The Starred Covenant

PROLOGUE: Dreams

"Dream manfully and nobly, and thy dreams shall be prophets."

-- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton

It was the middle of the night and Homer was dreaming.

He lay in his bed, and his paws twitched as he padded through the forest after his master. Homer loved the boy, mainly because the boy fed him, but also because the boy was good, and would play with him or take him for walks. Today he was dreaming of that day when the nasty little black and white creature made him sleep outside for a month because of the smell. Homer didn't know that ahead was a small clearing, and in that clearing was a mother skunk and her babies. He ran up to the skunk, barking, because he didn't know what they were, and he was a curious dog. Then, the mother skunk, the one Homer had just met, turned around, lifted up its tail and Homer woke up, and whined. He knew what happened next, though he couldn't quite remember it actually happening. There had been a horrible smell, and Homer started yelping, then ran back home. But that home was different from this home. In fact, Homer didn't remember that other home at all, really.!

If Homer were a human, he would have worried about it all night, and would have laid awake trying to figure out what was going on in his dreams.

Since he was a dog, he yawned, turned twice in his bed and fell asleep.

* * *

Upstairs, his master tossed and turned in his bed.

His dreams were not pleasant.

* * *

He roared. Snapped his jaws at them. And still they came.

And still he killed them.

They were covered in blades, and some of them shot at him with strange guns. His friends fought alongside him. One was a hawk. Another a gorilla. A horse. An elephant. He was a tiger. This was their first battle.

* * *

"Tom," Jake muttered in his sleep. "We were going to save Tom."

* * *

But they didn't. Not that day. Not any day. Jake tried to rescue his brother that night in the Yeerk Pool, but Tom was too much like his younger brother. Too heroic. He ran up to the monstrosity that was their foe, a beast with three heads that belched fire from its mouths. The beast, which was really an alien under the control of a parasite named Visser Three, swatted Tom away like a fly.

Jake and his friends freed one woman that night, a woman who would later become insane with paranoia and cut off all contact with the outside world, living in a shack in the woods. Tobias hid out in the Pool complex until he could escape. He only half succeeded.

* * *

Down the road, Tobias slept in the attic of his father's home. His lips were curled into a smile and he slept peacefully, dreaming of endless blue skies and beautiful white clouds.

* * *

The hawk soared through the sky, letting the warm updrafts carry him higher and higher, until he chose to fold his wings and shoot downward like a rocket, toward the ground until he pulled up, flapped his wings and rose towards the bright disk of the sun and the white cotton of the clouds. He had never felt so free before in his life, never was so happy to be outside, to fly through the air, fulfilling every child's secret dream. To fly, to ignore the laws of gravity and just glide through the air and leave the problems of the world behind was true happiness to him.

It was the greatest moment of Tobias's life.

* * *

In his dreams, he remembered flying. He remembered how his joy of flight never wavered, even when he was forced to kill and eat in order to survive, even when he couldn't be with the only person he ever loved, even after he lost her, and even when he was given the chance to be human again.

While he was awake, he forgot his dreams and walked.

* * *

Later, his friends flew at his side. He had friends now, good friends, friends who stood by him, who fought beside him. There was Jake, the leader, the responsible one whose brother had fallen to the enemy. Cassie, the calm, caring animal lover, who helped her father care for animals that had been injured in the wild. Marco, the sarcastic, yet cunning strategist, who found out that his mother, who was believed to be dead, was actually under the control of one of their most powerful foes. And Rachel. The one whom Tobias loved. The one person he would give up his wings for.

* * *

In beds across England, three of Tobias's four friends dreamt of strange beings, wild animals and terrifying battles that night. They dreamt of a powerful friendship that sustained them through endless exhaustion and horror. They saw through the eyes of animals many have never even seen. They also dreamt of the loss of their friend and fellow warrior.

They dreamt of Rachel.

