Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
Action Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 09/12/2004
Updated: 06/11/2005
Words: 341,488
Chapters: 30
Hits: 175,276

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

joe6991

Story Summary:
After the devastating events of Sword of the Hero, Harry is flung into a strange and unforgiving world as he struggles against fate and destiny to find a way back to the people he loves and to a war that is waiting for its leader. As the year progresses and the days grow progressively darker, will Harry rise and become the true hero the world desires, or will he fade and be defeated by the strongest evil to have ever lived....? A boy with the fate of two worlds on his shoulders must find the strength to stand by his morals, even if it means giving up the thing he wants the most.

Chapter 16

Chapter Summary:
Dark times, dark worlds, dark lives. Not much to do but watch the End play out as best we can, and hope Harry can prevent it. The Boy Who Lived is about to face one of his most powerful challenges yet - will he escape alive, or will disease and death claim him?
Posted:
02/12/2005
Hits:
5,618


Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 16 - Power of Existence

Deep inside of a parallel universe
It's getting harder and harder

To tell what came first

~~RHCP

April 27th

"Commander... Harry James Potter," a rough female voice croaked from within the Minister of Magic's office.

Mid-afternoon and the Ministry was buzzing with day-to-day activity. Owls and flying paper messages winged their way through and around the complex, workers worked, and a select few sat outside the office of the Minister.

Looking almost absently to his left and right, Harry shrugged at Sirius Black and entered the large ornate office room as his name was called, somewhat coldly and sharply. He, and a few of the members of his squad, had been called to the Ministry

(demand your presence on the 27th...)

a day ago by the oversight committee of the ever-effective International Confederation, which had sent a team of highly trained 'experts', who were here to decide whether or not Britain qualified for further international assistance.

Harry couldn't care less what they did, and - depending on their attitude - he was going to tell them so. His exploits over the past month had spread like wildfire to the ears of the strongest political-power wielders in the world. Other countries were, unfoundedly, troubled by his presence. The fact of the matter was, he was too powerful - a threat. Harry realised all this, and it did make him feel in control... if not a little queasy.

There was another reason for this complete waste of time though, and Harry knew the international community was being called into this war reluctantly, as it had been in his own world. They were afraid; it was simple human nature to flee from a stronger adversary. Britain had stood relatively alone for twenty years against the Dark Lord, and many parties had grown complacent.

Harry entered the office of the Minister and his eyes fell first on Bartemius Crouch himself, who was seated behind his desk. The Minister nodded to him professionally, showing no emotion upon his stern face. Harry then looked to the right of the desk - towards a woman who was seated at a smaller desk of her own, shuffling parchment in what appeared to be a cruel way to Harry.

Standing just inside the door, Harry waited for someone to say something - but neither the Minister nor this other witch was forthcoming with anything vital, so Harry sighed.

"Should I... should I pop back later?" he asked, shrugging.

The witch, who looked to be about in her late thirties - perhaps early forties - glared up at him sharply as if she had been disturbed in doing something important. Harry frowned in confusion. He hadn't interrupted her, he had come at her request and when she had called a minute ago.

"Take a seat," she said curtly, pointing towards the chair that was placed equally between the desk of the Minister and the committee witch, so everyone in the room had an equal view of everyone else.

Harry sat, and now that he viewed the woman from a closer position, he guessed that she was probably somewhere in her forties. Brown hair tumbled down to her shoulders, brown hair that was streaked with grey in many places. Age lines and wrinkles adorned her face in all the usual and expected places, and this helped to define her face and made her appear formidable.

At least formidable to most, Harry thought, looking down at the blood-stained bandage on his right hand. The black rose cuts that had appeared within a dream, that had encroached upon reality - broken a boundary, one might say - and cut his hand in about a dozen different places. Magic hadn't been able to heal these small wounds, some force prevented it, but where magic failed time would succeed. Formidable to most, not me though, not when I think of that... man... from the dream... or Voldemort.

"This is Madam Feldon, Mr. Potter," Bartemius Crouch said, his eyes clouded and dark - giving nothing away, except perhaps his distaste for this International Confederation representative. Harry made a small note of that.

"Good afterno-" Harry began.

"Let me make something very clear from the start, Mr. Potter," the Feldon woman began, somewhat angrily. "I've read the reports on you and your behaviour, and I have to say what I've read has shocked and appalled me, my superiors - some of the most influential people in the world - and the rest of the oversight committee.

