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A Harry Potter Fanfic
The Best Kings Wear Skirts
By: Grounders10
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Prologue: A Meeting With Destiny
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In London, in a rented room in a shabby, if popular, pub known to its clientele as the Leaky Cauldron, was a young man. Small and skinny, his baggy clothes hung off of him like the skin of an old elephant. A beautiful snowy owl slept in a cage upon a dresser, occasionally stirring when a vehicle in the street beyond honked its horn or an engine backfired. The boy, known to his friends as Harry Potter and to the wider wizarding public as the Boy-Who-Lived, much to his frequent irritation, was flicking through
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration while working on the last few details of his homework for the summer.
To the average person, this would seem to be an odd choice for homework, but Harry Potter did not attend a normal school. No, he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland. It did not teach normal courses such as Chemistry or English or even Drama class. It instead taught such strange things as Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration.
As he was closing the book a scruffy-looking barn owl with quite a few out-of-place feathers cannonballed through the window. Only reflexes trained from two years playing Quidditch, a sport characterized by flying brooms a high speed while the players were hunted down by bowling ball-sized projectiles, let him roll off the bed before the feathered missile crashed into his chest. Parchment and paper went flying, fluttering through the air as he climbed back to his feet to investigate the barn owl that was pulling itself out of his pillow. By some miracle, it didn't appear to have damaged the pillow. Which was fortunate, because it wasn't his.
"Who are you from?" he asked the owl which shook its head and hooted dazedly before holding out one leg onto which he could see a small roll of parchment attached, only to topple over as it promptly lost its balance and rolled off the other side of the bed.
Over in her cage, his snowy owl Hedwig hooted disdainfully as Harry walked around the bed to help the owl. It didn't resist as he picked it up and carried it over to Hedwig's cage. It hooted its thanks as Hedwig shuffled over to make room for the owl. He untied the letter attached to its legs and unrolled it once he was fairly sure the barn owl wasn't about to fall out of the cage.
The roll of parchment had been sealed shut with a wax seal, the dark red material showing an emblem of a sword piercing a coin surrounded by the words
Lakeshire Bank. On the other side was his name written in a neat, precise script.
"Lakeshire Bank?" he repeated as he broke the seal. He'd never heard of a Lakeshire Bank. The only Wizarding Bank he had heard of was Gringotts, in fact as far as he had known it was the only Wizarding Bank in Great Britain.
To: Harry James Potter
From: Director Magni Lakesdale
Greetings, Harry James Potter, I am Director Magni Lakesdale of the Dwarven Lakeshire Bank. You may be wondering why I, the Director of an officially non-Wizarding Bank, am contacting you on this, as of the time of writing, 4th of August, 1993. I have been asked to arrange a meeting between you and one of our oldest clients, Madam Lilian Lakeshire. I am told that this is about a matter that can be of mutual benefit, but that is far too sensitive to discuss openly in an introductory letter such as this.
If you wish to accept, please send a reply with this owl. Due to the nature of Dwarven business, our Bank is open 24 hours a day and Madam Lakeshire has informed me that she is willing to accept any time or date between now and the day the Hogwarts Express departs Platform 9 and ¾. Though she does urge you to select a time sooner rather than later.
Yours Respectfully,
Director Magni Lakesdale, Lakeshire Bank
An ink copy of the seal on the letter was stamped just below the name.
Harry read it twice. A Dwarven bank, well that did explain why he hadn't heard of it before. Why on earth was someone, presumably a Dwarf, trying to contact him through a non-Wizarding bank? He frowned as he read the letter again. He noted that it listed no location for the meeting. He had promised the Minister that he wouldn't stray from Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron when the older man had met him at the pub.
"What do you think Hedwig? Should I write back?" he asked his owl who hooted and shrugged. Well, there was no harm in informing them that it was unlikely he could attend a meeting since he couldn't recall seeing a 'Lakeshire Bank' anywhere within the confines of Diagon Alley.
He was about to reach for some fresh parchment and his inkpot when his stomach grumbled loudly. A check of the clock beside his bed showed that it was lunchtime. Perhaps some food first. He could write the reply afterwards.
"Going to get something to eat Hedwig, I'll be back after lunch," he told his owl who hooted at him and poked the barn owl that was greedily guzzling water from her dish. He would have to fill that when he got back.
Harry dropped the letter on the small writing desk in the corner of the room and grabbed his robes before heading out into the rest of the Inn for lunch.
Lunch wound up being a heavy roast beef sandwich which he chewed on while watching the bustle of the people coming and going through the pub. A pair of witches with animated hats herding children a few years younger than him towards Diagon Alley and a group of grey-haired wizards loudly debating an article in the
Daily Prophet were the most notable things that day. He was still getting used to it, but over the last week he had come to know just how busy the pub could be during Lunch hour and this was probably the quietest he had seen it. Even including the times he had been just passing through the two years before.
