Foreword.

Greetings to you, prospective reader. I see you've stumbled upon this little story of mine, no doubt as you were exploring the massive archive of Harry Potter stories that have been posted on this site. Well, no story would be complete without a completely unnecessary and boring author's note no one will read or care about, at the beginning :) It's rather long, so feel free to skip it.

It was on a morning in late spring-early summer in 2018 when I was, for some reason I cannot recall, going through some old, discarded things in a few boxes in the loft of our hjallur, a structure used to make fish jerky. We Icelanders love dried fish. Dried Haddock with a pinch of real, authentic Icelandic butter is heavenly. In one of those boxes, I found an old flash drive I remembered buying when I was nineteen and in what is probably called high school by most of you. (College?)

Being the curious sort, I took the flash drive with me, and plugged it into my computer, and found some school related documents, and a folder named 'hp'. Now, I opened it up and discovered a story I had written years earlier, called Harry Potter Warrior of Light. Way back in 2006. Some of you may even have read it.I read the story and it was absolutely horrible. I mean, my grasp of the English language at the time was atrocious, but I'd like to think it has improved at least a little.

Utterly embarrassed by it and remembering where I might have posted it, I went online and removed it from all and any sites. After that, I turned off the computer, laced up my hiking boots, grabbed my staff and went on a hike. One of the best things about living where I do; walk for five minutes in any direction and you'll be by yourself in nature, it's glorious. You may come upon a few sheep, or even a few horses, or the occasional Lagopus, but otherwise, it's just you.

I hiked for a good six hours, but for some reason, the old story wouldn't leave me alone. Perhaps it may have something to do with a playlist of Jeremy Soule's greatest ringing in my ears, but when I got home, I sat down in front of the computer and began typing, the result of which is the first three chapters of this story.

Now, I've read a lot of fanfiction over the years and I've no doubt many of them have influenced this story, and I cannot possibly name them all, and let's be honest. At the time I'm writing this note and about to post the first chapter, there are, in excess, over eight hundred and sixteen thousand individual postings in the Harry Potter section alone on FanFiction, so the idea of any story being completely original is a stretch a mile long.

The truth is, I never intended to post this on here, since I wrote this purely for myself. I like sitting at the pc and listen to all kinds of fantasy music, or play RPG's, such as NWN, KOTOR, Witcher and many more, but sometimes, my mind goes flying, and won't leave me alone until I've quit whatever game I'm playing, or stopped reading whatever it is I'm reading, and written down everything that's running around in my head. Sometimes, when I 'wake up' from one of those, I've written fifteen thousand words of story. It's rather curious, to be honest.

Like I said, I hadn't intended to post this on here, but after some thinking, I decided to go for it, given recent events around the world. (COVID-19). I'd like to leave at least something behind, in case something happens, you know?

I said before that I wrote this for myself, and that is completely true. As such, the story is rather indulgent, pandering to my own wish fulfilments and whims. It's got a harem, some body modification, among other things. There's also an abundance of clichés around, so if that's something that puts you off, I'm afraid you may not like this one. There's no bashing (except Ron), but some characters will be very angry with a certain old man, and the choices he made regarding Harry.

I would not mind if those who read this story, if any actually do, would leave some constructive comments, they might help me along. I would, however, like to respectfully ask that people refrain from flaming the story. I completely understand if you don´t like it, because we do, after all, have different tastes.

I realize those who post on this site do so pretty much anonymously, but even so, in some instances, it takes real courage to take the leap and the way I see it, it deserves our respect. If you cannot find something positive or constructive to say, please remain silent. Flames serve no purpose other than to make others feel miserable, and I really think we should try and strive toward being better than that, no?

And lastly, I have decided to rate the story 'M' to be safe. There is violence, but it's not gratuitous, and the story does not have any lemons. Some people say that a harem story is pointless without them, but I have to respectfully disagree. It does have some coarse language and suggestive themes, however.

