Unofficial Portkey Archive

The Battle Standard

by Jardyn39

Chapter 1 - The Lord Protector

Harry Potter was relaxed and content. He lay on his back, seemingly without a care in the world, having just woken from a particularly deep sleep.

He had plenty of cares to worry about of course, but right at that precious moment before he opened his eyes to greet the day, he could afford to enjoy the pretence.

He couldn't quite remember when it was that his friend John Bateman had told him about the trick of relaxing and pretending all was well with the world.

Bear had told him he usually found this form of meditation most useful when he had found himself waking in some of the most inhospitable terrains around the world. Whether he was freezing in snow or frying in some desert, he would take a long moment just to pretend he was, well, content with his lot.

The new day he would wake up to would bring challenges and hardship, but his energy would be renewed.

Eventually Harry opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Tiny ancient cracks were evident in the surface of the painted plaster, and a money spider was busy making a new web.

Harry frowned slightly to himself. Usually, when he looked upwards from his bed, the ceiling was completely out of focus without his glasses. Indeed, even with his glasses he could not recall being able to see such small cracks.

Then, as the gears in his mind began at long last to grind into operation while he woke up and began thinking properly, he wondered vaguely why the ceiling was so low today. He could almost reach out and touch it.

Slowly, it gradually dawned upon him that if the ceiling wasn't that low, then he must be the one to be higher than he normally found himself.

At that very moment of realisation, he felt gravity begin to grab hold and urgently pull him down.

The ceiling began to move away out of his range of focus, losing definition as he fell.

At this precise point, Harry wasn't particularly worried. Not only was he used to the sensations of falling from very great heights that would have completely unnerved most of his contemporaries, he also knew his mattress was only a few feet below him.

The first indication that he had that either he, or his mattress, wasn't in the right place was when his back impacted on something.

Whatever Harry hit was solid enough to slow his descent yet yielding enough to cushion his fall, so that when he hit the hard edge of what he later discovered was a solid timber table, the impact was much less than it could have been.

Harry continued crashing down in a mess, hitting a chair and finally came to rest sprawled out on the floor. As he fell two legs of the table gave way and the top tilted downwards.

Harry squinted around. He definitely wasn't in his bedroom where he ought to have been.

He became aware that a vague outline of a figure had been sitting on the other side of the table.

The figure rose and knelt down next to him.

Harry started as a face came close enough to be almost in focus.

"Neville?"

The figure gave half a chuckle and said, "No. Hang on a moment."

Harry realised it wasn't his friend Neville from the moment the stranger spoke, although the round shape of his face was a very close match. Harry dimly realised that the hair colour wasn't right, though.

The stranger was groping under the table for something.

"Here, try these on," said the stranger, pushing a pair of glasses onto Harry's face.

Harry reached up to straighten the glasses and was surprised to find them a close match for his own glasses. They were slightly stronger than his own pair of spectacles, though, and the frames were made from gold.

Harry tried to get up but realised he was lying awkwardly on top of someone else's legs.

"Oh, goodness!" he cried, fearing that he'd killed them.

"Don't worry," said the stranger. "He'll be okay. You just knocked him out. Lucky he was sitting there actually."

"He certainly broke my fall," agreed Harry, moving off his unfortunate victim whose face and upper body was concealed by the upturned table.

"I didn't actually mean that," said the stranger with a grin and holding up his hands.

Harry realised with a start he was bound at his wrists.

"Do you think you could untie these?" he asked.

"Sure," said Harry, untying the rope bindings.

"I'm sorry I called you Neville before. It's just that you look uncannily like a friend of mine."

"People do say we look alike," agreed the stranger conversationally, rubbing the sore looking red marks on his wrists once Harry released him.

"My name is Christopher," he said, holding out his hand. "Christopher Longbottom."

Harry grinned and shook Christopher's hand. "Hi. My name is Harry Potter. Are you related at all to Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes. He's my father."

"What? No way. You're almost as old as I am!" exclaimed Harry in surprise. Then he added, feeling a little foolish, "Oh, hang on. Is there more than one Neville in the Longbottom family?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I'm seventeen, actually."

"No," said Harry disbelievingly.

"Look, I do think we should get out of here while we still can," said Christopher, diving under the table again and emerging with a wand. He then pulled out a limp long-fingered hand and pulled off two jewelled rings.

"Hey," said Harry, recognising one of them. "That's Slytherin's ring!"

"Here," said Christopher offering the ring to Harry. "I only wanted this one."

"May I see it?" asked Harry.

