question in it. I think he noticed too.

"Indeed," he replied in a constricted voice without moving too much muscle, even on his face. But then, his right brow rose in inquiry.

The corner of my mouth twitched and it was possible that it remained curved upwards in a small half-smile. His reaction was little, but felt huge nonetheless. However cool my facade was, I was truly wary of this man. The tip of his dagger left the skin of my throat. Just that. Not more, not any less; his arm remained in position, the blade hovering a good inch above my jugular artery. In return, I removed my wand from where it was pressed firmly into the underside of his chin, between his jaws.

I had a quick, fleeting realization why his 'Indeed' was strained and distorted. It was, because I was pressing my wand too hard into his jowl, not because he was angry or irritated.

After a moment of relieved pause, we drew back our hand together, slowly, and took two steps back. We were still staring at each other, me with my half-smile, his face an impassive mask – better than even Snape's. And that's because while Snape's face was constant and unchangeable, it was frozen into one emotion usually: distaste. This guy was the paragon of apathy.

After a while, he lowered his arm fully until it rested limply by his side. I grinned and tipped my wand up, while lowering it similarly as he did.

"Still impressive," was his comment.

"You surprised me," I answered back, feeling the need to compliment back the man.

"I do that," he said with a nod – like that was a universal fact. 'The grass is green; the sky is blue; I surprise people.'

"Now, as we are past the proper introductions, let's continue with some small talk, hm?" I asked conversationally. When he arched his brow again – I started to feel that was his only facial expressive tool – I continued. "Who the hell are you?" I asked slowly and intently. It was not harsh, just patient – with the ulterior tone of a command –, the kind of manner you speak to a mentally handicapped child. I really wanted to know.

"I'm just a traveller, my name is unimportant." He was calm. But like, well, sort of on the edge. Not totally aloof and distant or reserved, but not warm and friendly or open either. I guess, the right term would be: blasé.

"Ah-ham. How can I call you then?"

"Why, like you usually call someone: 'Hey, come here!'"

I snorted. Funny guy. He was a strange mix of Snape, Malfoy Sr. and Sirius.

"Ha-ha. 'Hey' does not suit you... Ah, no matter. You said you're a traveller, yes? Then, henceforth, you'll be known as the Wanderer!"

He winced. Only slightly, but it was the strongest reaction I've seen from him yet. But... Oh! Oh, yeah, I know! Darn, I said the taboo word...

His voice was as calm as ever, though, when he spoke. Even a bit amused. "Thank you for the title, but I can see it on your face now that you know of its... delicate nature. Perhaps you would want to choose another one? And as a piece of advice, even if I don't really care about ridiculous superstitions of such words, others do. If you don't want trouble on your back, you won't insist saying it too much aloud."

"I won't," I promised. "But why is this word such a... blasphemy here?" I asked curiously.

"Bad history. Let it be enough, that it's the affectionate nickname of one of the Arch-demons," he said vaguely. It was enough.

"Okay. Perhaps I don't want to hear more."

"You are wise then."

"So..." I started after a long pause. I raked my brain for something to say. Then it came like a jolt. Like all thoughts usually came. "What were you doing out here, sneaking behind me?"

"From my perspective: What were you doing out here, sneaking in front of me?" he shot back with that raised eyebrow. But he then let it drop and humoured me. "I was drinking on the porch."

"Alone?"

"With my bottle as my only companion."

"You are not a very social person, are you?"

"I don't like crowds."

I could accept that. There were times when I too possessed some revulsion of crowds. But I grew out of it with Sirius' essential help – I do give the credit where it's due.

"Right. I was airing my head out here."

"And from the sounds of it, your stomach too..." he murmured, but it was intentionally loud enough so I could hear it.

I shivered. "What the bloody hell drowned in that well?"

"Ah, you recognized the scent—"

"Stench..."

"—of death. Impressive... for a lad. On the other hand, others might find it... disturbing... to be so well acquainted with death so young."

"Would you kindly step over this age-issue?"

"As you wish," he conceded. And continued. "I don't know if anything drowned into the well. It is possible. However it is blood that taints the water, ancient blood, shed violently. There were great battles here on this land, and the blood spilt then did not turn water. It slowly seeped into the soil and from the soil into the waters of the deep, defiling it with the memory of carnage and the fury of the restless dead."

He said this in his detached, but silky voice. It made the hair on my back stand on edge. The images that came unbound to my mind at his explanation were not helping matters.

"Thanks for letting me know..." I groaned wryly.

"You're welcome."

I forced myself not to think on that and instead asked my next question that burned my sides with curiosity.

"What's with that 'wizard' comment? You said it, like... like, I dunno, as if you expected me to cry bloody murder and pounce on you..."

"What an interesting manner of speech this one has..." he muttered under his breath. This time, I don't think it was intentional, but I heard anyways. Also, I found out the reason behind my archaic manner of speech. And see? One time I drop it, and this fellow noticed right on.

"You are actually quite right," he continued. "Wizard is a term quite derogatory, used to mark brash, cocky and rebellious fledgling mages or sorcerer's, who think they are above their order's standard rules and-or want power above all else. They often leave their masters, their lore, to travel around seeking more powerful, exotic and unconventional – and too often, also darker – knowledge. Your strange magic gave too much potential base for the provocation. Please, forgive me, if I insulted you."