The story starts the summer after sixth year, and you can assume almost everything to be canon up until then. I made some changes to suit my story, but nothing earth shattering, and you will notice them as they come along. There are Horcruxes, but no Deathly Hallows, I always hated that part of HP. Isn't the whole idea behind fanfiction to write your own story within the universe which your story takes place?

Anyway, let's get to it, shall we?

There have been several reviews, where people have commented that chapter two is missing. This is not the case. Right here, at the start, you can see it's labelled I & II. Chapters one and two were merged together, as they were very short, and it comes out much better this way. That's why there's no chapter two in the listing. Now, it may have been a mistake on my part to put it up like that, but honestly, if people were paying proper attention to what they were reading, this shouldn't not be an issue.

Thank you :)

I & II

Harry Potter lay on his back, on the ground and stared at the night sky. He was trying to get some sleep, yet again, to no avail. The young boy, well, not so much a boy any more, had changed dramatically in the slightly less than two years that had passed since Dumbledore's death. He was no longer the skinny boy everyone had known, but a tall, strong, battle hardened warrior. In fact, he was almost unrecognizable, unless you noticed his brilliant emerald eyes, and that legendary lightening shaped scar on his forehead.

After almost a year of constant fighting, however, he had collected quite a few more. (Some of them might even make Mad-Eye proud.) As he lay there on the ground, his thoughts drifted to his friends, his one true family, which caused him to feel a pang of loneliness and, perhaps, some measure of guilt.

These thoughts had been haunting him of late, his loneliness no doubt causing him to question his decision to head out on this quest by himself. He had meant to tell Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes after Bill and Fleur's wedding, but, he'd never made it to the Burrow. Had he made the right choice? He knew they could have helped him on several occasions, but most other times, they surely would have died.

He knew it was selfish, but the reason he had opted to go on this journey by himself, was, after all to keep them safe. Harry sighed. He knew it wasn't his choice to make, as the others were fully capable, as he was, to make their own decisions. Harry sat up, as it was clear he wasn't getting any sleep this night. He pulled a twig out of the fire and looked at it pensively.

Family.

A simple word, really. A simple thing too, in and of itself. And yet... so fragile, so illusive... Harry let out a slow, deep breath. He had always been envious of Ron and Hermione. They had families who loved them unconditionally. They could look to one another for strength and support in times of need and their kin would always be there. He wondered if Ron and Hermione had gotten together, since he had thought Ron was starting to fancy their friend by the time their sixth year finished.

Perhaps. It was unfortunate that he could not in any way see how that relationship could possibly last. They were just too different and he feared Ron's jealousy would always boil over whenever Hermione made further strides in her life, and Harry knew she would go far. He would see to it. She was integral to his plans, after all. Besides, the Wizarding world deserved someone as brilliant as her in a position of power. Someone who was genuinely motivated to change things.

Harry sighed again. He had broken things off with Ginny, before it really evolved into anything, because he wanted her safe. He hoped she'd moved on. Harry mentally slapped himself. Of course she'd moved on; there was no chance a brilliant, beautiful and strong woman like Ginny Weasley had not found someone in all the time he'd been gone. Someone better than him. In matter of fact, her and Neville might make a good pair, now that he thought about it.

This whole damned war was starting to tear at him bit by bit. This wasn't the first time he found himself wallowing in self pity. Snorting disgustedly, Harry rose to his feet and trampled his little fire. He shouldered his Bag of Holding, put on his cap and walked on into the early morning, just before sunrise, towards a small village Fawkes had sent him to. As he trekked on, his mind drifted to the events that led to the start of his quest...

-Roughly two years earlier-

Harry sat at his desk in his room at Nr. Four Privet Drive, his head resting in his palms. Almost a month had passed since Dumbledore's death at the hands of that treacherous snake, Severus Snape. Harry had barely slept since that night, his dreams filled with visions of that awful night, mixed with his experience in the cave, with the Inferi and that cursed bowl, which had not held the Horcrux in the end. All that effort and pain for nought.