* * *

With those words, her fate was sealed. She rose from her hiding place, no longer a frail human girl but a huge, powerful grizzly bear. She lived for this. Her against the world, against impossible odds. A hopeless fight. To her, the best kind.

Her final battle.

Before she dies, she sees Tobias one last time. Tears run down his face. And oh, how she wants to live, to stay with Tobias, to have a life with him, to feel the sorrow and joy that is all a part of life. She sees him, and knows he needs her, and she him. Her last words, I love you, echo through his heart as he watches her opponent cut her down.

Rachel is gone.

* * *

In her own bed, in her own home, not far from where her friends slumber, their minds far away reliving a life that never existed, in a town they'd never been, Rachel sleeps.

She does not dream.

Chapter One: The Abandoned Fortress

"We often give our enemies the means of our own destruction."

-Aesop

The magical community tries very hard to preserve its secrets. And for the most part, the witches and wizards of the world succeed. The average Muggle doesn't know that in Britain, there exists a school called Hogwarts, where children learn to cast spells, mix potions, and fly brooms. They have never heard of a Norwegian Ridgeback called Norbert or a House-elf named Dobby. They do not know that Albus Dumbledore once defeated a dark wizard called Grindelwald, or that their second-cousin, twice removed, who went to that strange boarding school they've never heard of, is studying how to mix a potion that will re-grow bones. They don't know that wizards have a cure for the common cold.

But try as they might, stories still surface. Tales of dragons and goblins have excited and frightened countless Muggle children since mankind first grasped the concept of a story. Around the campfire, gathered around a light in a sea of darkness, Muggles tell stories of ghosts and monsters, their minds telling them that they are just stories, there is nothing to fear. But in the darkness of their tents, they lay awake, fearing that the story may be more than just a fictional tale told in the night.

What if the stories were true?

* * *

Azkaban Prison.

"He has abandoned us!"

Within its dread walls, the worst of wizard-kind languish in the growing insanity that is their imprisonment. Guarded by the dark creatures known as Dementors, it is at once a symbol of justice and of fear in the magical world. For untold years, the fortress has held countless murderers, villains, and criminals.

"We abandoned him, and now he abandons us!"

The worst criminals were those who served Lord Voldemort. The prison filled with his Death Eaters as the first war raged, and the prisoner intake only increased after the Dark Lord's failed attempt to kill young Harry Potter. The Dementors were happy to take these dark witches and wizards, even though they shared a common goal.

After all, food is food.

"Master, forgive me!"

The loyal servants of the Dark Lord rotted there for 14 long years, slowly being driven insane by the soul sucking Dementors, waiting for their master to return and set them free. Finally, with the unwilling help of the boy who nearly destroyed him, Voldemort returned to his body.

"Mercy!"

The time had come for his Death Eaters to return to him. Feeling the Dark Mark burn on their arms, the servants joined their master in a dark graveyard, where a young man lay bleeding but defiant. The Dark Lord berated those who went free, and failed to seek him out, and praised those who chose to languish in prison rather than forsake their master. At last, he invited his servants to witness the death of the one who had supposedly defeated him when he was naught but a baby.

The Boy Who Lived.

"It wasn't our fault! No!"

But Harry Potter outwitted the Dark Lord once again, and escaped to safety and Albus Dumbledore. Once again, the Dark Lord had let the boy slip through his fingers. Once again, he failed to kill the boy. Why? Why couldn't the most feared wizard of his time take care of a measly half-trained wizard? It had to be the prophecy.

The prophecy was the key.

"Please, Master, set us free!"

The Dark Lord's knowledge of the prophecy was incomplete. His spy was only able to hear the first part, the part that described the one with the power to defeat him, before the spy was discovered. He needed to know why he could not defeat this child, who had now escaped his wrath as many times as his parents before him. The time had come for action.

"Master..."