"Here you go, one butterbeer," he blinked as Tom, the bald Innkeeper, plopped a frothing mug of butterbeer on his table along, "Sorry about the wait, I had to tap a new keg."
"That's fine," he said as he slid his plate away from the drink to keep his half-eaten sandwich from getting soaked. As he did, a thought occurred to him. "Hey, Tom," he began hesitantly.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" The man turned back, completing a circle on his heel as he did so.
"Um, I just got a letter from a Lakeshire Bank," he said, "You wouldn't happen to know where that is? I've not seen a Lakeshire Bank in Diagon Alley."
"Lakeshire Bank? Lakeshire… Ah, that's a Dwarven bank, isn't it?" He muttered.
"That's what the Director's letter said," Harry said.
Tom stared at him for a moment. "Now that is curious, but none of my business why. Lakeshire Bank isn't in Diagon Alley, at least not what's considered Diagon Alley these days," he said.
Harry grimaced. "It's not in Knockturn Alley, is it?" he asked.
"Not at all. It's down Conceptu Alley, the next street down from Knockturn. You take a right at Jackob and Son's Boot Emporium and head down there. Alley widens quite a bit after about thirty meters or so. You'll find the Lakeshire Bank near the end on the right. Pretty safe place to shop Conceptu Alley, it's the old heart of Diagon Alley you see," Tom said, "Some very nice shops down there, mostly invitation or introduction only I'm told. Not very welcome myself, not rich enough or from an influential enough family."
He thanked him and the Innkeeper moved on, leaving Harry to his thoughts. Lakeshire Bank was, apparently, just around the corner as it were. It wasn't Diagon Alley proper but Tom did say it was safe and exclusive stores probably meant that someone like Sirius Black, whose face was scowling at the room from a dozen moving posters put up around by Ministry personnel, was probably even less likely to appear. Though, exclusive meant it was probably the preferred haunt of families like the Malfoys.
He grimaced at that thought. Still, even the Malfoys wouldn't try something obvious in public. Even last year Malfoy Senior had acted through a cursed diary of Voldemort's that had possessed Ginny, his best friend Ronald Weasley's sister, and unleashed a basilisk upon the school.
It had nearly wound up killing Hermione Granger, his other best friend, and very nearly killed him as well. If it hadn't been for Headmaster Dumbledor's Phoenix, Fawkes, he would have died when the Basilisk had poisoned him with its fangs as he'd killed it with Godric Gryffindor's sword.
He took a moment to shake the memory of that near-death experience off. It had been far too close for his comfort and he still had moments when he could practically smell the giant snake's final breath.
Compared to that, taking a walk down a relatively safe alleyway didn't seem that bad. Technically, if what Tom was saying was right, it wasn't even a different shopping district, just an old part of Diagon.
Harry thought about it as he ate and once the sandwich and mug of butterbeer were finished he headed back upstairs. There he found that the Lakeshire owl was looking fairly recovered. It looked at him and hooted eagerly as he closed the door. It was missing a few feathers on one side of its head, feathers which were lying at the bottom of Hedwig's cage, the Snowy Owl looking particularly smug.
He shook his head and took a seat at the desk to write his reply.
Dear Director Magni Lakesdale
I'm not entirely sure how these letters are to be written, exactly. I'm afraid I have never communicated with a bank before, or been told how to. I, Harry James Potter, have received your letter after being nearly struck by your barn owl when it came through my window like it was being chased by something. I'm afraid it does seem a bit worse for wear, of which I have to confess some is from my own Owl Hedwig for circumstances I'm not entirely certain about.
After giving your request some careful thought over lunch, I believe I can attend a meeting. How does two o'clock on Monday, the 9th of August, at the Lakeshire Bank in Conceptu Alley sound?
Yours Sincerely,
Harry James Potter
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Lakeshire Bank was not, as he had expected, a massive artifice of towering stone columns like some Grecian Temple guarded by four heavily armoured guards like Gringotts was. That is not to say it was small, for Lakeshire Bank was certainly large, but it was built more like an oversized Viking Longhouse made from ancient interlocking stones, within which not a hint of mortar could be seen. No guards could be seen at the doors, but that might have had something to do with the fact that the street itself seemed to boast its own security.
A least a dozen blue-robed wizards and witches walked the streets between stores that looked to be several orders of magnitude more organized and maintained than those of Diagon Alley. Not that Diagon Alley was in poor repair, but it had a certain clutter to it, being built into structures that hung over large portions of the alley itself. These stores had appearances from many different eras, from humble-looking thatched roofed cottages to Georgian homes. None of them seemed to clutter the view of the cloudy sky above and no matter how improbable it seemed each was neatly in line with the next, despite the diverging styles.
It was quite odd after spending several years getting used to the disorderly nature of everything else in the wizarding world. Though, the fact that no two structures seemed to come from the same period of architectural design was its own disorder. He had even seen what looked like one of those American diners from the 1960s tucked between a thatched cottage and what appeared to be a roman bathhouse.