His voice still had me reeling. It was smooth and alluringly silky, a good sound to listen to. I still chewed on what he said, because I heard his words despite the distraction of his ensnaring voice. It was a good piece of advice too. We shouldn't introduce ourselves as wizards too much henceforth. Good thing we haven't yet.

"I cannot be offended, because I am a wizard, only not within the definition of yours. So there's nothing to forgive." I even resembled this version of 'wizard' quite a bit. But that was not something I would admit aloud to anyone. I was content to keep it a secret henceforward. The handful of people, who knew that the Sorting Hat was dead on right with its intuition were abundant enough. I was ambitious. And curious. Add up and voila... I would not go as far as power-hungry, but I really liked to learn new and interesting stuff. And as dark stuff was always the most interesting... There you go.

He inclined his head once, but immediately looked back up and now he started to speak first.

"So where did you come here from?"

His question rang a bell in my mind. It reminded me of something he said earlier. 'A birth that happened not in this world...'

"I would guess right if I assumed that you have an inkling that we are Outlanders in the deepest sense of the term, eh?"

"The deepest sense of the word outlander as in: not native of this land? Where land means world?"

"Right. Three other people and I came from something I would call a parallel universe. Or... another 'station' in the Cycle—"

"You are aware of the Cycle?" he asked in harry surprise. Wow, I alone managed to crack his blasé shell. These were strong emotions – and they showed too! If only for moments. I successfully forced myself not to be fazed by this sudden change.

"Vaguely. But the main concept I know, understand and accept."

"Splendid," he allowed somewhat distractedly. His mental cogs were almost too loud to be just mental in nature. He was musing on something while stroking his stubble-dusted chin.

"If you say so..."

"And did you finish your existence in that other world?" he asked me, this time giving me all of his attention. So my answer to this would be important...

"Uh, did we die, you mean?" I asked and he nodded. What an odd phrasing. "No, we entered a sort of portal that brought us straight into Hell. We struggled our way up from there. Besides, if we died there and were reborn here, wouldn't we forget everything about our previous lives and be simple newborns?" It was only logical. But he looked like he didn't even listen to that last part I said.

"You escaped the Burning Hells?" he asked with an amused sort-of-smile on his face. His deep-thinking episode seemed to be over, for which I was rather grateful.

"Barely. We encountered the demonic form of Izual—"

"Are you sure you are alive?" he interrupted with a full on smirk now, amusement evident in his teasing eyes.

"—but I used a spell that liberated his enslaved, jaded soul from its horrific cage. Or something like that, I don't remember too well how he phrased it..."

"You liberated an Archangel's soul from its demon possessed corruption?" he demanded, suddenly serious again as the Spanish Flu. "How?" His question came out as a compelling command to answer or else... He even took a step forward.

I remained in place defiantly, staring back straight into his eyes, which were only a few inches above the level of mine.

"As I said," I started slowly, again as if I was speaking to a dim child – I'm not sure why I always tempted fate as such; this man was obviously dangerous and not someone to trifle with. "I cast a spell that liberated his... or if I think about it, more like empowered his angelic side and helped it overcome the demonic suppression."

"And tell me, how did you get that spell through his thick, magic resistant, granite-hard skin? Furthermore, how come you had the time to utter the spell?" His tone was disbelieving and challenging, but also not as harsh and dismissive – it allowed me the benefit of doubt. This was a venerable man – if a 'bit' odd. And intimidating. But nevertheless, he was not prejudiced and that was a BIG brownie point for him.

"Well, I've got the time, because – out of sheer luck, rest assured – he decided to play with me and my, uh, lady friend for bit before ending our lives. So I got enough time to try. As to how I got it past his skin? I launched my spell into his opened mouth as he laughed on our misery and he sort of... swallowed it, I guess."

He snorted with a half-smile, and then turned back to his business face.

"What was the spell?"

"It was the Patronus charm." Upon seeing his blank stare I realized that our magical diction was mismatching and completely different. I wasn't even sure Latin was spoken around here. In fact, I was surprised that English was the common tongue here. Or...? Perhaps I and the others too are under a strange delusion that we are speaking English, but actually we are speaking in a totally alien language that somehow was imprinted into our brains when we crossed the planes via that portal...

Oops, he is staring at me really hard. Backtrack and save musings for sometime later.

"Ah, it's an emotion-based spell, which creates an ethereal guardian spirit in the form of an animal, metaphoric to the caster's sense and idea of safety, comfort, warmth and most importantly, happiness. Could you follow so far?"

"Hmm..." he answered. Now, that could mean a lot of things, given that his face was mildly thoughtful. Thanks, buddy. I don't really want to repeat the lecture... "Show it!"

I arched an eyebrow.

"...please."

And I grinned at that. Really funny guy! Brandishing my wand I didn't have to dig deep in my memory bank for a happy thought, it came almost on its own, in its bright pink giddiness. I let the memory swam fully in front of my mental screen and immersed myself in it. The emotions tied to it manifested themselves in my body; my brain leaked dopamine, serotonin and acetylcholine, which blended into the delicious cocktail quickening my heartbeat, flushing my skin in heightened blood-pressure and caused an overall neural bedlam that could be called excitement or... arousal.

"Expecto patronum!"

