The Battle Standard
by Jardyn39
Harry walked up the gravel driveway and was about to pull the door bell when a familiar voice growled at him from some adjacent bushes.
"Freeze."
"Hello, Professor," replied Harry, turning to face the conifers. "Professor McGonagall sends her regards."
Harry kept his hands visible at all times, but he didn't relax the grip on his wand for a moment.
"Why did you want to see me?"
"I got a message from Dumbledore. It was in his Standard Book of Spells. He just said-"
"Shut up, boy!" snarled Moody. "We can be overheard out here."
Harry felt Moody's wand tip touch the back of his neck.
"How did you get back there?" asked Harry in amazement.
"Little trick I learned years ago. Being able to throw my voice has got me out of a number of sticky situations, I can tell you. I remember once-"
"Um," interrupted Harry, "shouldn't we talk inside if we could be overheard out here? Also, are you sure I'm, er, me? Not an impostor, I mean."
Harry turned to face Moody.
Moody studied him carefully for a moment before he lowered his wand.
"I happen to know that the last idiot who tired to impersonate you is still in St Mungos, singing his heart out."
Harry smiled and nodded.
"Thanks to the Deceiver's Distillation, Polyjuice and bits of me don't mix too well anymore."
"You'd better come inside. Come round to the back door, will you? I've booby-trapped the front door."
"Is that safe?"
"What do I care?"
As Harry followed the old ex-Auror, he thought how old he was looking. The limp seemed more exaggerated and his long greying hair seemed far whiter than before.
Then Harry realised that Moody's magical eye was bound to be watching him, so he looked around for something to distract him.
Harry was amazed to see that the garden was quite immaculate. The wide spacious lawn was perfectly flat and trimmed short. There wasn't a weed in the entire garden from what Harry could see.
They stepped inside and Harry was greeted with a sight far more in keeping with his expectations of how Moody would live.
Almost every single space on the kitchen units was piled high with old and dirty pots and pans. Even the floor was covered.
Wondering why Moody didn't just use magic to clear away all the clutter and mess, Harry resolved not to pass comment. This was Moody's home and it was his to live in just as he pleased.
"Sit!" commanded Moody, pointing to a rocking chair in the middle of the living room. "I need to go and find something Dumbledore left in my keeping."
Harry nodded and sat down.
The chair was surrounded by discarded newspapers. He picked one up and found that Moody had cut several articles out.
Several crashes and curses later, Moody came back carrying a bundle of carpet tied together with string. Harry stood, wondering what it was he had.
"I was afraid I'd lost this," said Moody, balancing the bundle precariously on top of a convenient pile of newspapers.
"Let's talk here a moment, and then I'll show you these outside," suggested Moody, sitting in the rocking chair.
He then pointed his wand at Harry's feet and a small stool appeared with a pop!
Harry sat down on the stool and watched as Moody contemplated what he was going to say.
"Dumbledore entrusted those things to me some years ago. His original intention was that I should hand them over and someone else should teach you how to use them. A few months before his death, he warned me that his original plans were unlikely to come to fruition and he asked if I would stand in, as it were."
Harry was dying to know what they were but managed to hold his silence.
"To be entirely honest, I was hoping not to have to do this."
"Why?" Harry found himself asking.
"Potter, I'm a useless teacher. I've no patience and I've no sense of what a reasonable expectation of attainment should be. When I was an Auror, no juniors wanted to be assigned to me, precisely because of that."
"You can't be that bad," said Harry with a smile. "Dumbledore wouldn't have invited you to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts otherwise."
"Don't you believe it, boy. That damn impostor's teaching abilities should have put Dumbledore onto him at once!"
Harry chuckled and shook his head in disagreement.
"So, um, what did Professor Dumbledore want you to teach me?"
"Potter, there's something you have to understand."
"Please, call me Harry."
"Harry. You've become quite good at duelling. Minerva has been keeping me advised of your progress with her, and she's quietly impressed."
"I haven't really done much duelling with her," Harry admitted.
"There's more than one way to fight a duel, Potter. I mean, Harry. Sorry."
Harry smiled at him.
"What I mean is," continued Moody, "if you think back to the things she's been teaching you, I think you'll find an element of defence is involved."
Harry frowned and shook his head.
"Dumbledore wasn't powerful because he could do more magic than anyone else; although he probably could," Moody admitted. "No, he was powerful because he thought more."
Harry nodded.
"Well, our dear Minerva isn't too far behind Dumbledore when it comes to intellect. She was made Deputy Headmistress because Dumbledore saw something in her. He had to fight the Governors hard to get her promoted ahead of many more qualified teachers. He knew then what most of us only saw later.
"Anyway, I'm getting away from my point. Er, what was my point?"
"You said she's been teaching me defence," said Harry.
"Right, except that instead of fighting, she's been showing you how to think your way to victory. You know, looking beyond the immediate advantage, and all that rubbish."
Harry frowned, but before he had a chance to consider this news, Moody was continuing.