A glance at his watch told him that he still had a few minutes before his appointment, but it was probably better to not be late, especially since he had set the time. He adjusted how his bookbag hung, he had slipped his invisibility cloak inside just in case, and headed in.
The inside of the back mirrored the exterior. Worn wooden columns decorated with carvings of dragons and sailing ships held up an arched ceiling that seemed taller than it should have been. Banners, worn by time but still vibrant, fluttered from wooden beams in the light breeze that flowed through the building from the open door. Comfortable-looking chairs were scattered about in groups, many of which were occupied by Dwarves who appeared to be waiting to be attended to. Many others roamed about in business suits carrying piles of parchment between offices that lined the walls except for a group of clerks along one wall sitting at desks dealing with the clients.
Well, he guessed that was where he was supposed to go to check in for his appointment so he started towards the lines, which were quite long, only to be intercepted by a female dwarf not even halfway across the lobby.
"Mr. Potter, I presume?" She greeted him.
"Yes, that's me," he replied.
"Director Lakesdale is waiting for you. If you wouldn't mind following me?" she asked before promptly turning and marching away without waiting for his reply. He hurried to follow her. He probably shouldn't have been surprised, he was a thirteen-year-old wizard in a bank full of Dwarves. He was literally head and shoulders taller than their tallest.
She showed him through a staff door and down several flights of stairs, winding around and past a fish tank full of some strange sickly green baby-like creatures with tentacles for legs and long grasping fingers. One of them grinned at him through the glass revealing a mouth full of pointy teeth. He had to wonder if this was the sort of thing they would be learning about in Care of Magical Creatures.
They reached a hallway three floors down from the main lobby. It was tiled with marble and had a rich red carpet down the middle. Unlike above, dwarves in armour with axe-headed polearms stood on either side of the door they had entered through, and another pair stood at the end of the hall flanking a silver door. As they got closer he could make out the complicated carvings set into the silver door. It seemed to be a story, a familiar one. A sword in a stone, knights, a castle, battles, death, and a lady waist deep in a lake presenting a sword.
The tale of King Arthur.
"We're here to see the Director," his escort said not to the guards but to the door.
The door swung open a moment later, splitting down the middle of a clash between two armoured knights to reveal a wood-panelled office with dark hardwood floors. A fireplace to one side had a large fur rug laid out before it with a troll's head mounted above it. At the back was a short desk. Behind the desk was a much older-looking dwarf. His hair was white like snow and his beard was long and braided intricately. Small golden rings held complicated braids closed while others decorated both hands with beautiful gemstones mounted with facets that glittered in the firelight.
Behind them the door slammed shut, the sound of which caused the older dwarf to look up from his books. "Hrm? Ah, Sigrun, and Mr. Potter I see," he said, his voice warm, but with an undertone like rocks grating against each other. He stood and reached across his desk. "Welcome Mr. Potter," he said as Harry took his hand, "I am Director Magni Lakesdale, and I am happy you accepted our invitation."
"Thank you, sir, though I'm not entirely certain why I'm here," he replied.
"Of course. I am sorry about the lack of information, but certain agreements with… disagreeable parties have made sharing information difficult at times," the Dwarf said, grumbling irritably. He gestured for Harry to take a seat as he lowered himself back into his own. Once Harry was settled, and his assistant Sigrun had brought them some water, the old Dwarf said, "We were not always a non-Wizarding bank. Truthfully, we are the oldest bank in Great Britain. We've served in this role for over ten centuries."
"But I was always told that Gringotts is the only Wizarding bank?" Harry said hesitantly.
"It is, these days at least," Magni acknowledged with a scowl, "We lost a war with the Goblins about eighty years ago now. The Treaty of Gringotts-Lakeshire in 1912 ensured that we gave up all rights to banking in the Wizarding World to the Goblins. We were permitted a few vaults to remain in our hands, those required by our formal charter, but everything else related to Wizards was given up. It is a humiliation without equal in our history."
Harry nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not seeing what this has to do with me?" he asked awkwardly.
The old Dwarf snorted. "It relates to you, because there is a possibility of reopening some of those remaining vaults, which would activate Article 6 of the treaty allowing us to open vaults for anyone who happened to work for or with the owner of said vaults," he replied, "Which would allow us to once again operate in the Wizarding World directly, rather than through those blasted Goblins. I'm sure you can imagine how little the Goblins like such an idea."
He… had a little idea, yes. If there was one topic the ghostly Professor Binns loved to talk about it was the many Goblin Rebellions throughout history. "Aren't you worried they'll start another war over this?" he asked. They had a tendency to do that from what the history books said… at least what he could remember.
"And break a magically sealed oath? Not likely. The current Gringotts leader is a banker, not a warrior. He won't risk his life or magic for profit, unlike his predecessor," Magni said, "Now, my client, Madam Lilian Lakeshire, wishes to make you an offer. If you accept, we will reopen our oldest vaults and the contents are yours. Of course, that is only if you accept, and succeed."