"Your actions in most situations over the past month have been extreme, and we at the IC have no patience for such brutality and the disregard for human life that you have shown. This will be taken into account when we complete our investigation -"

"That's all you people do, isn't it?" Harry said suddenly, quickly losing his temper. His voice seemed to reverberate around the room, dwarfing that of this arrogant witch. "Investigate this and that, discuss whether or not to take action while people are dying. Don't lecture me on my actions - you don't know me! You've read reports that I've never seen to confirm or deny, they could say anything."

Madam Feldon glared, and lifted a pair of spectacles from around her neck up onto the bridge of her nose. She picked up a piece of parchment from on top of the pile in front of her, as Crouch coughed pointedly and looked warningly at Harry.

"These are IC confirmed reports, Mr. Potter," Feldon began, waving the parchment towards Harry. "Their validity need not be questioned, they are always accurate."

Harry shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and waved his bandaged right hand indifferently. "Blind faith is always idiotic," he mumbled, bringing his hand down to rest on the hard and possibly unbreakable piece of chest armour he wore beneath a pair of black robes. Basilisk armour that he had collected from the armourer's yesterday. "Let's get on with it then."

Madam Feldon glared once again and then began to speak about some IC law that Harry only vaguely listened to, he was thinking now about his armour - and that of his squad members. "Law 57, Paragraph 415 - proper use of magical force during times of conflict...."

****

Harry stepped into the dark and heavily scented armourer's shop along the busy street of Diagon Alley. He walked past the rows of swords and leather jerkins, past the rows of dragon armour and over towards Marcus Elendil, who sat behind the counter on a large wooden stool.

The tall man, his arms knotted with muscles, looked up as Harry approached and his smile was honest as he saw who had entered his shop. And why shouldn't it be? Harry had, after all, made the man a fortune with the basilisk hide.

Harry recalled the event a few days earlier, on the 22nd - when he had been sent a Portkey by owl post from Marcus, which he could attach to the basilisk hide down in the Chamber of Secrets, and have it transported to a warehouse owned by Marcus where he could slice and dice the hide - making some of the rarest and finest armour in existence.

Marcus had promised him a set of armour for each of his squad members within four days of receiving the hide, and he had delivered on that promise. Apparently working night and day enthusiastically on the task - having been the only armourer for centuries to work on the strongest hide in the world.

"Eight of the strongest sets in the world, Harry," Marcus said proudly, lifting a large trunk that was weightless onto the counter between the two of them. "Free of charge, of course. You've made me a very rich man."

"Happy to do it," Harry said, realising he'd have to levitate the weightless trunk - as his injured right hand couldn't take even the weight of an empty trunk.

"They're all yours," the large man continued, still smiling. "Trunk is weightless, take 'em whenever you like."

"How well do the test up against magic?" Harry had asked.

Marcus's smile grew. "I doubt nothing short of the Killing Curse will even tickle you, wearing what's in this trunk. Non-magical attacks would be pointless against this armour. You could be hit in the chest with a sledgehammer and not feel a thing. This stuff is not very thick or heavy, it doesn't need to be, and I doubt there's a harder substance in this world - or any other for that matter!"

Harry looked up sharply at the mention of another world, but he shrugged it off as coincidence. "Did you put the -er- the emblem on the front of the chest piece?" he asked.

Marcus nodded slowly. "Strange one that. Why did you want a white rose etched into the plate?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. Just seemed right... for some reason. Confuses the hell out of me, but it just seems... right."

Marcus remained silent and confused as Harry said his goodbyes, and levitated the trunk out of his shop. That Marcus never saw The Boy Who Lived again.

****

Harry blinked and fell out of his memories and back into the Minister's office. He stared for a moment at the IC witch with growing distaste, wanting to leave the room now without argument - saving them all a lot of trouble. That wouldn't be happening though.

"As I've said, Mr. Potter, the fact that you're underage and have been given almost total control over British Ministry resources is astounding. We at the International Confederation would like to know what the Minister was thinking! International feeling on this matter, amongst others, has completely shocked me and my superiors.

Crouch was silent but glaring, so Harry spoke. "Shocked you or scared you?" he asked, smiling politely.

