Harry Potter 1. Of Heavy Hearts and ancient Ties

Chapter 1

Harry stared out across the beautiful blue water that was the Great Lake. The waves were lightly crashing into the shore, and the giant trees of the forbidden forest were swaying mildly in the breeze. He had come back to Hogwarts for the summer because of the increasing death eater activity near Little Winging. One of the local punks that Dudley hung out with had dissappeared completely without a trace. The police were still investigating, but were completely without an idea as to who had taken him. That event was enough to spur Dumbledore into a visit to number four. During the visit, formalities were brief, he hadn't been there five minutes before he raced out the back door into the garden and shot a spell into the bushes near the window. After Aunt Petunia's screams had subsided, Harry walked outside to find the headmaster hunched over a man in dark robes, a silver pile of cloth beside him.

The Order found out, after an intense interrogation, that the death eater's name was Reynolds, and he was had been waiting to intercept correspondence from Harry. The Order had no doubts that he was waiting for him to send a letter giving a clue to the contents of the prophecy. Or, at least what was what Harry was told. Nowadays, he wasn't really told much at all. He assumed it was because he had not mastered occlumency yet, and that was even soon to change now that Dumbledore was going to teach him... hopefully soon.

The day after the spy was uncovered, Dumbledore told Harry the little information that he was willing to give, and then (despite Uncle Vernon's near violent protestations) he moved the entire Dursley family to Hogwarts for the summer. Uncle Vernon was still furious about having to come and live at Hogwarts for a few weeks, but he would have to cope with this, as it was still too dangerous for the Dursleys to live on Privet Drive.

Harry had been sitting on a log at the base of the cliff that Hogwarts rose from. The same log, as a matter of fact, that he had sat at for the last three days when he felt like the naivety of the world had become too much to think about. The Prophet was calling him "The Slandered Hero", and they were the ones who had done the slandering. No one cared that what Fudge had blatantly ignored Voldemort for a whole year. He had practically opened the door for him to start his operations, and yet everyone was praising him for the "precautions" he was taking now. It was like everyone just followed the fellow sheep ahead of them. All the people that could die at Voldemort's hands were eating Fudge's Cock-and-Bull stories about "insubstantial evidence" and "lack of personal testimony" from Dumbledore. Hah! As if Dumbledore hadn't tried to get Fudge to believe him hundreds of times.

As he sat in his lonesome reverie, his thoughts turned to Ron and Hermione's responses to his letters telling them he was at Hogwarts for the summer.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you have been having a better summer than all of your others. My parents are still freaked out about Voldemort being back to full power. As soon as they heard, they canceled our usual vacation to France, and opted to stay home. I told them we would be safer there, but they won't listen to me._

_When I read your last letter, I thought it was about time Dumbledore moved you and the Dursleys to a safer location. After all, Surrey has been seeing allot of activity lately. I think you will definitely be happier there (with or without your relatives). I've written Ron about it and he seems to be going to join you sometime soon. He really sees you as a brother you know?_

_Harry, I know it is difficult to think of anything but Sirius right now, but try to keep your mind on other things. I say this because I know how you think. You can't blame yourself for what happened. I know I sound blunt, but it's only because you are my friend and I care about you. If you ever need someone, I'm here._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Ron's letter was even more scattered and unusual than Hermione's was.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you mate? Hope your summer is going well. Mine's been okay, mum and dad keep talking about going to Hogwarts for the summer too. I personally can't wait to go. Being shut up in this house for the last month has been a living hell. By the way, we're still in London. Snape is always around. HE'S SLEEPING HERE! Fred nearly hung a sack full of dung bombs above his bed while he and George visited last week, but mum caught him. Professor Lupin is always out, and I can't figure out where he goes. The Order of the Phoenix is still holding its meetings here. They've been using the Imperturbable charm on the door every time there's a meeting, so the extendable ears aren't working at all. You think that after everything that has happened, they would let us in on what's going on! _

_Hermione seems well, but I think she's a little ticked off about not being able to go on holiday in France. Honestly, she worries me a bit sometimes. Sad about not going on vacation at a time like this!_

_Mum wanted me to tell you that she loves you, and that you should enjoy your summer as much as you can. She won't stop fussing about you no matter how many times I tell her that you can damn well take care of yourself. It's all I can do to keep her from sending you care packages full of new socks! I think I can consider you my surrogate brother now. She's seems hell bent on adopting you._

_This may make me sound like a complete prat, but I know you can't stop thinking about Sirius, mate, and I think mum's right. You should really try to have some fun while we don't have to think about school._

_See you at Hogwarts._

_Ron_

They both seemed to have written the letters to try to tell him that he should relax. The rest just seemed like mindless chatter. How could he relax when he couldn't feel at all? Ever since he started the summer at the Dursley's house, he had though about nothing but how every path that crossed his, lead to death. Ron and Hermione would definitely fight to the death together to save him. Just as Sirius did... Sirius. He couldn't think of them dying too, not after Sirius.

"Why did I have to fall into his trap?" he asked himself over and over again in his mind as he thought about the events of the end of the last school year.

So many people had died because of him. His parents, Cedric Diggory, and Sirius, they were only a few of the people who had died because they were in the way of Voldemort getting to Harry. He continued to look out over the water and feel the cool breeze play across his face. His robe swayed slightly in the wind as he leaned back against the rock face behind the log. He had been wearing his school robes since he had arrived. Somehow, they felt more comfortable than all of the muggle clothing that he had worn over the summer. They definitely fit his tall, skinny frame better than those triple-extra-large hand-me-downs of Dudley's. Harry chuckled slightly as this thought occurred to him. The chuckle didn't do much to bring the life back to his hollow, empty, green eyes, which, at the moment, hid beneath the ends of his jet-black bangs. It didn't make Uncle Vernon happy that Harry was wearing his robes, but then again, he had been making it a point to wear his most impressive suits since they had arrived. He had urged aunt Petunia to wear her most expensive dresses at meal times also. _"How pathetic,"_ were Harry's immediate thoughts as to the behavior of his relatives. Dudley spent most of his time, surprisingly, exploring the castle. This, of course, was much to uncle Vernon's dismay, but as always, Dudley did it anyway.

A loud voice suddenly startled Harry from his reverie, "What do you do out here?"

It was Dudley. Harry tilted his head slightly as he looked over and without tone said, "I enjoy the peace, now get the hell out of here."

He pointed up the path leading to the castle.

Dudley seemed totally unaffected by Harry's rudeness as he approached and continued, "This place is boring. Why in the world would anyone want to be here?"

Harry sat for a moment thinking of how ignorant his cousin was. "It's not always empty you know? Now I believe I asked you to leave," he finished his sentence, again without emotion, and watched as his cousin was hit by that sudden realization.

It seemed as though Harry's insult was not without truth.

Suddenly, his Dudley regained his composure slightly, "I'm not leaving, and your kind would only make this place duller instead of fun."

Dudley planted his heels in the dirt and made it very clear that he wasn't going to move.

Letting his thick, muscular arms hang to his sides, Dudley put on a face that quite clearly showed he wished to be challenged. Overall, with his arms hanging loosely at his sides and his feet locked into place on the ground, he completed the illusion of a shaved gorilla with blond hair.

Not seeing the humor in his cousin's posture, Harry continued to speak, "You know what? I think I know just what to turn you into," He was done entertaining his childish cousin. It was bad enough that he dealt with this at the Dursley's, he wasn't going sit down and take his cousin's abuse at Hogwarts. This was his home.

Harry stood up and removed his wand from his belt. Seeing this, Dudley recoiled in Horror.

"You.. You can't use that on me. You'll be expelled!" his cousin stammered. Harry began to advance on him as though he was merely strolling around the lake,

"You forget where we are," He muttered, sounding quite like a lunatic now with his blank expression and voice, "At Hogwarts, anything goes."

He raised his wand and made as if to cast a spell, when he cousin emitted a very loud, high-pitched squeal (rather like a pig's), turned heal, and ran. Seeing Dudley's courage diminish in seconds as he fled did not give him happiness nor grief, he merely felt more hollow.

Gruffly, Harry slid his wand back beneath his belt and heaved a great sigh as he sat back down on the log. It was truly sad that he had to resort to those measures, but he would at least be alone for the rest of the Dursley's stay at Hogwarts.

Dudley had made him lose his train of thought again, but Harry had found it quite easy to continue his concentration lately. It had also become incredibly easy to completely clear his mind of all thought. As soon as he did that, he could see everything clearly. No matter the subject, he could sort through it and find the most intimate details of his persona through the conclusion he found.

_"So sad to be finding out so many things about yourself and never be able to feel an emotion," _Harry thought as he continued to clear his thoughts and dive even farther into his own mind.

_"Why can't I learn occlumency on my own?"_ he asked himself several moments later.

He had been thinking of possible reasons that he was being kept totally in the dark on The Order's plans, and the fact that Voldemort had a direct link to his head was one of them. Why not? He could practice it in his room and ask the headmaster to test him after he had time to study. He could have the power to not fall into another trap and cause more death. He could keep someone from dying for him.

He sat there for another hour, staring out over the water, before he decided to go in and eat dinner, and make a stop at the library after. He had to protect the people, who would risk their lives to save him.

* * *

Pendrin Michaels stared blankly out over the Johannesburg skyline. Its many skyscrapers standing like sentinels against the fiery sunset. He was a young boy of seventeen, with brown hair that extended all the way to his jaw line, and brilliant, hazel eyes. As he sat on the deck chair that he had placed on his thirteenth floor balcony, he continued to observe the city come to life with vivid and unnatural color. Streetlights shined their golden yellow glow over wet pavement and neon signs cast their emblems into the ongoing night. The red, yellow, pink and blue hues of the sunset were only complimented by the urban landscape. It was a beautiful city, one that had allowed Pendrin to escape from his past for three whole years. But now it seemed, according to the letter in his hand, fate was to catch up with him after all. 

Slowly, Pendrin tore his eyes away from the setting sun, and lifted his tall mildly muscular, frame from the chair. After tucking the piece of parchment he had been reading into his pocket, he stepped into his apartment. For the last three years, he had lived there raising his Goddaughter and increasing his fortune through the muggle stock market. His goddaughter was only four years old and smarter than most kids a couple of years older than her. Of course she was four and everything that came with it: A little ball of energy that never seemed to quit bouncing, as curious as a cat and twice as adorable, and she never wanted to eat her vegetables. Pendrin never minded her behavior though. He could still remember himself at that age. He was surprised they didn't make him wear a name badge emblazoned with "Terrorist Toddler" in bold and serious letters back then. That part of his past still pained him today.

Pendrin stepped through the doorway of the sliding glass door that lead from the balcony to the Kitchen. The kitchen was a very modern room with stainless steel countertops, an intricate mosaic of colorful tiles on the floor, a glass dining table with barstool chairs, white walls and adjustable track lighting in the ceiling. He bought the apartment fully furnished and rather liked the decor so he kept it. He moved left around the table and into the hall, which was floored and painted the same way as the kitchen. Pendrin took several steps before stopping at, and entering the second door on the right. He entered yet another white room, but this one he had furnished himself. The carpet was a soft white and upon it was strewn several stuffed animals from the playful pillow fight that occurred just prior to the nightly bedtime story of that evening. Along the walls of the small room were countless finger paintings and crayon drawings. The only spaces not covered in artwork were where each of the three, six-foot tall, bookcases sat. Upon the shelves of the bookcases were many small toys and many more beginners learning books. In the middle of the room sat a twin-sized four-poster that had pink curtains (currently drawn back) with matching sheets and a quilt.

Slowly and silently Pendrin entered the room. As he approached the bed he noticed how peaceful and beautiful she was with the city lights casting their glow through the window. Her sleek raven hair and chubby cheeks pale in the window light, she looked just like her name suggested... Angel. From the moment he held the sleeping half Asian baby in his arms he knew that was what she was... his Angel.

Without a sound, Pendrin leaned forward and placed the gentlest of kisses on her forehead. Then, with one last look, satisfied that she was safe, he headed for his room. Pendrin's room was the next door on the right coming from Angel's room. Within was nothing more than a queen sized bed, a nightstand, and a small wardrobe that contained the overflow from his closet. The carpet was the same as in Angel's room, but unlike her, Pendrin had a small bathroom connected to his room. Pendrin walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror as he thought about the owl he had just received.

_Dear Pendrin,_

_How are you? It's been a long time. I lost track of you after you left for France. I was so worried that something would happen to you, and I'm glad to find that you are well. It's taken me forever to find word that you are in Geuteng. What finally turned me on to the idea was an encounter that Sirius told me about several months ago. It didn't occur to me until recently that it could have been you he spoke with. He told me a little about your old life in Japan, and from what I've heard, you've had a hard one. I'm sorry about Aries. He was truly a wonderful boy._

_I sent a letter to the Japanese magical government, and they sent me all the information they had about you, but they didn't have anything except your actions during your last two days in the country. I understand why you left though. According to Sirius, you were in no position to raise a child there. I'd like to meet her some time, and talk to you about everything that has happened in the last nine years. _

_Pendrin, I need your help. Voldemort has risen again and he's planning things that I cannot put in writing. Please floo me so that we can discuss these matters. _

_I know you don't want to reconnect with a forgotten life, but I need your help._

_Sincerely to an old friend_

_Albus_

_P.S. My floo address is "Dumbledore's Office Hogwarts"_

Dumbledore had found him. The man, whom the entire magical world revolved around, had found him. He thought he had left that world behind him. Just like his brother had... god, he needed a memory that didn't pain him in some way.

And another thing, Voldemort had risen again? That told Pendrin exactly what Dumbledore's motives were. He obviously knew about his powers and wanted him to help destroy Voldemort. A warrior trained to kill, and who had the power to control fire would be a valuable ally in the new war. He wrestled with this idea in his mind. He had given up using his powers for death when he left Japan, but this was Voldemort. Were there one man who deserved death more than this one, he did not exist. Pendrin thought about the horror stories from the last war. How Death eaters had not hesitated to kill children and babies. He could never fight with Angel in his care, and he had decided long ago that he would never stop taking care of her.

Pendrin's thoughts turned from Angel to the other creature to which he had also pledged such devotion. Hadalla, the Legendary Katana

When Pendrin found Hadalla, he wanted to keep her a secret from the world so that no one could hurt her, because Hadalla wasn't just any dragon, no, her race had been hiding for centuries in various locations throughout Africa, only to be known in legend. Pendrin had heard many of these stories during his journey through Kenya. Though he never usually paid any attention to local folk tales, these stories held him captivated. At the time, he thought that the legends were nothing but stories. Then he found her.