"And succeed?" Harry repeated, his nerves returning. That was the shoe dropping that he should have expected. "I'm not even in my third year yet, Director. I'm hardly qualified, or even legally allowed, to do anything sort of magic outside of school." He could see why the Director was so interested in this, however.
"Very true, very true. I am told that there is little actual danger involved in her request. It is more of a… test of character. To see if you are worthy of taking up the legacy associated with the vaults. Their former owner had strict requirements for purity of character, but unless you've delved into some truly Dark magic you should be just fine even if you fail the test," the Director said, "That is, of course, if you wish to accept it."
"I- I'm not sure, Director?" A flash of the chamber of secrets a few months previous went through his head and he could swear he could smell the damp and the mold for a split second.
"I would call you a fool if you were. Come, we've spent enough time here. You can decide after you hear the full details, lad," Magni said, standing up, "Madam Lakeshore can inform you of the rest."
"One-second sir," he said, interrupting the old dwarf as he adjusted his beard. He had a question.
"Hrm?"
"Why me?" he asked.
Magni ran a hand through his beard and sighed. "Truthfully lad? I don't know," he admitted, "I'm sure Madam Lakeshire will be able to tell you."
Harry grimaced as he stood up. This entire thing was starting to feel odd to him. No, not starting. It had felt odd since he got the letter, but he had decided to be reckless and now here he was in a meeting with a bunch of dwarves to meet a client of theirs over matters to do with ancient vaults. He had at least brought his father's invisibility cloak with him, and his wand in his robe's inner pocket.
Magni didn't lead him out of the office through the door like Harry expected, instead he stepped up to the fireplace and looked up at the Troll's head. "Novissime secretum," he said. He had to repeat himself twice more before the Troll nodded once and the entire fireplace went out, plunging the room into faint candlelight, before it rotated in place, revealing a stone passageway lit with torches.
Magni waved for him to follow as the old dwarf entered. Sigrun, his assistant, followed behind Harry. The old dwarf coughed and patted his chest. "I hate Latin," he grumbled, just loud enough for Harry to hear him.
The passageway tilted down and around, circling yet further down into the stone. Harry had to wonder if they were going to end up in the Gringotts tunnels at this rate, since as far as he knew the Goblin's tunnels ran throughout most of London, which was why they used their minecarts to get everywhere.
After a few minutes, he asked, "How much further, sir?"
"Nearly there, just around the bend at this point I think," Magni said, and a few moments later they emerged from the passageway into a much larger cavern. A peninsula of dirt jutted out from where they entered into a large underground lake, the ceiling of which was lit up like the morning sky, though unlike this morning it didn't seem to have a cloud in the sky. He could even feel the heat of the morning sun on his face.
"Wow," he said as he took it in. In the distance, though not too far really, was an island with a large copse of trees and a small cottage. It wasn't the grandeur of Hogwarts, but it had a peaceful feeling.
"Aye, it is an impressive sight," Magni agreed, "And there's your boat, lad." He pointed out a rowboat that was already near to them, despite the fact that he should have been able to see a rowboat before it got anywhere near them.
The boat lacked oars or a rower, but this was hardly the first time Harry had seen a boat without either. Still, he hesitated as it pushed up against the stone of the jut of land they were on and the Director and his assistant clambered in. There was, technically, a straight shot back to the surface at the moment. He could just leave. It wouldn't be very Gryffindor of him, but it wasn't like someone he knew had been kidnapped again. If he got onto that row boat then it would be him, the two dwarves, and whatever was on the island, and who knew what else.
"Lad, you alright?" the Director asked, concern tingeing his voice.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, climbing into the boat. It was a bit late to be having second thoughts. He should have had those before he'd agreed to a meeting. He was probably already going to be in trouble for leaving Diagon Alley if anyone connected to the Minister or Hogwarts found out.
He might as well hear whoever this Madam Lakeshire was out.
The moment he sat down the rowboat started moving on its own, back across the lake. He looked down into the water. Dark water looked back. He had half expected to see shapes or fish, but all he could make out was the swaying of a forest of seaweed reaching up from the lakebed.
Then they were at the Island, the rowboat nudging up against a finely cared-for dock.
Harry stared about wildly. They hadn't even been halfway across and then they were. "What was that?" he asked.
"One of many mysteries," the Director said as he clambered onto the dock and held out a hand to his assistant. Harry followed them as his eyes swept the area. The pier led to a small path that wound up a short hill to a single large oak tree and a cottage. Behind them, and spilling over either side of the hill, was the copse of trees he had seen from the shore… But he couldn't recall having seen a hill from the other side of the lake, if it really was a lake.
He followed the dwarves off the dock and up the path but wrapped a hand about the wand in his pocket nervously. He really doubted he'd be able to manage much. What was he supposed to do? Somehow he doubted any of the spells he had learned in first and second year, mostly first since Lockhart had been utterly useless in that regard, would do much.
Or he could just calm down and stop jumping at every shadow.
