"-We're coming to you live from what's been dubbed 'The Arthurian Tomb'-"


"-An incredible discovery by two amateur archaeologists-"


"-r Patrick White has confirmed that what was discovered here is like nothing else ever found before-"


"-the rumours of a perfectly preserved human have spread through the-"


"-is now believed to still be alive-"


"-carbon dating of the surrounding area-"


"-experts maintain the object is far too recent to be the-"


"-no evidence of the technology used to preserve the still-living human has yet been found-"


"-being hailed as the mystery of the millennium-"

Phillip Maine, one of the many senior executives of various companies that acted as the governmental branch of the country, ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered this new situation.

It was an irritation that the archaeological dig's treasure had been outed so thoroughly to the public. What had seemed like a minor discovery had unravelled rapidly into something that had almost every scientist in their employ salivating for a chance to examine.

A living human being, from centuries before the Earth was pushed over the edge. A body unspoiled, untainted by the toxins that had inevitably affected the evolution of their race, although that piece of information was beyond top secret.

But beyond that was the how of the situation. They'd had their own people in and all over the site by now and the lack of technology was absolute. There was no scientific explanation for how one adolescent male apparently went to sleep in the late 20th century and stayed there. A glass coffin was his only protection from the elements and it wasn't even hermetically sealed. He should have been nothing but a pile of bones and yet once the muck had been wiped from the glass, there he was.


Any suspicion of a hoax was laid to rest with a simple, discrete blood test.

So with no evidence of how this apparent immortality had been done, they had only one source of information left.

The boy himself.

And by now, it would be near impossible to spirit him away discretely. The whole world was fascinated and excited by his existence, the news networks capitalising on it by whipping up a 'King Arthur' frenzy. A few entirely separate extremist groups were hailing him as a saviour.

It could be done, of course, if needs must. But it could very well be unnecessary. For now they would watch, and wait.


Harry hadn't gone to sleep, he'd been imprisoned.

The door that Dumbledore had mentioned in the Ministry – the one that lead to a power greater than any other?

That had been the power 'the Dark Lord knows not'.


What a load of crap.

He'd been the result of successful breeding, nothing more. Born with the recessive gene needed to tap into the power behind the door. The accumulated life force of the entire world.

Harry's desperation-driven focus had been all that was needed. His affinity for the power had done the rest. The energy had surged, Voldemort was destroyed and victory was had. All within seconds of opening the door.

Immediately after, he'd been put down. Knocked unconscious and carried away, the door slamming shut again in his absence.

Not by Death Eaters, but the Unspeakables.

Apparently, they were Dumbledore's 'other' secret group. His inner circle, as it were. They'd known the plan. Known what he was bred for. Known what his whole life had been training him for.

And they knew the plan for after Voldemort's defeat.

They'd filled him in after they woke him, already spelled into paralysis. They explained that he was special, that he was a champion. That the world needed him. That there were no others like him.

That they had been charged with his protection, so that future generations could call upon him in the hour of their greatest need.

They wanted him to understand, they said, since they would probably be long gone the next time he woke. They'd handled him with utmost care, spoken to him with genuine respect, obtained and stored for him all of his most valuable possessions along with sacks of gold and gems.

Then they'd forced a potion down his throat and the next thing he knew, he was waking up cold and stiff to a veritable crowd of people, not one of whom held the slightest buzz of magic.

"No." He croaked.


I want to try my hand at a HP/Avatar crossover where Harry doesn't run off to Pandora and grow a tail. Although he probably will go there eventually, the focus of the story is his existence on (and what that means for) Earth.