Harry kept blaming himself; he should have insisted Dumbledore let him consume that foul drink. If he had, the Headmaster would surely still be alive today, searching for the rest of the Horcruxes, Harry thought. And he would be right there, at his mentor's side. That was the way it should have been, but in one fell swoop, it had been taken away from him and Riddle strengthened his position in the war. He glanced at his alarm clock and found it was almost time for supper, but he was not hungry. Not that the other occupants of this house cared much. Most likely, they were happy not to have to look at his face any more than was required.

He stood up and fed Hedwig, and stroked her feathers absent mindedly. The Horcruxes. He had to find them, he had to start looking for them sooner, rather than later, but he had no idea where to start. The Locket was missing and he simply had no idea where to look for it. Or any of the other Horcruxes for that matter. Perhaps Ron and Hermione might have some ideas. Three heads were better than one, after all. Though it had to be said, that compared to their friend, neither he nor Ron had much to offer to the think tank that was Hermione Jean Granger.

He had been forced to stay at Nr. Four Privet Drive, against his own wishes. He had wanted to go to either NR. Twelve Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, but he had return to Little Whinging. To renew his protection, they said. Harry had disagreed. Surely the Dursleys were that much safer if he wasn't around. Besides, these blood wards could be useless now, since Tom had used his blood in the ritual that brought him back. But Lupin and Tonks would not hear it. It had been Dumbledore's wish and they would honour it.

Harry turned off the light and gazed out his window, the night sky was pitch black, not a star in sight. A few minutes later, lightening streaked across the sky, followed by booming thunder. Again, the sky lit up, closer than before. Harry, who had foolishly stared into the flash, turned around, rubbing his eyes. He nearly yelped in surprise when he saw Fawkes, perching atop Hedwig's cage.

Harry gave Hedwig a panicked look, but to his relief, his wise owl remained calm, if slightly fussed over the phoenix´s sudden appearance. It certainly would not do to have the Dursleys come in here, to discover another bird in his room; there was enough grumbling about Hedwig as it was. Harry wondered what his scarlet friend was doing here. After all, he had been certain the royal bird had left for good, after his master's death. He slowly raised his hand to Fawkes, who rested his head against the back of it. There was an aura of sadness around the majestic bird.

"I know how you feel Fawkes. I´m sorry I couldn't do anything to prevent his death," Harry said sadly.

As Harry said that, he felt a feeling of peace coming from the bird. Evidently, the bird did not in any way hold Harry accountable for Dumbledore's demise. It was a small thing, but Harry felt surprisingly relieved at the notion. Guilt had been weighing on him terribly, so any small measure of peace was indeed welcome.

"What brings you here, Fawkes? You can't stay here, you know. My relatives won't allow it. You would be welcome at the Burrow, I'm sure. They will take good care of you."

The bird raised his head from Harry's hand, and jumped onto the teenager's shoulder. Harry reeled slightly; he had forgotten just how heavy the Phoenix was. Fawkes looked Harry square in the eye and then suddenly, he felt as if there was a tug behind his navel and a second later, he found himself on the top of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Rain was pouring down, thunder boomed in his ears, lightning streaked across the sky and the wind came in from the west at a strong gale.

He looked around frantically, but saw nothing that could shelter him from the elements. Eventually, though, he noticed Fawkes hovering at the edge of the cliff. Harry ran towards his feathered friend and felt a strange sensation ripple through his body. A few meters further, he suddenly noticed a well worn path, edged into the cliff. The feeling he'd felt earlier had to be a muggle repelling field, similar to the one surrounding Hogwarts, or perhaps a notice- me- not spell of some kind.

Harry slowly made his way down the pathway, as there was a drop of several hundred feet into the sharp rocks in the surf below. After descending the winding path for quite a bit, he eventually rounded a bend in the rock face and found himself in a narrow ravine. Harry carefully made his way into it, coming upon a crevice, just wide enough for one person to walk through unhindered. Fawkes trilled ahead somewhere, urging him on.

