'The-boy-who-disappeared-again, sighted in muggle Edinburgh'. The large black letters dominated the front page of the daily prophet, just above a fussy photograph of a dark-haired teenager in muggle clothing. Harry's nose wrinkled in disgust. It had been over two years since he had pulled his disappearing act and at least once a month he was 'sighted' in places he had never even set his foot. Yet they never seemed to 'sight' him anywhere in London, the city he lived in. Not even now as he sat in the middle of the leaky cauldron reading the paper with his supposed picture printed on the front did anyone take notice.

As he put the paper down his thoughts drifted to Tom, both of them. The Tom that still seemed to reside unconscious in the hospital wing of Hogwarts and the one reeking havoc wherever he went. For almost a year no one but Dumbledore seemed to know who was responsible for all the disappearances, accidents and muggle killings across the country. And he had paid for his insistence, even, however briefly, loosing his headmaster position. It seemed Harry had been the only one who believed him, and he had seen Tom reborn with his own eyes, and after everything he had read about 'He-who-must-not-be-named' and all he knew about Tom, he knew who was responsible. It had unmistakably been Voldemort's doing and while some seemed to have shared his and Dumbledore's opinion they had quickly been ruined, or otherwise silenced. But now Voldemort's return was undeniable, not a single soul within the wizarding world could deny his return. Not after he had shown himself in broad daylight, declearing his return.

Noting the heavey movement around him Harry knew it was time to leave. Minutes later he entered platform 9 ¾, and for the first time in nearly two years he allowed all his glamour to fall away in public, allowing Harry Potter to once again show the wizarding world his true face. Strangely, apart from a few girls that glanced his way as he passed, no one seemed to notice him. Without a second thought Harry entered the Hogwarts express, stepped into the first empty compartment, closed the blinds and locked the door. Minutes later the train began to move and Harry took out a small vial of blood, trailing its shape with his fingers. He had placed all his hope in this little bottle and the golden ring on his finger. A ring he had actually faced off with Dumbledore to take possession of, not that old man had recognised him. He himself had been shocked to come out victorious against the age old wizard, only having had 6 years of spells in his magical artisanal it was more than a surprising outcome.

Since Harry had had Lancelot's blood and became the child of the dragon god memories as past lives had flooded into him, giving him titles such as 'the observer of time', 'the first vampire', 'God's chosen' etc. Some of them were rooted in myths and truths, but ignorant humans fabricated most of them. But even if most were ludicrous, they almost always held at least a pinch of truth. It is for example true that Lancelot's blood played a large part in the creation of the first vampire; his, or rather one of his predecessor's, blood, when taken by force, had given birth to the first vampire. It was only when given freely the blood gave the drinker true immortality and allowed the giver the kind of peace only death can offer. A peace Lancelot now had received. Only the making of an heir could take the life of one of his kind and with Lancelot's blood most of his and his predecessors' memories would flow into the new immortal, slowly giving him the knowledge that now gave him the title 'observer of time'. This as some people thought that Harry and the queen was the same individual, an individual that once had been chosen by God to be his eyes on earth, a person that, with his own eyes, had seen the world develop. This "mission" or the chosen status was of course false. The story of the first 'observer' was very different, and far from as romantic.

The first had been a woman, born in 242 B.C. to a high-ranking nobleman in Qin, now a part of modern day China. At the age of fourteen she had the honour of marrying into the royal household and become a wife of the first emperor. But she also had the misfortune to never giving him a child and as one of his childless women she was told she would be buried with him, still breathing, at the mere age of 17. Desperate she went to the river, following it for days, moving as fast as she could on her bound feet. The pain was almost unbearable, but each time she fell she pushed herself up and continued. The reason behind her action and determination was a story she had heard as a child, a myth one of her nurses had told her.

It was common knowledge that the water god lived in the rivers and if she caught one she could take its place. In the story it had of course been a man who had done it, an evil man, who had left the people suffering as he was too lazy to give them rain or provide fresh water. A hero had saved the dragon god and been given a country as a reward for his heroism. But she didn't care; it was her only hope.

On the fourteenth day the most beautiful man she had ever seen appeared before her and everything went black. When she woke up she was back in her own bed, on the morning of the funeral. She didn't know what had happened, thinking it had all been a dream she was forced to accept her fate. But as days passed in the tomb the others starved and thirsted before her eyes she felt none of their physical pain, instead she remained unchanged as she watched them die and rot. For two years she stayed in the tomb before she dared trying to escape, no longer caring if the guards would kill her. Cursing the gift the man, who she was certain was the dragon god, had given her. They tried to stop her of course but neither their spares nor swords could penetrate her skin. She seemed to be unkillable.

It took four centuries and countless of suicide attempts, rapes and horrors before she found a way to die. But by then it was an accident and unwanted. She had seen what had happened when someone tasted her blood, they had been given a form of immortality themselves. Now she had found someone she wanted to share her never-ending life with and hence given him a few drops of her blood. But unlike the other man this man did not crave blood, instead he started gaining her memories. He was like her, a true immortal. Or so she thought, after she gave him her blood she begun to age, rapidly and five years later she died of old age and he remained the same as the day she gave him her blood. It was he who thousand years later gave his blood to the one who gave Lancelot his blood, a boy he had found and raised in today's Germany. And so the story continued and as each memory surfaced in Harry's mind he felt as if he himself had lived through the horror of the tomb, her love for the man and his loss of the former queen. But none had possessed the gift of magic in their life, Lancelot has known much theory but never been able to perform the magic his magical parents had expected, having been born a squib the interest in magic had remained, as had his inability to practise.

Lost in another world Harry was jerked back to reality as the train came to its final halt, Hogmeade station. Putting the bottle away he waved his right hand over his left and the ring disappeared from sight.

TBC.... I hope you like. I will do my best to post an update next Saturday! And please, please review. I want to know what you think, please.