**He had been flying low over the mountains, his Fiery, Bat-like wings pumping the air to keep him aloft. Upon his back he carried his money and the few possessions he thought important. Tightly to his chest, he held his newfound reason to live. Such a beautiful child, If only he could have met her mother and her father again.**

**The sky above him was a thick blanket of dark, swirling, cumulous clouds that threatened to dump their heavy load any time. Thunder and deadly lightning ripped through the air. He had noticed the clouds ahead sometime before and was still looking for a place to find or build shelter. Soaring low into a narrow canyon, Pendrin surveyed the surrounding rock walls eagerly. Ahead of him, at the base of the tallest cliff, he saw the mouth of a dark cave. **

**It would have to do.**

**He quit pumping his wings, and slightly angled himself downward. His body aligned with his wings, and he began to lose altitude. By the time he was a few yards from the ground; he had gained tremendous speed from the canyon's updraft, and had to flare out for several seconds before lightly touching down just outside the mouth of the cave.**

**The bundle of cloth he still gently clutched to his chest began to squirm slightly as he forced his wings to detach and form a small ball of fire two yards ahead and above him. He looked down to see his goddaughter's round, rosy-cheeked face form a smile at the sight of her godfather using his powers. He didn't know why, but his abilities only seemed to entertain her. **

**Reluctantly, he looked away, and into the cave. As he took his first steps inside, Pendrin noticed a rather peculiar smell, one he could only compare to a reptile house at a zoo. Unfazed by this observation he continued deeper into the cave. He again forced the fireball to change as he made it go higher, and contract in size so that it would grow brighter. As soon as the Fireball had contracted to the size of a walnut, Pendrin could see that the cave was not deep at all, but merely widened out in a large bell shape. He and his goddaughter were also not alone.**

**Several feet ahead of him, and slightly to the left, laid a dragon, but one like Pendrin had never seen before. It had to be at least thirty-five feet long from head to tail. Along its spine was a single line of foot long, black scales that began at its head, and ran all the way down its back, capping off at its tail. Its hide was scale less and resembled elephant skin, but sparkled with the color of silver. Its head was covered with another black scale and was quite smooth as it swept back towards the beast's neck. There, it ended with several long, black horns. The dragons jaw instead of another scale was simply covered in its silvery hide.**

**In all his life Pendrin had never seen anything so beautiful, yet so terrifying.**

**The Dragon lifted its large head, and stared down at its intruders. It did not attack, but instead it rose onto its feet and swiftly moved past Pendrin to block the exit. Instantly, he went on guard and rushed to the back of the cavern. The dragon continued to calmly sit, unmoving in front of the doorway. It seemed to be waiting for Pendrin to make the first move. **

**Such an odd tactic for a dragon to sit and wait for its prey to approach first. Normally, the beasts would go on the offensive as soon as they saw a possible meal. Pendrin wasn't focused on the dragon's odd behavior at the moment though; he was a little more concerned with how in the hell he was going to get out of this mess. There was considerable room on each side of the reptile, but remembering the speed at which it moved to block the exit, Pendrin thought against trying to outrun it in such close quarters.**

**He had only one choice. He would have to fight his way past. Angel would be fine as long as he kept her curled against his chest. He hated fighting; he had destroyed far too many things not to.**

**Why did he have to kill it? Why couldn't it just let them pass? Why couldn't it figure out that he didn't want to destroy anymore? Questions of this nature fluttered through Pendrin's mind as he shifted the bundled baby in his arms slightly. He brought down his fireball and forced it into the shape of a long Japanese sword. The sudden lack of light caused the dragon's body to cast a hulking silhouette before him as it sat on his haunches in front of the entrance.**

**"_What the hell was I thinking brining her into an unexplored cave_?" he thought as he consciously shifted the bundle in his arms again. "My first mistake as a parent and it happens to be that I introduce her to a dragon. Great parenting," The fifteen-year-old's thoughts continued to echo through his mind as he raised his sword into an offensive position.**

**He decided to try one more thing before resorting to destroying the magnificent beast. "MOVE!" he yelled. When the dragon merely continued to sit there, he began to feel rather stupid for trying such a moronic tactic. He really didn't want to kill this animal, but if this was the game it liked to play with its would-be meal, than he could only play to win.**

**Slowly, Pendrin began to advance upon the monstrous beast, his goddaughter tucked tightly to his chest. This dragon had no idea how close to its own demise it was. Again Pendrin felt a feeling of sorrow for what he was about to do. He continued to approach the dragon until he was only a few yards away from its head. The dragon remained so still that Pendrin thought that maybe it had stopped breathing. Why wouldn't it move?**

**Pendrin continued to inch forward, his sword still raised, poised to attack. Suddenly the Dragon snapped its head to its right and brought it down to eye level with him. Though not expecting such a motion, Pendrin did not flinch. Instead, he looked through the several inch wide, almond-shaped eyelets in the head plate. As he stared into the midnight blue eye of the winged reptile before him; subconsciously, he looked for emotion. He was searching for a reason not to kill it. The dragon seemed to be searching his eyes too. Staring as if it wanted proof for something it could not place. Suddenly a calm, beautiful, female voice filled Pendrin's mind, **

**"_You have a great power, the kind humans kill each other for, and yet you wish to never use that power of destruction as all others would. You are a true diamond among the rough, human."_**

**Pendrin continued to stare into the deep blue eyes of the enormous dragon. Surely it hadn't just spoken to his mind? **

**_"Yes, I just spoke to you_", with that statement, she raised her massive head and relaxed her posture. **

**"_You are truly worthy of life. If you wish to leave, I will not stop you_", She stated. True to the words she spoke, the dragon moved away from the doorway, her eyes never leaving him.**

**"What are you?" Pendrin thought, his sword now held limply at his side.**

**The dragon stared down at him as if trying to find a reason to say something, and after a moment, she tilted her head and replied, "_I am Hadalla, one of the few remaining Katana. Who are you? Why do you carry a hatchling at such an age?_"  
**

**Pendrin turned slightly to his left to screen as much of Angel from view as possible. "_She's my Goddaughter, and my name is Pendrin_," He spoke aloud this time in a careful, but cool tone. **

**"_You need not hide her as I have no reason to attack. Do you wish to stay? This is the only shelter for several miles_," Hadalla answered, then questioned with mild interest.**

**She didn't really seem to care whether they stayed or not, and Pendrin really couldn't find anything hostile about her anymore. Everything about the way she behaved told him that she was just like him, and did not want to kill anything that she didn't have to. As Hadalla stared innocently downwards at him, he weighed his options quickly:**

**a) Go out into the storm and look for shelter seriously risking Angel's health.**

**b) Stay in the dry cave with a nonstop campfire, and watch the dragon all night while keeping Angel safe.**

**In the end, he wouldn't dare risk Angel's health in a hopeless search for shelter. Besides, he had taken down far bigger than this dragon before. If this was all a trick, Pendrin knew he could take care of Angel with his powers. But against the elements, a sword was no match. **

**"I'll stay if it's not too much trouble," Pendrin said with far more confidence than he felt. **

**"Good_, it's been a long time since I had someone to talk to_," Hadalla answered as she began moving to the back of the cave. **

**Pendrin forced the sword back into a sphere and made it contract until it lit up the whole cave. **

**"_Neat trick_," Hadalla said as she watched the sphere with great interest. "T_ell me about your powers. I've never seen a human like you before," _she continued as she rested her head upon her forward claws. **

**Pendrin decided to ask the question that burned through his mind, "You were testing me weren't you? When you sat in front of the exit, you wanted to know what I'd do **

**Hadalla lifted her head lightly and turned to him, "_Yes, I was testing you_,_ now, about your powers._" **

**Ignoring the second part of her answer, Pendrin stared directly into her eyes again, "How did I pass? I was ready to kill you," his voice seemed full of doubt, as if she was only biding her time and patronizing him. **

**She tilted her head to the side slightly and asked, "_Do you believe it is our actions that define us, or our thoughts and motives behind them_?" **

**Things started to make sense in Pendrin's head, "you were reading my thoughts as I approached then?" His voice shook a little as he thought that perhaps she was reading his mind now. **

**"_Only as you approached with that beautiful sword. You are alone in your thoughts now if you are wondering_," She said all of this in a comfortable and reassuring tone within his head. **

**Her thought speak was getting a little less surprising. **

**"Oh, well then, that's… comforting," He said in an awkward but slightly more comfortable tone. **

**Seeing that he would be there for the night without worry, Pendrin told Hadalla that he was going to make camp for him and Angel. Hadalla simply lowered her head and asked him to awaken her when he finished. After that, she dozed off as he unpacked. **

**After starting a fire using logs from the bottom of the canyon, Pendrin gently began to remove Angel from her tucked position against his chest. As he began to sit down and cradle her in both arms she began to cry. **

**"Come here sweetie, Uncle Pendrin's got you," Pendrin cooed as he gingerly brushed her wrap away from her cheeks. **

**Her loud wail reverberated throughout the cave. Suddenly, Pendrin worried that the Hadalla would awake and be angry at the disturbance. **

**"Come on Angel, be quiet for uncle Pendrin. Be quiet for uncle Pendrin." **

**He looked over at Hadalla and saw that she was still sleeping, but if Angel kept going, she could wake at any second. Quickly he turned all of his attention to Angel and pulled a small flame from the fire to entertain her. Slowly and deliberately, he morphed the orange flame into exotic shapes. As soon as Angel caught sight of the changing light above her, she quit crying and began to make small squeals of delight. It wasn't silence but it was definitely quieter.**

**Pendrin looked down into her soft gray-blue eyes and was quickly surprised by the image reflected in her pupils. In an instant, he jerked his head upwards and saw Hadalla's head hovering s few feet above Angel, seeing his actions she spoke to his mind.**

"**_They are so beautiful when they are young. When I look into her eyes I see an innocence that renews my hope in your race. Ha ha, she's quite the flattering one. She just called me 'Pretty Dragon,"_**

**Pendrin relaxed slightly. She liked Angel. **

**"_She's hungry, and she's also losing interest in the fire shapes_," Pendrin looked down and saw that Angel had indeed begun ignoring the fiery sculptures above her, and turned her attention to Hadalla. **

**"Thanks, I thought you would be angry at the disturbance," he quickly muttered. **

**"_Don't be silly, now please feed her so that we can talk about your powers_," she said all of this in a patient and upbeat tone. **

**"Why are you so interested in my powers?" Pendrin asked with sudden interest. **

**Hadalla physically sighed and spoke to him, "_In due time my friend; now take care of your child_."**

**Pendrin merely nodded and began feeding Angel from a jar of muggle baby food he had bought in the last large city he stopped in. When finished, he gently rocked Angel to sleep and deposited her in a sling that looped over his back and across his belly forming a cradle. **

**Pendrin looked over at Hadalla and asked, "So... what do you want to know?" **

**A short but comfortable silence descended as he waited for her answer.**

"**_Tell me you story, from birth to now, and I will tell you mine_," she replied, closing the silence and filling Pendrin's mind with her beautiful voice.**

**It was difficult to speak at first, but as the night drew on, Pendrin found talking to Hadalla easier than talking to anyone else. That night, he told her things that he had kept secret for years. She seemed to understand him completely, and she knew, that when she told him her story, he understood her completely. **

Hadalla had a mind (unlike all other dragons), and she was even more intelligent than most people. Well, all except a select few, very old, people. The wisdom that she carried was hundreds of generations in the making. Telepathy alone was only something that her kind had learned to do fifty years ago. Truthfully, it scared the living daylights out of him when she began speaking to him with her mind. He had been prepared for an attack and instead she praised him. After only a few months, both Pendrin and Hadalla had helped each other so much that they considered each other like family. This is what caused Pendrin to take so many precautions for her protection

He knew that if he left her in Geuteng she would never forgive him, but he knew he couldn't make her go to Britain... unless she wanted to go.

Pendrin shook his head as he looked into the mirror above the sink. He knew Hadalla would probe his mind and find out that he wanted to go back and help Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was the only reason he wanted to go. To speak to the man again would be a blessing. He had been the one who tried to take in Pendrin and his brother after his parents had been killed in a "Gas Explosion" in the middle of a crowded muggle street. Pendrin knew the truth that this "Explosion" was actually a spell performed by a man named Peter Pettigrew.

Long ago, Pendrin thought the spell was cast by a man named Sirius black, but he met Sirius in a crowded pub in Egypt three years ago. There, full of silent rage, he decided to kill him.

That night, three years before, Pendrin found him in a rundown pub and got him drunk. He was about to lead him out the back door and finish him, when Sirius made an honest confession. That night, Pendrin listened more intently than he had ever in his life listened. In his seventeen years, Pendrin had heard more lies and more stories from cold-blooded killers than most men alive. Sirius was no cold-blooded killer, and he knew that everything the man told him was true.

He now knew the name of his parent's real murderer.

Pendrin's parents weren't muggles, but they had cut off ties with most of the wizarding world due to Voldemort's rise. This, of course, wasn't a simple thing to do. It took three weeks, and several family friends to pull off the disappearance.

So much work only to be casualties of the war anyway.

One evening, Pendrin's Mum and Dad simply went shopping and never came back. That night, Dumbledore sent for them and told them the news himself. Aries, his brother, was never the quiet type, so when he suddenly quit talking after their parents died everyone was concerned. Too young to understand, Pendrin just kept wanting his parents until he became old enough to be familiar with the concept of death. He was two back then, but his brother was five. Aries only talked to Pendrin. Though it was always in private and about how he wanted to run away from the wizarding world. Ares seemed to think that all that could come from being a wizard was a swift death and grieving relatives (If you had any).

One day when Pendrin was Eight, Aries left him a goodbye letter and set off west not really caring where he stopped traveling as long as it wasn't Britain. The next morning, after reading the letter, Pendrin left in search of his brother.

It had been nine years since that fateful morning, and Pendrin had much more to worry about now that he had Angel. She was everything to him. As Aries's only daughter, she was also his niece.

Looking into the mirror in his wardrobe as he finished dressing for bed, he thought to himself, _"What am I thinking? No good father would do something this risky with his daughter. The cave was one thing, but this is walking into a war." _

He shook his head again and sat down on the bed. He needed to think about this; Dumbledore would want an answer soon. Resting his elbows on his knees he placed his head in his hands and weighed his decision more heavily than any other decision he had ever made. He couldn't leave Dumbledore in a bind like this, but at the same time it would only put Angel and/or Hadalla in danger.

In the end, he decided to wait until morning to make a decision. Pendrin walked back through the house to the balcony. He knew he wouldn't sleep if he didn't clear his mind first. Upon sitting down he promptly tilted his head upward and looked at the full moon as it swam among the stars above. Silently, he picked out his brother's constellation, and traced its path with his finger. Yet again he felt the familiar pain of loss. He remembered Dumbledore pointing the constellation out countless times during their numerous nighttime outings onto the Hogwarts grounds. There, on the grass covered playing field of the Quidditch stadium, he would always stop and tell them stories of how the stars were named.

Pendrin never thought much about those outings, or how much Dumbledore had truly done for him, until he had left to find his brother.

Tomorrow he would go and see Hadalla. She would know what to do, and besides, he wanted to see how much longer until she would lay her eggs. Hadalla had been expecting them for more than two years. When Pendrin found out about them, he immediately asked her to move to another cave nearly one hundred miles outside of the city. There, she could build a private nest, and fly as much as she wanted as long as it was at night. Before, Pendrin would usually make long weekend trips with Angel hundreds of miles out into the desert. Now, a simple two-hour drive (shorter if he flew), and he could see her without planning a huge trip. Hadalla hated it when he went through so much trouble to do things like that for her, but she realized that she was a part of his only family. When she thought about it that way, the attention made her feel special instead of a bother.

Pendrin looked up at the stars for quite some time that night. It was after midnight when he finally made it to bed.