The incantation almost came out as a sensual moan. Almost. I always had a very vivid imagination. As for my latest show of deftness in medical diction? Well... Hermione rubs on me. She once told me a story starring herself and a tank of nitrous-oxide - aka. laughing gas - and a massage chair. Her dad later explained the reason why she felt what she felt when she used the chair 'resonate' in a... creative manner. Way to go and show it to your prude side, Miss Reason and Decorum! Okay.

Meanwhile Spectral Prongs – trademark! – sprung out of my wand eagerly, galloped around us with bouncing happiness and finally came to stand by my right, greeting me with a nod and shake of his head topped with his magnificent antlers.

I broke out of the emotion-igniting memory, but despite that, I could still feel the elation and joy that affected me just moments before – Prongs radiated it, like the Sun does its warmth. I also saw, when I glanced up to see his reaction, a contented smile settling on the Malfoy-lookalike's face.

"Fascinating..." he murmured and reached out to touch the sparkling, billowing, swirling, glowing surface of the stag spirit.

"Uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," I cautioned.

Somehow my patroni behaved differently than others in a particular regard. Its aura was all right, proper, following the norm, but if you touched it, it infused you with the concentrated essence of the actual emotion and sensation which materialized it. Or so I figured and this is the best explanation I could come up with. It was unique to my patroni; those of the other's did not do anything like this. When I was once tutoring Gin on mastering hers and I showed her mine - don't misinterpret your own words, Potter! – I used the memory I cherished very dearly; the memory of my first encounter with Fleur – and generally my first time all the same. It was intense, powerful. The ultimate loss of my already shredded innocence. Uh, that sounded sad and horrible. Let me rephrase: my ascension from boy to M.A.N. – as in Mature, Awesome, and Nymphomaniac. That's about right. So, where was I? Yeah, I used that evergreen gift of a memory I got from my Flower... Flower-lover... heh! Hehe...

Ugh! Go away nasty, nasty, overly tempting, vivid, sexy-hot images! Shoo!

SO! I conjured a patronus using that particular memory and it made the spirit corporeal, all right. Gin was awed by its beauty and made an attempt to touch it. When her slender fingers brushed against it, she gasped out loud, her breathing quickened, she begun to shake and sweat, all the while making moans of rapture. Finally her knees buckled and she sunk down with the shriek of fulfilment. And she was touching it circa twenty seconds! After her blissful delirium faded a bit, she looked up at me with that wild expression that was contagious – making me wild –, the flames of passion and desire in her eyes and before I could so much as gulp, she pounced and tackled me under her body and kissed me so hard and so thoroughly, that it still is the Number One Most Awesomely Mind-blowing Kiss That Should Not Have Happened For She Is My Best Friend And Like A Sister To Me Therefore A Forbidden Fruit... I've ever experienced. It cannot be compared to anything. Even Fleur's or those of the others I shared a kiss with. But as it was against our codes and would not have happened had we possessed our sanity, it was a memory we buried deep and never recalled – only sometimes in our minds, like twice a week... kidding – by common assent. But man, it was awesome! Perhaps the knowledge that it was unadvised and 'forbidden' by mutual, but non-discussed consent was what made it more... more.

We were in the process of pealing each other's clothes off, when we remembered, or rather, re-discovered that beside the two of us, three other of our friends were in the room, standing and staring in various states of stupefied shock. We both began stammering out profound apologies, our faces blushing more than a fresh-fed vampire's. Luna was staring as usual, meaning she did not find it one bit odd, Neville looked lost and confused. But later when I asked him, he swore to try and forget it or at least never mention it again. And Ron? Ron requested—pleaded for an obliviation after he suppressed his urge to murder us with his bare hands.

After the incident, we couldn't look at each other for nearly two weeks. But then we cornered each other and talked it through. Hence that long, serious talk, our bond of friendship grew even deeper. She really is my most bestest B.F.F. Even more so than Hermione. I usually don't have any preferences or levels or ladders concerning anything, especially my non-sexual relationships, but frankly, there are things I just simply can't tell Mione or even Ron for that matter. There are things that only two people can hear and understand. Sirius just cannot be baffled with anything. Improper, impossible, too gross, insane and too dangerous are terms that cannot be found in his dictionary. Ginny is just like that, only with a female frameset of mind. She is just awesome the way she is. And the best is that neither of us wanted any more from each other than this. Correction: I didn't. She did, but once she warmed up to me, she realized that her idolized hero was not me. Further correction: I have not wanted anything more than friendship from her. So far. Too actively. Out loud. But that is only a dream in my dreams - I AM human and male at that -, not a real desire.

And I got totally sidetracked again! The Malfoy-clone was a good two feet away from me, sitting on his bum as if he had tripped and fallen down on it... And he looked at me with surprised curiosity mixed with incredulous anger.

Apparently, I missed a few moments here.

I sank into my mind, seeking my subconscious and stimulated it – but suggested would be a better word for it – to provide me the events of the past... what? One minute at the most. Like the rewind button on a VRC! Cool, huh? The mental arts are very useful. Thank you, Prof. Dumbledore!

Here's the process. Even thought I was daydreaming about the 'Djinn', my eyes were staring with wide focus at the space in front of me. Now, that space was occupied by my patronus and Malfoy Mark II, so despite my mind soaring a mile away, my visual receptors recorded the scene and stored it in my 'attic'. All I had to do was climb the ladder and shift through the mountains of old boxes that stored similar 'Missed moments'. Really cool, indeed.