Madam Feldon bristled. "Be warned, Mr. Potter," she began icily. "International law states quite clearly the punishment for war crimes-"

Harry laughed harshly, running a hand back through his hair as he did. "You and the countries you represent are not at war!" he laughed. "You've left Britain and to some lesser extent France to face the threat of Voldemort alone for over twenty years."

"This conflict was deemed minor by IC professionally trained assessors. International aid was all we were willing to offer - we had no need to commit forces to this war."

"Bollocks," Harry stated eloquently. "You were scared then and you're scared now - because Britain is close to falling, and if that happens Voldemort won't just call it quits here. No, you realised too late that this is a global threat, and now you're trying to make it look like you're doing something!"

Crouch coughed what could have been a murmur of approval at that, and Madam Feldon continued to glare. Harry began to think her face was stuck permanently in that expression. "You are not here to question the policy of the International Confederation, Mr. Potter," she growled. "Bear in mind that I will be making my assessment personally to the assembled Confederation in a week's time. Your chances for militarily assistance rest with me."

Harry frowned and waved his hand dismissively. "To be completely honest," he began, "I don't give a damn! Britain doesn't want or need your help - we'll stand alone, like we have done more than once over the last century."

"What do you mean?" Feldon fumed.

Harry scowled, and leaned forward in his chair. "Well, if I remember my history lessons correctly, Britain has so far faced Grindelwald and Voldemort alone over this past century. When it comes to dark wizards we seem to be some sort of starting point for their destruction. Do you know why that is? They're trying to destroy the biggest threat to their taking power.

"Britain is and will always be the strongest magical country on the face of the earth, and we won't forget this war, nor the other, when any of the countries you represent need assistance. Mark my words on that one!"

A cold silence fell over the Minister's office and Harry watched Madam Feldon gaping like a fish for a few seconds before she tried to reassert her control, and swing the argument back onto him.

"Mr. Potter," she said, gritting her teeth. "We are here today to discuss you... not past events. Behave yourself or I'll have no choice but to have you arrested for hindering an IC investigation."

Harry snorted a small laugh. "Whatever... let's get on with it then. Sooner it's done the sooner I can leave."

Madam Feldon continued to glare unwaveringly and Harry began to feel tired. "Very well. Let's start with the report of your apparent death six years ago in a dark wizard attack on... Diagon Alley. Care to explain what happened there?"

"No."

"Mr. Potter! You are bound by international law to answer my questions to the best of your ability. One more remark like that and you will be breaking the law. Believe me when I say I will not lose any sleep over having you incarcerated."

Harry couldn't have cared less at that point. "Next question," he said, forcing some power into his words that all took notice of. He was losing his temper.

Madam Feldon coughed to clear her throat and then produced a parchment file and began to recite a list of meaningless dates to Harry - accept until she reached events after March 21st of this year.

"Do you deny, Mr. Potter, that since your apparent resurrection a month ago - you've been responsible for the deaths of several dozen individuals. Using excessive force, which I would've thought unbelievable except for the hundreds of eye witness reports, and inciting panic amongst international communities."

Harry was nodding slowly as she said this, and when she had finished he turned to look at Crouch with a small smile on his lips. "Is anyone else hungry?" he asked. "What do you say we head out into Muggle London for some fish and chips?"

There was a loud slapping sound as Madam Feldon threw her file down onto the hard oak desk. "That does it, Mr. Potter. I find you to be inexcusably hostile and disruptive. The International Confederation will hear of this and you will be brought before them on charges of war crimes.

"You have just destroyed any chance of receiving international help during this conflict. You're a murderer, nothing more, and justice will see you properly punished. You use excessive force, violence in situations that don't require it. This is no place for world forces. Am I understood?"

Crouch was on his feet, his face flustered red as he opened his mouth to speak. Harry beat him to it.

"Yep, you're understood," he said, keeping his own temper in check. "But what I do... It's just the way it is. I do what I do because I live in the real world, where are you right now?"

Madam Feldon had risen as well, looking at Crouch for assistance and to see reason. He wouldn't give it, because he knew Harry was right. He turned to the IC woman and gave the United Kingdom's official statement on this matter.

"Britain doesn't want or need your help," Crouch said, echoing Harry, his voice deep and honest. "Go back to your precious Confederation and tell them that. It's too late, I realised that years ago but didn't back out because we could have used your help then. Not anymore though... I am officially withdrawing Britain from the International Alliance - because it means next to nothing to you cowards.