	2. Plunging Into Shady Pubs

Chapter 2

Harry shielded his eyes slightly as he stepped out into the bright sunlight of the Quidditch stadium from the dark interior of the locker room. His Firebolt over his shoulder, he allowed his eyes adjust to the intense light of the pitch before heading out to the center of the field. It was a gorgeous day. The temperature was quite warm but a cool breeze swept through the stands making the air very comfortable. The sound of birds calling and trees swaying in the forest could be heard over the gentle whisper of the wind, and the sweet smell flowers and fresh cut grass pervaded the air. Harry didn't notice any of this. As he reached the middle of the field, he looked out over the stands. He saw the many colored flags of each house wave weakly in the breeze, they reminded him of how all of the other houses had turned their backs on him at the beginning of the last summer. They had thrown away everything they had ever known about him to favor what authority told them. They were so afraid that what they heard was true that they just ignored what the heard all together_. "Amazing how a stupid set of flags can make you think of how petty and cruel people are,"_ he thought to himself as his thoughts of their betrayal filled his mind.

He looked over his shoulder into the empty stands searching for the familiar face of his bodyguard, Tonks.

"Wotcher, Harry!" he heard from his far left.

Slowly, he turned his head back around, and saw her wave at him and motion for him to start flying. She told him long ago that she'd always wanted to see him fly.

Harry nodded but did not speak, as he had stopped talking entirely since his encounter with Dudley the day before. Nothing seemed worthy of words. He swung his leg over the tail of his broom and kicked off hard from the ground. As soon as he lifted of, he noticed that the familiar sensation of freedom no longer rushed over him, and he did not remotely enjoy the feeling of the wind in his hair. It was as if he was still on the ground. He looked down at Tonks as he leveled off just ahead of the goal hoops on the eastern end of the field. She seemed anxious; as if this was something she'd wanted to see for a while. "_Might as well give what she came for,"_ he thought to himself as he steered the broom higher and turned back towards the center of the field. Suddenly, he pointed the nose downwards at a rather steep angle and threw himself flat on the handle. Responding to actions, his Firebolt rocketed downward at an ever-increasing rate of speed, but just a few feet before he would have slammed into the ground, he pulled up and shot across the field only a few inches above the grassy lawn. Tonks whooped loudly from the stands at his textbook feint.

Harry gained altitude slightly and slowed down to a walking pace to look over at her and find out if she thought he was getting a little dangerous. Seeing that she was enjoying herself, he decided to pull out all of the stops and see just how much he could still do. He did a few laps of the pitch at various speeds to stretch his muscles for the rigorous routine he was about to attempt. Pointing his broom skyward and taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the handle. Again, he threw himself flat onto the broom and rocketed off, this time, upward. Once very high above the stands, he rolled the broom upside-down and continued towards the ground, gaining speed as he dove into another feint. Seeing he was only twenty feet from the ground and still flying at top speed, he leaned back and pulled up as hard as he could, the G-forces ripping him downward as the Firebolt willed to go up. This was what he wanted. His hand slipped slightly as his arms seemed to become massively heavier, he needed to train to keep the broom under control throughout maneuvers like this. The G-forces lasted only a second as the Firebolt overcame them and propelled him skyward. Instantly, he leveled off and rolled onto his left side, then continued to put himself into the next stressful turn.

Harry was flying at top speed, moving seamlessly from one Quidditch move to the next, performing whichever maneuver came to his head first. The precision and stress were all that made sense right then, his mind went completely blank and all that mattered was performing the next move perfectly. Barrel rolls, loops, dives, outside loops, and turns tight enough that he could have performed them in the dormitory. He did each one with as much speed as his Firebolt could muster in such short acceleration space. He continued pushing himself and his broom to the limit for quite a while right up until,

"Harry! You've been up there for nearly two hours, give it a break will yeh?" It was Tonks; he'd forgotten she was there.

He leveled out, panting, and wiped the many beads of sweat from his forehead. His body ached all over; he'd never trained so hard in one session before. One more idea crossed his mind before he could catch his breath and reply to her, and it was just crazy he knew but it was something that he thought he should try. Maybe he would feel something.

"One more move?" he called down in question, still breathing quite heavily.

Tonks looked a little apprehensive but nodded and shouted from her seat in the stands,

"Yeah, but are you sure? You look exhausted," he knew she was right about how he physically felt, but all the same, he nodded and pointed his broom towards the center of the pitch.

Slowly he counted down in his head Three...Two... ONE, he shot forward and slowly pulled himself vertical directly in the middle of the pitch. Upward and upward he raced as the stadium below became smaller and smaller. When he knew he must have been thousands of feet up, he leaned back and dismounted while still vertical. At this altitude, the wind was more severe, and he could feel it buffet him slightly as he continued to rise. He gripped his broom tightly in his left hand, rode out his momentum, and then pointed himself headfirst for the ground. The world seemed to accelerate all at once as he fell downwards, controlling himself perfectly, his streamlined body now became a gravity powered rocket. The wind was roaring in his ears like a massive jet engine, screaming at full power. He could see the ground so far below and he began to feel like the sensation of plummeting to the earth was totally natural. There was no fear in his heart. He knew that he should be terrified right then, no broom between his legs, and falling to the ground at speeds he had never before reached. He could feel his hair quite flapping around as it suddenly laid flat on his skull, forced down by the air that whipped over his skull. Physically, the sensation of falling was relaxing, He felt his heart slow and his mind clear completely, he couldn't help but let go of the tension in his shoulders and let himself begin to tumble. It felt so right to let gravity and wind control him. He could see flashes of the sun, the Quidditch stadium, the castle, and the forest as he spun in all directions at once. He heard a scream far off in the distance that he immediately registered as Tonks's. He must have been getting very low to hear her voice. Quickly he positioned the broom between his legs and laid down upon the handle causing it to carry him at top speed in whatever direction he happened to be pointing at that moment.

That direction just happened to be the ground.

In this extreme situation, Harry's heart neither slowed nor quickened, his mind remained empty. Fear had escaped him, and his reflexes had taken over completely. Suddenly, only fifty feet from the ground, he wrenched back on the handle with all his might. His arms, head and chest felt like lead as the Firebolt vibrated under his weight, which was multiplied by the G-forces. His legs felt as though they would be pulled from their sockets at any second. Momentum was still pulling him downward with incredible strength. He was only two feet from the ground by the time he had completely leveled off. Still traveling at an incredible rate of speed, he shot off across the pitch and took a lap to burn off the excess velocity. After slowing down considerably, he flew over to the entrance to the Gryffindor locker room and landed, but as soon as his feet touched the ground, he was instantly blind-sided by something. He fell to the ground reeling as his vision exploded into a fiery shower of sparks.

As the stars in Harry's eyes cleared, he could hear Tonks yelling while she stood over him,

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

He lifted his head and squinted his eyes to see her figure silhouetted against the clouds. She was breathing like a winded rhino, her hair was changing color as if she had lost all control of it in her fury, and her eyes were as wide as Galleons. She was also shaking quite severely.

"WELL?" she questioned.

Harry gingerly pulled himself to his feet, as his muscles were now very sore, and told her a half-truth,

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to know what it felt like to do it while I wasn't unconscious," he was of course referring to his third year Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

This explanation did nothing to lighten Tonks's mood, but instead of continuing to shout, she thrust a set of omnioculars into his hands,

"Just tap play and keep an eye on the stats at the bottom of the image," she said, still shaking in anger.

Harry lifted the omnioculars to his eyes and obediently tapped the play button. He saw a close up of himself at the top of his ascent; the little display at the bottom of the image told him he was over seven thousand feet up. "That's why she's so ticked" he thought to himself as he saw himself dismount and begin to fall headfirst for the ground. At about five thousand feet, he saw himself lose form and begin to tumble. He looked as though he had passed out; the only indication of life was his vice-like grip on the broomstick in his left hand. "That might be why too," he thought as he glanced to the display at the bottom of the recording and saw that he was tumbling downwards at about 110 miles per hour. He continued to watch as he roughly maintained speed to about five hundred feet, and then he saw himself tuck his broom in between his legs, still tumbling erratically. Just then he laid down on the broomstick and shot downwards, stopping the tumble. He was even with the stands by the time saw himself begin to pull out of the dive, he paused the recording and checked his speed, 160mph, his mind stopped for a moment. He should be dead.

He had pulled out of a one hundred and sixty mile per hour dive in fifty feet. Harry knew from experience that it was extremely difficult to pull out of an eighty mile an hour dive, even on a Firebolt, in that much space. He didn't need to see the rest of the recording. He handed the omnioculars back to her, while staring at the ground realizing why she was so angry. She must have been terrified by what she saw.

"I'm sorry. Thanks for doing whatever you did to help me out," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the ground.

"What? By the time I had thought of a spell, you were in the middle of landing! I never had time to help you!"

Harry's head snapped upwards to face her,

"But I didn't do anything either. Not even without meaning to," he muttered back in fake bewilderment.

The truth was, this wasn't fazing him anymore. Brushes with death, and making people who cared about him scared were all he had ever done, right? The ache in his chest that had been there for weeks began to hurt more as he thought about this. He only caused pain. The look in Tonks's eyes seemed to only darken as he gazed into them deeply. She stared back at him, her breathing still ragged and her demeanor frightening.

Suddenly she, calmed herself. Her hair stopped changing colors and her breathing began to slow very quickly. What more, she started to look at him with a startled and worried expression,

"Harry... you...you really feelin' alright?" He had expected that question,

"I'm fine, look, I'm sorry to scare you like that but I really didn't know I was going that fast," Harry replied truthfully.

Tonks was almost looking normal now, or at least as normal as you can look with lime green, spiky hair.

"Sorry about hitting you," she said.

Harry gave her a fake but convincing smile and replied,

"Thanks, It's good to know people who care enough to get angry like that."

_"Even though I can only offer you suffering,"_ he thought immediately afterwards.

* * *

His eyes were cold, dead, empty. There was nothing left in them at all. No anger because she hit him, no happiness from flying, nor any other emotion at all. They were the eyes of a broken man.

Tonks clutched her omnioculars in her hands as she ascended the grand staircase en route to Professor Dumbledore's office to show him the recording, and tell him how no magic had occurred at all. She had only known Harry for a short time and it scared her to know that she could see such a look in the eyes of someone she had known to have so much drive and courage. He was really taking Sirius's death hard. Why did he do it? What was he trying to prove to himself? She thought as she turned into a corridor on one of the middle floors. The act was crazy, that was for sure, but was Harry? So many thoughts of this nature fluttered across her mind as she made her way towards a stone gargoyle at the end of the hall.

"Sugar Quill," she muttered and the Gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside as usual.

Without hesitation she stepped onto the revolving staircase and waited to reach the polished door with the griffin knocker. Finally, she rounded the corner and stepped onto the landing before the door. What's he going to think? She questioned in her head. She knew how much Dumbledore cared for him, should she even show him at all? Deciding that something like that couldn't be kept in the dark, she reached for the knocker and gave it four hard raps.

The door opened after a moment and framed in the doorway, stood the tall, bearded figure of Albus Dumbledore,

"Ah, Nymphadora, Harry's finished flying? I figured he's be out till' sunset."

Tonks looked up into his eyes and said,

"That's why I'm here, look there's something you need to see."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed as he allowed her inside,

"Has something happened to him?" he questioned in a slightly eager voice. "You really should see for yourself," She handed him the omioculars and continued, "Keep an eye on the altitude and speed display."

Dumbledore continued to look at her with a puzzled expression as he lifted the omnioculars to his eyes. He moved his finger to the playback controls and hit play.

Slowly as the recording played to its end, Dumbledore's face grew paler and paler. When he brought the omnioculars from his eyes, he looked more distraught than she had ever seen him,

"What spell did you save him with?" he asked in a voice of deepest concern.

"I didn't have time. He saved himself... without magic," she replied, as she remembered how she had panicked and only continued to watch him fall in shock to what she was seeing.

"What did he say afterwards? Did you tell him how fast he was going?" he asked her still looking quite disturbed.

"I did better than that, I showed him the recording. He said he did it because he wanted to know what it felt like while awake," she said slightly puzzled.

"Awake?" replied Dumbledore, "oh, yes... the game against Hufflepuff," he continued after a moment.

Slowly, Dumbledore turned from Tonks and faced the window.

"Professor, I was so angry when he landed because of how scared he made me and then I looked into his eyes and... and... it was like they were dead, like there was nothing left of Harry, you know?" She said softly after watching Dumbledore stare out the window of his office for several moments.

He was looking out over the Quidditch pitch, a look of deep sadness and loss set into his face. He looked as though it was entirely his fault, as if there was something to the situation that no one else knew.

"Please keep a close eye on him, he's not going to come to anyone for help, and until he does there is nothing we can do. It will be his choice, or he will not have it," he muttered to her as he continued to stare out the window.

"You aren't going to talk to him?" She asked with more concern than before, "We can't just let him keep doing things like this, he's depressed. I told you what I saw in his eyes, all I know is that it was the look of a broken man, one who doesn't want to be himself anymore," She continued pleadingly.

Dumbledore merely turned back and said,

"Does he not have reason?" his look became piercing as if he was trying to make her understand something, "Today was an experiment for him, he doesn't know what or if he feels anymore. What he did was try to find out if he still feels fear, an emotion that has only basis in the physical world," he finished with an air of wisdom and turned back toward the window.

"I don't understand Professor. Why is he taking things to these extremes? He knows that people love him. Look at Ron, Hermione, and you, you're all family to him," she asked while getting up off of the chair she had situated herself in when Dumbledore turned to the window the first time.

It was true; Harry had many people who loved him. Why should he have reason to lose touch with reality like this? Sirius's death was tragic, yes, but that's wasn't the right way to deal with grief.

"Yes, we love him, we love him so much that we would give our lives for him. Now do you see why he is upset?" he asked her.

Suddenly the pieces snapped together within her mind. He thinks he's responsible for Sirius.

"He feels responsible for Sirius, Doesn't he?" she said with a new tone of concern for him.

"Yes, but he must work through these feelings on his own," Dumbledore replied in an even, but sad tone.

Anger flared through her. He wasn't going to do anything about this, even after such an obvious call for help? This was madness, suddenly she found her voice demanding and forceful,

"If you don't talk to him Dumbledore, then I will. After all this you are going to leave him to stew in a pool of self-hate? That's sick!"

Her breathing was beginning to quicken and she could feel her face start to redden. She just couldn't see how letting this continue was going to solve anything. Dumbledore suddenly loomed closer and his voice became dark and grave,

"Should you choose to do that, you will be responsible for his actions. For someone who has never seen the horrible sights he has witnessed, Someone who knows nothing about what it's like to have the only people you can consider family dying before your eyes," His voice a low hiss now, "To tell him how to deal with things you know nothing about, would only send him deeper into his feelings of Isolation. You have no Idea what he feels!"

Tonks was mortified, she had never thought of it like that. What more, to see Dumbledore in this state was downright terrifying. He seemed to have become taller, his voice quivered as it sank into lower tones, and his eyes had turned to ice. The warm comfort of his brilliant blue eyes had changed to become forbidding and cold. Tonks looked up into the cold void that was now Dumbledore's eyes, unlike Harry's his had an emotion, they had life.

"How do you know all this," she said, her voice then far less confident than it was moments before.

"You know how skilled at Legilimency I am. I have been looking into his mind every chance since he arrived," Dumbledore replied in a gentler tone.

The cold look in his eyes did not leave, despite his tone.

"If you want me to keep quiet, I will, but promise me, if things get dangerous you'll talk to him," she said pleadingly.

"Fine, just keep an eye on him for me, and don't try to talk to him about how he really feels," Dumbledore replied as the coldness began to disappear from his eyes.

After a moment's pause she nodded her head.