The Dark Lord had begun to realize that a connection existed between him and the accursed child, most likely formed by the scar that had exiled him for eleven years. The connection only grew as the Dark Lord regained his former strength, and he began to realize that the Potter child could see events as the Dark Lord saw them. He realized that this could be a powerful weapon to use against the boy. He planted the seeds of his plan in the boy's mind, then, when the time was right, he put his plan into action.

This time the boy would be his.

"Please..."

But once again, the boy escaped. And the Dark Lord lost eleven of his loyal servants, and almost one more, in the process! And the prophecy, the prophecy...it was destroyed, before he could hear the end of it. And the cover he was granted by the stupidity of the Ministry of Magic was blown. Everyone in the magical world knew he was back.

But all was not lost.

"Help us...help ME..."

He could retrieve his servants virtually any time he wanted. All he needed to do would be to call for the Dementors to abandon Azkaban, where the Ministry had stupidly imprisoned the captured Death Eaters. And he had gathered enough followers in the extra year the Ministry had accorded him to prepare. He didn't need to hide in the shadows any more. And his Death Eaters, though they had been outwitted by mere schoolchildren at the Department of Magic, had dealt the Boy Who Lived a terrible blow: they had killed his godfather, Sirius Black.

"We'll not fail you again..."

Now was the time to strike, while the wizarding world was in a state of panic, before the average wizard or witch could prepare themselves for the coming of the Dark Lord. It was time to call for his faithful servants, and their charges.

It was time for Azkaban Prison to be emptied.

* * *

Inside the dread walls of the fortress known as Azkaban, in his own barren cell, Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater in service of Lord Voldemort, sat quietly in his cell, listening to the sounds of madness surrounding him.

"Help us...help us...we did nothing wrong...we are your servants!"

Malfoy sneered at the sniveling worm of a Death Eater. Begging got you nowhere with the Dark Lord. They had failed their master, that was true. But begging and whining was pointless. The Dark Lord was not merciful, but the Dark Lord did need them. His numbers were few. And the Dark Lord would take them when he was ready.

He would take them when he needed his Dementors.

"Master? Master? MASTER!?"

Lucius hoped the Dark Lord would hurry. He didn't know how much more of the man's ramblings he could take before he'd try and kill him.

* * *

In the darkness of a July night, the most feared servant of Lord Voldemort began to slither toward its goal.

* * *

On July 21^st, Cornelius Fudge, British Minister of Magic addressed the wizarding community.

"I am filled with great regret that I did not act sooner. I have allowed Lord...well, you know...to gain a foothold he should never have gained, through stupidity and purposeful ignorance of the facts in front of me. In time, I hope the world will forgive the mistakes I have made that have allowed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to regain the power he once had.

"But this is not the time for finger-pointing and persecution. Now is the time in which all wizards and witches, pureblood and Muggle-born alike, must band together and learn from the mistakes of the past. Now is the time for solidarity, for unity.

"I will not make the same mistake again. The Dark Lord is back. I know that now. And knowing that, I will not rest until the world is safe once again. I will not rest until peace is restored.

"The time has come to fight. A war is coming. Those who have sought to resist the Dark Lord have already sustained casualties. Bertha Jorkins. Cedric Diggory. Broderick Bode.

"And Sirius Black, wrongly prosecuted for crimes committed by one Peter Pettigrew. Sirius Black, the godfather of the Boy Who Lived.

"The Dark Lord's closest allies are not his Death Eaters. They are chaos...and discord. Enmity...and persecution. Darkness...and destruction.

"The Dark Lord will stop at nothing to gain absolute power in the world. And I will stop at nothing to stop him. I have informed the heads of Muggle governments of the growing threat. Beginning one week from now, the Ministry of Magic in Great Britain will institute a summer training program to train exceptional young witches and wizards in how to defend themselves against the Dark Arts, and how to carry this knowledge to their fellow students, so that they are better prepared for the dangers that await them. This program will be headed by the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, who recently served with distinction in the assault on the Ministry, and the Chair of the Dark Arts Defence League, Gerald McLagan.