Harry relaxed his grip on his wand and tried to calm his nerves. He was feeling rather unsuccessful at that effort before a voice drifted down towards them from the hilltop. He couldn't make out the words, but it was a woman's voice and he found himself listening, so caught up in the beauty of the music -- though he still couldn't understand the words -- that he only registered that they had arrived atop the hill when the song ended.
The cottage appeared to be fairly ordinary, if not for its location, as did the oak tree. The beautiful woman in a white sundress that looked like it came from several centuries ago, was perhaps, a little more unusual. There was something about her that defied an attempt to put an age to her. She seemed flawless, and yet not young. Her eyes seemed heavy with experience, but her smile was wide as she greeted them.
"Director, Ms. Seastone, Harry Potter," she said, addressing them in turn, "Welcome to my lake."
"Greetings, Madam Lakeshire," Magni said, bowing low along with his assistant, "I have brought Mr. Potter as per your request."
"So I can see. I have prepared refreshments, if the two of you wish to dine and leave us to our conversation," she said, stepping aside and waving to the door.
Magni glanced at Harry before turning back. "Aaah, as generous an offer as that is, I'm afraid we are both rather full from a recent lunch," he said.
"A pity, I made treacle tart," she said brightly, her eyes flickering to Harry. His mouth opened to say that he quite liked treacle tart, only for Sigrun to elbow him in the thigh.
"Ow," he muttered and glanced down at her irritably. She shook her head firmly. Why was she shaking her head? She mouthed the word food, then shook her head. No food? Or don't accept food?
"I will have to ask for some privacy. There are matters most important to discuss," she said.
"As you wish," Magni said, bowing again and walking back down the hill, gesturing for Sigrun to follow him. She followed only after shooting him one more look. He watched them go for a moment before a sweet scent caused him to turn back. He promptly stepped back as he found Madam Lakeshire right there, half kneeling, half bent down so her head was at his level.
"Harry Potter," she said again, tilting her head to the side as he barely kept from tripping. A small smirk graced her lips for a moment before she straightened and turned, "Let us walk." He stared after her for a moment as she walked towards the oak tree. After a moment he followed, hurrying to catch up.
"It is rare that a young man like yourself comes to my attention," she said as they reached the tree, "So very rare. I have heard a rumour about a great serpent beneath Hogwarts Castle and a battle with it."
He swallowed as the Basilisk loomed from his memories again. "There… might have been something like that, yeah," he said. How she had learned about that he didn't know. It certainly hadn't appeared in the prophet, he'd been looking. Hell, he didn't know if more than a dozen people knew exactly what had happened back in June.
"Fascinating. It has been years, centuries really, since I last heard of a Basilisk being slain with just a sword," she said, half turning to him, "And it was done by a child."
"I had the help of Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's Phoenix," Harry hastily replied. He would have been dead if Fawkes hadn't come to his aid. That said, had she just said centuries? Who was this woman?
"Rarely does a single wizard take down something as mighty as a Basilisk without magic of some kind. I would have been more skeptical if that wasn't the case," she said. She traced something on the bark of the oak tree and hummed. "Tell me Harry Potter, how large was the beast?" She looked at him, one eyebrow arched expectantly.
"Um… I'm not sure? Twenty, thirty meters, maybe?" he said.
She stopped her tracing on the oak tree and she let out a deep breath. "Twenty to thirty meters. I misspoke. Never have I heard of a Basilisk approaching that size since Herpo the Foul first created them," she said, "Harry Potter, have you figured out who I am yet?"
Who she was? "Honestly, I have no idea," he said after a moment.
"Are you certain?" she asked, raising her eyebrow again.
"Well, you've been around for a while at a guess, so that narrows things down a bit," he said, looking around at the cottage and surrounding area. "But… I can't think of anyone who should still be alive after centuries."
"Hmm," she hummed, "Follow me, Harry Potter," she said, gesturing with a finger before walking off again, around the cottage and down towards the forest.
Harry followed her, uncertain where this was all leading. A small dirt path led down into the copse of trees. Madam Lakeshire waited for him at the edge of the forest, before heading in without a word.
The forest was dark and the path was narrow and winding. In mere moments Harry found the light disappearing into deep gloom. Only the light that continued to refract brighter than ever from Madam Lakeshire's hair allowed him to see the path. The path back disappeared into the gloom and the trees behind him rustled unnaturally.
"Keep up, Harry Potter, these woods are not as safe as I would prefer," Madam Lakeshire said, her voice cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. He picked up the pace, taking care to step over a root in the path he could have sworn wasn't there a moment before.
"Can I ask a question?" he asked as he adjusted the strap on his bag.
"That is a question, but you may ask as many as you wish," she replied. She ducked under a low-hanging branch that seemed to be even lower when he reached it, since he was also forced to duck under it.
"The bank is Lakeshire Bank, and your last name is Lakeshire," he said, "Is there a connection? Is it your family's bank?"