"Later. Come on, let's go. There are a couple of sentries outside. Just follow my lead and whatever you do, don't make a run for it. They'll be on us in no time and there is plenty of support they can call upon around here."

"Won't my wearing pyjamas make them a little suspicious?"

"Er, good point," agreed Christopher. He dived down and wrenched off the dragon hide boots worn by his captor. He threw them at Harry and grabbed a large travelling cloak from a hook by the door.

"These will have to do for now."

Harry was concerned for the person lying still under the table but Christopher assured him he would be fine and somehow managed to keep getting in the way when he tried to take a closer look.

He found the boots to be a good fit though and wrapped himself in the cloak which had a great Gryffindor lion emblem on the back.

Christopher considered Harry's outfit for a moment. Finally, he shrugged to himself and pulled the hood over Harry's head.

"Okay?" asked Christopher.

"Okay."

Christopher pulled open the door and bright sunlight streamed in. He stepped outside confidently and Harry followed.

The two sentries snapped to attention.

"He says he's not to be disturbed," ordered Christopher confidently. "No exceptions."

"Yes, Sir!"

Christopher walked down the steps and casually began walking down the street. Harry caught him up quickly.

"Where is this place?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the sentries.

"We can talk when we get to the other end of the village. There's an equipment store we can get a couple of brooms from. I'd like to get some distance in case he wakes up sooner than I'd hoped."

Harry nodded and walked on in silence. He was burning with questions, but he knew the first objective had to make a safe escape from wherever this was.

The village was quite unlike any that Harry had seen before. The wide street was entirely straight and was on a slight incline that lead down to water, possibly a wide river. Harry could see small boats tied up at the water's edge.

On both sides of the street were terraced housing and there did not appear to be any side roads at all.

Outside each of the houses was a red banner flying proudly in the gentle breeze. He could see these were Gryffindor banners, but the design was different somehow.

The ground floor of several houses had been converted in shops and there were one or two stall traders selling food and goods to the villagers.

They arrived at the bottom of the village and Harry could see that the waterway was indeed a wide river.

Christopher tugged his arm and Harry followed him over to a barn like building.

"Two brooms," ordered Christopher confidently. "Now!"

The rotund storekeeper came over and looked like he was about to hex Christopher for his rudeness.

"You can't be talking to me like that, boy, not unless you expect to keep your teeth."

Christopher looked at him disdainfully; a look that reminded Harry powerfully of Draco Malfoy.

"Really?" he said casually, deliberately stepping aside so that the storekeeper could see Harry's face.

"My Lord!" the storekeeper said, bowing at once.

"Get up you oaf!" shouted Christopher. "You know how he punishes people who bow and scrape before him!"

"No. I mean, yes!" said the man fearfully.

"Just get the brooms, will you? Perhaps his Lordship will overlook your appalling behaviour this time."

The two broomsticks were summoned at once and they quickly departed.

*

"What was that about?" called Harry the moment they cleared the tops of the trees that marked the edge of the village.

"A simple case of mistaken identity, Mr Potter," replied Christopher looking back with a grin.

"Call me Harry."

"Okay, Harry. That fool thought you were someone else. The likeness is extraordinary, actually."

"Who did he think I was?"

"Why, your victim back there of course!" cried Christopher, laughing loudly.

They sped up to the top of a low hill that overlooked the village and the river before landing. Harry looked down into the forest covered valley and up at the surrounding hills. The forest was thick with green trees that contrasted slightly with the grassy hilltops. The view would have been quite stunning had the day been brighter.

"See over there?" asked Christopher, pointing to somewhere beyond the village.

Harry squinted in the direction he was pointing.

"Are those tents?" he asked, uncertain because of the low cloud and trees that obscured his view.

"That's right. Down there is what remains of the Gryffindor Army."

"Gryffindor Army?" repeated Harry blankly.

"Now," continued Christopher, looking around. "They are pretty much concealed from here, but over there are where the other Houses are encamped. Because of their recent casualties, most of the regiments have been combined now. They unofficially call themselves Dumbledore's Army."

Harry tried to see, but shook his head.

"Don't worry, you can't really see from here, but we are outnumbered maybe four to one."

"Who by? Who are they outnumbered by?" asked Harry.

"Let's fly up and see if we can get a better view, shall we?"

Christopher got on his broom again and flew up almost vertically. Harry had known almost from the moment Christopher took off that he was a very skilled flyer. Without his Firebolt, Harry had to work hard to keep up with his quick moves. Finally, Harry caught him up and Christopher slowed until they were flying side-by-side high up around the hill.