As Harry ventured further, he again felt the strange sensation in his body, and a few steps later, found himself in a massive cave. Wondering why the bird would bring him here, he walked onward, and then he saw it; a stone door. It was almost hidden among the stalagmites rising from the floor. Engraved into the center of the door was a lion, with scarlet rubies for eyes. Harry raised an eyebrow. A lion with scarlet eyes was an obvious reference to Gryffindor.

Harry laid a hand on the door, pushed gently and the door opened slowly with a heavy, grating noise. Harry hesitated. While he was absolutely certain Fawkes would never intentionally endanger him, he had some misgivings about entering a place like that alone and unarmed. His wand lay on his desk at Privet Drive, after all. After a moment of looking into the doorway, he made up his mind. Or, rather, his cold and wet clothes made up his mind for him.

It was pitch black inside, but as Harry stepped over the threshold, the whole place came alive. He heard torches turning ablaze and fireplaces roaring to life, as well as a host of other sounds he could not quite place. Soon though, things calmed down and the door closed slowly with a thump, apparently of its own accord.

The young man turned to look at the door and pulled on it, but it remained closed. It seemed there was no turning back now. Harry looked around and discovered he was standing in a large foyer and he noted tapestries and torches lining the walls. He walked on, the only sound he heard now was the tell-tale snarking sound echoing from a nearby fireplace which, Harry noted, burned smokeless. As he wondered what powered this place, Harry slowly walked on and scratched his chin slowly.

He smiled. He was actually starting to grow a little stubble, and it itched furiously at times. He shivered and made his way to the fireplace. He noted a painting of a pretty landscape, with trees and flowers, hanging above the fireplace. Rubbing his hands together, Harry brought them closer to he heat, trying to warm himself and dry his wet clothes. He grabbed a nearby chair and brought it to the fire and sat down. He rubbed his face with both hands slowly and took a deep breath as he did.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

Harry's head shot up at the noise and he saw an older gentleman in robes storming into the frame above his head. The man eyed Harry suspiciously and narrowed his eyes.

"What?" Harry asked, to which the man gave him an annoyed look and gestured with his hand.

"This is my house. I would know why you are here. It is really quite rude to enter another's house uninvited."

Harry stood up and stared at the man. He recognized him from a portrait he'd seen in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts a long time ago. "You're Godric Gryffindor, aren't you?"

The man inclined his head slightly. "I am, or rather was he, but my question still stands unanswered," the man said firmly.

"My name's Harry Potter. I was brought here by a phoenix named Fawkes, a former familiar of the late Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. I've no idea why, though."

Gryffindor's eyes lit up at the mention of the school he helped found almost ten centuries past. He rubbed his hands together excitedly, beaming at Harry.

"Ah, Hogwarts! How is she fairing these days, my boy?"

Harry was a bit taken back by the sudden change in demeanour. Also, he found it strange how 'aware' the portrait seemed. Usually, they were not quite so... talkative. They were, at best, a faint imprint of their real life counterparts. Although the portraits in Hogwarts and especially in the Headmaster's office seemed similar to this one. Discarding that thought for later, Harry decided to answer the question.

"I don't really know how to answer that question, master Gryffindor. It used to be great, bloody brilliant, actually. Now, though, with Headmaster Dumbledore murdered and Voldemort, no, Riddle rising in power, I don't know what the future holds for Hogwarts. Or the world for that matter."

Gryffindor tapped his lips several times, before looking at Harry again. "Go into the hall, three doors down on your left is the kitchen. I will meet you there."

And with that, he walked out of the frame. Harry stood up and walked into the hall at the other end of the foyer. He walked slowly down the hall and found the kitchen. He saw Gryffindor waiting for him in a painting of a bowl of fruit on the far wall. The Hogwarts founder pointed to a door in the corner, opposite the entrance to the kitchen.

"There is food in the larder, lad. You should eat, you look famished."

