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Author: Gridley Story: Harry Potter and the Flame of Life Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 16 Words: 11,587
Moody surveyed the dingy kitchen. I wonder how long I can hold what’s left of the Order together. Only a handful had showed up so far tonight. Once again, the Hogwarts faculty was conspicuous by its absence. At least we’ve got a few who usually aren’t here. That’s something. “All right. Tonight I want to start with…” Moody paused as he heard a knock on the door. More people? Maybe we’re not done for yet. “Arabella, go see who that is, please.” ~~ Harry was getting used to traveling by Phoenix. Of course, he still had that fraction of a second of heart-pounding terror when it appeared that he was about to be incinerated, but given the other magical transportation options available to him, that wasn’t so bad. “Hello, Harry.” Harry turned and smiled. “Hi, Prof…Remus.” Remus smiled. “Actually, Harry, you might want to start calling me ‘professor’ again – I am going to be teaching you, after all.” Harry’s grin got wider. “All right Rem., ah, Professor.” They both laughed. Fawkes chimed happily. Remus bowed slightly. “And good day to you as well, Fawkes.” Fawkes spread his wingtips slightly and bowed back. “Well. I’ve found a few places that might suit you, and I had a lucky break last night – I think I’ve found you a sword master.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who is he?” Remus shrugged slightly. “Actually, I don’t know all that much about him. He goes by the name of Sir George of Winchester. Professor Flitwick mentioned him while I was at Hogwarts. Seems that he joined the dueling club Filius was running back then and was disappointed when he found out they didn’t use swords. He wound up challenging Flitwick to a duel – his sword versus Filius’ spells – and won. Filius kept in touch afterward, and he’s settled down here in Godric’s Hollow.” “Calls himself Sir George?” Harry asked. Remus grinned. “Apparently there’s a group called the Society for Creative Anachronism that re-creates things from the Middle Ages, including sword fighting. Filius tells me the Muggles started it not long ago, and some wizards have joined and taken on roles.” Odd, but I suppose anyone who studies fighting with swords would be a little odd. Harry shrugged. “Is he close by?” Remus nodded. “Just a few houses down, in fact. Shall we see him first? He said we might drop in.” A few minutes later, Remus was rapping an old-fashioned knocker on the door of an otherwise unremarkable house. It opened promptly to reveal a black-haired girl a few years older than Harry. “Hello. You must be Harry Potter and Remus Lupin.” She turned to look directly at Fawkes. “And you are…?” “This is Fawkes,” Harry replied, somewhat surprised. She doesn’t react to the Boy-Who-Lived at all, but she sees and politely greets a Phoenix? Is she a witch or a Muggle? Fawkes chirped politely. The girl gave a slight curtsey. “Welcome and well met. Please come in. I’m Jerry.” She gestured towards a sitting room. “Please take a seat. I’ll fetch my grandfather.” A quick glance around the sitting room confirmed to Harry that this was definitely a wizarding house – the photographs on the mantle were moving. Two figures wearing some sort of armor were engaged in a sword fight. Harry watched, intrigued. Unlike the few movie fights he had seen, this one seemed to consist of long periods of slow, cautious movements and probing interspersed with brief seconds of action too fast to really follow. “Good day, m’lords.” Harry turned away from the photo and looked over the man who had entered the room. His clothing reminded Harry of paintings at Hogwarts that showed people from the Middle Ages. His brown hair was streaked with grey, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Remus nodded a greeting. “Good day, Sir George. May I introduce Harry Potter and Fawkes?” Sir George bowed. “A pleasure, Master Potter, Master Fawkes.” He gave Harry a look from head to toe and back again. “I am told you have come by a sword and wish to learn its use?” “Well, yes.” I think everyone in this house is a little odd. Jerry came in, holding a wooden frame under one arm and levitating a tea tray in front of her with a wand. “Thank you, Jeremiah. Let us discuss the matter. Will you join me in some tea?” As they took seats, Jerry transfigured the wooden frame into a perch and set a bowl of herbs on it. Fawkes chirped happily and hopped from Harry’s shoulder to the perch. He began delicately eating. Jerry grinned triumphantly at Sir George. “See? Care of Magical Creatures comes in handy again.” Sir George shook his head. “Forgive me, gentlemen. My granddaughter once again demonstrates a complete lack of decorum despite my best efforts.” Jerry stuck her tongue out at him. “Of course, without me, you’d have been trapped into a breach of manners – failing to offer a guest something to their taste.” Sir George