"You are excused, Madam Feldon, please take yourself and your committee to the nearest floo hub. We have a war to fight, and you are in our way."

Madam Feldon had paled considerably and was staring between Crouch and Harry in complete and utter disbelief. "You... you can't be serious-"

"I am serious, Madam," Crouch said, just as strongly as before. "Britain will deal with her own problems - the rest of you be damned. It will be a long time before we forget these last twenty years."

****

April 30th

Smooth, strong, polished wood flowed underneath Harry's rough and blistered hands. He ran his left hand down the length of the broom he would be riding for the Quidditch match in about half an hour, alongside his father and brother.

The WindStream, a racing broom of world standard. Able to accelerate from zero to a hundred and fifty miles per hour in just three seconds. Harry had never been on anything so fast in his life. He thought for a moment that the word 'stream' seemed rather poignant in the title of this broom - and marked it off as another strange coincidence.

"You almost ready, Harry?" James asked, pulling a pair of black robes on over his normal clothes. "Stands are really filling up out there."

"Ready whenever you are," Harry replied, grasping the broom handle and standing up.

There was a crash across the room and Harry ducked as another broomstick shot over his head and into the wall behind him. "What...?"

"Oops," growled a nervous voice, and Harry turned to face Dermas. "Been awhile since I got on a broom," he explained, grinning slightly. "Guess there wasn't enough room in here."

They were in the changing rooms beneath the Quidditch stands and Harry smiled and threw Dermas his broom back. "You'll be right," he said, thinking how the Dermas of his own world had managed on that fateful final day over a month ago. "It's like riding a bike."

Harry leaned against the wall and felt a rush of exhilaration. He was looking forward to playing Quidditch again, after being away from the sport for so many battle scarred months. Glancing around the changing rooms, he looked at his team mates. There was James and Michael, of course, Chasers the both of them. Michael's friend Connor Brady - a second year who Harry had never met anywhere before - was the third Chaser.

Connor stood at about five foot and was adorned with long, wiry blonde hair that covered his eyes so much that he was constantly pushing it back. Brown eyes that glittered with excitement were staring out from behind that hair now, occasionally glancing nervously towards Harry. Harry thought he'd do fine.

Sirius stood near Dermas and he was trying not to laugh at his attempts to mount his broom. Both he and Dermas would be the teams Beaters. Harry thought that that would be very interesting, and shook his head as Dermas fell to the ground.

The final member of the team was a fourth year Gryffindor that Harry vaguely remembered knowing in his own world. He didn't know her that well, but he recalled her name was Kimberly. She was the reserve Keeper for the Gryffindor house team in this world, and they had kindly leant her to them for the friendly match.

"Let's get ready then," James said excitedly, slinging his broom across his shoulders. "We want to make this last a good hour or so, so have some fun - don't catch the snitch in the first five minutes, Harry - and let's make it interesting."

Harry had forgotten, Oh how he had forgotten, how good it felt to be in the air above a screaming excited Quidditch pitch. He flew high after the Quaffle was released and didn't bother to search for the Snitch yet. He was simply absorbing the rush of joy that being above the stands gave him.

The WindStream seemed to respond to his very thoughts, gliding softly above the pitch in a slow zigzag pattern. Harry was the highest player in the air by far. He watched the other members of both teams flying back and forth at breakneck speeds across the sky, to the joy and entertainment of the hundreds of excited students in the stands.

He arched up slightly and sunlight was refracted off his glasses and into his eyes. He shook his head and blinked to clear his eyes and then fell a few feet as he caught sight of the small golden ball, twinkling in the sunlight dazzlingly. Instinct took over and he would have had it in a matter of seconds, if not for the fact that they were only five or so minutes into the game.

At the last moment, Harry pulled up and the golden ball fluttered past his right ear. He didn't make an attempt to follow it.

"A NEAR MISS FOR THE OLDER TEAM'S SEEKER, HARRY POTTER," a magically amplified voice bellowed from the announcer's box in the stands. Harry didn't recognise it.

He glanced quickly over at the Gryffindor team's Seeker, saw her looking up at him from several feet away, and then shoot off in another direction. Harry watched her flowing auburn-red hair streaming out behind her like a raging river, and then turned away from Ginny Weasley with his eyes closed - and a pain of longing in his chest.