Watching the archive record I found that he did touch Prongs and that was the cause of his tripping and falling. It was only like eight seconds, which was weird – I was totally under the impression that I zoned out for more than that.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"That was my emotion that fuelled the spell up. If the emotion behind it is not strong enough, the patronus won't incarnate in its animal form, only in a fluorescent, silver mist. Which is not that effective."

"And this was the spell with which you defeated Izual?" he asked incredulously.

"It was. Why?"

He stared at me with a blank face for more that it was polite and then snorted.

"What?" I inquired, confused.

"I just imagined the demonic Izual swallowing this thing, charged up by your—emotions—such as this, making him quite—excited," he said slowly, contemplating each word, rolling them in his mouth, like one savours good wine. Then, he chuckled.

Oh, thanks so much for the acute image you just planted in my mind. How vivid and—absolutely, terribly grotesque! I couldn't decide whether I was more nauseous or morbidly amused. It was kinda funny, if you had pushed the fact that he was a fallen angel, a demon aside. Seemed like this guy preferred black humour. Like his stunt with that bone-cage...

Bone-cage.

Remus' words were suddenly ranging in my ears: 'And the final one, the Necromancer.... His offensive magic constituted of bone-magic, whatever it is...'

The bone-cage, his ivory dagger, his intimidating, dark demeanour, his black humour and his fascination-laced explanation about the ancient, blood-tainted well, reeking of death...

Necromancer.

Right, okay... all right. Yeah, I will comment on it when my mind really catches up.

"So..." I started with eager uncertainty, having no idea what to say.

"You reacted quite extremely to my approach," he commented out of blue. He was analysing me with pointed questions.

"To your sneaking up on me, you mean..."

"Should I have yelled at you? Would that have been what you preferred?"

"Probably not. Lucky you. My reflexes tend to act without my brain's consent sometimes."

"Why though, I wonder... Such, ah, 'habits' people tend to gain or rather develop in war or by exposure to extended, repetitive life-threatening situations. Forgive me for bringing this up again, but you really are young for a war-hardy veteran and you lack the scars and that cold glint within your irises – marks of a ruthless killer. So that leaves the personal danger. Someone or something hunts you, wants you dead? Or... Do you have something with you that you wish to keep from others?"

"It is possible that if you listed all the suspicious stuff that could fit one person, every one of them would apply to me."

"Ah, you're trouble then. Or too curious? Cursed, perhaps?" he went on, pausing after a guess to gauge my reaction.

"As for trouble – no. I'm the magnet, not the trouble. But to my enemies, sure I'm trouble, big time, no doubt in that. The cursed bit seems strangely apt, but technically is not the truth. The curiosity is something, though, that would fit you wholly better at the moment, not me. Why do you care?"

"I am curious."

"Haha. Then, if it's your only reason for asking, you surely would understand when I deny further answers in a moment... Wait... Just a sec... Sorry, private business. There you go."

"Very well, Harry James Potter. I won't pry into your private business as to why you are carrying the Shard or to where."

"Thanks."

I could feel that in moments it would dawn on me.

"What did you just say?" I demanded him, resisting the urge to walk up to him and... stare him down. He was taller for one and our truce was not carved in stone. The 'He's a freakin' necromancer!' bit still eluded my comprehension. Not for long, though, I hoped.

"The Shard of Azurewrath is dangling around your neck. Forgive my curiosity when I wanted to know why one of the most powerful magical artefacts has apparently chosen you as its master."

"Her master," I corrected absently, while my mind was trying to give this whole night a kind of sense that would explain things. Angels, demons, Hell, Heaven, the cycle, portals, Dora, my own indebted archangel, the Shard of a Kickass Sword who has her own consciousness, Dora, horadric lifestyle and commitment, Leah, master, quest, liquid of death, Dora, necromancers, patroni, Dora...

Great Skies! My head is a mess!

The necromancer meanwhile just watched my misery and boiling meltdown in silent amusement. And he too, like Leah and Cain could sense the presence of this bleedin' accursed piece of—ZAP!

Oh, for the love of... I was just kidding! Really.

Darn it all to hell!

"Okay—Lone Wolf! This is the point when I will kindly ask you to mind your own business unless you have a very, very good reason to continue bothering me."

"My, my! I hit the nail on the head. A touchy subject, is it not?" he asked with a mockingly arched left brow.

"Yes, yes it is. So much so, that if you even think about brushing it absently with subtle leading questions... there will be violence!"

He laughed!

"Oh, that was rather entertaining. Though I hardly think it was your intention. More like to be intimidating. You'll have to work on that, if you don't mind constructive criticism. The grand, virtuous knight of justice lines would fit more to your person, I think."

You are dangerously close to blowing my fuse, buddy. Better find that mute button if you know what is good for you! That was the short-wired, brash-bold side of me that was apparently genetically cemented into my system - for it refused to be wiped, despite the intense treatment.

"I don't have time for foolish mockingbirds. Don't let your 'drinking companion' wait up on you! Good night!" I said doing a face about and starting to march away.

The bastard still laughed! I was so irritated by this crow that I didn't even stopped to be awed by the fact that he actually laughed, which was the strongest display of any emotion from him so far – also completely incredulous.

"I have no choice but to bring up your age again Harry James of the Potters. This was absolutely childish!" Me? Childish? Who started to mock the other, again?

"See if I care!" I shot back.

Why did I talk back? I should have ignored the man completely. I should have just walked away. Crap, now I really was childish.