"Now, my job is to teach you yet another way of fighting. You'll be relieved to know that it will involve actual fighting and very little thinking."
Moody leaned forward towards Harry and said seriously, "I've only ever been in two wizard battles. You know, where two groups of wizards met head on for an all-out fight to the death. The first time I was barely out of school. I was terrified and I don't think I managed to hit a single enemy."
"I know what a battle is like," Harry said quietly.
"I gave a better account of myself the second time," continued Moody before checking himself. "Boy, how could you possibly know?"
Harry looked up and said, "Well, the first time was the raid on Voldemort's camp. I think that's why Bear wanted me to come along, really. The other time was the raid on the Archive, although that wasn't really a battle as such, other than in the Arena."
"Who is this Bear?"
"He's a Muggle soldier. His name is Sergeant John Bateman."
"Well. He obviously had the right idea. Perhaps you won't be completely hopeless after all!"
Harry grinned and Moody barked with laughter.
"Come on then," said Moody, grabbing Harry's shoulder and pulling himself to his feet. "Let's see how you get on with the toys Dumbledore left for you!"
*
They walked out onto the grass. The sun felt warm on Harry's face and he had to shield his face until his eyes became accustomed to the brightness after the dark interior.
Moody dropped the three foot wide roll of carpet onto the grass and cut the strings with his wand. He then kicked the carpet to make it unroll to reveal a mat about five feet in length.
Harry gasped audibly, mainly because the assorted collection of antiques before him could never have been concealed inside a roll of conventional carpet.
Once he'd got over the shock, a feeling of disappointment came over him. He'd been hoping for something a little more impressive.
Moody, even with his magical eye, seemed to overlook the poor state of the objects.
"Take a good long look because in a moment I'm going to put these away again."
"Why?" asked Harry, reaching down to pick up one of the objects on the carpet.
Moody flicked his wand and Harry withdrew his hand, rubbing the painful burn he now had.
"If you didn't want me to touch, why not just say so?" complained Harry.
"These are far too good to practise with," said Moody. "I just wanted you to see so you know what we're aiming for."
"Er, what are we aiming for?"
"Didn't I say?"
"No, but I guess I'm to learn how to use them."
"Actually, no. Anyone attempting to just use these things will just get themselves killed."
"How do you mean?"
"I'm not entirely sure. It's what Dumbledore said, that's all."
"Just how experienced are you in using things like these?"
"I once saw these very items used in anger."
"Once?"
"Yes, although I had been drinking at the time. Dutch courage, you know?"
"Who? Was it Dumbledore?" asked Harry expectantly.
"Nope. Dumbledore was the one fighting him, though. Killed the owner of this little lot after barely making an effort to defend himself."
Harry's shoulders sagged.
"So, what's the point then? Voldemort is hardly likely to have a problem defending himself against me with these, is he?"
"No, I'd agree with you there," said Moody, pointing his wand down at the carpet again.
"Just a minute," said Harry.
"I'll get my practise sets out for you to have a go with," promised Moody.
"Fine. Just leave these here a moment, will you? I promise not to touch."
"Mind you don't," muttered Moody, limping back to the house.
Harry kneeled down at the very edge of the carpet to examine the objects in more detail. He knew Dumbledore had a good reason for wanting him to have these things, but what was it?
He thought it rather likely that either Moody had forgotten what Dumbledore had told him, or perhaps Dumbledore had instructed Moody to be vague.
The most obvious thing that had struck Harry was the fact that the small roll of carpet was clearly not just a carpet. The items revealed were far too large for one thing.
The second thing was the extraordinarily poor condition the items were in. Each was either coated with dark coloured rust and corrosion, although bright metal shone through in a few isolated locations.
Harry shifted himself around the edge of the carpet so he was looking at the largest item the right way up. It was a large shield with a snarling black dog on the front. The dog's eyes seemed to follow his every move.
It was very tempting for Harry to break his promise and shift the shield over a bit so he could get a decent look at the other objects. What looked like a long broadsword protruded out but be couldn't see the handle properly. Beside that were two identical looking smaller swords and a dagger.
There was also a clump of old chain mail and a peculiar looking metal helmet. It looked like there might be some other smaller items under the shield and mail too.
Moody returned carrying a large canvas bag and dropped it carelessly onto the grass.
"Don't let the poor state of that gear fool you," advised Moody, obviously sensing that Harry was less than impressed so far. "Go, on. Sort yourself out something from that practise bag while I put these others away."
Harry nodded and went over to the bag and began opening the heavy leather buckled fastenings. He didn't like to use magic in case he damaged the bag.
He finally got the back open just as Moody reappeared carrying a large jug and two pint glasses.
Harry reached into the bag and drew out a timber stick. He put that to one side and picked out another.
"We're supposed to practise with these?"
"Sure, once I've transfigured them back. You see, the Ministry takes a dim view of people keeping things like these around the house. Especially, well, me."
Harry snorted and nodded. He could well imagine the reaction if they learned Moody had a collection of weapons stored at home.