He ignored it - what else could he do?

"PROFESSOR POTTER WITH THE QUAFFLE, ATTACKING THE GRYFFINDOR KEEPER AND TEAM CAPTAIN, RON WEASLEY, HEAD ON. HE'S ALL ON HIS OWN FOLKS - SCORE!"

Harry watched as cheers erupted from the crowd and Ron collected the Quaffle to throw back out to his team. 10-0 to us, he thought, putting on a burst of speed and rocketing to the other end of the pitch in mere seconds.

"FIRST BLOOD TO THE OLD GUYS," the announcer bellowed, and the game continued.

The cup-winners were quick to recover from that first goal, and scored three in quick succession, bringing the score to 10-30.

Harry watched the game from his high vantage point and spotted the Snitch twice during the next twenty minutes, during which the scores were tied off level at 50-50. He saw Ginny spotted it once but, just like him, she was waiting until the game progressed a bit further.

The crowd was wild and the cheers loud as Gryffindor pulled ahead by another two goals in the following five minutes. Since this was, primarily, a friendly match - the Beaters weren't attacking with the ferocity they would have if they were playing, say, Slytherin - so the scores continued to rise fast. At the end of half an hour, the scores were 70-90 to Gryffindor, and everyone was in good spirits.

James, Michael and Connor worked well together as Chasers - they were good, perhaps with the potential to be great, and they moved as one. The score was tied off again at 90 two goals later, and the crowds cheered wildly.

It was a hot cloudless day, and Harry was grateful for the cool airflow that blew around and into him up above the pitch. A small band of sweat had developed across his forehead, but that was to be expected. He glided effortlessly down in spirals, remaining above everyone else. His eyes scanned the field for the golden Snitch - but for now he couldn't see it.

Circling back up, Harry flew over to the goalposts at the opposite end of the field, and checked there for the elusive golden ball. He didn't see it, but that didn't deter him. Flying high again, Harry shook his head as a wave of unexpected dizziness washed over him.

That did no good - a sharp and cold bolt of pure pain ripped across his forehead mercilessly and Harry swayed on his broom as

Let the world slide. One real world is enough.

his vision grew dark and hazy. Harry froze, and his knuckles grew white with the strain upon which he grasped the broom handle. It was, again, to Harry that the entire world had become nothing more than a hazy picture on a poor television set.

It was more than that this time though - the black haze deepened, and the world all but disappeared before his eyes, leaving him in a... nothing of existence that was beyond freezing, and barren - a world of dark death and bitter ice.

Harry eye's snapped open quickly and viciously, his world once again flooding with harsh sunlight. Barely two seconds had past in this time, and he was flying over the Quidditch pitch, still the highest player in the air.

A deep, harsh rattling sound was emanating from somewhere and it took a shocked and shaken Harry a second to realise that it was himself struggling for breath through what he now realised was a frozen throat.

Confusion swept through his mind as he shivered uncontrollably and fell a few feet on his broom. He was so cold.... his hands were frozen to the handle of his broom, and he pulled one free with a crackling of ice and frost. It was a very hot day in this world, and he could see his breath condensing on the air into fog which dissipated almost instantly.

Heat washed into his system fast, like water in a flash flood, and it was a shock. An unrelenting stab of pain splintered into his skull and he fell further on the broom as his body coped with the shock of going from warm - to cold - to warm again in a matter of timeless seconds.

God.... what the hell is happening to me? he screamed this thought to his mind, as the pain began to lessen and his overall temperature began to stabilise. Shaken and scared, Harry descended half a dozen feet and decided he couldn't know the answer to his question, not yet. He had a rough idea as to what was happening - but that terrified him.

Not me, he thought. Everything else. Something is happening to... to reality... and I'm sensitive to it. I can feel it... because I shouldn't be in this version of reality. I'm not tuned to it.

Harry instinctively knew that to be true. Something was wrong with this world, perhaps all worlds, and he was the only one that could see it because he didn't belong. He wasn't part of the system - he was viewing it as an outsider, a wanderer in a foreign land. No one else could do that, no one else knew that anything was wrong.

Falling out of his thoughts, Harry swerved to avoid a wide bludger and caught sight of the Snitch hovering near the Gryffindor goal post about two hundred feet away. He didn't shoot after it but did mark its position. He had found over the years that sometimes the Snitch did like to hang around the goalposts.