Tonks looked down at her watch; it was nearing Five-O'clock. Normally at this time she was already in Hogsmeade enjoying dinner with Remus Lupin, whom she'd really been warming up to since she was inducted into the Order. Suddenly, she had an idea,

"If you don't mind sir, I was planning on heading over to the village for dinner, and I was wondering if I could take Harry with me. I kind of owe him for something I did earlier," She smiled meekly at the sight of Dumbledore's face and added, "I won't say anything to him I promise, he just wants to get away from his relatives for a meal, he said so himself."

It was true; on the way back from the Quidditch pitch Harry told her about how they looked at him like he was scum whenever they ate together. Dumbledore looked her deep in the eyes in an accusatory stare. Suddenly she felt a slight tugging at the back of her mind and opened her thoughts completely to Dumbledore's legilimency,

"Not trying to be subtle are you?" she muttered with a look of disappointment on her face.

Dumbledore, seeing that she wasn't going to do anything rash, sighed and said,

"Very well, but have him back to the castle by nine. Understood?"

"Ten-thirty" Tonks bargained.

Dumbledore looked at her with a heavily surprised expression and responded,

"Nine-thirty,"

Tonks looked at him incredulously,

"Nine-thirty? What does he look like, a twelve-year-old? He's sixteen! Ten O'clock, no earlier," she finished the sentence with a tone that indicated last offer.

Dumbledore lost his surprised expression and gave in,

"Fine, But he'd better be here at ten," he said.

"Understood, Professor," Tonks replied.

Dumbledore nodded and turned back to the window, apparently lost in thought again. She took this as her queue to leave and said,

"Thank you for your time professor, I'll let myself out."

Dumbledore turned away from the window slightly and nodded with a small smile. Seeing his approval, she crossed the room and exited to the stairwell.

* * *

Harry was taking the long way to the Dormitories from the entrance hall. The many torch brackets lining the walls cast eerie shadows in every corner of the hidden passageway that he was currently walking down. His head felt as though it had been hacked through with a meat cleaver. "Man she has got one hell of a left hook" he thought to himself as he brought his hands up to massage his temples. The pain from the original blow was gone, but now he was experiencing a headache that rivaled the ones he got when his scar burned. His mind turned away from the pain after a moment of thinking about how he still didn't feel anything during the fall. All that had happened was that his mind entered a state of silent bliss, a Nirvana of sorts. No emotions, not even after being punched.

Why did he have to make her so scared? Why did everyone have to care like that? He never wanted anyone to die for him and didn't want anyone to be willing to die for him. Whenever he thought about how his life would eventually end in murder, the hollow feeling in his chest would get stronger and he could feel it make his entire torso ache. That pain was always there and it wouldn't go away. It simply got stronger whenever he wanted to cry or be angry. He couldn't feel anything and it made everything seem surreal. Like he could just push a button and do it all over again.

Harry turned right out of the hallway and into the grand staircase. As he climbed the stone steps, Various paintings looked down on him with great curiosity. This was why he tried to avoid the grand staircase at all costs. They would all run from frame to frame, trying to get a glance at him, exchanging gossip behind his back, and sometimes calling him out to tell them what happened at the ministry. He wasn't ready to tell anyone what happened; no one would understand how he felt. All they would do is tell him that he should try and put the past behind him and look to his future. What future? That was the question he often asked himself as he thought of what others' reactions would be to his feelings. They didn't know about the prophecy. None of the portraits said anything to him as he climbed two flights of stairs to the next secret passageway. This passageway was on the fifth floor and hidden behind a tapestry next to a particularly rusty suit of armor.

Harry pulled aside the tapestry and began to climb the spiral stairwell behind it. The headache wasn't going away and it was starting to feel slightly worse. Pain... Pain was the thing that made if all seem unreal. It never went away, it just stayed and tried to break him.

He had reached the landing behind another suit of armor not more than twelve feet to the left of the fat lady. No one ever really knew that the stairway was there because this entrance, like the lower one, was behind a tapestry. He pushed through the tapestry and stepped out in front of the Portrait Hole. The fat lady did not notice him at first, but when she did, she gave a small start and looked around to try and see where he came from. Unable to figure out where he had entered the hall, she resignedly looked down and said,

"You know, it always surprises me how you pop out of nowhere." Then, with a slight giggle she swung open and allowed him into the tower.

Upon reaching the Dormitory, Harry fell spread eagle onto the mattress of his four-poster and stared blankly into the scarlet hangings above. His headache lessened slightly as he rested his head on the feather mattress. Sunlight was streaming through the window next to him, and illuminating the area between he and Ron's beds. Gently, Harry turned over onto his side and watched the tiny dust particles float through the air lit by the window. His body felt horrible. No matter how much he tried to relax his limbs, his muscles just continued to ache dully. He began to think about how he had pulled out of the freefall. It should have taken him twice that amount of altitude to level out. Harry had done things on a broom that had impressed international Quidditch stars, but he had never done anything like that. He'd pulled out of a one hundred and sixty mile per hour dive in fifty feet. He wasn't proud about the feat, but he felt even emptier because of the terror that he had caused and the fact that he still couldn't feel an emotion.

Harry didn't want to think about it anymore, so he gently rolled back onto the sheets and, without undressing, let sleep overtake him.

_Several hours later_

Harry gingerly sat up in his bed and looked out the window. The sun was setting and he could see its brilliant shades of orange, red, purple, and pink through his window. Looking over at the bedside table, he found his watch and realized that it had been several hours since he had fallen asleep. If he hurried, he might be able to catch some dinner after the Dursleys finished theirs. Thinking of only the hunger he felt, Harry pulled himself up and out of bed too quickly and sat down again as his legs gave way. His muscles were burning, his back especially. He could feel the tension in his shoulders and arms. As he sat on the bed he thought about how bad it was going to hurt after a full night's sleep instead of just a nap. Realizing that the only thing that he could do about it was to stretch out the stiffness in his limbs, he got up far more slowly than before and walked to the door. But before he had even reached the knob, he heard three loud knocks upon its hard wooden surface followed by the loud, questioning voice of Tonk's,

"Hey Harry, you in there? Answer me I'm taking you to dinner."

Dinner? Since when did he need an escort to the great hall?

"Dinner? What's so dangerous about walking to the great hall?" he asked after opening the door.

Tonks walked past him and through the open doorway before turning around in the middle of the room to face him. Her hair was shoulder-length and cherry red now; she was also wearing a WEIRD SISTERS T-shirt with a rather artfully torn pair of jeans. Looking at him as if to say "ha ha, your wrong", she cleared her throat and told him,

"I figured since you hate being around your relatives at meals, we would dine out tonight," she said it with an air that reminded Harry of Seamus the many times he had tried to get Harry to go to one of the wild, inter-house parties held in one of the many dungeons that remained empty throughout most of the year. It was like today had never happened. Like she couldn't remember what had happened on the pitch.

Harry looked at her with his mouth slightly open, completely bewildered to her unusual behavior. She looked back at him with a lighthearted grin,

"What, Crumple-Horned Snorkack got your tongue?" she questioned with relish.

"Wha...? I mean, I just thought that you would still be a little angry after this afternoon,"

Tonks looked over at him with a slightly surprised look and said,

"Don't worry about that, okay? Now, onto another question, did you just wake up?"

Harry closed the door and took a step closer to her,

"Um... yeah. Why?"

Tonks gave a slight chuckle and said,

"You look like it, now go take a shower. I'll pick out some clothes for you."

Harry looked down at himself and realized that he was indeed a mess. His robes were wrinkled like crumpled paper, his shirt was untucked and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He looked up to find that Tonks was already at his wardrobe, pulling out and examining various articles of clothing before putting them back neatly in their respective places. Harry wondered what kind of place she was going to take him to, and whether Dumbledore knew.

"What's the headmaster think about all this?" Harry found himself suddenly asking.

Tonks did not look back at him, but merely continued to look through Harry's clothing as she said,

"He's fine with it as long as you're back by ten. He wanted nine but I negotiated for ten. Now go take a shower, I want to be out of here by eight."

Harry did not argue but instead walked into the bathroom, the door of which was situated between Neville and Dean's beds. He closed the door and stepped in front of the mirror. As quickly as he could, without straining too many muscles, he undressed himself and laid his clothes and glasses upon the counter. He got into the shower and wasn't inside for more than a few moments before he heard Tonks open the door and place his new clothes on the counter next to the sink. After she left, Harry made quick work of cleaning himself, and shaving his face. After finishing cleaning himself, He stood beneath the shower head and put his whole body beneath the cascading water. He could feel the hot water pour down his back, loosening his muscles and making the physical pains of the day slide down the drain with the rest of the dirty water. The tension in his shoulders lessened slightly as he swayed from side to side, letting the water hit ever inch of his back. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as steam flowed up from the floor of the stall and filled his lungs with the scent of his shampoo. He stayed in the stall for several minutes before shutting off the tap.

He Stepped out of the stall and toweled himself off. He looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and saw that he was still getting taller. He could only vaguely, remember the days when the countertop came up to the bottom of his rib cage. Now it only came up to a few inches below his hips. Harry looked down at the clothes that Tonks had laid out for him and saw a pair of boxers with hearts on them (he blushed slightly at the thought that Tonks had gone through his underwear drawer), there was a pair of jeans he hadn't worn in a several weeks that had now mysteriously developed several tears in them, lastly there was a black T-shirt with an emblem of a snitch and a broom crossing each other. Overall he thought the outfit fit his style rather well; at least no one would make fun of him. _"Not that anyone would think badly of the slandered hero,"_ he thought bitterly. The jeans fit loosely around his hips and bundled up at the tops of his feet, the shirt wasn't skin-tight, but it definitely showed off his mildly built Quidditch physique. She had obviously refitted the pants, but Harry couldn't figure out where the shirt came from.

Picking up his shoes and dirty clothes, Harry walked back into the bedroom full of four posters to find Tonks sitting on Neville's bed reading a copy of "Quidditch World" magazine, which she had undoubtedly procured from the top of his nightstand. Harry walked into the middle of the room and tossed all but his shoes next to his bed as he spread his arms for her to inspect him.

"Damn, I'm good," she muttered to herself and then threw him a pair of socks.

Roughly, Harry caught the socks and started to slip them on,

"Where are we going that we're getting so dressed up for?" he asked without really caring where they were going.

"Remember the guy who owned the Hogshead? Well, he got caught selling fire whiskey to a minor and had his business license revoked. I think he moved south somewhere. Now it's run by a different guy and he's turned it into a rather nice night club," she replied as she watched him start putting on his shoes.

"Were going to a club?" Harry asked, dancing wasn't exactly the kind of thing he wanted to do right then, or really anytime for that matter.

"It's not like those muggle ones where all you can do is dance, there are quite a few tables there, so if anyone just wanted to eat, it wouldn't be a problem," she replied, correctly guessing his misgivings.

Harry continued to tie his laces before saying,

"Well, that's good, I don't like dancing much."

"You looked alright at the Yule Ball from what I've heard," she replied while once again perusing the magazine.

Having finished tying his shoes, Harry stood up and shrugged as she looked up for his answer. Instead of pressing the issue, Tonks stood and pointed towards the door while saying,

"I'm ready to go, how about you?"

"Hold on a minute," he replied.

Without another word, Harry walked over to his nightstand and pulled open the bottom drawer. He rifled around for a few moments before finding the long, locked, wooden box that he used to hold his wand when he knew he wouldn't need it. He ran his thumb down its narrow, hinged side, and it suddenly fell open in his hand. Within it, carefully wrapped in a red, velvet handkerchief was his eleven inch, holly and phoenix feather wand. He looked at it as if it was a key to something he didn't want for a moment, and then he slid it beneath his belt, and snapped the box shut in his left hand. Gruffly, he dropped the box into the drawer again and pushed it shut with his leg.

"You okay? You look like that thing makes you angry," Tonks asked in a mildly inquisitive voice.

Harry thought for a moment about what she said and replied in a carefree tone,

"Only because of its destiny."

Tonks looked him in the eyes again at this statement and suddenly seemed like she wanted to say something important. Instead, she shook her head slightly and said in a far-too-upbeat tone,

"Well now that you're ready let's get out of here, eh?"

At this she opened the door and motioned for him to leave first. Harry nodded and started out the door and down the stairs, Tonks dogging his heels the whole way. They continued on without speaking through the portrait hole, down the grand staircase (no shortcuts this time), out the great oak doors of the entrance hall, and out into cool night air.

The sky was cloudless, and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The breeze had stopped completely now and the crickets were chirping in full force to make up for its silence.

Yet another glorious time where he felt no emotion to the beauty around him.

"What are you thinking?" Tonks asked, breaking their silence.

Harry looked over at her as they made their way across the grassy lawn to Hogsmeade and answered,

"How beautiful it is tonight. You?" he replied in a toneless voice.

"I was just thinking about that club you ran last year, the D.A," she responded in a casual tone, "You know what those kids got on their owls?"

She now had Harry's complete attention, but he continued to ask her in as casual a voice as her's,

"No, were they good?"

With that question, Tonks looked up at him with an admiring grin.

"O's and E's across the board," she said.

"At least something good came from it," he said slightly bitterly as he thought about how the club's discovery had forced Dumbledore to go on the run.

Tonks gave him a puzzled expression, but continued, "The ministry noticed too, I think you might be getting some letters soon."

"Huh? What do you mean letters?" Harry asked, honestly bewildered.

Tonks stopped grinning and said, "Well, I think they may give you approval to continue teaching students."

The words hung in the air for several moments as they stopped walking abruptly.

"They want me to teach classes?" he asked incredulously.

Teach classes? He didn't know half what any seventh year student did!

"No, No, don't worry. I think they just want you to expand the D.A a little. I mean, you seem to be able to teach them defense pretty well, so it kind of makes sense don't you think?" she said rather quickly as if she was afraid she had offended him somehow.

"I... I can't expand the D.A. Every idiot in the school would show up! And I guarantee you some of those Slytherins have already decided where their loyalties lie. It would be like sending Voldemort a guidebook on what we're training them to fight with!" Tonks flinched slightly at the sound of the name.

Obviously no one had thought of the fact that some of the students had already been swayed in his direction.

What in the hell were they thinking? Him expand the D.A? The only reason it remained the size that it was, was because the club was far too secret to just send out pamphlets and ask people to join! There would have to be a private selection if it would ever happen.

Tonks looked as if she wished that she had never said anything, "Then just tell them no. Let's get onto a more pleasant topic, eh?"

She turned away from him and continued walking towards the village. Harry followed in silence and neither said a word until they had reached the great wrought iron gates that separated Hogwarts and the village.

As they approached the mammoth gates, Harry noticed that they didn't open as they continued closer. Upon closer inspection he saw that a long black beam now locked the gates in place. Harry looked over at Tonks to ask her what was going on, but had barely opened his mouth when she sprang forward and ran her wand across the side of the metal beam. With a subtle hissing noise, the beam rose upward, and the gates swung forward with an eerie creaking noise to open the path to Hogsmeade. Harry looked over the framework of intricately welded metal and said to Tonks, "They used to open automatically."

She looked up at him and in an indifferent voice said, "Yes, well, now only certain wands can open the lock. Dumbledore thought it was necessary since You-Know-Who was made proven to exist again."

Harry nodded his head and tore his eyes from the impressive gates.

He looked over at Tonks and said, "Shall we?" he pointed a finger down the path.

She merely nodded in return and led the way down the gravel road.