"What's the matter, lad? Did your lady friend just deny your approach, didn't she? Trag'Oul's bones! This is some serious problem."

Snap!

Yeah, like that: snap!

There went my fuse. Like, 'snap'!

Despite my better judgment, I stopped short and spun back to face him. It didn't matter that I should have realized the bait; that he was more childish than I'd ever been; that this all was intentional provocation. With a cut circuit, I could not concern myself with trivialities. I possibly looked murderous, but this guy had a very different kind of perception about scary and intimidating.

I didn't care a bit right then.

I wanted to do something violent.

"The fate of my home-world rests upon my shoulders, because a lunatic, power-crazed psycho, capable of destroying all goodness and bliss, made me his archenemy by a fated accident begotten by his gullible and paranoid nature. And I am not even there to decide said fate! My friends are probably dying in the battle I involuntarily left behind and I'm here, wasting my time with a fuckin' bully, who despite my earlier doubts turns out to be just like the man who I'd mistaken him from at first sight. I crash land in Burning Bloody Hells itself of all places and before I even have the time to scrunch up my nose because of that unholy stench down there, bigass demons just spring up from the blackened soil with the clear intention to chew our fuckin' heads off! Right after we free an archangel spirit from its demon-bound corruption – FYI, I'm not religious, never was, so this little part would be still rather unbelievable to me had I not seen it with my own very eyes –, said angel transports us to this place, where we are hired by a crazy, old magician, who is even battier than the crazy, old magician mentoring me back home."

"It turns out that, yet again, I involuntarily became the part of a great struggle, only this time between supernatural forces, as the wielder of some super-duper-weapon. It's just that I managed to join neither side, but the tiny, fragile humanity stuck between the frontlines, sometimes also called the 'no matter what's the outcome, we'll all perish anyway' party. I have to help you folks here to get back home, where I can help my own kin. Which 'help' has to be carried out by me confronting that powerful bastard who's my archenemy, in a fatal duel of destinies. But to do that, I have to help here, as I said, which help will involve me making yet another world-fate changing decision, as was just prophesised to me tonight by a mentally instable, ancient looking, blind, purple soothsayer. And, indeed, my accursed luck, which works perfectly fine in most situations but never when I really would need sheer luck, seems to extend onto my women-business."

"So, yes! I'm a bit snarky, thank you very much! And now--FUCK off!"

Ugh! I so don't like delivering such tirades. Still, they are simply necessary sometimes. And frankly, they do provide some measure of relief.

Would provide ever so more, if this dead-raiser would get the message and sod off. Or better yet: don't! Push me and I'll get my much awaited blood and gore! Insert evil laugh here. Then a clearing of throat and sobering up.

"Thank you, young Master Potter! You gave me what I wanted to hear. I'd advise controlling yourself better later on, because if you repeat this rant to undesirable elements, some vital information would get to the Enemy and we wouldn't want that."

Oh, great! Simply wonderful! Not only provoked me into revelation, he will also tag along.

"Would you kindly provide me some loneliness to organize my thoughts? Go back to your drink and enjoy the night. Farewell."

"Oh, it is not very polite to keep your audience in the suspense, you know. You impart with the crass outlines of your quest and now expect me to leave? These are rather conflicting intentions."

"Then let my intention be clarion clear. Leave! Farewell! Be well, take care, have fun! This does not concern you. Go! Bye! Adios!"

As I turned and started walking away again; unfortunately not back for the tavern, but to East, towards New Tristram, for our campsite, I noted the growing glow of a lighter shade of dirty indigo on the horizon. Dawn was drawing near. There goes our good beauty sleep before the journey.

"It is my concern," he called to my back simply. It made me stop.

"When the field of battle is scattered with the inert corpses of our allies and foes, I'll let you know. Then will it be your concern!" I called back, sending a small challenge to him. The guy was witty; he would get it that—

"Ah, I see. You are quite perceptive for an Outlander!"

--I knew.

"It was not that hard to figure out."

We were staring at each other, in rigid stances, a good fifteen feet away. Perfect setup for a duel - which I would have liked to avoid this time.

"I was under the impression that you were not prejudiced..." he told me, his voice devoid of anything but the necessary sound waves to make it audible - it was so monotone.

"I am not. But, despite being in another world with different culture, you beginning to prove all our ill thoughts and tales about 'dead-raisers' to be true."

He didn't respond. Not verbally at least; his brows were dropped low into a mighty frown and his eyes were hard, glinting like a polished blade freshly scrubbed from old, dried blood left there by some undead fellow.

"Prove me wrong then, Necromancer!"

"I find myself reluctant to educate moody, obstinate, foolhardy brats, Wizard."

His hand was gripping his dagger tightly, tensely; my wand arm was just as tense, ready to spring into action. We just stared and waited for the tiniest sign of offensive movement from each other.

I don't know why the situation always seemed to end with the urge to curse and duel rising up till the breaking point. My duelling muscles were itching and my berserker side was just waiting to be unleashed. Well, hypothetical berserker side, at the least. To my defence, I was sure that I was not the one to blame. This man... This man was a kind of a paradox to me. And all right, let's be honest to ourselves, shall we? Most probably, the bad endings stemmed from my sour mood and my current intolerance for riddles and mysteries. Frankly, I had enough of them today. All I wish for was to spend a great night with Dora and chill out. And what did I get?

