AN: I don't own HP.

He has finally found it, after years of searching. The greatest scheme of his ancestors. Secrets of death hidden to never be found again. He looked upon the statue. Once magnificent white marble, corrupted by the flow of time. It's face once full of silent acceptance, now marred with cracks of time and despair. How that heavenly being, with wings so masterfully sculptured have suffered. It's home abandoned and forgotten, now but a pitiful reminder of its glory. It's slim towers have fallen, columns have crumbled. And over time all of it has been buried under the earth. Once a cathedral that was supposed to show the dominance of architects and builders over relentless swamps... Now has become but a cavern. He could see the signs now. The Line. The Circle. The Triangle. All carved together into the cross guard of the sword that the angel was holding in one hand. It's tip pointing into the ground. In the other hand it was holding a black marble sphere, that hand was leveled at it's chest height.

The raven haired young man looked at all this in apprehension. Is that what he really wanted? It wasn't to late to leave. Or was it? So many lives lost because of that one man... No. He couldn't turn back now. He wouldn't wish the burden that he had on him for so long to be carried by another. Not now, not ever.

With his resolve strengthened he put his cloak on his shoulders as not to disappear completely. The stone that he had to find with much difficulty, now was fashioned as a necklace. In his hand a wand... Taken yet again from a tomb.

A gust of cold wind ruffled his hair, fluttered his cloak.

"So you have come" It was a voice colder than any mortal being could have. The face of the angel with a sound of stone grinding on stone moved to look a the young man.

"You know what I need" And indeed it knew. Nothing could be hidden before it's eyes aside of one item and the ones beneath it.

He didn't know what to expect. It was so delicate. A final warm breath escaped his lips.

And he simply was and would be as long as it was necessary.

"My child... My master..." Was the wistful response of the voice.

The man once known as Harry James Potter left the buried cathedral. As he reached the surface it was night and the moon was high on the sky already. Without any delay he vanished into shadows cast by the pale light.

Had to get that little thing out of my head.