The gravel continued on for only a short while before the ancient cobblestone of Hogsmeade's many avenues replaced it. As they walked on, Harry took notice of the large closed signs in many of the windows. The Three Broomsticks, Gladrag's Wizardwear, and Honeyduke's Sweets were just a few of the shops with locked doors and large, red, closed signs. Many of the few houses that lined the streets were empty and cast the forbidden look of being haunted. There was no one in the streets, which was very strange as there usually would have been quite a crowd on a night such as this. They all finally knew and they were scared. They were scared of what they had denied to believe for so long... Morons.

Harry and Tonks continued down the dead street until Harry caught glimpse of the building that would have been the home of the Hogshead, but instead of the dingy bay windows that had once resided on the building's front, there was a large white wall with a great emblem of a silver snitch.

"This is it Harry," Tonks muttered under her breath as they walked towards the entrance.

Standing in front of the door to the club was a very tall, dark skinned, thick-necked wizard wearing a black, dragon hide robe.

_"Must be the bouncer,"_ Harry thought to himself.

As they approached, the man took notice of them and made as if to turn them away, but as soon as they stepped into the light from the door, a look of comprehension seemed to dawn upon his face, "Tonks? 'Ow you doin'? I haven't seen yeh in weeks."

The man had a sweet tone; his voice was as soft as pillow down, but Harry had the distinct impression that this man's voice could become as Harsh and furious as a dragon's roar at the slightest need.

"Hi Orion. I've been real busy at work lately, you know how it is. Just thought I'd have a night off and take Harry to dinner."

Harry was quite surprised when the man carried on talking instead of balking at him at the sound of his name.

"Aye, I know what yeh mean. This town may look dead but people still come here so often, it's like they never left," the man sighed and looked over at Harry now, "So, yeh takin' 'er out or is she takin' yeh out?"

Harry's mouth hung slightly open at this question. Was this a date?

Before he could answer, Tonks pushed Orion on the shoulder and said, "Hey, leave him alone!"

She said it with a half grin on her face and watched him pretend to recoil from the blow.

"Ouch, watch the arms, this is a rough job yeh know," he responded while chuckling lightly and returning his gaze to Harry who was now watching the display with an empty grin.

"Sorry mate, couldn't resist," saying that, he made his tone more official and said, "Well, Mr. Potter, Ms. Tonks, please head right on in."

With that, he stepped away from the door and bowed them through. On the way in, Harry heard Tonks give Orion one last push on the shoulder before she followed him inside.

The inside was dimly lit, and loud. There were perhaps thirty people on the dance floor to his right, and on his left, at least several dozen people were seated at candle-lit tables and eating. The decor was quite like that of the great hall back during the Yule ball. The silver and Christmas decorations were missing, but the tablecloths, furniture, and lighting were dead ringers for what he had seen at the ball. Directly ahead of him, he saw that the bar from the original pub remained but it had been extended, cleaned thoroughly, and polished to a shine. As he took in the dimensions of the room, he realized that it had been extensively and expensively, expanded. On the far side of the dance floor was a large stage upon which, a band he did not recognize was playing a heavy metal song that he honestly didn't think was too bad. The noise was deafening. The music, crowd, and noise from the kitchen behind the bar had combined to form a chaotic symphony of sound. He almost had to yell for Tonks to hear him.

"It's totally different," Harry shouted with a fake voice of amazement as he sat down at a nearby table with Tonks.

She merely nodded her head and looked around with a grin as she opened her menu. Honestly... the whole atmosphere of the place did nothing for him. Why should this matter when there are things out there that want to destroy this? To destroy everything they know. At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to reach across the table, bat the menu from Tonks' hands, and tell her this. But he didn't. She wouldn't understand, she couldn't open her mind enough to see things from his perspective. She was just like the people on that dance floor. Scared and yet so oblivious to what lie in wait.

Resignedly, Harry opened his menu and looked blankly into its pages. He couldn't let anyone know about his thoughts. They wouldn't understand. He would have to play along and wear masks instead of emotions.

* * *

The Johannesburg wizarding quarter was a rather large and closely guarded section of town that was at least twice the size of Diagon Alley and had shops that were just as interesting. The bright light of the African sun filtered through the brick buildings of the open market, keeping the temperature decent. South African winters were quite different from winters north of the equator, he found out after he moved to Johannesburg. At this latitude, it was not nearly as hot as Egypt during the summer, but more mild like a French Summer. The winters were never really that cold either. To tell the truth the temperature never really changed more than ten degrees Celsius a year.

Pendrin walked down the cobblestone avenue with Angel holding his hand. As they walked, he answered the many questions that his ecstatic Goddaughter posed,

"Ooooh, is that a sweet shop? Please may we get something from there later? WOW, look at all those owls!" she said as she pointed to a shop with several dozen owls in cages just outside the front doors.

The shop had a large sign above its door that read:

Engleman's Owls

Owl breeders since 1384

"You're right, those are a lot of owls," he answered to her as she started to tug him further down the street.

"Slow down sweetheart, we have to find a certain place," he said with a chuckle.

It wasn't so bad being back. Now that he was walking magical streets again, he realized just how much he missed them. They didn't remind him of Japan anymore.

Continuing down the street with Angel leading the way, Pendrin looked up at all of the individual shop signs searching for a pub that Dumbledore had sent someone to meet him in. Abruptly, Angel slowed down, apparently out of breath and torn about where she should look around first.

Pendrin looked down upon her and said in an amused voice, "You tired? Want to sit on my shoulders?"

Angel looked up at him abruptly and practically squealed with excitement,

"YES… I mean… yes please," a huge smile was plastered onto her face and she turned around for him to pick her up under her armpits.

"Up you go!" Pendrin chuckled as he lifted her feather-light frame onto his shoulders with ease.

Angel shifted from side to side a couple of times to make herself comfortable as she got her grip on his head and then said, "Thank you Uncle Pendrin."

"Your quite welcome," it pleased him that she was trying her best to practice good manners.

Holding on to Angel's ankles as they dangled in front of his chest, Pendrin continued to walk down the street, reading the various signs as he passed. Angel seemed to be incredibly busy looking at the various extraordinary things around her. Men haggling cauldron prices, children test mounting brooms outside of a sports store, and several cloaked witches arguing over whether the price of a set of robes was too high or too low, were only a few of the sights that had her riveted and torn about what to keep staring at. This was a brand new world for her. Every few seconds, her weight would shift from side to side as she turned to examine something she had never before seen. After walking for nearly fifteen minutes, Pendrin spotted a tavern on the far side of the street. According to the sign hanging from a horizontal pole above the door and sticking out into the street, it was called _"The Hogshead_". Remembering the name Dumbledore had given him in his latest letter, he decided, this was the place.

Contemplating the odd name, Pendrin crossed the street and announced to Angel as he picked her up off of his shoulders and gently stood her back on the cobblestone street, "We're here. Angel, I need you to be as quiet as possible while we're in here, okay?"

He had crouched down to eye level with her and was gently brushing a dark strand of hair from her face. Angel smiled and made a motion as if to zip her mouth shut, nodded once, and continued to smile at him. Pendrin grinned back before taking her by the hand and leading her inside.

Stepping inside from the street, Both Pendrin and Angel were temporarily blinded by the darkness of the room. Pendrin froze as soon as the door closed and gripped Angel's hand a little harder as he stared ahead and let his eyes adjust. A moment later they could both see again. The tavern actually turned out to be a dingy smelling pub. A short sniff revealed a stale, musty smell, almost as if the owner never bothered to air the place out. On the left side of the room was a long, dusty bar with several unoccupied stools in front of it. Behind it, stood a lopsided old man with long gray hair and an equally long beard. The rest of the room was occupied by several empty, circular tables. Tallow candles that floated merely a foot above Pendrin's head lighted the entire place. Though numerous, the candles gave off only enough light to see the objects around you, reading was absolutely out of the question. As he scanned the room, he noticed that one of the tables was not entirely unoccupied; sitting with his back to the door was a tall, dark-skinned man in scarlet robes. He also had a large golden hoop in his ear that glittered faintly in the poor candlelight of the pub. His head was shaved and he had a large bumpy nose.

Hearing the door close, the man sitting at the table turned around. He looked Pendrin up and down once. Then, as if he seemed to have made up his mind about something, he beckoned them to sit with him. This must have been Dumbledore's messenger. Pendrin led Angel to the table the man was sitting at, and asked,

"You're Shaklebolt, right?"

The man stood up and offered Pendrin his hand, "Yes, I am. You must be Pendrin Micheals," Pendrin took his hand and shook it slightly.

There was something about this man that told Pendrin not to get on his bad side. "Please, sit down," He asked politely as he did so himself.

"Now, I know you have a lot of questions, but please let me fill you in on why we need you to do what we're asking you to do," his tone was quick and business-like, as if he had much to do in little time and this was the least of his worries.

Yet, he was also doing a good job at keeping his voice low enough for only Pendrin to hear. Pendrin regarded the man for a moment as he thought of what exactly there was to explain about recruiting a new warrior to their side. After a moment's pause, he nodded and watched as Kingsley took a deep breath and started to speak,

"Voldemort is back. He's been back for quite a while though, and he's blanketed a lot of support from the giants, the goblins, and the trolls. He's building a dark army that's more than seventy-five percent non-humans. As you know, most of the creatures I just listed can require more than a few wizards to take care of, especially if they're only using magic. We're hoping that you can help us in that department. Now, we also think he may have recruited the last of the Katanas."

Pendrin's blood ran cold.

Hadalla was a weakling compared to some of her kind. He had seen her converse with the leader of her race once and witnessed the size that her kind could get. The leader, Satalar, could have easily dwarfed a 747 jumbo jet.

"Do you know the names of the Katana that have turned?" Pendrin asked in a breathless whisper.

He was sweating now; if they had Satalar, then it was quite possible that Voldemort had won the war already.

"No, we don't know their names, but the biggest one is about sixty feet long and has a rather nasty disposition to broomsticks," Shaklebolt's eye twitched slightly and he squirmed in his seat a little as if remembering something physically painful.

"So you want me and Hadalla to come and fight with you?" Pendrin's face had cleared from worried to stony as he spoke.

"Well, actually that's exactly what we'd like you to do," his voice was serious, and his eyes bored into Pendrin's like corkscrews.

Pendrin stared at the table, examining the grain and texture of the roughly hewn wooden surface as he thought about what he was being asked to do. Could he forget the oath he had made to himself those few years before? Should he continue to be the great destroyer from the fighting rings?

"No," Pendrin muttered to the table.

Kingsley offered a different question, "Will you teach others instead, teach them to use their skills for good?"

At these words, Pendrin's eyes slowly rose from the table.

_later_

The bright sunshine that flooded the street was a little odd to contend with after the darkness of the dingy pub. Again, he was forced to hold Angel's hand just a little tighter as he stood outside the door in a daze as his eyes readjusted. Finally able to make out most of the shapes before him, he set off down the street.

"Uncle Pendrin, who was that man, in there?"

He looked down to his right at the puzzled expression of his goddaughter. It was at that moment that he he was struck by the realization that this was going to be hard to explain. Might as well start at the beginning.

"Did you know that I have a grandfather?"

"You do!"

he paused for a moment and lowered to one knee to address her, "Yep, and I'll tell you all about him when we get to the car."

Her eyes lit up and she practically squealed, "Okay", before starting to pull him to the mouth of the alley as quickly as her little legs could pump.

They waited there turn as people poured in and out of the apparently not-so-solid brick wall before them. As soon as there was an opening, they stepped through the wall without hesitation and found themselves in an alley just off the main strip in downtown Johannesburg. The towering buildings all around blocking as much light as possible from the streets below.

Lifting Angel up to carry her at his hip, he rushed for their car, if it wasn't stolen already. Such things seemed to happen all too often in this region.

Thankfully the car was sound and intact when they arrived at the several story garage several blocks from where the had started. Pendrin waited until Angel was in the child restraint in the passenger seat beside him before continuing their discussion.

"Sweety, That man we just talked to has asked Uncle Pendrin to do something for him."

"Was it about Grandpa?" she questioned him with puzzled excitement.

"Yes, Now, I'm sorry to tell you this Honey, but... We're gonna have to go live with him for a while.

Pendrin backed the car out of the space as his goddaughter fired off question after question. He had a lot to do and very little time to accomplish.


	3. Of Love and Travel

Chapter 3

**Darkness enshrouded him. The stale scent of blood and death hung upon the air like so many flies over rotting meat. The stench was oppressive. It filled his lungs and threatened to choke him to death, but still he endured it. He stood within the silent, dark waiting box and strained his ears for the sound of a grinding door mechanism. The door would only open when the fight started. Slowly it would rise, piercing the darkness and spewing the light beyond into the confines of the box. It made him feel like an animal to be kept like this. Caged, like a bear or tiger; only let loose to destroy another caged soul.**

**Some said they were graceful as they fought to the death. True things of beauty as they brandished their swords in fights for survival. Though true, it was visually pleasing to see them move in the well practiced fighting styles they each coveted, the fighters thought not of grace. They said that it was an honor to know the fighting styles well enough to fight in the arenas for long periods of time. To throw yourself into battle without hesitation, the truest form of bravery. **

**To the fighters... it was hell. They entered every fight knowing that if they let their opponent live, they would be killed in his place. Many were entered into the illegal organizations at ages young and old by people that they had considered their greatest mentors as to make money betting on them. Pendrin was one of those people, one of the ones who had been entered by their master. By the man he thought would always want the best for him. **

**A low buzz sounded directly overhead and with a haunting grind, a narrow strip of pure white light beamed through the gap between the rising door and the smooth, concrete floor. Slowly, it cast his muscular and ever-tan frame into sharp relief. As the door came to eye level, he shielded himself from the stinging sensation brought on by the brilliant light and his dark-adjusted pupils. Quickly, his eyes adjusted and he looked out across the dirt floored arena into the opposing box, one hundred feet away. Stepping out into the enclosure was a short, very well-built, man with a long steel sword at his belt. His face was pale as he stared forward into Pendrin's box. Pendrin locked eyes with him and stepped out of the concrete floored box, and into the dirt floored enclosure. Once outside, the door lowered shut behind him with a forbidding and resounding thud.**

**The arenas were all the same. A hundred feet across, two holding boxes recessed into the walls on both ends, dirt floors, and massive glass domes twenty feet overhead that hundreds gathered around and pressed their faces into. Pendrin looked up into the dome, and saw the many young, old, poor, and rich faces as they held their betting receipts in the air, and cheered for their fighters. They were all yelling at the top of their lungs but the arena remained silent as both fighters waited for the start signal. The charms placed upon the glass assured that no sound entered or exited the dome.**

**Pendrin lowered his eyes to his opponent, who was currently standing in a relaxed posture with his left hand resting on the handle of his sword. His face was set as if challenging a great demon that had been terrorizing his world. The message in his eyes was clear, "_Your time has come_." Pendrin stared back, his face blank and his eyes slightly glazed. This man was here to avenge the hundred and four that had come before him. He had seen many like him before, all had come to end his life because they believed that no one else stood a chance against him. Pendrin was the only fighter to have lasted more than thirty seven battles. His record had finally broken one hundred the month before. This man was here to end what everyone told him should have ended long before. Any other man would have caved under the guilt of so much death, but Pendrin had no choice, he simply shed the feelings like water running over his skin. He felt nothing but the empty shell of his flesh.**