Harry frowned slightly. "You know, it's been a thousand years since you died. I doubt the food has kept."

Gryffindor smiled knowingly. "I am well aware of the date, thank you. Today is the twenty seventh of July nineteen ninety seven. The food will taste horribly stale, but it will be in edible condition, I assure you."

Harry went into the larder, which was cool and fresh. He brought out a loaf of bread and cheese and butter. He looked questioningly at Gryffindor, who smiled in satisfaction, as if to say; I told you so.

"A magical stasis charm, designed specifically for foodstuffs and alchemical substances, my boy, though it can be used for other purposes. A fine invention of my dear Helga."

Harry found the food was indeed stale, but certainly edible. After a while, Gryffindor cleared his throat, and Harry looked at him, chewing a bit of cheese.

"I have not had visitors in a long, long time... What is your connection to this Dumbledore's murder and this 'Voldemort', Mr. Potter?"

Harry swallowed his cheese, and pushed the plate away. Sod it, he might as well tell the old man, who was going to know? Besides, he was leaving shortly, he had to go home.

"Voldemort, or rather, Tom Riddle, wants me dead. During his first reign, there was a prophecy, wherein a boy was born at the end of July, to parents who had defied him three times. The boy would have the power to defeat him. There was another, my friend Neville, but Tom chose me, for some reason. Dumbledore seems, sorry, seemed to think Tom saw himself in me... He murdered my parents, but couldn't kill me, because my mum willingly sacrificed herself for me, causing the killing curse to backfire. It almost killed the... snake, but he's returned."

Harry was seething now. "He has tried to kill me several times, but failed, obviously. Ha calls himself The Dark Lord and he thinks I am his nemesis, the one man alive who can defeat him. He hates Muggles and half-bloods or anyone, really. He wants to create a perfect wizard world with himself at the top. But that is not enough.

No, he wants to defy death, live forever and he will do whatever it takes to reach his goal. Sure, I have foiled him more than once, but I'm a seventeen year old teenager, for fuck sake! What can I possibly do to him, now that he has fully returned, his power unmatched, surely? Nothing! I can do nothing the way I am now!"

Harry grabbed his plate and threw it against the wall, breaking it into a hundred tiny pieces. With his fists clenched at his sides, the boy shook violently as he looked at the pieces on the floor, an angry frown on his face and his teeth gnashing. Gryffindor watched the young man with interest. He was young, but there was spirit in him, no denying that, and a sense of responsibility, of duty. Gryffindor was certain that, if given the choice, young Harry would take up the fight against this enemy. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, thinking.

"This Voldemort person you speak of, what can you tell me of him? What do you know of the events that lead him to become so hateful towards regular humans?"

Harry looked at Gryffindor wearily. Now the portrait was asking about Tom Riddle? He underscored a mental note to ask Gryffindor about how he was so much more 'alive' than any other portrait he'd seen before. Taking a deep breath, Harry went, with some detail, over Tom's life, with the old founder listening intently, nodding along.

"So, his father abandoned the pregnant mother, thus dooming her and her unborn son to a life of poverty. Tom's mother died and he was put in a orphanage, which he hated as most orphans do. He must have resented his mother, when he found she had magic, but refused to practice the art, or too weak. A near squib, then. Such a childhood is certain to breed resentment, contempt, even hate. It is unfortunate he transferred his hatred of his father to all Muggles, but it is understandable, given his upbringing."

Harry nodded. These were all things he had heard before. These were very similar to Dumbledore's musings on the very same issue.

"What became of you after your parents were murdered, Harry?"

"I was raised by my aunt, my mother's sister, Petunia and her husband Vernon."

"Was it a good home, a good life?"

Harry snorted derisively. "No. I was made to live in a cupboard under the stairs, until my second year at Hogwarts, when they became too afraid to keep me in the cupboard any longer. They even tried to hide my Hogwarts admission letter from me, to keep me from going! Their son, Dudley and his friends bullied me constantly and I had to wear hand me downs. After I met another boy named Ron Weasley on my way to Hogwarts, his family, in a way adopted me, but I always had to go back to the Dursleys over the summer. For my own protection, Dumbledore said. Something about blood wards."