She laughed, the joyous chiming of it utterly out of place with their surroundings. "In a way, yes; and in a way, no. They named it after my home centuries ago," she said, "In exchange, I receive certain benefits from them."
"Like using them to get me here."
"Such as that, yes. Watch the log."
"Lo- Ow," His knee hit a log that hadn't been in the path a moment before and he just barely caught himself before toppling over it. He hopped over it. "This forest is moving." It was also quite large. Large than the copse that he had seen on the way in.
"It is. Unfortunately, it likes to think it's funny when dealing with visitors," she said, casting a disapproving glance about. The trees seemed to shrink away and a few rays of light filtered through the canopy to brighten the path. She gave an approving nod before continuing her walk down the path that seemed to be straightening out ahead of them.
Harry hurried to keep up. It was obvious the forest was magical in some way. Many ways, really. The small copse of trees he had seen from outside hadn't been nearly this deep or dark and it was moving things like it was Hogwarts. This was a place of powerful magic, powerful and inhuman.
Who was Madam Lilian Lakeshire? She claimed to be ancient, and honestly, she had the confidence in that claim to make it seem likely, but she looked young and yet ageless. Her home was quite magical. The rowboat hadn't had to cross the full lake to reach the island and the forest was seemingly alive with its own will. It was all quite odd. Who was she, and why did she want him here?
More importantly, the Director and his Assistant were nowhere nearby now. Any chance of help from them was impossible if this turned out to be a trick. In fact, this entire thing was really starting to sound like a children's fairy tale. The type you told as a warning about trusting strangers.
The path ended in a brightly lit clearing that made Harry squint as he reached the forest's edge. Only to stare at the large, if plain, stone plinth in the middle of the clearing. A brilliantly gleaming longsword was stuck into it. Long, with a broad blade, it looked less like one of the swords he had seen in a museum and more like someone's idea of what a legendary blade should look like. Its hilt was engraved with complicated runes and its hilt and pommel gleamed with large sapphires.
He looked from the sword to Madam Lakeshire who had walked behind the weapon and was running a finger along the hilt of the blade. She traced the sapphires with a small smile as she watched him. Things clicked in his head. Lakeshire, of course, how obvious.
"Nimue," he blurted out, "The Lady of the Lake." She positively beamed at him with a delighted look.
"So you do know me," she says laughing brightly, "Be welcome Harry Potter, to my little slice of Avalon."
He walked out of the woods and into the sun. He looked up at the 'ceiling' far above. It no longer looked like an illusion and he suspected he knew why the cavern hadn't been mimicking the sky above London. "We aren't beneath London anymore, are we?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not at all. This is truly a slice of Avalon, connected to the cave beneath London by way of that little rowboat. It is not as nice as the lake I once called home, but times do change and us along with them. Do you know why you're here, Harry Potter?"
His eyes fell to the sword. "You want me to pull… Excalibur from the stone?" he asked. He didn't want to believe it. Why would anyone think he was worthy of something like this?
She shook her head. "No, but only because this is not Excalibur, nor is it Caliburn. Both swords failed their liege, or more accurately, he failed them and their power failed in turn," she said.
"Oh."
"This sword has no name," she said. She caressed the hilt of the blade for a moment before drawing away and walking a circuit about the clearing, "It is forged from the broken blades Caliburn and Excalibur for the purpose of selecting the next true King of Great Britain."
He frowned. "There's already a Queen," he replied.
"Not one for the magicals of Great Britain. The King at the time of the statute of secrecy refused to guarantee their safety, so they rejected him and his line," she corrected. She paused to pick an apple from a tree on the edge of the clearing. "And that is important. Ever since the time of King Arthur Pendragon, the magical council of the Wizengamot and its predecessors have sworn to uphold the laws laid down by House Pendragon. It is a symbolic ritual, for none remain who could hold them to account for breaking such oaths."
She continued her walk, speaking casually as though commenting on the weather, stopping only to check on the leaves and branches of trees as she passed them, yet never ceasing her words. "There is great evil on the rise once again. You have seen it, Harry Potter, you have fought it. Twice now it has attempted to rise and twice now you have interfered."
"Voldemort," he said.
"Yes, the bastard child of Slytherin's fallen line," she said, "He is, however, but a symptom of things. The darkest individual symptom, but still a symptom. Changes must be made, and too many will stand against them for them to be made in time. A King is needed to shepherd the coming days."
"... Then I have no idea why you've brought me here, because I'm not a King," he said.
"Are you not?"
"No! I'm just… me," he waved vaguely over himself and didn't know how to feel as she laughed in response.
"Just you, yes you are just you, Harry Potter, and that is why I think you may be a King," she said, sweeping past him, her free hand playing through his hair.
He rubbed this head where her fingers had left a phantom tingling at her passing. "I thought King Arthur could draw the sword because… because… wasn't he the kid of the previous king or something?" he asked.