**So they stood there, eyes locked, and ready to fight. They were waiting for the three start-up gongs. On the first, they would draw their weapons. On the second, they would take their stances. On the third, they would attack. Pendrin looked down at his robe and checked to see that his sash was secured and he would not get tangled during the fight. As he adjusted the red fabric wrapped around his waist, he removed from his pocket a small, silver lighter. As he brought it to eye level and flipped open the lid, the spectators above and his opponent froze in their tracks and held their breaths. Gently, he spun the striker wheel with his thumb and lit the wick. At once, a small yellow flame jumped forth and captured the attention of everyone. Pendrin closed his eyes and removed his hands from the lighter completely, letting it hang suspended in midair, as he concentrated on the heat it emitted.**

**Suddenly, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once was the great resounding clash of a gong. Its deep metallic roar echoed off of the stone walls of the arena. Across the room, Pendrin's opponent drew his sword and allowed it to hang limply at his side. Pendrin reached his hand out next to the lighter and felt the heat as the flame leapt sideways in both directions forming a Japanese short sword. As soon as the flame had completed the shape, the lighter fell to the ground, unlit, and glinted in the spotlights as they shone through the dome.**

**A second gong sounded and Pendrin's opponent slid his left leg backwards as he pointed his sword towards him and bent his knees into an offensive stance. Pendrin kept his eyes closed and sword sideways in front of him, at eye level. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as both men drank in the tension of the scene. The spectators' anticipation, the gamblers' desperation, the arena staff's greedy gaze, and both fighters' knowledge of imminent murder, mixed and blended to form a concoction that both men could feel deep in the pits of their stomachs.**

**A third gong sounded and fight began. Instantly, Pendrin snapped his eyes open to the sight of his opponent sprinting towards him at top speed, his sword raised high above his head, and his feet kicking up dust as ran. Pendrin raised his sword and made towards the man at a speed even greater as to meet him in the center. Several yards before either would have been in range to attack, Pendrin leapt high into the air and watched as his opponent mimicked him. Closer and closer they became as they rose higher and higher. Finally, merely two feet shy of the top of the dome, they became close enough to strike. **

**In an angry grind, steel met fire and both opponents looked deep into each other's eyes as they passed in midair. In his opponent's eyes, Pendrin did not see anger nor hate, merely a determination to live. The man's face was contorted with the effort of keeping Pendrin's blade from pushing his back and piercing his chest. Finally, they slid past each other and their blades separated.**

**Both men landed, feet skidding in the dirt and turned to face one another. Without hesitation, Pendrin advanced and their blades met again. Dancing in the smooth and Graceful martial arts styles they studied, they moved within inches of each other time and time again as they blocked and parried each other's blows. This was the part where the fighters got to know each other. It was common a common saying among pit fighters, "You never really know someone until you've fought them." The choices between whether to swing high or strike low had to be determined almost completely by reaction, and thus, every movement was honest. **

**Swinging, thrusting, and dodging each other's blows, they shifted from one end of the arena to the other, viciously trying to strike and end the battle. Pendrin's sword was leaving a short trail of flame the entire length of the blade so that it seemed as though he was fighting with an enormous oriental fan. Sparks flew and the grinding sound of their swords clashing together echoed throughout the arena. Often, their eyes would meet and time would seem to stop for the split second that existed before they tore their sight away in favor of blocking or attacking again. Pendrin could feel the bleak desperation that filled his opponent's heart in the air as if it was part of the arena's ever-present death-smell. This man knew that Pendrin was holding back; he knew that he would not win unless he caught him by surprise.**

**Swords clashing more times a second than anyone could count; Pendrin's sword now seemed the beginning of a long, magnificent, red ribbon that had been woven upon itself many times. He was backed into the center of the arena by his opponent after pushing him to the door on the eastern side. Forced to stay on the defensive as his opponent swung time after time in a vicious onslaught. He was finally pulling out all the stops. Their blades became less visible as Pendrin countered with even faster blocks and attacks. But suddenly, as he swung towards his opponent's shoulder, Pendrin saw that the man was also reacting just as fast and was bringing his blade towards his ribs. Pendrin brought his sword down and away from his opponent, and blocked the severely powerful blow from the left. Though he had avoided damage, he was instantly knocked over, sprawling, onto his side several feet away. **

**Instincts taking over, he held his sword towards his still advancing opponent and concentrated on the amount of power he was sending through it. Finally choosing an appropriate energy level, he threw the fiery blade towards him, but moments after it left his fingers, it exploded. The concussion of the blast sent a shockwave throughout the foundation of the building and the spectators above became frantic.**

**Pendrin shielded his eyes as he sat mere feet away from the center of the blast. It couldn't effect him. His powers over such phenomena prevented that. It was so simple to block an explosion when you had complete control of all heat around you. Just after the initial concussion of the blast, Pendrin could hear a tremendous crack as something heavy hit, high up, on the opposite wall. A second later, he heard a hard "flump" as it hit the ground. **

**Slowly, the smoke began to clear, and he lifted himself up. He walked over to his enclosure and picked up the lighter, trying desperately not to look in the direction of his opponents crushed and burned carcase at the base of the wall. **

**The doors on either side of the room began to rise as Arena Staff came pouring out. One ran over to the body of the other fighter, burned and tangled at the base of the wall, the sword still clinched tightly in his hand. Pendrin finally looked over at the man he had been dueling only moments before. The empty feeling within him intensified and he suddenly felt like screaming. His eyes began to dry and his throat did the same. This man had only come so that more could live. **

**Another Staff member guided him to the center of the arena and shouted with his wand to his throat, "Winner and still Champion, Pendrin!"**

Pendrin awoke with a start. He was breathing heavily and his whole body was drenched in an icy sweat. The dream echoed through his mind and he found himself shaking violently.

"It was real, Oh God, It was all real," he breathed.

He sat there for several minutes, thinking about what he had just remembered. Only in his dreams were the memories that vivid. The look in the man's eyes as they passed in midair, the tenacity and desperation of the man's movements, it had all really happened. He was just another person like Pendrin, another man who was forced to destroy. He looked down at his hands and thought of the many times he had washed blood from them. Then he started thinking about how he had held Angel in those hands, the hands of a murderer. Tears started streaming from his eyes as he broke down right there in bed. His dry racking sobs ringing only slightly in the bleak bedroom.

It was too much. He couldn't teach other people to kill. He couldn't hand the tools of death over to the hands of men who didn't appreciate the power he was giving them. It could only cause more death. And so he sat there, a full grown man sobbing.

"Uncle Pendrin, why are you crying?" The small voice of his goddaughter questioned as she stood in the doorway holding her favorite stuffed animal ( aptly named "Teddy").

She must have woken up when he started crying.

"It's okay honey...sniff I'm just a little upset about things that happened... sniff a long time ago, okay?" He instantly began to try to stifle his sobs and appear to be perfectly fine.

Angel walked to the side of the low bed and crawled in next to her uncle. Gently, she curled up next to him on top of the covers and laid her head against his side.

"Why should you cry? Like you said, it happened a long time ago. My teacher always says, 'What's done is done and we just have to put it behind us' ", she whispered as she closed her eyes and draped her arm over his midriff in a one-armed hug.

Pendrin was momentarily struck dumb. Never had he been able to put such parts of his past behind him. He had always kept them fresh on his mind. They were his scariest secrets and his greatest burden. He looked down at her for a moment and thought as he stared into his goddaughter's head of beautiful black hair. His mind raced with questions of whether he could ever find closure. Suddenly, he was struck by a thought that brought tears to his eyes for another reason, _"She is my closure, She is all that matters now." _

That was the thought. The thought that warmed his heart, and soothed his guilt. If he had given in during one of those battles, she would have no one, and he would never have known what beautiful gift was ahead of him. While wiping the tears from his cheeks, he pulled a section of his sheets over to cover her as she snuggled even further into his side trying to get comfortable.

"Thank you sweetheart. I love you," he whispered as he brushed a strand of raven hair from her face in a fatherly way.

"I love you too Uncle Pendrin," she whispered back as her breathing became completely even and she nodded off to sleep.

Looking over at his alarm clock, Pendrin saw that it was near three in the morning. He still had two hours before they were to leave for Hogwarts.

* * *

If there was one thing that could have made Albus Dumbledore more worried than he had been since Voldemort's return, it was Harry. The many years that he had watched over him, the many nights he'd laid in bed thinking about the burden that had been placed upon him, and now the pain of ignorance as to what he was thinking. 

Many times over the last two weeks had he looked passively into Harry's eyes, trying to see through them and into the turmoil that lay beyond. But alas, Harry had learned the difficult art of occlumency on his own. He was alone in his thoughts now and it made Albus nervous to not know what was going on with him. So many times had he attempted to penetrate Harry's mind and only been met with an acknowledging stare from him. He could now feel the subtle prodding and pulling that were the sensations of legilimency. Why hadn't he tried to do anything like he had done at the beginning of the month when he jumped from his broom? It had been three weeks since then, and all that had happened was another trip to Hogsmeade with Tonks. God he wanted to help him, to take his place in this fight. It was simply too unfair to do this to a boy so young. To tell him that he must eventually kill someone, or be murdered by that person. It also pained him to know that he could not help until Harry came to him. Otherwise, he would simply focus on the fact that Dumbledore was worrying about him, and feel guilty about it. He couldn't be helped until he asked for it.

And so Albus Dumbledore sat in his favorite armchair near the fire in his office, reading over the many important pieces of correspondence that he had been too busy to read throughout the day. There was so much to be done now that everyone knew, and everyone seemed to be looking to him for answers. Not that he didn't feel that it was his duty to guide the people through this war as he had done the last. Old age had the side effect of amassing great amounts of experience in matters such as war. Nonetheless, he was finally starting to feel the weariness of time as it caught up with him. The last year had been a hard one and it wasn't making matters better to have to lead the Order of the Phoenix _and_ the Ministry in its actions against Voldemort. If only Fudge would grow a spine and make some decisions alone.

He flipped through a several page report on the tactics and participants in a Deatheater attack on Diagon Alley. The attack had happened two weeks before and already the people at the ministry were putting it backseat to other projects. The death toll on innocent people was high, and the ministry was trying to focus on intelligence and preventing future ones. Dumbledore could see the logic behind what they were doing, but the twelve Deatheaters who committed the attack were still at large. Without an investigation, charges could not be brought forth against the men involved in the attack. Honestly, he thought that it was like ignoring the concept of justice entirely.

Slowly, he read through the different parchments. He was nearing the end of the stack when he saw one that concerned him even more the report about the attack.

_Dear Grandpa,_

_We're just now leaving the city and heading north. I expect to make Hogwarts on the first of September at around five O'clock. I won't be early or late, I promise._

_I wanted to tell you that I won't be landing right off. I plan to dismount above the clouds and let my friend take Angel to a higher altitude until I give a signal that everything is safe. I don't expect that my friend's presence would go over well until I have explained to everyone what is going on._

_About the people I'll be getting to know, I can't just get to know anyone. I'll choose who is suitable and go from there. I'll tell you why when I arrive._

_Angel is looking forward to meeting you. I can't wait to get there either. _

_Best wishes,_

_Pendrin_

_P.S you won't be able to get a message to me from here on out._

Dumbledore reread the message once and then set aside all of the other parchments he had been holding.

"Grandpa?" he whispered aloud.

The more he thought about what Pendrin had called him, the more it sounded right to him. Pendrin's parents had been like family to him. That was why he took them in, he had known them since birth.

Grandpa... Aside from making him feel slightly old, it really seemed to fit.

Thinking over the cryptic meanings contained within the letter. He realized that Pendrin wasn't going to teach just anyone. Apparently, he planned on selecting the candidates for training. This wasn't going to go well with Fudge. The ministry had already chosen eight of its elite to learn from him. They were going to have to send anyone and everyone they trusted with the power that was to be granted. Dumbledore methodically went through a list of ministry employees in his head. There were probably only a few more than the ministry had chosen that he would trust. This was going to be difficult, very difficult. What if Pendrin didn't find any of them suitable? Would he leave, would he pick others and tell them to stuff it if they didn't like it? It had been so long since the little eight year old he once knew left for destinations unknown.

Shaklebolt told him the day he returned from Africa that Pendrin had physically changed quite a bit. What about mentally? Dumbledore had been searching desperately for information about his old life in Japan, and all he had been able to find was that he had been an arena fighter. Had he been changed into a cold blooded killer back then? What was he like now? Kingsley's conversation with him had stayed about business so he couldn't make any assumptions other that he refused to kill anymore.

"He won't fight, not for any reason. Period," had been Kingsley's exact words upon his return.

Only time would tell whether he was still the little boy from London whom he had known so long ago.

* * *

Looking over the rest of the letter again, he realized, he had three days to get all the preparations and planning done for Pendrin's arrival. He moved swiftly to the fireplace and removed a pinch of powder from a dish on the mantle; he threw it into the fire shouted into the emerald flames it yielded, 

"STAFF MEETING!"

Soon his door would knock and he would update everyone on the new schedule for September 1st. It was going to take a lot of cooperation from everyone to prepare for the reception he had planned.

One week. He had mastered Occlumency in one week. It wasn't so hard after all. Snape was the reason it was difficult before, and now he felt guiltier for not learning it on his own to begin with. The library had delivered fantastically, yet again, to provide him with the numerous sources of information that he needed to accomplish his task. For the last three weeks he had been alone in his thoughts. For the last three weeks he had looked deep into the headmaster's eyes and not said a word as he fought off the man's many attempts to invade his mind during meals. Didn't Dumbledore trust him anymore? Was the man looking for clues as to what he was going to do next? Was he simply too afraid to ask him how he felt? His mind filled with many questions of this nature, as he stared down at his plate in the great hall. He didn't eat much anymore. It wasn't that he had consciously stopped eating; he just didn't feel hungry like other people did.

He was constantly asking himself questions within his head. The answers seemed to be always just out of reach though. It was like seeing the world for the first time. Only, you knew what everything was and you were just trying to figure out if it was all right. What is right? What is wrong? Aren't these things only decided by other people? Who is anybody to judge what is right and wrong when all they have is their life experiences? Everything is biased.

He felt like nothing was real. Like he simply had to play the cards he was dealt and not take the game seriously. At the same time feeling guilty for having that kind of indifference. It was like a small part of him was fighting for control and telling him to move on and take control of his life. It was the most conflicting set of ideas he had ever experienced. He had to fight for things and yet he also questioned the very things he had to fight for. He knew that he was not going to go anywhere if he stayed like this and he knew that he would be no good to anyone until he found some solid truth to base his life upon.

Love perhaps? Then again, what is love? Is it just an emotional attachment influenced by our experiences, or is it a beautiful power that lives and breathes within us?

How about Justice? What justice would he be fighting for? Could that be considered vengeance?

Everything was self defeating at this point. He resolved that he would just do whatever seemed to be the best course of action when he was confronted with a problem.

Slowly, he turned over his mashed potatoes and mixed them with the thick, brown gravy that he had smothered them with fifteen minutes before. As he continued to push around the food on his plate, he thought about how Ron and Hermione had given up on trying to make him smile. They thought he was alright now. The many empty looks of excitement and happiness had sufficed to relieve them of their worries. Suddenly, a shrill voice woke Harry from his depressing reverie,

"Harry... Harry, I just asked you a question."

It was Hermione.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he turned and looked up at her as she stopped her fork full of steak half-way to her lips.

Ron was also peering over at him with a mouth full of chicken.