"Okay... What's going on?" demanded a feminine voice I got to be very familiar with.

Right. Apparently, I got Dora. How nice...

...Careful you must wish...

Heh! Yeah, right. But of course.

Damned diviners...

So there she stood in the backdoor of the tavern, just on edge of the porch, tensed up and ready for quick intervention. How she got there was a good question. As far as I observed, that backdoor led to the kitchens and backrooms from the counter. Zerda must have let her in. They've became quite the pals here. I think he developed a crush on her...

Irrelevant! Damage control plans were the high priority necessities right now. Focus—wizard!

"Don't worry, Tonks! I have the situation under control. Stay out of this!" I really said that, didn't I? Best choice of response ever, mate, good job! And she noticed too, how very observant of her.

"Yeah, I can see that," she commented thusly with prospectively heavy sarcasm and drew her wand slowly, but with care not to aggravate the source of threat further. "What's going on, really? Who's this?"

"Ah, I gather you are the fine young woman Master Harry James was talking about. Such pleasure to finally lay my eyes on your beauteous visage!"

He made it sound like a line which a seventeenth century voyeuristic pervert would use. Dora too was stunned into silence for a moment. I could see why: the overall look of the situation, the tone in which the aggressor spoke and the actual things he spoke of were like all shades of gray. Not unlike the overall appearance of this guy, to think of it. White mane, black cape, grey eyes. Shiny manner, grim humour, and a few loose clogs here and there in the brain department, I believed.

"Erm... mine's the pleasure..." she managed to say finally amid her confusion.

"Would you translate what I tell you to Master Harry James here? Perhaps he is more eager to drink words from your lips, my dear," he said just as sweetly as before.

"Harry, what's going on?" Dora asked now with a touch of panicking demand in her voice - which regained its strength by now. The 'I'm a freakin auror, pal. Obey, or I'll roundhouse-kick your arse off!' aura was rippling around her. That's more like it, baby! And our man was damn right on one, that I was eager as hell to do things with her lips right now... Damn it! I hate distractions.

Okay. Giving a sitrep for Auror Tonks, right away. Carefully...

"Another 'zinc' got flushed down the drain..." I told her. Sideways, off-note-like, not taking my eyes off the badger. Just in case. But fear was unfounded for he merely cocked his head to the left in a remarkable imitation of a dog.

In Queen's English the sentence meant: Another 'Curious Non-Confidential' learned about secret Marauder stuff – plan, blueprint, item, place, person, top-notch/hush-hush gossip, etc. Not the standard auror code-speech. This was our invention. Call it second generation Marauder-malarkey. A total of five people, the reformed Marauders spoke it. Dora is the fourth and Gin's the fifth, if it may not be clear. Furthermore, I am proud to say that I am one of the inventors of it. Semi-serious achievement... Haha!

"Whatever you say. Now, would you please convey to Master Potter that I know perfectly well what he is carrying and that this knowledge is the very reason it is my concern as well?" asked the Necromancer, speaking to Tonks, but still watching me intently.

I wanted to object being referred to in third person, when I was clearly standing before him, but it was so obvious. And as he was looking straight at me, the question would have been foolish. I would not make a fool of myself, like he just did. Didn't he?

"I can understand you clearly. What I don't understand is your reason. Why knowing about her would—I dunno, 'compel' you to be concerned about my mastery over her?" I told him firmly. Damned mysticism! Why can't we just say things straight and get to the point? Leah and Cain knew about her too, and they've never gave such a fuss about it.

"You just merely rephrased your earlier question, which I have already answered. Search for the meaning too hard and you'll be unable to find it, even if it's right under your nose."

I twirled my wand harmlessly. It just looked very cool – like in a western film. And then I tilted my head so my neck crackled. These, along with my expression should be enough for him to understand that he had exactly ten seconds to elaborate until I spank him hard on the arse. Figuratively. Unleash my wrath upon him is so overused. Though, undoubtedly, that's what I'd do if provoked. I was just in a spanking mood. True, I'd much prefer Dora's firm little... Right. Enough.

By the way, he got the message!

Joy.

"Only a very few people know anything about the Azurewrath. Even fewer know about its fate'. And only seven people, including myself and Cain - the batty old magician, as you called him know - know about the existence of a shard or the original sword. A shard that was acquired by the corrupted Izual."

So he's involved, because I'm the master of the Shard?

"What do you want from me, then?" I asked bluntly.

"The Shard."

No joy.

"Sorry, I called dibs first..." I countered and raised my wand ready. "But before we commence on the inevitable, I have to ask: why?"

"You possess neither the experience nor the skill to properly wield it. And I can figure that you only begin to grasp the faintest idea what this artefact is capable of. I must seek the one who can truly be the master of it."

"She's chosen me. Don't you think it counts as something?"

"You surely don't want to risk your life by remaining its master. As I gathered from your earlier tirade, you've got enough chagrin without it. Don't bother with our problems, go home and help your people! Leave the Shard to me. You can simply give it to me as a gift. Or you may not want to, in which case I really have to apply force, because one way or another, but I'm leaving with the Shard. Please, be reasonable, I really don't want to fight you for it."

"Look, I have to risk my life here in order to receive help, with which help we can somehow go back home, where I can risk my life again to help my friends. It's that simple. But basically yes, I don't really want to risk my life. Sadly, I have to. I always had to. I'm kind of used to it now. Plus, she chose me, we bonded and it stays that way. End of story."