Christopher grinned and said, "I couldn't resist that. The tales of your flying skills have reached epic proportions at Hogwarts, you know? It's a pity that we are unlikely to meet on the Quidditch pitch."

"Tell me about those armies," demanded Harry, who was growing too impatient for small talk. "Who are Gryffindor and Dumbledore's Army outnumbered by?"

"Sorry, I should have been clearer. The great unconquered Gryffindor Army, led by the undefeated Lord Protector is about to be attacked by the remaining armies of the other Houses, led by one Lady Potter."

"What?" asked Harry incredulously. "Who is this Lord Protector?"

"Um, that you be you. Or rather, the future you, judging by how old you look now. You were genuinely honoured, of course; unlike Voldemort who just took the title. You did quite a lot of Muggle charity work during your exile, I understand. Most commendable."

"And Lady Potter?" asked Harry weakly.

"Oh, she hasn't called herself Potter since war broke out again."

"Hermione is leading a war against me?" said Harry, not catching the slight calculating frown on Christopher's face.

"The dear Lady has got most of the wizarding world on her side, too. Unfortunately for them, we have most of the military brains and brawn on our side. They'll be slaughtered when they finally get themselves organised and attack us."

"Why are they even attacking?"

"Ah, well. The short version is that you, or rather him down there, vanished from the wizarding world after Voldemort was defeated. For years most people thought you were dead, but you reappeared years later and was none too pleased about all the corruption and incompetence of those in power.

"You were persuaded to run for office and everyone agrees you did a great job as Minister for Magic. Then, you became rather comfortable in office. Gentle suggestions that it was time you stepped aside were met with brutal punishments and even imprisonments.

"We've been at war for some time now. It's been very one sided, actually. You've not lost a single engagement so far; mainly because you weren't afraid to justify any means to achieve an end."

"That sounds more like Slytherin rather than Gryffindor," said Harry.

"Hey," said Christopher with mock indignation. "We Slytherins are the ones who stood by you through all your campaigns, not like those turncoats.

"Actually, there aren't many true Gryffindors left on our side despite the official army name, to be honest. I'm only here because I'm the black sheep of the family. My father remains neutral, out of his friendship with you, but mother and all my loyal brothers are down there somewhere, ready to fight and die for Dumbledore's Army."

"Ginny?" said Harry, realising Christopher's flaming red hair should have given him a clue.

"That's right."

"So, why were you tied up?"

"Ah," said Christopher, with an embarrassed smile. "You see, he caught me trying to poison him again."

"Poison?"

Christopher shrugged.

"It was too good an opportunity to miss. I'm his only heir, you see. He's disinherited his own sons and daughters. With him gone, I can lay claim to the office."

"Office?"

"Lord Protector of the Wizarding World," said Christopher. "Actually, the office only applies to the United Kingdom, but World sounds so much better. It also betrays his true ambitions."

"This is terrible," said Harry. "Whatever happened to me? Is there any way we can stop the fighting?"

"That is amazing!" cried Christopher with delight. "It's uncanny!"

"What?"

"He was saying that very same thing, the moment you appeared!"

"He wanted peace too?"

"Yes! Unfortunately, that's hardly in my interests. No, I've got far too many profiteering ventures on the go to allow something like peace to dent my prospects. No, war is much more profitable, I can assure you. Besides, there is nothing quite like confusion of battle for slaughtering one's creditors.

"Now, I find myself with an interesting dilemma. It's rather too risky for me to go back down there and finish him off properly. I really must have a decent alibi when he finally dies. Besides, I might be caught in the act again.

"I did wonder if I could persuade you to do him in for me," continued Christopher with a sly smile, "but he can be very persuasive himself sometimes. No, on balance I think he is bound to turn you away from the dirty deed given half a chance."

He shifted and turned to face Harry.

"Now, I've no idea how you came to be here, but if you really are the younger version of his Lordship, it would be far safer just to kill you. He can hardly grow up if you are dead, can he?"

Harry tensed as Christopher produced his wand. With a shock Harry now realised it was his wand that was being brandished at him!

He dived down at once, the green flash just missing him. Christopher laughed manically as he followed, firing hexes all the while.

Harry knew his only chance was to get down to the ground. If he could make the trees on the other side of the hill where Christopher had said Dumbledore's Army was, maybe he stood a chance of surviving.

He dived vertically down, cursing the slowness of his broom relative to his Firebolt.

Then his broom was hit with two reductor spells in quick succession. Christopher had undoubtedly selected the faster broom for himself.