Gryffindor watched the boy with an inquisitive look, his index finger tapping his lips. "There certainly are similarities between you and this Tom Riddle," Gryffindor said, before raising his hands in a disarming gesture at Harry's angry gaze. "Now, now, don't get angry lad, I'm just stating a fact. Tell me, do you ever wish your parents had lived, and this other boy... Neville, had lost his parents and lived such a life, instead of you?"

Harry crossed his arms over hist chest and stared hard at Gryffindor. "I won't deny it. There have been times, when I've been at my lowest, where I have wondered about this possibility. But then, I would not wish this life upon anyone, especially a friend. Besides, out of the two of us, Neville's fate was definitely worse than mine.

His parents were tortured to insanity with the Cruciatus curse by an evil witch called Bellatrix Lestrange. Frank and Alice Longbottom were good people and respected. They are now permanent residents at St. Mungo's hospital's psychiatric ward and Neville lives with his grandmother, Augusta. He visits them, you know, on holidays and such, but they don't even recognize him. That's worse than dead parents, if you ask me."

The older man sat silent for a moment before he cleared his throat. "History has a way of repeating itself, Harry. In my time, there was a dark witch named Morgan LeFay, also known as Morgana. She was the daughter of Gorlais, the Duke of Cornwall and Lady Igraine. Uther Pendragon fell in love with Lady Igraine and went to war with Gorlais for her hand. Some time during the war, a prophecy was made, which foretold the birth of a man, who would unite Britain under his rule."

"King Arthur, right?" Harry asked.

Gryffindor smiled at Harry. "Yes, that man was indeed Arthur Pendragon. Myrddin Emrys, whom you know as Merlin, heard the prophecy and when Uther approached him for a way to make Igraine his, Emrys saw an opportunity to make certain at least the first part of the prophecy came to pass. Uther, disguised as Gorlois, got Igraine with child, the very night Gorlois was killed. Soon after, with Emry's help, the war ended and Uther made Igraine his wife.

Now, Morgana always resented Uther for his actions against her father and that resentment she also felt for her half brother Arthur. When she became an adult, she was promised to a man, whom she was unsatisfied with and she ran away from home, eventually finding her way to Avalon, where she learned magic for a time. She was eventually cast out by the Avalonians, as her dark nature and obsession with vengeance against the king came apparent."

Gryffindor's eyes had almost misted over by now as he recounted tales of ages past. "As time went on, she became more and more focused on having her revenge on the Pendragons. She supplied the Saxons with poison, which they used to kill King Uther and Arthur succeeded his father as Lord of Camelot. Shortly thereafter, Arthur was given Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake. Around this time, he married his love Guinevere, and founded the Order of the Round Table. They fought against injustice and united the realm."

Harry remained silent, which Gryffindor took as a sign to continue with his story.

"I'm sure you have heard of some of the knights, Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad. I fondly remember Valiant, a prince from far away Thule, who brought with him his Singing Sword, a weapon gifted to him by his rival and later friend, Arn of Ord when they attempted to free the Lady Ilene who had been kidnapped by Viking raiders. Then, there was Mordred, who was the secret, bastard son of Morgana.

All of us warned Arthur against Mordred, but the king would not be dissuaded. He took the young lad into his confidence and soon knighted him. They got along famously and they shared an intimate bond and I'm certain it would have become stronger than the very foundations of the earth, but alas. At his mother's behest he would eventually betray Arthur, and they fought a bitter duel in the battle of Camlann, where Arthur killed Mordred, but not before being fatally wounded himself. He was taken to Avalon, where they buried him at a location known only to the Priestesses of the Island realm."

Harry looked at Gryffindor flatly. He had not been expecting a lecture on Arthurian legend that long. The old man smiled apologetically.

