Harry Potter and the Search for the Soul Rod

Chapter Five: The Ceremony

Harry and the professor landed in a very dark room, which slightly reminded Harry of a crypt. It also smelled slightly of death, not something Harry enjoyed smelling, or knowing what it smelled like for that matter, but all the same Harry knew what the smell was. Within the pitch of the blackness, a small light appeared and started to grow. Slowly, ever so slowly the light grew and got bigger. Harry couldn't take his eyes off of it since there wasn't anything else in the room to look at anyways. After about five minutes, the orb was about the size of a basketball. The light from it should have lit the room, but it didn't it just was.

“Ahhhh, someone has finally entered my lair.” A voice said from everywhere…and nowhere. Harry's head snapped in three directions at once trying to locate it, but all he succeeded in doing was giving himself a crick in his neck.

Looking around again, Harry realized that he was alone with the orb, and the voice. Not exactly comforting.

“Hello? Who's there?” Harry asked to the nothingness.

“I am the Spirit of the Rod.” The voice said, echoing off the small walls. “You are here to gain acceptance into the elite. The chosen ones specifically trained to guard what you so seek.” All this was said in a melodic voice that was made all the more mythical by the reverberations.

“What do I have to do?” Harry asked, knowing that he would do whatever it took anyway.

“You must learn how to use this. In the days of old, before Wizards fought with magic, Wizards fought with the Katana, fighting with the ancient art seared into their bones. If you can learn and master this delicate weapon, then you are worthy to obtain the Rod which you seek.” Harry looked around the room, slightly confused on what the voice was talking about. Thankfully the orb in the center of the room changed into a shape that he recognized. A sword.

I have to use another sword? Doesn't the whole “Ancient Swords” thing get old? Harry thought to himself.

“I am ready to use what you say.” Harry said, trying to say it in the same kind of dialect that the Voice was.

“Good.” That was all it said, then the room lit fully. In front of Harry on an ornate table, was a sword. Not like the Swords that he and Hermione had to use, but much smaller. It was thin, light looking, and sharp. Harry could tell all these things just by looking at them. He grabbed it off of the table, and all of a sudden the room changed. The walls seemed to melt backwards and from them Humanoid shapes appear every one of them was carrying some weapon or instrument of pain.

Without it being explained to Harry, he knew that he was going to prove himself right now. So without any preamble, he struck at the closest one. A clean push cut sliced its head right off of its body, and it evaporated. Spinning cleanly into the next one, he struck again and again. Before long the room was empty except for Harry and the Sword.

“Good.” That was all the voice said again, and then he was pulled away violently by another unseen portkey.