I was stubborn. He was too, plus also livid. But She really clung onto me and I really didn't want to let her go. We bonded! How could he not see the significance of this? By now, he was shouting. Interesting how I managed to blow his fuse and rouse his rage. Good job!

"You are not adequate enough for its mastery!"

"How do you know?"

"You're just a boy! And even more: an outlander! You are ignorant to the deep lore of this world. No matter how skilled you are, you are not qualified! You just see a shiny new toy, which you think has a benevolent spirit entrapped in it and believe that it has taken a liking of you which resulted in a familiar bond of mutual attraction and care. You. Are. Wrong." he yelled desperately. It struck an odd thought somewhere in the back of my mind.

"So? You follow me around and when I fail, you can watch it and smile, then pick up the Shard from my mangled corpse, what does it matter to you?"

"It's not your responsibility, nor is it your burden. And certainly not your time to die! I cannot allow you to die because of your unreasonable, idiotic, childish stubbornness, when I could have easily done something before anything had happened!"

Wow. Did I just--did he just...

"Oh, did we just stray near your tender topic, didn't we now?"

"Enough! Just hand me the Shard, then go enjoy your life!"

"Boys..."

I didn't ever hear Dora and I ignored him and tried to figure out the reason behind his exploding.

"You are familiar with this sort of situation..." I wondered out loud.

"Give me the Shard!" And I too was familiar with it, as a matter of fact. Morbidly so. His 'twin', the real Malfoy senior had demanded another magical object from me in the same manner, not that long ago, just before I jumped dimensions here. How refreshing it was that this guy didn't have one of my closest friends held wand-point as hostage.

"Boys!" Yet again, poor Dora was ignored.

"Someone refused to pass over responsibility and died and you held yourself responsible..."

"Silence!"

"Gentlemen!"

"And that someone was young... close to you..."

"Enough!"

"HEY! YOU TWO!" Dora bellowed in a magically amplified, thundering voice. The spell ended and she pointed past us, towards the horizon behind us. "Look!"

Shaken by the exchange and the sudden force the sound-wall hit us with, we looked involuntarily and saw something that stopped my heart for a second.

A fiery star was falling from the sky; a brightly glowing bead of light, leaving a sparkly trail behind.

Dora, Bonecrow – my fresh-made nickname for Malfoy No. 2 – and I all stared at it awed, intrigued and stunned - respectively.

"A falling star..." I muttered. The purple prophetess' words echoed in the hollows of my mind.

...careful must be you, when the shooting star from the Heavens rouse you to make wish...

"What? Repeat it!" asked the necromancer appearing next to my shoulder, his dagger nowhere in sight.

Did I say it aloud? I must have. Oh, crap!

"That sounded like a warning you'd better heed," he told me frowning at the flying glow.

"It sounded like a bloody prophecy to me, that the crazy, purple granny had told me back in the tavern."

The guy rounded on me and looked very seriously into my eyes. I was officially startled and quite a bit intimidated by the close proximity of his grim aura. And his breathe.

"You've spoken with Akara?"

Akara, the purple prophetess. Apt.

"If that's what her name is, then yes."

"What did she say? Speak!" he demanded and made to grab the front of my shirt, but thought better of it. I was glad. I didn't like being manhandled. Didn't like it one bit. Residue of my eleven years sentence with my demonic captors. I refused to call them my relatives. If blood was the only bond between my mother and her sister – and therefore between me too – then I wanted that tie unmade. Permanently.

Dark thoughts of a dark past and dark deeds.

It was over now. It would not be back haunting me. We were done. Dumbledore confirmed that the blood wards he placed there were nonexistent by the time I was officially put into Sirius' care. That was all the affirmation I needed. We were done for good. Nobody would go rough on me ever again. Nobody would abuse me again. Nobody would ever dare to manipulate me again!

So I had enough anger to show this monochrome peacock who was the king of the hill.

I took a determined step forward, almost bumping my chest into his, but not quite. It was quick, sudden and forceful enough, though, that he involuntarily recoiled back.

"If you want answers from me, then start giving me some in return. Start with the old one: Who the fuck are you and how exactly are you involved in this?" My voice was rough and harsh, and I felt a prickling sensation behind my eyes. One, that usually is situated at my fingertips if I do it wandless style.

He looked startled for a moment and blinked once as he looked at me. Oddly... Very oddly. Too oddly for my liking. But he didn't have any comment to go with the oddity, so I refrained from going into panic that my face might get ugly somehow.

After the odd scrutiny, he finally relented and spoke.

"I am a priest of Rathma, child of Trag'Oul, protector of the Great Cycle of Being. I am one of the Champions of Sanctuary - slayers of the Prime," he intoned in a much practiced and equally uninterested tone. "Or at least—I once was."

This was one of those total shortstop system-failing, eye-widening moments, when you can only say: 'Oh...'

Dora and I said so consequentially, and in tandem, together. My probably more advanced than average brainpower failed me then. It had taken several minutes before I fully comprehended this unambiguous declaration. The weird prickling sensation ceased altogether; as did the growing hostility towards the necromancer in front of me. He watched these emotions playing with us, their vessels, with a sardonic smile. But finally the disinterested, vacant quality won back over his face and that was how he elaborated.

"Just call me Braha."