Harry's downward momentum changed as the broom fell apart under him.

He was now falling under gravity with no control.

He twisted around in the air so that he was facing Christopher as he fell.

Christopher was grinning and raised his wand again to finish him off before he hit the ground.

*

Harry landed heavily right in the middle of the kitchen table. He yelled in agony as various pots were smashed and sent flying and clouds of white flour were blasted into the air.

"Ow," groaned Harry, as every part of his body seemed to scream with pain.

He dimly felt himself being prodded in his side.

"Kreacher, what are you doing?"

"Kreacher is testing to see if Master is alive or not."

"Am I?"

"Kreacher is undecided. Can Master sit up or is he too broken?"

Harry tried to move and found that he didn't appear to have broken anything. He offered an arm out and Kreacher jumped up on the table top to help pull him up into a sitting position.

"Thanks, Kreacher. I'm sorry if I gave you a shock."

Harry reached behind and removed a pot that was still digging into his back.

"Were you cooking?" he asked incredulously.

"Kreacher was, but he will stop now. Master's house is clearly far too dangerous for Kreacher to cook in."

Harry snorted, despite his injuries.

"May Kreacher ask why Master Apparated above the kitchen table? If Master is trying to teach his Phoenix to fly, perhaps he should flap his arms a bit more vigorously."

"I've no idea what happened, Kreacher. I was having this weird dream. I was some Lord Protector of the Wizarding World and everyone was getting ready to attack my army."

Phryne, the Phoenix chick that had hatched from the egg Dumbledore had bequeathed to Harry, appeared in a tiny blaze of red and gold flames above the table.

As usual, Phryne failed to stay in the air for very long and almost at once landed in a ball of feathers on Harry's stomach.

He tried to catch her, but the chick rolled down and landed with a soft plop in one of Kreacher's remaining pudding dishes. She shook her feathers and then began to sing. Harry imagined she sounded rather proud of staying aloft for so long.

"Did this Lord Protector have dragon hide boots and a green travelling cloak?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact he did," said Harry.

He looked down and realised he was still wearing the boots Christopher had given him. He had the cloak too.

Then he saw the heavy gold ring on his finger.

*

John Bateman sat shaking his head doubtfully, trying to take in all the implications of what Mary Happell had just explained to him.

"It's an awful risk, Mary," he said at last.

"I believe the outcome is inevitable. All I'm suggesting we do is accelerate things. That way we will have some control over events. If we just stand aside, it could be years and years before anyone realises what has happened. It is in Voldemort's interest just to wear down the Ministry forces until they are too weak to defend his real targets."

"But what about all the lives that could be lost?"

"I'm hoping we can save lives in the longer term."

"This may be just one plan too far, though. What about Harry?"

"Harry can't see anything beyond Voldemort. We have both played our parts in focussing his efforts."

"You could be destroying his life. I mean, his life after Voldemort."

"Firstly, his chances of surviving may have been significantly improved by your influences, but they are still virtually non-existent."

"You know what I think about those kinds of odds."

"Yes, and I also know that Harry Potter would give his life in an instant in exchange for the death of Voldemort."

"True."

"So, what are we arguing about then? Let him die young and be remembered as a hero."

"You will be leading him to his death. That's not the same. Besides, I'm more concerned about your plans for him should he live."

"I have no problem with explaining everything to him and letting him decide, if it would make you happier."

"Everything?"

"No, of course not everything! I haven't even told you everything."

"So, he won't really make an informed choice then, will he?"

"Ah, I'm supposed to tell him that his killing Voldemort might not actually bring peace?"

"Mary, please reconsider. Hundreds of lives are at stake."

"I estimate closer to two thousand, five hundred based upon the Ministry census statistics of Wizards and Witches that will be of fighting age during the anticipated period of Civil conflict. That excludes collateral casualties, of course."

Bateman knew better than to argue figures with her.

"Listen, I will not contribute to any plan that puts your forces in direct conflict with Harry. Do what you want, but I'll be fighting on his side."

Mary smiled warmly at Bateman and he had the sinking feeling that he would end up doing precisely whatever she planned for him to do.

"I'm proud to hear you say that," she said warmly. "I'll not stand in your way."

"What if he doesn't play ball? When I tried to get him to kill, he refused, remember?"

"I'm counting on him acting for what he feels is the best course. He'll have Hermione and myself to guide him, but ultimately he'll make his own decisions."

"You being one of his advisers could be described as a fairly major conflict of interest, you know?"

*

Harry paced up and down the lamp lit Gryffindor Common Room, deliberately not looking at the expressions of doubt that were on the faces of everyone present.