"I too, will do my part in combating the coming darkness. I go now to Azkaban Prison, to personally interrogate the eleven captured Death Eaters responsible for the attack on the Boy Who Lived at the Ministry of Magic, and the resultant death of Sirius Black.

"All I can ask of you, my fellow witches and wizards, is to stay strong...and stay careful."

* * *

Cornelius Fudge had visited Azkaban before.

He had been to see one purported Death Eater, the notorious Sirius Black, just months before he had broken out. That visit had unnerved him, in more ways than one. There was the overbearing presence of the Dementors, for one. The chilling insanity of most of the prisoners. As he walks through the gates of the fortress, he recalls his cold reaction to their madness.

No more than they deserve.

He still felt that way.

But it wasn't the madness of the prisoners, or the silent malice of the Dementors that unnerved him the most. No, it was one man, alone in his cell when the Minister of Magic came to call, whose face he still remembers, a face that haunts him to this day. A man wrongly imprisoned for crimes committed by his traitorous friend. What had unnerved him the most about the man was his sanity. How could a man keep from losing his mind in that deathly asylum?

Revenge.

Looking back on it, as he is led through the corridors of Azkaban towards his unwitting doom, he realizes that one simple world was all that had kept Sirius Black going all those years. Cornelius Fudge has begun to understand: the only escape from the insanity of depression was the insanity of obsession.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time for reliving his past mistakes.

He had business to attend to.

He and his two Auror guardians walked through the door that leads to the cell that held the loyal servants of the Dark Lord. The door slammed shut behind them.

As he enters the chamber, a snake enters the fortress.

* * *

"Get up."

Malfoy stirred on his slab, and lifted his head. It was one of the few wizard guards of Azkaban, Robespierre, employed to ferry important visitors to and from the prison blocks. He turned. "What-"

"You have a visitor."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, loyal servant of the Dark Lord, stood in the center of the room, a Dementor at each side. His face was blank, much like the rest of his brethren in this pit of soulnessness. But there was something there, something Robespierre frankly didn't much care for. A seed of defiance...not something one saw a lot of here. In fact, there had only been two prisoners that Robespierre could ever remember standing of their own power. Sirius Black...Bellatrix Lestrange...

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. If the man could resist the Dementors, fine. But Robespierre wasn't going to take any chances, not with the Minister of Magic coming. Oh, no. If this filth thought he could pull something over on him, he was dead wrong...

He slowly pulled his wand out of its holster, making sure Malfoy could see that he was in control here. He had no idea how wrong he was.

* * *

The Dementors keep their silent watch over the fortress. In the darkness, they sense a presence, one which they have been waiting for for some time. They begin to grow excited.

Feeding time is about to begin.

* * *

The door opened. The Minister entered the room.

Lucius grinned. "Well, hello Minister! What a pleasant surprise!"

Cornelius Fudge approached the Death Eater guardedly. "Hello Lucius."

"What's a nice man like you doing in a such a dreadful place like this?"

"You know the answer to that question."

"Yes, I suppose I do," says Malfoy, who put on an air of distinct boredom. "And I suppose you know I plan to tell you nothing."

"Plans," the Minister replies, "can change."

"Yes, I suppose they can." Malfoy sighs. "You know, I'm almost sad that it has come to this. We've always worked well together, haven't we Cornelius?"

THWACK!

Robespierre glared at Malfoy. "You will address him as minister, you poor excuse for a flobberworm."

"That'll be enough of that, guard," the Minister admonished. "I have my own methods of persuasion..."

Lucius paused as the Minister reached into his left pocket, fishing for whatever device he felt would convince Lucius Malfoy to betray his master. Fat chance of that, he thinks. The Cannons will win the Cup before I tell him anything. Still, he felt a morbid curiosity, which, he mused, may have been the only kind of curiosity the Dementors didn't suck right out of you.

