A/N: this story is loosely based on one of my favorite movies, and it happened because today I have been listening to the soundtrack over and over again.

The music is of course by Queen. Enjoy!

00000000

Here we are

Born to be Kings

We're the Princes of the Universe

Driving is one of the things that clears my mind. Not in traffic, of course, but speeding through the open road. The Scottish countryside is my absolute favorite place to do it. The beautiful landscape brings back lots of memories of times that were simpler. Scotland is my homeland. In fact, it is the homeland of many of us. This country is enveloped in legend and magic, and the fact that so many of us are from here may be tied to the land itself. I love cruising through it driving my black Porshe, which is my favorite car. I like that it is unassuming for a high-end machine. I like to think that it somehow resembles me, a lot of power that is easily recognizable without being flashy. Do you think me vain? Well, think again. For I am only stating the facts. I have amassed a considerable amount of power since I first crossed these lands. Every time I defeat another their power is transferred to me. And I have defeated many over the years. Over the centuries. For that is what we do. We find each other and we fight.

And who are we? We are the immortals. Doomed to long, solitary lives, driven only by the pull, the need to find others of our kind and fight, not to the death, but worst. We cannot die, at least in the way normal humans do. If the mortal wound is caused by a cursed blade, we cease to exist as humans, but we get trapped in a limbo of sorts. No one knows what really happens in that stale existence, but some fear it so much they had devised a way to channel it, by commisioning magical paintings were the condemn may at least communicate with the living. I have not commissioned mine, as I cannot stomach the idea of being trapped in that frame for a cell eternally, though the alternative is absolutely unknown. Maybe I just hope to win the prize. The prize, of course, is death. The final destination. The definitive rest. The end of this absurd existence. Humans fear death, it is a natural instinct. But we immortals crave it. Because we know death is not the worst thing that can happen. Death is a friend.

My name is Harry Potter. That's my name now, and it has been for a while. I was born Henry Peverell, back in 1305. My clan was loyal to the Scottish king Robert the Bruce, and I fought in his army for years, until something strange happened. On my last battle, I was killed. Or at least, I should have been. An English Lieutenant put his sword through my back and came out of my chest, the tip showing right in front of my heart. My clan collected my body and cleaned it, preparing t for burial. I was left overnight on a table, as tradition demands, but I was very much dead. Until I wasn't. I remember taking a sharp breath and sitting up, terrified. I walked out of the hut, naked and trembling, and then she saw me. My fiance Romilda was keeping vigil for me. She screamed in horror and ran away, yelling for her father and brothers to protect her. They came out, as did much of the village, and they chase me with swords and torches, and I run until I reached a cliff and jumped. I'm sure they thought me dead once again. But I could actually breathe even under the water, and though my body hit the rocks hard with every wave and it hurt, as soon as I reached the shore I could feel my cracked bones repairing themselves. After that day I started my solitary life. I stole clothes and some food, then went from village to village asking for labor, then moving again. But my great skill was the sword. So I offered my services to the lords of the land, as a mercenary. They are all greedy, always trying to take from one another, so there was always work for me. My wayward life took me to Ireland and I saw him: a redheaded man who ran and threw himself off a cliff. From my vantage point far away I watched him fall. I saw his body surface from the water and being dragged by the waves, just as mine had been once. And then, to my utter surprise, I saw him swim to the shore, then stand and walk out to the beach. He let himself fall on the sand, then after a few hours he woke up and went around his business, setting up a campfire and shooting some prey with a lance. All that time I had been watching him and something made me approach. Not just curiosity, I felt pulled towards the man. When he saw me coming he got on guard, lance in hand. I lifted my hands in a gesture of no harm, then slowed the pace of my horse and saluted him.

"Greetings. I am Henry Peverell, currently under the service of Baron Lisle."

The redhead laughed.

"You mean you are a mercenary for Lord Lisle. By your looks, I doubt you serve him in any other capacity."

I smiled and dismounted, offering a hand that the man took. When he did, I felt a jolt, and he smiled, looking at my disconcerted face.

"Is this your first encounter?"

"Encounter?"

"With another immortal. What brought you here was the pull. And what you felt was kinship. We are not to fight, at least not until the end," he said with a sad smile on his face.

I sat on a log by the fire and he sat in front of me. My expression must have made it obvious to him that I didn't know what he was talking about.

"The name is Ronald. Ronald Weasley, son of Lord Arthur Weasley. And I am an immortal too. As was my older brother, Charles. He was the one that explained it all to me. He ran away to become a sailor, and we had not seen him for years when suddenly he returned home. A few months before his arrival I had a strange accident, a horse fell that I should have not survived but I did. At the time my father and brothers were off on business and mum kept her observations to herself, but she knew I should not have survived what I did. My sister was then too young to be suspicious, so mum relayed on her to care for me and by the time Father was back I had recovered. Our home was pretty far from the village so there were no witnesses to my fall except for mum and she gave Father a vague explanation of my condition. But I could see she was nervous around me, so after a few months, I left home. This is our land, but few people come this way, so I hid here. Charles found me. The pull brought him to me and he explained my destiny. He was the one to teach me how to conjure my power into the blade to defeat the other immortals. He trained me and after a few months, he left again. After a few years, I suddenly stopped feeling the connection to him, so I assume someone cut his head," Ronald said looking down.

A ring brings me off my memories and back to the present. I smile and click the screen to answer the phone.

"Ron. how are you mate?"

"Happy and sloshed. As you should be too. Are you driving? Where are you?"

"Scotland."

"Are you seriously going to meet her? Do you really believe is true? An immortal woman? Don't you think it may be a trap?"

"I think she's real, mate. She wants to meet at St Andrews College, on sacred ground. She doesn't want a fight. And I think she may know something we don't."

"Well, if you insist, I'll leave you to it. A beautiful bartender here is making sure I pace myself so I go home with her. She doesn't know I could drink my weight in Scotch and still function. Her name is Lavender. Isn't that lovely?"

"Adorable. Have fun for the both of us. I'll let you know if something interesting happens."