"I just asked you what you thought about that attack in Diagon Alley," her face was inquisitive as if they hadn't discussed the topic several times before.

"I told you, I don't know what they were after. Maybe they were just trying to cause trouble for the ministry, How the bloody hell should I know?" he responded sounding slightly irritated.

Hermione looked heavily affronted,

"Fine, fine, but don't snap at me, okay?"

Harry sighed and looked at her miffed expression before replying,

"Sorry, It's just that we've talked about this nonstop since it happened. Can't we find a new topic or something?" with that he looked back down at his plate and continued to stir around his leftover potatoes.

"I guess you're right, we have been talking about it a lot lately. Hey Ron, did you see that last Wasps match?" Hermione turned her attention to Ron who had just frozen in awe at the fact that she had just started a conversation about Quidditch.

Harry tuned them out as Ron gave Hermione a blow-by-blow account of the match.

_"Christ, when are they going to start dating already?_" he asked himself in his head as he thought about how dense the two were to each other's feelings.

It seemed like everyone knew that they were perfect for each other except them.

Getting up from the table he muttered a farewell to them and headed out the door towards the grounds. Behind him, Ron gave Hermione a puzzled expression and watched as he left the Great Hall.

The sky was a mottled gray color that you could only see this time of year. The clouds had been hanging over the school for three days and had drenched just about everything that could get wet. Even then, a slow and slight drizzle was falling from the heavens. It gave a hint of a forbidding chill to the warm August air and made Harry pull his robes closer to his neck to avoid having water run down his back. The rain-soaked grass waved lightly in the wind that swept across the grounds. The movement was so subtle and so weighted that the lawns themselves seemed to be alive and weeping as beads of water dripped from the tips of the grass blades to the ground. The dirt paths were soaked as well and added strain to their travelers. Harry could hear his boots make squelching noises as he pulled them from the mud with each step. He had been trekking the grounds a lot during the last few days. It just felt like the time to do it. The weather seemed to reflect something deep within himself that he could not express through words. The world around him was reflecting the deep empty hole in his heart that continued to torture and consume him. Even though the pain was low and just below the center of his rib-cage, he knew that it was his heart.

So he walked... he walked around the lake, he walked the many paths that bordered the Dark Forest, he walked until his knees ached and the sky turned dark. It was almost a form of solace, to just do something and be consumed by the act; by the world around you. He could concentrate upon the strain of merely walking, his boots weighted heavily with mud and the ground gripping his soles with each step. Pain, strain, guilt, and sadness, the only feelings and emotions he could feel. These were the things that made life seem real but now they were all that he could feel. He was beginning to think that they were all he was _capable_ of feeling anymore.

Harry looked up to see a hole in the clouds and a very bright star behind it. As he looked into the sky, he saw the edge of the storm and the end of the rain. It was time to go back inside. The faculty and Dumbledore didn't like it when he left the castle for this long.

He started up the path leading from the forest to the great oak front doors of the castle. His boots squelching in the mud with every step, and robes now thoroughly drenched.

* * *

It was amazing to smell the sweet scent of her skin as she sat down beside him. Her soft touch sent every nerve in his body on end as she slid sideways on the sofa and rested her head upon his shoulder. The tingling sensation of his nerves stayed only for a moment before sinking downward into a feeling of warmth and that he had never before felt. The feeling of warmth only strengthened as she relaxed her whole body with a soft sigh and closed her eyes. Gently, he tilted his head over and rested it upon hers. At this gesture, she snuggled deeper into the space between his head and his shoulder. He had never known she could be so affectionate. With a calm and even breathe, he slid his hand down her forearm and laced his fingers in hers. 

Gradually, as they both became lost in the comfort of each other's presence, he closed his eyes as well.

"Hermione... I love you," he whispered, breaking the silence.

Her grip on his palm became slightly stronger as she slowly pulled her head out from under his and looked him in the eyes. Her eyes were glittering as though her greatest dream had come true. He knew in his heart that he meant it. They had not been together very long but he knew that it was right. It was right to hold her as she wept; it felt right to kiss her slowly and with a passion that he could not describe with earthly words. This was something that he could say to her and never question.

"I love you too, Ron," she breathed as their lips moved closer and she tilted her head slightly sideways.

He could feel the heat of her face as he tenderly brushed his lips against hers. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt her so close. He had never felt like this about anyone else. Closing her eyes, Hermione quickly brought her mouth up to meet his. He parted his lips as they met in the tenderest of kisses. He couldn't describe the things she could do to his senses. He adored the strawberry-like taste of her mouth as he explored it with passion. The sweet smell of her skin held him spellbound as she pressed deeper into the kiss; her tongue danced with his in haze of emotion...

"Well it's about damn time!"

Ron and Hermione were both abruptly brought back to earth as a loud voice sounded from the entrance to the common room. Hermione jerked her head away from Ron's and toward the door with a sharp intake of breath. Her grip on his hand increased and he could tell that whoever had burst in on them was a real surprise. Sad that the wonderful moment had come to an end, Ron slowly turned his head as well only to begin gaping at the intruder as Hermione had done.

"When did you get here Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice quavering slightly with nervousness.

Harry seemed to be soaked to the bone. His hair was dripping as it stuck out in all directions, his clothes were actually beginning to form a puddle around his feet as they dripped streams of water onto the stone floor, and Ron could actually see the light from the torches reflect off of the wet skin of Harry's neck. His boots were covered in mud and had left tracks leading from the portrait hole to where he now stood several feet towards the center of the room. The look in his eyes was unchanged, as it had been since they arrived. It was haunting and empty. No matter what expression he wore, his eyes were always the same. To Ron, the sight of his best friend in such a sad state pushed the mood of the room from romantic to worried.

"About ten seconds ago," Harry replied to Hermione, still dripping.

Ron looked up at him and suddenly felt like running to him. He looked like hell and it wasn't his fault. It was like watching a brother drown and knowing that there was no way to help.

"Christ Harry, you look like hell!"

The words sprang from his mouth before he could stop himself. Dumbledore had asked them to ignore Harry's melancholy and simply try to support him without directly bringing up the subject of his depression. The whole thing sounded overly complex at first, but when he thought of all the things that had happened to Harry, he agreed to leave him somewhat alone to work through his feelings. It was a shame though; Harry hadn't even known that they were dating.

"Gee, thanks a lot. How long?"

It was a moment before Ron realized what he was referring to.

"Oh...um...Hermione and I...um...we...err," he stuttered trying to think of something to explain their secrecy.

Hermione took this as her opportunity to wake from her shock and chime in,

"Two weeks. We're really sorry about not telling you but we just wanted some time to adjust before we told anyone." her voice was high pitched and a little more nervous than before.

Harry crossed the room in his dripping robes and mud laden boots to look down at them with a broad smile on his face. Still, his eyes were an empty void.

"I understand completely but I have to say, it took you two long enough to realize how each other felt." he let out a tremendous yawn and continued,

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to towel off and go to bed,"

Without a further word, he turned and headed for the spiral staircase and disappeared up its steps. Ron looked over at Hermione and realized that she had slid to the opposite side of the sofa as they spoke to Harry. She hadn't separated hands though. Tearing her eyes away from the staircase, Hermione looked over at him and closed the distance between them.

"You should go talk to him," her words were sympathetic and somber.

"Yeah, s'pose your right. It's so hard to tell how he feels now," Ron replied in an equal tone, still staring at the staircase.

"I can't imagine what he's going through. The look he gave me when he snapped at me in the great hall during lunch was pretty empty, like he was only pretending to be annoyed. One thing has me kind of confused though," Hermione said as she rested their still clasped hands upon her thigh.

"How did he know that we had feelings for each other before this summer?"

"I don't know, you think we were obvious to everyone back when we were still fawning over each other?" he asked, dreading the idea that their feelings were a well known private joke.

Ron turned to face her. There was a slight tension in her shoulders, caused by Harry's interruption. He looked deep into her eyes and closed the distance between their lips. They kissed only for a moment, the same emotions and passions flowing through this one like a fragment of the previous kiss.

"I'm gonna go talk to him before he goes to bed. There has to be more to the way he feels about this." he said after gently parting lips and rising from the sofa.

Standing before her, he saw that the tension had left her again. It was like Harry had never walked in. He caressed her hand for a moment before he let go and turned to the staircase.

Leaving the room, he looked back several times to see her face as she leaned back on the sofa and watched him walk away. Her face was set with a dreamy smile, as though nothing could upset her right then. God, he loved to make her feel like that.

The dormitory door was wide open and he could hear the shower running as he stepped inside. Strewn about the floor next to Harry's bed were the wet clothes that he had been wearing as well as his mud-caked boots. Looking left from the door into the bathroom, he could see Harry's silhouette against the shower door, simply standing, unmoving beneath the water. He had seen Harry angry, sad, and ecstatic, he had known Harry for five years and nothing could prepare him to deal with the way he was behaving now. Had Dumbledore not said anything, they would have thought him happy and nonchalant. But as soon as the headmaster warned them of Harry's emotional state, they began to notice the many subtle differences in the way he acted. His slowness in shifting moods, how he smiled just a little too often. You never would nave noticed these things if you didn't already know of his unrest.

It kind of made him sad that he would not confide in him. He knew that Harry trusted him with everything, but he just couldn't help but feel that there was a line between them. Before, they were brothers, and now things were just far too difficult for Ron to understand his situation completely. He could some what see through his sadness and into the motives that were pushing Harry away from he and Hermione. Everyone knew that he had always been a marked man but now it was something more dangerous. Ron could see that the situation was so dangerous that it had direct effects on those that were close to Harry and thus was his recession was intended to help. It was like he was in a pit and he wouldn't let anyone help him out for fear that they would fall and join him in his perils.

Ron could only look ahead and wonder, what would Harry's perils be?

* * *

The Sahara had a sort of morbid beauty that was all its own. The blue sky stretched for miles in all directions and the dunes below could only follow it to the horizon. Every so often the light would shimmer off the heat of the sand and reflect the sky above creating mirages of nonexistent water, moments of false hope for those who had been stranded in the years past. The dry air was as unforgiving as the heat that clung to everything under sunlight. Such a place was clearly never meant for human habitation. Perhaps that was why the Katana chose its many mountains of sand to breed and hatch their eggs. It was truly a magnificent place, Harsh and grueling in its living conditions, but still magnificent in its own right. 

Pendrin could feel the heat emanating from the dunes as he flew low and searched for a larger thermal. Or rather Hadalla flew low and searched for a larger thermal, Pendrin never really gave her instructions on how or where to fly. After all, she wasn't really the kind who took or needed directions. They were flying north, almost a straight shot to Hogwarts. It had taken them two days to get to the Sahara and it was going to take three more to finish the Journey.

Two days to get to the desert, one day training, two days to finish the flight.

Angel had spoken non-stop throughout most of the trip so far but now she was sleeping, and Pendrin was left to stew among his thoughts of the reasons they were coming north at all. He almost started thinking back to the days when he trained under Tetsuo Nomura, the man who had doomed him to the arenas.

The man had a kind heart, or he seemed to at least. He had shown his true colors the day he sent him into his first fight. It turned out that Nomura really didn't care about what happened to him as long as he won in the fights.

As Hadalla finally caught her thermal, Pendrin pushed his mind onto happier topics. His thoughts turned to the young girl sitting in front of him and leaning against his chest as she slept. Normally she never got the chance to ride on Hadalla, so her excitement made it rather difficult for her to fall asleep as they flew through the night. She had finally dropped off a few hours before dawn when the air was still cold enough to see your breathe. Now it was well past noon and she continued to snooze peacefully against his chest, shifting only slightly with the beat of Hadalla's wings.

Glancing down at her sweat-soaked brow, Pendrin realized that he should find a place for her to rest and rehydrate. His body was very capable of a journey with conditions as grueling as the heat they were experiencing, but Angel was a very different story.

"_Hadalla, is there a place to rest nearby, perhaps cooler than this?_" Pendrin asked within his mind.

_"I know of a place, but it is an hour's flight to the west. We'd need our own water too." _

Her answer came lightly as she stretched her wings and steadied to take fuller advantage of the thermal.

Pendrin looked behind him to the bags he had packed and spotted several full canteens. Judging that there was enough for a couple of days, he looked back to Hadalla.

_"Could we stay there for two nights?"_

_"Of course"_

_"Well then, let's head west."_

Hadalla pumped her wings once and began to spiral within the thermal, allowing it to carry them upwards at an alarming rate. She continued to fly upwards for thousands of feet until the rising air was too weak to continue lifting them.

They could see for miles. The endless stretches of burnt-orange sand shimmered beneath them like billions of amber stones strewn thickly over mountains. The sight took his breath away.

Without warning, Hadalla gracefully pitched left again and dove through the turbulent edges of the thermal, her wings spread as wide as before in a perfect glide position.

The shift from upward movement to forward movement was abrupt and caused Angel to slide further back in the saddle towards Pendrin. Worried that she may slide sideways and fall, he wrapped an arm protectively across her shoulders and braced his legs against Hadalla's sides.

Seeing that she was safe, he looked forward to the horizon and continued to enjoy the flight.

One hour later

_Brace yourselves. Don't want to slide off again now do we?_ Hadalla teased Angel as they set down next to what appeared to be a gaping cave in the sand.

The entrance was shaped like an oval and seemed to be lined with glass. Though instead of being smooth and rounded, the surface was rough and discolored, as if it had been burned into the sand itself.

"What is this place?" Pendrin asked aloud.

_"This is an egg lair"_

"What's an egg lair?" Angel asked as she slid sideways and dismounted landing hard on her bottom in the sand.

"Angela Michaels, how many times have I told you to wait for me to lower you down! At your age, six feet is more than enough to break your arm little lady," Pendrin scolded as he too dismounted.

"Sorry Uncle Pendrin, I forgot," she stood up and brushed the sand from the seat of her pants.

"It's okay, just be more careful. I don't know what I'd do if you were ever hurt," he said with a sigh and looked around. "Hey, Hadalla, what is this place?"

_"I told you, it's an egg lair. A place where my kind used to come and store their eggs until they were ready to hatch."_

"Oh"

_"It should be quite cool within the cave itself," _Hadalla turned towards the entrance and continued, "Though, it's not very big. I'll have to sleep outside tonight."

"That's not fair! We should find a place where we can all sleep together!" Angel's voice rang out as she pulled on Pendrin's hand in protest.

Staring down into Angel's eyes, Pendrin searched for a way to calm his disappointed and overexcited goddaughter.

Hadalla quickly descended upon the situation to rescue him, _"Don't worry, these deserts used to be my home. To tell you the truth I'm more comfortable here than down south."_

Angel stopped pulling on Pendrin's hand wiped her brow on her shirt sleeve.

"You're really comfy in this?" she asked.

_"Of course. Would Auntie Hadalla really lie to you?"_

Angel looked up brightly, "No."

_"Well then, it's settled, I sleep outside tonight. Now, lets get you all set up shall we?"_

Hadalla turned away from Pendrin and softly rolled onto her side, exposing her belly and the many knots in the ropes that held their luggage to her back. There were seven knots in all. He hadn't intended on having to use so much rope, but then again, he hadn't intended on bringing so much luggage either.

"Right then, Angel, you work on the left three and I'll work on the right four." Angel jumped forward and began working one of her knots with her small fingers.