"It is true that he was the son of Uther Pendragon," the Lady of the Lake replied, "But that is not why he could draw the sword Caliburn. Only a man with the potential to be a true noble king, who already had shown such traits, could hope to draw it and wield it. When his nobility faltered, the blade shattered, for only a noble soul could wield it." She took a bite of her apple.
"I can't just show up with a magic sword and call myself a King. I'm thirteen for god's sake," he protested, "They'll think I've turned into a nutter."
"No, the sword alone won't be enough. It shows you are worthy, but only one who has both the sword and the throne can call themselves King," she said, "I bid you, Harry Potter, attempt to draw the blade. If you succeed, I will tell you what must be done."
"And not before I do that?" he asked, "No thanks. I don't want to be a King anyways. I've already got enough fame to drown in." Last year had been a perfect example of what happened when fame turned around on you. The months when everyone seemed to think he was the Heir of Slytherin had been terrible. Not that he enjoyed his fame much anyways. Being famous because you didn't die with the rest of your family was just the worst.
She looked amused by his words, which sent a flash of annoyance through him. She placed both hands on either side of the sword's hilt and leaned towards him. "A worthy King rarely wishes for the crown, Harry Potter," she said, "A man who must rule must understand the burden he bears, for if he doesn't disaster shall follow in his wake. Better to have no King in that case, and yet without a King the Wizarding World will fall into Darkness, slowly to be sure, but fall it shall and with it any chance of revitalizing the ancient magics of the world."
"Ancient magics?" he asked.
She nodded. "It is complicated, but this world relies upon magic. Even the so-called muggles are at least touched by magic. If they were not, they would not be alive. Magic is life, life is magic, if one fades the other does as well," she said, "And magic is fading. It is not yet too much. The knowledge to fix this is still there, buried by closed minds and sealed away by heartless fools, but it is there. The world will not find it by themselves, for they have allowed these circumstances to occur for their own shortsighted benefit. The status quo must change, and for the better. Only a King, one chosen by magic, might avert this disaster."
She was talking around his question. "And what would I have to do?" he asked.
"Draw the sword."
"And after?" he pressed.
She smiled again. "And then find Camelot and claim its throne as your own," she said.
Something about that felt off. "I thought Camelot was destroyed," he said.
"Missing, not destroyed. It was moved to preserve it from the ravages of war and, the where, was lost in the fall," she said. She stepped back and released the sword before dropping to one knee and bowing her head her arms outstretched low to either side. "The choice is yours, Harry Potter. Here, the wheel of fate rests, just waiting to turn anew. Which way shall it be? Salvation, or a slow demise?"
She stayed that way, seemingly frozen in the moment. Even her hair refused to move in the breeze that lightly stirred the glade. He waited, several minutes past, but she stayed there.
"Talk about a lot to drop on someone," he muttered. Salvation or a slow demise? She couldn't have chosen a more guilt-inducing way to phrase it than that, could she? He took two steps towards the sword and stopped. He looked back at the forest. No path could be seen. "So, if I say no, do you show me the way out of here?" he asked.
She remained as she was, head bowed and still.
Harry frowned. He wished Hermione was there. He could use her knowledge. He didn't understand exactly what she was talking about. Why was magic failing? How was it failing? How did a King solve these things? He didn't understand.
He took another step towards the sword. Maybe it was his 'saving people thing' as Hermione liked to put it, but he couldn't get the word No to come out of his mouth. Not with something like this. Did she even have another candidate?
He paused. "Is there anyone else?" he asked. To his surprise, she shook her head. No. She didn't have another choice, not yet anyways and there was no guarantee there would be. He stared at the weapon and a bit of a Monty Python skit that he had caught a tiny bit of as Uncle Vernon was flipping through channels came back to him. Something about women in lakes handing out swords being a terrible method of selecting a government. He couldn't find it in himself to disagree.
And yet… "Fine, I'll give it a try," he sighed and reached out to grab the sword. His fingers closed about the cold metal and he pulled-
His forehead erupted in agony as the weapon cleared the stone. A woman screamed and dark laughter echoed as darkness rolled in across his vision. "HARRY!" a woman screamed and then he knew no more.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Nimue was old, though she would hardly consider herself such. She had not been there when the ancient laws were written or when the ancient magics were first cast. She had been, in fact, quite young when King Arthur had come to her seeking a new sword after Caliburn had failed in the face of his actions. Still, at nearly sixteen hundred years of age, she had seen much in her time.
The fountain of dark energy erupting from the scar on her chosen knight's forehead when he had drawn the sword was something new. The scream of agony that accompanied it was not as her champion crashed to the ground unmoving. Wand flashing to hand from her sleeve she had rushed to his side already casting spells to diagnose the issue. The results were certainly unusual.
The scar, which she had always assumed to simply be a prominent side effect of the killing curse when it failed, was not what she had assumed it to be. It was the anchoring rune for a complex spell of protection based on, of all impossible things, Love. The love of a mother for her child. She had thought such spells had long since stopped working, but apparently, she had been wrong.