"What I am holding here, old friend, are photographs taken at a rather large house just outside the city limits of Edinburgh, Scotland. I'm sure you are familiar with it?"

Lucius looked down at the photographs that Fudge has tossed on the table, and then looked up, grinning. "Well, goody for you, Minister! You've found my manor. How did you ever manage that? I mean, we've never had you over for dinner or anything of the sort. Jolly good detective work, old friend."

"I doubt you'll be in such a witty mood after you see the rest of the photos we've taken, Malfoy."

"Oh? What have you got? Me dancing around in my skivvies in the garden? Because I thought I had those burned."

"Just look at the pictures."

Malfoy did, and if Cornelius Fudge had survived that night, he would have told of the chill that ran up his spine when Malfoy looked back up. Because at that moment, he saw into the heart of Lucius Malfoy.

And what he saw was pure insanity.

* * *

Depression.

For the prisoners of Azkaban, depression is life. Depression is all. There are no glimmers of hope for them.

The Dementors will not stand for such a thing as hope.

But on this dark July night, depression is not all. Slowly, the prisoners begin to realize that some glimmer of happiness inside of them is rising. Memories of loved ones begin to surface. Slowly, hope begins to rise again.

Slowly.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, the Dark Lord smiled, and flicked his hand.

"Now, my pet."

* * *

In Azkaban Prison, all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Well, Lucius, what-"

Cornelius stopped mid-sentence as he heard an inhuman wail cut through the dark night. The interrogation forgotten, he rose from his chair, trembling. He turned.

And saw Lucius Malfoy sitting alone, laughing.

The Dementors...where were the Dementors?

Suddenly, all he saw was sweeping blackness. All he heard was Malfoy's laughter.

"Finish them off," he spat, though the Minister swore he heard the mirth in his voice. "The Dark Lord will be very pleased tonight indeed. Not only will his faithful servants be returned to him..."

The Dementor who had swooped down on the Minister pulled back its hood, revealing a face so hideous that he retched, in spite of the paralyzing terror that consumed him.

"...but his Dementors will feast."

As the Dementor lowered its face, Cornelius Fudge began to weep. After the Dementor fed, he stopped.

He would shed no more tears.

* * *

What happens to a soul when a Dementor administers its kiss?

Is it destroyed as it enters the blackness inside of the creature? Is it digested? Or is it imprisoned inside the Dementor, held screaming inside its new prison, pleading for an end, any end, to the never-ending darkness that has become their home? Only a few know. And on that dark July night, many more discover the fate of those souls.

And they tell no tales.

* * *

The Death Eaters walked out the front gates of Azkaban, now even further unhinged and more dangerous than ever before. Behind them, the screams of those prisoners who were unlucky enough to cross Lord Voldemort rise into the night, until they are suddenly, and cruelly cut off. Ahead of them slithers Nagini, loyal servant of Lord Voldemort, wounder of many. They reached a clearing, and a Death Eater named Terkuhle, the same one who had recently voiced the opinion that the Dark Lord had forsaken them, let out a joyful cry, and fell to his knees.

"The Dark Lord always provides...oh...thank you...thank you...my Lord..."

In the clearing lay a broom and a wand for each of them, along with a letter from the Dark Lord. Malfoy picked up the letter and began to read. A smile crossed his face.

"Mount up,"

A questioning look from Crabbe.

"We have work to do."

* * *

And in the darkness of that evil July night, though the magical governments of the world dutifully covered up the evidence and erased the proper memories, the Muggles of the world remembered enough to fill horror tales for generations to come. Tales of an enormous snake slithering toward some unknown goal. Stories of masked men on brooms raining fire down on the sky. Stories of unseen horrors that come in the night and destroy your very soul. Yes, the Muggles of the world saw much that night. And in the darkness of future nights, the nightmares come. The Muggles are lucky. Their nightmares come only at night.

In the magical world, the nightmare is life.