In the middle of the floor lay a pair of boots and a travelling cloak which he had earlier presented as evidence of what he had described happening to him.

The ring was still on his finger.

Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to face them.

"It just seems so incredible," said Hermione, looking around at the others for support. None seemed willing to call Harry a liar outright.

"Maybe it was just a bad dream," offered Ron.

"Have you ever woken from a dream to find yourself wearing boots and a cloak?"

"Um, no," Ron admitted sheepishly.

"We were just play acting when that happened," added Luna. Neville snorted loudly.

Harry sighed.

"What about this ring?" he suggested. "This is Dumbledore's. It belonged to Salazar Slytherin and was stolen by Voldemort. It vanished, didn't it?"

"Er," said Ron. "No one would have minded if you took it, Harry. I'm sure Dumbledore would have wanted you to have it anyway."

"I didn't take it! It was given to me by Christopher Longbottom."

Neville blushed yet again as Ginny smirked at him.

"Our evil son?" she said with scorn in her voice.

Harry sighed and sat down dejectedly next to Hermione.

"I know it all sounds mad, but I swear to you that's what happened. It was unlike any dream I've ever had. It seemed so real."

Hermione reached over and stroked his arm tenderly.

"Harry, it's just not logical. How could you have travelled in time that far. Actually, even with a time turner it's just impossible to travel forward in time."

"Did you have cheese for supper?" offered Ron. "I always have weird dreams after I've eaten cheese."

"Some cheese," muttered Harry, turning the ring on his finger.

"Suppose it was some kind of warning," suggested Ginny out of the blue.

Harry's head shot up at once. It was the first positive thing any of them had offered so far.

"How do you mean?"

"Suppose someone tried to send you a message, from the future?"

"Okay," said Harry slowly. "I suppose it could have been a warning for me to be careful and not accept too much power."

"Could the boots and cloak be significant too?"

"I doubt it, but this ring might," suggested Harry. "I don't quite understand why Christopher wanted that other ring though. It was gold and looked just like this one except it was ruby red."

"Was the jewel cracked?" asked Hermione tentatively.

"I didn't get a chance to see," admitted Harry, realising Hermione was wondering if the ring could be a Horcrux just like Slytherin's ring.

"Have you ever heard of a ring like that, Neville?" asked Ginny.

"Well, yes. Gran's got a heavy gold ring that is supposed to be some kind of family heirloom. I've not seen it for years, though."

"Would you mind if we asked her to show the ring to us?" asked Harry.

"I'll ask," said Neville at once, "but it couldn't be the same ring, could it?"

"I've no idea. But why else would your son want it back?"

"Why would Harry have our family ring anyway?" asked Ginny with a smirk.

Neville blushed again. Ginny had been jokingly calling herself Mrs Longbottom at every opportunity that evening since she learned of Harry's strange tale.

"Um, Harry?" asked Hermione. "Will you reconsider your meeting tonight?"

"No, Hermione," Harry said firmly, his smile vanishing at once.

"But, at least let more of us come along as additional protection."

"No. His message said just me and Ron."

"I'll look after him, Hermione," said Ron reassuringly.

"I still say you are taking needless risks with this, Harry. You can't trust him."

"No, we can't," agreed Harry, looking down at his watch.

*

"What'd you think?" asked Ron for what seemed like the hundredth time.

They were standing together behind a low wall with a clear view of the country lane that led to a public call box a few yards away. A single magical lamp post lit the lonely scene.

Harry shrugged and said, "He's over three hours late. I don't think he's coming tonight."

They were both frozen after standing at the agreed meeting place for several hours now. Harry had been all for leaving after their visitor became an hour overdue, but Ron had insisted they wait just a few minutes more.

"He's probably being watched. You know, by his lot," offered Ron. "Maybe he didn't think it was safe to come for our sakes."

Harry's face was too cold to put on the doubtful expression his thoughts demanded. Instead he contented himself with another shrug.

"Maybe he heard you were going mental again," quipped Ron.

"Yeah, Ron," said Harry dryly. "That must be it. Still, I've only had the one episode so far. You'd think he'd give me-"

"Was that him?" interrupted Ron urgently, pointing out into the darkness.

"That was a fox, Ron."

"Looked more like a cat to me, actually," admitted Ron.

"Sure, Ron, it was a cat with a long bushy tail and a snout."

"That's it," said Ron with yet another glance at his watch. "Let's call it a night?"

"Yes, definitely. I'm too cold to defend myself now anyway."