“Rise and shine, pretty boy!” Said the voise in Harry’s head. Harry’s answer came as a no surprise: “I don’t want to get up, I’m tired.”

“Oh, I am tired. Alright then, let’s just stay asleep for a year or so and when I wake up Voldemort will be gone!” The voice in Harry’s head was mocking him. The young man snickered at the sense of humour he’d developed over his journeys. Straight forward and often dripping with sarcasm he’d made snappy jokes into the face of certain death. That’s how he dealt with the fear, kept it under control, hid it. Oh yes, he was afraid. He was afraid for the wellbeing of the wizarding world and of his friends. The only reason he didn’t collapse with fear and lonesome was because the world needed him and he could no fail. He would not fail…

Harry got up and got his things together. He looked up in the sky. It was clear.

“Beautiful day,” he murmured to himself.

“Oh yes. But for how long? I’d guess two days if you don’t get a move on!”
“Ok, ok!” Harry answered the not-so- little voice of reason in his head. He started down the hill he’d slept in the previous night. He was somewhere in Ireland, closing in on a village where he’d planned on buying some supplies for his journey to Egypt. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s former pet pheonix had informed Harry of the possibilty of a Horcux being located inside the Sphinx of Giza. Harry thought as he walked how he had come to posess his armour and weapons.

-Flashback-
Two years erlier.

Fawkes had come to him one night where he’d been resting after destroying Slytherin’s locket. He had found it at Malfoy manor after days of search allover Britain . Harry had thought it crazy to enter the manor alone, but to his utter surprise he found it empty and no wards around it. He remembered Malfoy telling Ron and himself that they kept loads of dark arts artifacts under the floor of their living room. It was a lucky guess, but Harry got down there and found it lying there among many other things. He aproached the locket and after taking a few deep breathes, he picked it up. Nothing had prepared him for what happened next; the locket glowed with green light for a few moments and then Harry felt unbearable pain. He felt like he was under the crusiatus curse but he did not let go. And after few minutes of the torment, the locket tried to take control of Harry’s mind. Harry fought back and after few moments, wich could have been hours, the locket gave in and exploded silently, leaving an open wound in Harry’s palm. Harry ran up the stairs, closed the hatch and managed to leave the manor without showing any signs of him ever being there.

And so in the woods that circled the manor Harry had encountered Fawkes patiently waiting for him. The bird flew up on the boy’s shoulder and let a single tear slip down into Harry’s palm and the wound vanished. Harry thanked the bird, witch flew down on the ground and sent a telepathic image into Harry’s mind, asking him to sit down on the log behind him. The young Potter obeyed and Fawkes sent an image of Harry going to Scotland, and, by the looks of it, he flew into the highlands and touched down at the door of an ancient castle. He walked up to the door with a lion’s head with two fiery rupys for eyes… Then the vision stopped. Harry got up and looked puzzled at Fawkes, who just looked at him as if asking him to put his faith in the vision. Harry nodded and the next day he set out on his Firebolt towards Scotland.

Twelve hours later when Harry thought he could not go on for much longer he saw the castle deep within the fog. He touched down and after running around a little to get the heat back in his body, he approached the massive two- winged door where the lion simbol had been and it was there still, of course. An engraving was on the door:

“Prove thy loyalty to me and thou shalt be granted entrance to the ancient home of Godric Gryffindor. If thee is not of the noble bloodline, thou shalt not be granted entrance into this holy place…”

Harry looked at the door with a very unhappy look on his face. Why had he been sent here, when he could not even enter the castle? He kicked at the door in frustration and to his surprise some kind of an iron platter shot out from the wall and stopped right below his hand. A knife appeared on the platter. Harry picked it up and the dryed blood on the platter made the knife’s purpose clear. Harry opened his palm and made a small cut there and let the blood spill onto the platter, wich glowd red for a while and then disappeared along with the knife. And then nothing happened. Harry stood there, in front of the doors for a few minutes, then turned on his heel and started to walk away. Then he heard a creeking noise and a ghostly voice behind him:
“At last. I wondered when the good sir would come and visit his ancestors house…”
Harry, wand drawn, turned to face the newcomer, ready for battle…

Veit að kaflinn er stuttur, en hann er mikilvægur fyrir söguþráðinn, og ég gat einhvern veginn ekki haft hann lengri, án þess að hann yrði leiðinlega langdreginn, en gjöriði svo vel…