sighed. “Your mere presence seems to constitute a perpetual breach of manners, Jeremiah. Happily, I am certain that our guests are men of maturity and wisdom, who will forgive the folly of youth.” Jerry snorted. “Youth? Harry’s three years younger than I am!” Sir George smiled sweetly. “And yet, my dear, he seems at least your equal in manners, based on my regrettably short acquaintance with him.” “I’ll say its short – he’s been here all of five minutes,” Jerry shot back. “And yet, in that time he has behaved with total proprietary. A feat you seem unable to match for a similar duration, Jeremiah.” Sir George’s eyes twinkled. Jerry opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She threw up her hands and collapsed into an armchair, muttering about fossils. Sir George nodded politely to his guests. “So m’lords, we come to your errand. You, Master Potter, wish to learn the use of the sword. May I inquire as to your purpose?” Harry had been struggling not to grin at the previous exchange, but this snapped him back to reality. “Err… to fight with it?” Sir George coughed. “Forgive me, my question was poorly phrased… What was that, Jeremiah?” “I said,” Jerry replied sweetly, “That if you used ordinary words and sentences like everyone else, other people might understand you. And you can stop calling me ‘Jeremiah’ anytime.” Sir George appeared surprised. “Is that not your name, Jeremiah?” “I prefer,” she replied firmly, “to be called Jerry.” Sir George stroked his cheek with a finger. “And yet, your mother introduced you to me as Jeremiah. How odd.” He turned his attention back to Harry. “What I intended to ask, Master Potter, was whether you wish to learn swordplay for the purpose of competition, combat, or some other end.” “Combat.” Sir George nodded. “And you have no prior training? With sword or any of the martial arts?” “Well, I’ve done a lot of dueling – with a wand, I mean.” Harry answered slowly. Sir George nodded again. “The sword is very similar to the wand in many ways. Not everyone has the aptitude to use them effectively in a fight; they can be used both for offense and defense and, perhaps most relevantly at the moment, they both take considerable time and regular practice to master. Do you have the time, Master Potter?” Fawkes wouldn’t have just brought me the sword on a whim – and until I know why, I have to assume he had a good reason. “I’ll make the time,” he replied firmly. Sir George stared at him for a time, measuring him. “Very well. Let us then move on to specifics. May I see your sword?” And let everyone know I’ve got the Sword of Gryffindor? “Well, it’s just a sword.” Sir George rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. “Would you all kindly accompany me?” He stood, led them out of the room, and down a flight of stairs. Fawkes rode Harry’s shoulder as he walked behind Remus, and Jerry brought up the rear. Sir George pulled out a wand and tapped the door at the bottom of the stairs in three places. It swung open, and he ushered them into a room. A room filled with swords. They hung on the walls. They rested in glass display cases on the floor. Steel and bronze shone under electric lights. The collection of blades ranged from a delicate knife no longer than a finger to a great blade longer than Harry was tall. There were curved swords and straight, long and short, narrow and wide. Some had hilts with delicate scrollwork, or gems. Some had patterns etched in the blade that made Harry think of flowing water. Sir George picked up a blade almost at random. “This, Master Potter, is a Katana. It is designed to be used with one or two hands, but is optimized for two-handed slashing. This,” he set down the Katana and picked up a thinner, straight blade, “Is a rapier. It is designed to be used with one hand, and is best used for thrusting. This,” selecting another blade, “Is a Gladius, designed for close combat. This,” picking up yet another, “is a saber, designed for use from horseback. Swords have been developed in hundreds of forms by scores of cultures and races throughout history. I have spent over six decades learning four completely different classes of sword fighting, and I do not know all there is to know. I gather that you have a reason to use the particular sword you have, rather than just any sword. If you wish my teaching to be relevant, in order, in fact, to learn if I can teach you at all, I must see your sword.” Harry stared around the room, awed. “I’ll, ah, go and, ah…” Fawkes interrupted him with a chirp. He hopped up off Harry’s shoulder and burst into flames. Sir George leaped backwards, his hand snatching up the Gladius. He froze with it halfway raised. “Ah, hmm.” He lowered the sword carefully. “Does he do that often?” “It’s how they travel, Granddad,” Jerry replied, lowering a longer blade Harry hadn’t seen her draw. Sir George took a deep breath. “And how they are reborn as well, as I recall. Forgive me, I was surprised.” “Just how did you become such an