How novel.
That was, perhaps, the best news she could have received from her spells. Entrapped within the protection was a dark fragment of that man's soul that had been trying, and failing, to possess the boy for years. Probably since that very day. The dark magic involved in such things had reacted to the purifying power of the sword. The good news was that the sword was going to purge it given time. The bad news was that unless it did so swiftly the stress might very well kill her chosen.
Nimue tapped her wand to her lips as she thought before casting a few more spells to see if there was anything she could do. It would be very awkward to have to explain this when the Wizards came looking. Not that they could do much but accept her word, they hadn't the might they used to possess to force her otherwise.
She hummed. The spell of love was fighting to protect the boy even as his essence was being ravaged by the conflicting forces. If it had been at full power it could have easily done so and most likely banished the spirit by itself without harming the boy but it seemed that it hadn't been getting enough love to maintain it. She could empower it, though she did not have the sort of love to give that it would need… Unless she could convince it to accept her magic?
She frowned and experimentally twisted the magic, muttering a few words of Latin as she did so. Yes, she could but doing so was likely to cost her quite a bit for the next few weeks at least as she would have to replace its designed connections to his family with a connection to her magic. She would be limited in how else she could help her champion in his quest for the time being.
More spells were cast as she tried to figure out another method, but eventually, she gave up. It was possible she could have done more with more time, alas as she cast another diagnostic spell she winced. No, the struggle was in danger of causing permanent and unfixable harm. That was unacceptable.
"Oh the things I do for these mortals," she sighed before she placed the tip of her wand to her chest and drew out a thread of gold that hung from the tip of her wand. She pressed it to the heart of her champion and closed her eyes to focus on the interactions of magic. She flicked her wand and mumbled a spell she crafted right then and there to connect herself to the protections. She gasped as the love and affection of Lily Potter washed over her. Truly the woman had loved her son like nothing else.
She could feel the moment it accepted her magic as the protections surged and the darkness abruptly winked out of existence with a muffled wail that echoed through the local magic as the purifying aura of the sword and the protections crushed it apart. Once that was done she examined his injuries. There was… Immense damage to his internal body and she could hear his laboured breathing. Left in the hands of wizards he would likely take months, perhaps several years, to recover. This was not acceptable.
Nimue paused for a moment as dizziness and a wave of tiredness hit her. The protections were hungry after so long neglected and she could feel them draining her power at a rapid pace. Well, if they were so hungry perhaps she could use them to speed his healing along. She bent the magic, twisting it with a skill born of centuries of experience, and laced within the protection a spell to accelerate the healing and then poured her power into it.
She stopped when a wave of exhaustion hit her again, hard enough that she found herself tipping to the side. She opened her eyes and blinked with dazed confusion at the sideways world and the feeling of grass against her cheek. Letting out a very unladylike groan she forced herself up, pausing only to let a dizzy spell pass.
"His wounds must have been greater than I realized," she mumbled, her voice barely audible to her own ears through her exhaustion.
It was getting dark, it seemed. She would have to use magic to return them to her cottage since there was no way she could carry the boy. She raised her wand and with a crack, and that oh-so-unpleasant feeling of being squeezed through a tube, they disappeared from the sword's field and reappeared in her cabin. A wave of dizziness sent her to the hard floor where she stayed for quite a while.
Finally, after who knew how many minutes, (or was it hours?), she rose to her feet, bracing herself on the table to do so. She looked towards her bed where she had dropped her champion. Something… seemed a bit off. She lit up her wand and stumbled over to the side of the bed. She blinked as she looked down on her champion.
"Well," she said with wry amusement as she examined her champion's brilliantly red hair, "I suppose this is why you are not supposed to force a protection spell to heal people using its caster as a baseline." As far as side effects went it could have been worse, but she suspected that Harry Potter was going to find it hard to care after having his gender flipped.
Now, where had she left those Dwarves?
-0-0-0-0-0-
A/N: So with this, I'm fairly sure I'm out of old ideas at last. Not that this was entirely an old idea. *stares at SV and SB* I've seen a few fics recently that might have sparked a few other ideas that then merged with an old idea that then had other ideas get tossed in that formed this particular horror.
Not that it's that much of a horror.
…
Can anyone tell me why I keep turning my male protagonists into girls? Because I'd like to have other ideas every once and a while.
Gekkou Yoko: Liar. Your not out of ideas, I know you have dozens of ideas you want to write still. This one is young compared to them. And dozens more, that came after this one.
Grounders10: I protest, the core of this one came from an idea I had over a decade ago! It's the last such idea I have that's any good.
Gekkou Yoko: Except, I know that like, 70% of this idea, was born in the last two years.
a chunk of it from my own brain.
Grounders10: … Maybe.
<.<
>.>
I plead the fifth.
Gekkou Yoko: *
Smugs*
Grounders10: And I'll say nothing of the one we discussed after starting this one. *hums LOTR music*
Gekkou Yoko: *hums R1/2 Music*