"I beg your pardon, old habits, I suppose. But the point I was trying to make is, every few generations there will be a war. A villain will rise up and someone will rise against that servant of the dark. Such is the way it has always been." Harry yawned and seemed to be falling asleep and Gryffindor decided it might be a good idea to tease him a bit. "And it seems the Lady of the Light has chosen you as her Champion."

Harry suddenly became alert once more and stared at the older man. "What? Please tell me you're joking."

Gryffindor chuckled at him and waved his hand. "Don't mind me, lad."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Godric, before yawning widely again. He rubbed his eyes a bit and stretched his neck. He was awfully tired. He stared at the table for a while, contemplating what Gryffindor had said. He was the Champion of the Light? A gesture from Gryffindor brought Harry out of his reverie.

"Again, do not worry, Harry. I do not believe you to be an agent of some deity, it was more a figure of speech. Now, You should find a bed to lie in, before you fall asleep on your feet. We can talk more in the morning. There are things we must talk of and things we must do, soonest. At the end of the hall, you will find the stairwell to the upper floor, the sleeping quarters. Please take any room and rest. I daresay you need it!"

Harry nodded, got to his feet and headed to the sleeping quarters. Tired as he was, he went into the first room he saw; a simply furnished chamber, with a small bed and an armoire standing at the far wall. The bed seemed surprisingly comfortable and Harry lay onto the dun mattress and was fast asleep within moments.

Harry's eyes opened and he looked around frantically, nervous in the unfamiliar surroundings. Soon, though, he calmed down as he remembered the events of the night. He brought his hands to rest behind his head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Gryffindor had said there were things they had to do, and quickly, by the way he'd talked.

Harry wondered what that could mean. A moment later, his rumbling stomach decided he'd stayed in bed far too long and so a yawning Harry got to his feet and stretched lazily. He left his room and made his way to the kitchen, where he found Gryffindor staring at the door impatiently. With his arms crossed, Gryffindor tapped his upper left arm repeatedly and was obviously somewhat annoyed.

"I trust you slept well? You must have, as it is late afternoon. Well, you were very tired and quite sleep deprived, so I'll let that one pass, but please, do not let it happen again. There are few things as annoying as a pupil who does not arrive on time for his lessons."

Harry simply stared at the portrait, his mouth hanging open slightly. "What? Pupil? I don't understand. And I can't do that. I have to go home."

Gryffidor smiled slightly at the reaction from Harry. "I was unsure at first, whether you were fit for it, but after spending the rest of the night and early morning contemplating this, I've come to the conclusion that I will help you in your endeavour against this Voldemort fellow. And you must stay here, I cannot help you if you leave. Do not worry, Harry. You're quite safe, so long as you do not wander out of the cave."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and cocked his head slightly to one side, eyeing the older man warily. "First off, call him Riddle, which is his name. I refuse to empower him by using that ridiculous made up name of his. Second, why would you help me, a person you just met, and similarly, why should I trust you, and accept your help?"

"These are all wise questions, Harry. We spoke of evil mages last night, Harry and while we only mentioned two, they had quite a few things in common. You know the things of which I speak, Harry and you must have wondered about the similarities between you three. You must understand, no one is born evil, nor is it something that happens overnight.

It is a gradual process, which usually culminates in an event that pushes people too far and they can't find their way back. This could quite easily have been you, lad. By some stroke of luck, or fate, you met Mr. Weasley and struck up a friendship with him. I assume you found other friends at Hogwarts?"

At Harry's nod, Godric smiled. "Good. Love is a very powerful healing agent, Harry. It heals the soul. Yours needed healing and you found it, to some extent. Tom Riddle seems, from what you tell me, to be unable to love and in fact, may not understand the feeling at all. The same could be said of Morgana. I think she must have been incapable of love.