expert on swords, Sir George?” Remus asked. Sir George smiled. “Well, that is a long tale. In short, my family has been studying swords for eleven generations. Many, like myself, have studied the use of swords, in more or less utilitarian forms. Some have written books on the lore of swords or studied their crafting. My maternal grandfather, a Muggle, was a smith of great skill – he made several of the swords you see here. This collection, along with books, tools, armor, and other related things, has been passed down through my family for over two hundred years. Someday, my disrespectful granddaughter will likely become its caretaker, though hopefully, she will have gained some wisdom by then.” He smiled benignly at Jerry, who rolled her eyes and turned to study a rack of daggers. There was another burst of fire. Fawkes set the Sword of Gryffindor on one of the cases. Sir George glanced at Harry for permission and picked up the blade. He hefted it in his hand, rotating his wrist. “Hmm. Interesting balance. A slashing blade, but light and true enough to thrust effectively…” He paused, and slowly rotated the blade so the writing was upright, facing him. He stared at it for several seconds. “What is it?” Jerry asked. Sir George ignored her. “Master Potter, may I ask you how you came by this sword?” Harry hesitated, but in for a knut… “Fawkes brought it to me.” Fawkes chimed in agreement. “What is it?” Jerry asked again. Sir George appeared not to hear her. “Do you believe it to be genuine?” Would a fake magically appear in the Chamber of Secrets? “Yes.” “A genuine WHAT?” Jerry demanded. “The Sword of Gryffindor.” Sir George swung it slowly. He seemed to be speaking almost to himself. “Amazingly well preserved; not a bit of rust. Much lighter than I would have expected for a blade made in his time; I wonder if he used it along with his wand…” He set the sword carefully back on the case. His tone became more businesslike. “I understand your desire to use this sword, Master Potter, and I will gladly teach you its proper use. As one Gryffindor to another.” He smiled at Jerry. “Although with the aid of a Hufflepuff, if she is willing.” “The Sword of Gryffindor?” Jerry was staring at the sword in a way that people often stared at Harry when they found out he was the boy who lived. “What next? Excalibur?” Sir George ignored Jerry yet again. “With your permission, Master Potter, I would like to get a feel for this sword. For your first lesson, perhaps tomorrow?” ~~ Harry and Remus spent the next several hours looking at houses. Harry hadn’t found one he liked when Tonks Apparated nearby. “Tonks? What are you doing here?” Remus drew his wand. Tonks looked rather the worse for wear. Her own wand was out, but she seemed too tired to lift it. “Biscuit.” “Toast,” Remus said. He lowered his wand. “What happened?” “They’ve taken Grimmauld Place,” she replied dully. “What? Who?” Harry asked. “Death Eaters. If I hadn’t tripped coming in the door… it was an ambush. I came back with a squad of Aurors, but they have some of the wards up. The Fidelius Charm is definitely gone, though – all of the squad could see it plainly. Minerva and Molly are taking a headcount; we can’t find Moody anywhere. Oh, Remus…” Remus put his arms around her. “Easy, Tonks. First things first. We’d best all get to the Burrow.” ~~ “They must have attacked during the meeting last night.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was heavy. “We can’t find Moody, Elphias, Hestia, Arabella… anyone who was planning to be there. Half of the Order is just… gone.” A score of people had crowded into the Burrow’s living room. “How?” Arthur demanded. “How could they get past the Fidelius Charm?” “Snape must have told them.” Ron put in. “Snape wasn’t the Secret Keeper, Dumbledore was.” Hermione objected. “The charm must have failed when he died,” Tonks sighed. “I never really felt safe in that house, even when Sirius was there.” Sirius. Harry felt a surge of anger. Dung looted Sirius’ house, and now the Death Eaters have stolen it. Well, they won’t keep it! Harry stood abruptly and grabbed Hermione. Unnoticed by the others, still debating, he dragged her into the kitchen. “Hermione, Dumbledore said that as the rightful owner of Grimmauld Place I could control Kreacher. What else can I do?” End Chapter 4 Author’s Note: Yes, it has been a long time. Having a real job (particularly one with overtime) has a way of sucking up writing time. Now that I’m more settled in, I expect future updates to be more regular again. The Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) is quite real, or if it isn’t, I’m even more insane than I thought, since I’m a member. In itself, the SCA has almost no relevance to the plot of this story, but if you want to learn more about swords we’re a good place to start. Much of the swordplay in this story is based on things the SCA has recreated based on period texts and artifacts.
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