Slowly, I worked my neck muscles and steered my head to look at my favourite Auror. Unsurprisingly, she mirrored my action with remarkable synchronicity. It was ever less miraculous that our expressions and the underlying emotions and thoughts beneath them were matching as well. Hers said: 'He looks like Malfoy! And heard what he said? Champion of Sanctuary! You know what that means!' Mine conveyed: 'I know, right? And not just his appearance, but the mindscape too! And I understood clearly. Dora, we found one of the heroes! The stray black sheep of the bunch, nonetheless!'

I suddenly realized why he was involved with Her – the Shard, I mean. Of course he would go after the secret weapon which could seriously kick some demon ass; to retrieve it and save the day once again, and also re-validating his 'Club of Diablo Spankers' membership card in the process.

What's with me and spanking tonight?

As I thought of this, Dora's eyes twitched and her lips parted, signifying that she reached most likely the same conclusion. I nodded slightly and we turned back to Braha, the Necromancer.

"So you are one of the heroes. How are your colleges? Seen them recently?" I asked and also very subtly started on our mission too.

"I have not seen them for a long time. No. Why do you ask?"

"I will relinquish the Shard to any living soul only over my dead body - this I swear. So... It seems that if you want yourself near your precious and you also want to keep to your promise that you will not attack me, then you will follow us around some more, yes? Therefore, you will come with us to our journey to find your fellow champions. All six of them. We set off after dawn breaks, after breakfast. Pack lightly. Questions?"

Braha glanced back at the still descending star for awhile. He looked like... the same he look so far, namely: stoic. But I could detect a faint tenor of resignation and acceptance in him. He agreed! Yay! This recruiting business was not that hard! We could totally do this!

"As I said, I have not seen them for near two decades. But you are mistaken in one point. Even at the moment of glory, when we were named Champions, there were only the four of us left. Gerad, the Mighty, the pride of the Order of Zakarum's paladins, Zenia of the Assassins and Mahya... she was a fine sorceress, the finest... they all perished during our quest and only received the title posthumously."

"Which leaves us only three heroes to locate... Oh, also I am really sorry for your... loss..." I said, mighty awkwardly. The way he said the sorceress' name - I involuntarily thought of a little closer acquaintance between them than simple camaraderie.

He just merely nodded in acceptance.

"And how do you know about the Shard? You said only seven people knew about the shattered sword and its shards..."

"There is only one remaining torrent from the Broken Sword: this. It is called the Shard of Azurewrath, the last remnant of Azurewrath, the angelic blade, wielded by the Archangel Izual, commander of the angels given the task to destroy the Hellforge. Izual failed and the Primes captured and tortured him until his spirit broke. Then, using their vile, corrupting power, they twisted him into a demonic form. Reborn in his unholy body, Izual, loyal to the Primes, was cast into the depths of the Burning Hell to guard the Hellforge with the very weapon that he was given to destroy it..."

He paused then and heaved a huge sigh. All the while he was speaking, his eyes remained on the falling star.

"During our quest to rid the world of the Primes, we followed Diablo to the very pit of Hell... and we encountered Izual on the way. That was when... when Mahya died. She sacrificed herself so that I can wound the beast, allowing Gerad to steal the Azurewrath. We escaped from the demon and fled straight to the Hellforge where we destroyed the weapon. Azurewrath was shattered into tiny little splinters, with only three larger shards remaining. One, I immediately destroyed. One was crushed in the chaos of the battle that later ensued. But one disappeared and we could not find it, nor Izual, so we continued on our task..."

So this was to reason of his involvement. His unfinished business with the Hellforge and the ultimate destruction of Azurewrath - mix with a little revenge extraction for his beloved sorceress, now firmly confirmed. Wow...

However, before I could pronounce the first syllable of my freshly lashed-together pre-plan-idea, all three of us were startled by a sound.

Abruptly, like a whip's crackle, a nerve-tearing scream was sling-shot into the silent, too silent night air.

It was a scream that carried the horror of someone experiencing their own gruesome death. And it came from the Cathedral's direction.

By the time I noticed Remus' messenger partronus speeding towards us, Dora was already gone. I only hoped she run inside, to pick up Sirius. Braha was fading away into the distance, except for his ivory dagger, which now shone with a eerie inner light. He was like a bone arrow, speeding towards its target with a glowing headtip.

I was left alone with my momentary stun, standing alone in the courtyard. I felt small all of a sudden, and hyper-aware of the grandness of tasked, multiple tasked waiting for me to solve them. I was in a strange new world, with angels and demons and sentient weapons all in a bloody, cruel conflict, in which I happened to gain a central role - what a surprise.

I was... afraid.

And I've never felt this lonely in my life.

What wouldn't I have gave for a user's manual for this... Sanctuary. Or a simple guide... Or a kind, supporting character, who would just be there whenever I needed a little boost on my morale. I wished Ginny was here... she'd know what to-- Oh, wait! No. That was NOT a wish. Just wishful thinking... Nostalgic reminiscing... Right? Right?

"HARRY! Hurry up! C'mon!"

Hearing Dora's shout snapped me back into reality, back into my proper mindset. I was ME again. Feeling the chilly breath of the Shard brushing against my heaving chest, was also a nice reaffirming touch. Newly determined, I gripped it through my shirt and set my mind on a faint picture of the entrance of the Cathedral. I quietly pleaded the Black cousins to hurry and then, willed myself to my destination: to the unknown danger.

For the dance has begun.