At the very least, she did not love her son Mordred. He was merely another, easily discarded tool in her mad quest for revenge. I suspect Mordred's betrayal and murder of the king was mostly the desperate attempt of a young, burdened man to gain his mother's approval. I can see that you will fight to your last breath to make sure no one has to go through the ordeals you've had to endure in your life. It is an admirable goal, a goal I wish to help you achieve."

Frowning, Harry leaned against the kitchen table, his arms still folded over his chest and looked at Gryffindor with a steady gaze. It was true, he needed help, desperately. The way he was now, there was no chance he could defeat Riddle. The difference in both power and experience was vast and ever growing. He most likely would not even survive the challenge of finding the Horcruxes themselves. That aside, how was the old man going to help him? A bloody painting, of all things. Of course, it was evident this was not an ordinary painting.

"Every portrait I've ever 'met' was at best a faint imprint of their real life counterparts, like an echo. Sure, they talk and move around, but they are very limited in the way they can interact with the world around them. Talk to one for long enough and you'll start to see it, how they will start to repeat themselves. Well, aside from the portraits at Hogwarts. You're not like that, you are proactive, make deductions... I wonder why that is. And why isn't the world full of paintings like yours? And lastly, how is this place still humming with magic after all this time, it should have faded ages ago."

Gryffindor chuckled softly. "When I felt I was nearing my end, I heard of a young man with an extraordinary gift. He could paint a person´s portrait and weave into them a part of the subject's soul. I sent for him and had my portrait painted, much to my dear Helga's chagrin. Vain, she said it was, but then she always was extremely pragmatic, whereas I, on the other hand was a hopeless romantic.

I felt I still had something to offer this world and I was certain a time would come where I was needed. Oh, and of course it was in part, an old man's whim! I wanted to leave something behind for future generations, should they require my help, so I built this dwelling, my secret fortress, if you will, known only to Helga and me."

Harry looked back at Gryfffindor, slightly annoyed. He could not understand how this place was going to help anyone, when it was hidden, unknown to all. Also, why had he never heard of such paintings before. Surely the man´s services would have been much sought after. He voiced his doubts to the old man, who answered promptly.

"First, the young painter was set upon by bandits and killed on his journey home a very sad end and the secret of his paintings died with him. Well, it died with me, really, as I had understood how he did it and I imbued Hogwarts with some of that magic. I imagine the portraits are quite helpful, lad. Secondly, I am, or was, a firm believer in fate and my belief has, thus far not failed me.

The fates brought me to my lovely Helga and my meeting Salazar and Rowena was firmly fated, of that I have no doubt. I was similarly certain fate would bring those who needed my help to me and here you are, in the flesh. I refuse to believe otherwise. As to how this place has not faded away, I left a good portion of my power tied to this place, in a device you will find in my chambers, at the very heart of this house. I will show it to you, as it is one the things I feel can aid you in your quest. All I ask is that you trust an old man and listen to his teachings."

Harry nodded slowly. He did not understand why, but he trusted the old man completely. He felt safe, somehow, a feeling similar to the one he´d felt whenever around Dumbledore. Godric clapped his hands happily, beaming at Harry as he did.

"Excellent, my boy! We should get started right after you've eaten, we´ve no time to lose! I will see you down in the cellar in a moment."

As the teenager ate, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had not planned on this, of course. Fawkes seemed to have, though. It was just as well, the magical protection he'd always had whenever he stayed at Nr. Four Privet Drive would have ceased to function at his seventeenth birthday. They would have had to relocate him sooner rather than later.

He knew Order of the Phoenix would be in an uproar right now, with him gone. He had spotted his guardians more than once, when they did not take enough care to remain hidden. They'd been posted at Privet Drive for his protection, making rounds through the neighbourhood, looking for anything amiss.

All this trouble for his sake, and him unable to do anything. All he did was burden everybody and it made him sick. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands. Be master of his own life for a change. He now felt he needed to undertake the search for the Hocruxes on his own. This was his responsibility, and he would see it done, while keeping his loved ones safely away. Standing up, he stretched, and rubbed the back of his neck. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what was to come...