It would have taken no time at all if Pendrin had simply done them all on his own, but he always tried to make her feel included. They were a team. Cooking, cleaning, and watching TV. They did everything together. Pendrin slowed down on his final knot and stole glances at Angel as she struggled with her second. Pretending to be stuck on his knot, he stalled to give her time to catch up.

With an earnest tug, her second knot finally came loose. Abandoning the ends of the ropes she had just freed, she shifted her attention to her final knot and began working on it just as furiously. Seeing how close she was, Pendrin began working on his in a slow and lazy fashion.

"Oh Man. You're gonna beat me." Pendrin muttered playfully as he saw her pull out a key fold in the knot.

"Huh?" her eyes shifted upward to see that she was indeed beating him. "Wow!"

Eagerly, she continued to pull and prod on the rope, her competitive spirit now fully engaged.

Pendrin chuckled and held the loops of rope together that were the remains of his knot as he pretended to continue to work.

"I got it!" Angel's voice rang loud as she stepped away from the loose bits of rope that were her handiwork.

"Darn it! You beat me again!" Pendrin pulled a loose loop of rope from the bundle he held together in his hand, and stepped away as the rest fell to the ground.

On the other side of Hadalla, a loud crashing noise signaled that their luggage had been freed.

Angel looked up at him triumphantly, "I knew I could be faster than you."

"Oh you did?" Pendrin hitched an eyebrow. "Then you deserve a prize"

Angel began to back away slowly, "uh, oh."

Pendrin lunged forward laughing and seized her around the waist. Kicking and screaming she fought to extricate herself from his grasp. Dodging her blows, Pendrin fell to his knees.

"You're gonna get it," he said teased slowly.

Angel's eyes went wide as she realized what was coming. Quickly, Pendrin began tickling her ribs furiously.

"No...NO… STOP," Angel managed between squeals of laughter. She latched onto his arm and tried to remove his hand from her ribs.

"Awwwww. What, you don't want your prize?" he questioned as she convulsed and squealed with delight.

Looking ready to collapse and damn near out of breath, Angel shook her head and fought harder.

_"Merlin's sake man, giver her some air!_" Hadalla's voice flooded his mind.

Angel's eyes shot open and she pointed at Hadalla nodding through her shrieks of delight.

"Oh, okay." Reluctantly, he relented.

Angel fell to the sand still giggling and breathing erratically.

"You Okay?" Pendrin chuckled.

Angel pointed up to him and teased between breathes, "I'll get you for that, Uncle Pendrin."

"There will be a time for that later. Now let's get you out of this heat young lady," Hadalla ordered.

"I agree. Hadalla, can you make some shade for her while I explore the cave?" he pulled Angel up by the hand and settled her on her feet.

With a nod, Hadalla stretched a large leathery wing overhead and shielded them from the sun.

Pendrin smiled up at her and patted Angel on the head before stepping towards the entrance of the cave. As he approached, he pulled a very familiar silver lighter from his pocket. Staring down at it as he walked he wondered why he had kept it at all.

_"Just have to keep reminding yourself of what you've done, don't you?"_ he thought to himself with disgust.

_"It won't go away until you decide to let it,"_ Hadalla remarked with a snort behind him.

Pendrin turned.

"Yeah... I know," he muttered solemnly.

It was becoming routine for a fun situation to interrupt by the guilt of his past.

Sometimes it felt like she was the only one who understood what it was like inside his head. Maybe because she could poke around in it without him knowing. Whatever the reason, it was good to have someone who knew.

Turning back around, he closed the remaining steps to the entrance of the cave and stared deep into its pitch black depths. The dull gleam of the entrance was hardly worn which seemed odd considering the heavily corrosive nature of sand storms.

Pendrin had only seen one sand storm in his life. Back when he was traveling south through these parts, he flew high above it and waited for it too leave the nomad encampment below.

Upon return to the encampment, he found naught but pools of maroon sand and several meat strewn skeletons that had been, hours earlier, breathing human beings. So hard did he hold Angel to his chest and cover her eyes that she nearly cried out. He stayed only long enough to bury them and take what was left of their precious water. It sounds cruel, but in the desert, only a man who wished to end up like the people he had just buried would leave the water.

Flipping open the lid of his lighter, he hesitated. Last time he had used this lighter, he had taken a life. Reminding himself of what Hadalla had said he spun the striker wheel and watched as steel rubbed flint and threw sparks at the wick. Almost instantly, a tall yellow flame rose from the wick and began to dance in the dry breeze. Captivated by its glow, he let instinct take over and form it into a softball sized orb. Seeing it change shape startled him slightly and he allowed his thoughts to falter and the ball disappeared leaving the wick unlit. He shook himself slightly and spun the wheel again to light the it. He formed it into a ball again, this time intentionally, and made it rise away from the lighter which he promptly closed and placed back in his pocket.

He took a look back at Hadalla and Angel, who were sitting and staring at him in silence. Hadalla's wing was still stretched out over Angel, who was currently staring at her uncle's creation with unfaltering fascination.

"Be back in a minute," he muttered assuringly.

Angel yelled happily, "Okay, I'll wait for you."

With a soft chuckle at the obviousness of her statement, he nodded to them and turned to enter the cave.

The floor was still sand from what he could tell. His feet still sank slightly with every footfall. As soon as he had taken two steps inside, he felt and incredible drop in temperature. Outside it was at least 120; in here it couldn't have been more than 80. After turning a corner that he didn't even know was there, he was nearly blinded as the orb rounded the corner ahead of him. He assumed that the glare of the fireball was what was bothering him so he moved it into the small space between his head and the rough glass ceiling.

His breath caught in his chest.

It wasn't the fireball that was causing the glare. The walls of the cave itself were reflecting the firelight off of their many surfaces. All around him, the walls glittered like thousands of Technicolor diamonds shimmering in a beauty that he could not describe with earthly words. Moving close to the left wall, he pushed the fireball away and shielded the wall from all but the ambient light of the surrounding surfaces. Within the glass structure he could see tiny chunks of pastel colored stone that he assumed were metals too tough to be melted with the sand. On the surface, he could see where the large individual beads of molten glass had streamed down the walls to look like great chunks of melted icing in shape. Never before in his life had he seen anything so beautiful... next to his goddaughter that is.

Pulling himself away from the wall, he looked forward into the twenty remaining feet of tunnel and concluded that it was safe for them to stay within its mesmerizing depths.

Several Hours Later

The luggage was safely stowed within the cave, Hadalla was busy catching up on the many hours of sleep she had deprived herself of by insisting that they fly through the night, and Angel was currently snoozing softly in the cool area cast by Hadalla's hulking shadow.

Pendrin studied them as they lay next to the cave entrance. He was almost thankful that they were asleep.

Training was always done best when not watched.

Earlier, after coming out of the egg lair and pronouncing it safe, pendrin was struck by a sudden bit of inspiration for an object to help him train. Now he was going to see if it was plausible.

Using his lighter to create another fireball, he morphed the orb into a massive scoop and dug up a large amount of sand. The scoop must have held over a hundred pounds worth of the course substance. Raising the fiery shovel up to eye level, he closed the fire over the mass of silicate completely, and encased it within a burning shell.

He increased the heat drastically and watched as it melted down and glowed a bright orange color. Normally this would have taken a muggle glass maker hours to do, but Pendrin knew how to make any substance heat up extremely quickly. Now that the sand was melted, he focused on the heat it contained and allowed the fire around it to dissipate into nothing.

Reaching forth towards the bright orange ball, he ran his hand through the scorching air only inches above its surface. The heat was enough to burn a normal hand into nothing in a matter of moments, but Pendrin could only get a feeling of strength and energy from its depths. That was why he chose the desert to train. With so much ambient heat, he could only get stronger, faster.

Plunging his hand into the thick orange mass, he morphed it out from around his wrist and into the shape of a long sword. The blade was an inch thick and several inches broad. The edges were intentionally dull and the handle was long enough for three and a half hands to be comfortably wrapped around it. He kept the texture of the handle smooth so it would take a little effort to hold on to.

Satisfied with the shape, he forced air to penetrate its surface and turn its solid structure into a honeycomb for strength. This step was necessary because normal glass was not made from raw sand. A normal glass mixture was made with nearly a fifth of its formula being other substances that increased its strengths and decided its color. He had none of these chemicals on hand so he would have to make due and be resourceful.

After seeing that the miniscule bubbles were distributed evenly, he raised it high above his head and focused on getting the heat out of the material without weakening it. Slowly, he felt the handle lose energy beneath his fingers and the blade began to look slightly transparent as the different colors of the unrefined glass began to show. Feeling that the blade had sufficiently cooled, he brought it down before his eyes and studied it carefully. If there was the slightest fracture, the blade could break apart as he swung it at high speeds and harm someone.

It had to be perfect.

It was. The walls of its honeycomb structure were flawless. Not too thick, not too thin. The surface gleamed smoothly in the harsh sunlight and the seamless blend from turqoise to purple to blue was spellbinding in its own right.

Almost too perfect to use... almost.

Feeling that the blade had cooled completely, he grasped the smooth handle with both hands and swung it in wide arcs around him to get a feeling for its balance and the way that it cut through the air. After a few wild swings, he started to notice how the blade was hesitant to change direction at any speed and how there was absolutely no counterbalance within the handle. The balance (or lack thereof) caused his wrists to struggle just to keep the blade pointed in the direction he intended. He had planned on this when he had shaped it. The blade was intended for nothing more than put strain on his muscles and help him rebuild the strength that he once had. He was going to have to do far more out in the desert than just get strong though. He had forgotten quite a bit of his skills over the years. The movements involved in fighting and the numerous techniques that involved his powers had faded as he quite using them. Hopefully he would remember them or relearn them as he trained.

So much to do with only twenty four hours.

As he continued to swing and analyze the characteristics of the sword, he thought back to the days when he had trained with similar blades made of steel.

"_I've been lazy. It shouldn't feel this heavy_." He thought as he grunted with strain as he held the blade sideways at eye level.

The steel swords had weighed three times what he was training with now, and those had never felt heavy for as long as he could remember using them.

Then again, the potions he had been fed the many years before were special... and sometimes fatal. Most of them were geared towards performance.

One to make his muscles rebuild faster after workouts.

One to make his bones stronger as his muscles did too.

One to make his tendons and ligaments as strong as steel.

And a final one to make the cartilage in his joints allow him to move faster and absorb far heavier impacts than what would destroy a normal person's joints.

In essence, they were to make him the perfect warrior. Their effects were permanent and he would carry them to the grave.

How he had survived those potions, he would never know. Moments after imbibing the ligament strengthener, he fell ill with a fever that lasted for three weeks and nearly killed him. To think that he believed Nomura after he was told that it was wine that he drank and not a potion.

After letting the tip of the blade rest in the sand for a few moments as he let he soreness in his wrists fade, he lifted the tip again and started to practice his blocks and counter attacks. It was slow at first, as he limbered up and gradually began to throw in special moves, but after the first fifteen minutes he had doubled his speed was beginning to remember much of what he had forgotten about fighting.

_"Swing high, block. Break contact. Go for his knees."_ called the maneuvers in his head as he performed them.

It felt oddly hypocritical to pretend to be fighting someone as you train to teach others so that you don't have to kill. Like he was consciously taking the very steps to pulling a trigger, and then swearing never to actually go through with it. Turning himself into a killing machine and practicing the act, then saying how he hated it but it was something he wanted to do.

All he could do was stop thinking and get lost in the strain of training. The strain wouldn't last long though. By this time tomorrow, his muscles would have rebuilt, and sword would feel like nothing again.

* * *

Minerva McGonagal stared across the Gryffindor common room at a dark-haired boy sitting in one of the armchairs facing the fire. His gaze was set on the fire and he was apparently deeply lost in thought. She took a step closer and noticed how his left hand was resting upon the upper regions of his stomach. Normally she would have thought nothing of such a gesture. But the look on his face set the idea as if it was to sooth a terrible pain. the expression on his face was bleak and emotionless. She paused for a moment and took in the horrible feeling of melancholy inspired by the sight of him. 

His feet were crossed limply on the floor and his body was sunken into the chair to a considerable depth. Never before had she seen him in such a state. All it did was confirm what Dumbledore had told her several weeks before. Depression.

"No, Potter's too strong for this to affect him like that" She remembered her reply to the headmaster.

Now she could only follow his orders and leave the boy to his thoughts. Quite the opposite of what she would have done of course, but she wasn't about to disagree with him. He was always right about such matters.

Shaking the feeling of foreboding from her thoughts, she decided to get to the business that had brought her to the Gryffindor common room in the first place.

"Mr. Potter." She spoke in a clear and defined tone.

The boy started slightly and his demeanor changed instantly. He uncrossed his legs and sat up in the chair with an air of casualty that seemed utterly perfect.

The kid could act.

"Professor McGonagal, I didn't hear you come in." his expression was of mild surprise.

"Sorry to startle you."

"It's Okay. How can I help you?" His causality now seeming totally genuine.

Damn, the kid could act.

"I have some business involving yourself, Ms. Granger, and Mr.Weasley." She took a look around the common room, "Do you know where they might be?"

"They're upstairs,"

"Oh, then perhaps I should go fetch them?" Her voice was short and curt, just like always.

The kid wasn't the only one who could act.

Harry bolted to his feet instantly in badly disguised alarm.

Okay, sometimes the kid could act.

"Umm... don't bother, I'll run and fetch them," he launched himself at the staircase and made upwards to the dormitories.

Seeing that he was gone, she strode over to the chair he had been sitting in and waited for him to return with the others. As she stood, she spotted an open book lying upon the small table next to the chair. It seemed rather old with its faded black leather cover. It would have seemed totally ordinary if not for the handwritten, open page ending with a signature at the bottom. Recognizing the rigid scrawl, she snatched it up and began to read.

Dear Diary August 29

It won't go away

I can feel it covering my heart

Dull pain, Weariness, and guilt are all that's there

I'm dying to feel

The pain hovers just below my heart

a never stopping ache that's consuming me

I know what it is

Why does it have to be there?

Why must I be the one destined to murder?

I've already caused so much pain and death

They don't know

Some of them look at me as their savior

Savior

Was I their savior a year ago in the prophet?

Wasn't I just an unstable liar?

I can't look in the mirror anymore

To see the eyes of one who must kill

I look him in the eyes every day now

He can't find anything

I really am alone now

I don't know if I should block him out anymore

But if I let him in, what he sees may worry him

I've caused too much pain

Maybe I should leave

Why should I fight this war?

Who am I to say what is right?

All I have is my experience,

and that is far too flawed to pass judgment.

Ron and Hermione are finally dating

They seem so happy together

I have to protect them

I can't let them die too

I want to cry but the tears won't flow

Hagrid was right, I'm a marked man

I don't think I knew what he meant until now

Harry

By the time she had reached the end of the last paragraph, she was gripping the chair for support. This was far more serious than they thought. His meanings within the writing would be far clearer to him than anyone else, but she could tell by the scattered nature of the topics and the desperation that seemed to bleed from the pages themselves that this was something far more than just guilt about Sirius. This was Harry doubting everything around him, including his own judgment. He was questioning the war, his worth, and his abilities.

The sentences seemed so simple, they were almost cryptic. As if they meant something entirely different.

Footsteps coming from the staircase caused her to regain her composure and gently set the Diary down on the table just as she had found it.

She had only a moment to needlessly straiten her robes before the head of Ms. Granger poked around the edge of the staircase.

For a second, she wondered just what their reactions would be to getting their own rooms.


End file.