"Here," said Moody gruffly, holding out a glass of beer. "Essential for training," he advised seriously.
"If you say so," said Harry, taking the glass and sipping.
"Yeah. Believe me, having your limbs re-attached hurts like blazes unless you've had a pint or two."
"Er," began Harry, lowering his glass.
Moody stomped over and pointed his wand at the two sticks on the grass.
They glowed for a moment and Harry had a degree of expectation to see what they would be transformed into.
He took a long draw on his pint to compensate for yet another disappointment.
The sticks had been transfigured, but unfortunately they were now just slightly longer polished ebony sticks.
Moody held out his free hand and instantly one of the sticks flew up for him to catch. It also seemed to change in length, presumably to suit his height and reach.
Intrigued, Harry put his glass down and pointed his hand out. The second stick positively leaped into his hand.
"Minerva made me promise not to actually risk severing anything you might consider important for our first lesson," explained Moody with a lopsided grin. "Mind you, I made no such promise for our second lesson."
Harry grinned and swung the stick around, trying to remember everything Bateman had told him about short-swords and long knives.
Once Moody had finished his pint, they began.
Harry had expected that as Moody wore a false leg and needed a stick to walk with, he'd have a big advantage.
What he hadn't counted on was Moody not actually moving at all. Instead, he used his wand to levitate and control his sword-stick.
This left Harry to defend himself against Moody's stick alone.
After about half an hour of that, Moody called a halt.
"You've had some experience with short-swords, haven't you?"
"Only a little. John Bateman taught us some simple moves before we attacked the Healer's lair."
"Hm. Okay, let's try again except this time I'll actually be trying."
Harry smiled and readied himself.
*
"Ow!"
"Master should keep still or Kreacher will miss bits."
"Well, hurry up, then," complained Harry, wincing as Kreacher applied ointment to the bruises all over his back. He'd managed by himself for the rest of his body.
"Hermioine manages to be much gentler."
"Kreacher can go and wake her if Master orders."
"Don't you dare!"
"As Master wishes," said the elf, rubbing rather harder than was necessary at a particularly tender spot.
"Come on, you must have finished by now."
"Just a few red patches to go. Then Kreacher will begin on the yellowing blotches."
"Ow!"
"Perhaps Master will learn to move out of the way if anyone tries to hit him with a stick. Kreacher could help Master practise if he wanted?"
Harry laughed but shook his head. The idea of Kreacher creeping up and whacking him with a long stick didn't appeal at all.
"No, thanks, Kreacher."
"Perhaps if Master hadn't drunk quite so much?"
"Well, Moody said it would help with the pain. Maybe I shouldn't have had that third pint, though. It was home brewed, apparently."
"Perhaps it is just as well Miss Hermione decided to retire early this evening."
"Yeah, perhaps. Ow!"
*
"Harry?"
"Hi, Hermione," Harry replied stiffly. He was sitting awkwardly at the breakfast table with Kreacher but couldn't get at all comfortable. Kreacher was pulling faces and holding his nose.
"You look dreadful, Harry."
"I feel dreadful, actually. Moody wants me to go back today as well."
"Okay. I was going to see if I could find something that might get us into that village."
"That'd be good."
"What time will you be back?"
"I've no idea. It was gone midnight before I got away last night."
"Can you tell me what the training involves?"
"A complete waste of time, I suspect. I spent quite a long time yesterday wondering what Dumbledore actually intended Moody to teach me. Anyway, I thought I'd keep at it for a while."
"Okay."
Just then the fire blazed up and Moody's booming voice yelled, "Potter? Where are you? Come on, I've got the day all planned out!"
"Alright, alright!" said Harry, staggering to his feet. "I'll be there in two minutes."
There was a pop and Moody was gone.
Harry looked over to see Hermione smiling at him.
"You know, Kreacher?" she said wistfully, "I think Harry's really enjoying himself with Moody."
"Kreacher quite agrees, Miss. Of course, Master is rather strange like that."
Harry smiled to see them getting along so well, even if it had to be at his expense. Just lately, Hermione had stopped trying to please and being overtly kind to Kreacher, something the house elf had always detested. Kreacher, on his part, seemed more content to remain when Hermione was present, something he had generally avoided before.
Harry walked around the table to kiss Hermione goodbye when she suddenly pulled a face and pushed him away.
"Oh, Harry! You smell awful!"
"Well, it's only Kreacher's ointment," Harry said indignantly, sniffing himself and realising he must have got used to the dreadful smell.
"Do you have time for a bath?"
"I've had two this morning already; the second was at Kreacher's insistence!"
Hermione laughed but went rather red in the face because she was still holding her nose.
"Well, if I'm not getting a kiss I'll be going then."
"Maybe Kreacher will be brave enough?" she suggested, now with tears of laughter.
Harry pulled a face and prepared himself to Disapparate. Just an instant before he did so, Kreacher turned to Hermione and said, "There are limits to the House Elf enslavement, you know?"