"ANOTHER GOAL TO GRYFFINDOR!" bellowed the announcer, and the crowds exploded with approval. "THAT'S A HUNDRED AND TEN FOR THE CUP HOLDERS, AND NINETY FOR THE OTHER GUYS."

Harry tried to concentrate on the game, as it was one of the few things in his life he could actually enjoy doing, but he felt cold now - even in the heat. It wasn't like the cold he had felt a moment ago, it was the cold that fell upon him in the calm before a battle. His instinct could be used to describe it more accurately. He sensed, somehow - perhaps through magic - that something big was on the horizon, some huge battle that would be fought out of time, and this plane of existence.

It would be a battle for existence, he thought suddenly. A battle to save it from... from... Voldemort...? Perhaps, eventually, but there'll be something before that....

Harry felt another headache forming, and lost the concentration he had developed in that moment. Everything in his mind fell away like water through a sieve and he was left wondering what it could all mean.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORE AGAIN!"

Harry looked down upon his team mates below and saw everyone smiling and enjoying the game - having a good time - it looked like fun. He circled the pitch lazily a few more times, glancing in all directions for the Snitch half-heartedly - his tired and battle hardened mind otherwise occupied.

Time stretched on, as it had a way of doing, and the scores of the two opposing teams grew ever-larger, and the hunt for the Snitch was on for real now between Harry and Ginny. Harry's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of destiny and Voldemort - his Voldemort - though, and he didn't see the Snitch for at least ten minutes after Ginny had made a quick dive for it, and missed.

Like he had thought it would be, the golden ball was hovering just above the grass near the Gryffindor goalpost. Harry's sharp eyes connected with the tiny fluttering wings over three hundred feet away and up, and he fell into a quick dive for the ball.

His broom was unmatched, and Ginny Weasley was too busy searching at the other end of the field to see where the golden ball really was, when Harry made his move for the Snitch. For years after this game, most of the people who witnessed Harry's catch - for he did catch it - deemed it impossible, and yet somehow it had just... been.

Being rather famous and revered, all eyes were upon the falling lone Seeker as he descended for what must have been the first time in over an hour. Guiding the broom with subtle touches here and there, Harry fell fast and locked his legs tightly around the wooden beam between them.

He let go of the broom, his arms rising slowly - gracefully - and controlled it with his locked legs. Barely six feet above the ground, Harry flicked his right leg hard and the broom spun him upside down, so he was flying at an amazing speed along the length of the field towards the goalposts, his fingers brushing the finely cut grass of the pitch.

"AND WHAT IS POTTER DOING!?" cried the announcer, and then answered his own question. "HE'S GOING FOR THE SNITCH! NEVER IN ANY QUIDDITCH MAT-"

Harry drowned out all sound until he could only hear the small buzzing that emanated from the flapping gold wings, and just as he reached the goalposts - where the Snitch hovered now a foot or so away - Harry leaned back upside down, pulled his legs downward on the broom's tail and reached out to win the game with his left hand.

It was all over in the blink of an eye, as Harry flipped in the air - now flying away from the goalposts the right way up, and holding the Snitch victoriously as, slowly at first, cheers of surprise and then admiration bellowed from the assembled stands.

Harry had secured the victory for his team and they were now flying around the pitch above him happily, slapping one another on the back - shaking hands with the students of the Gryffindor house team. Sirius flew down at one point and grasped Harry on the shoulder before flying high into the sky again. Harry didn't even feel it - Sirius was supposed to be dead, and is addled mind insisted it was so.

Alone again, Harry dropped the Snitch and dismounted his broom near the edge of the pitch by the alley between the stands where he could exit back up to the castle. Turning his back on the loud cheers, Harry left the pitch and as he did another sharp nail of pain was hammering in his mind.

Staggering slightly, the Boy Who Lived died a little more.

****

Harry was floating... he was floating and dying defiantly. His jeans hung torn and bloody around his waist and he was bare-chested, with more blood and dirt staining his chest and arms. He was standing almost naked against eternity.

"Renounce the fight!" an all consuming, utterly satanic and purely evil voice cried from somewhere within or around Harry and the darkness he could see. "Die, mortal. Die with innocent blood seeping into your soul...."

It seemed to Harry, as he stood there in the darkness - battle worn and dying - that he was observing himself speak from outside of his broken body. That he was just a bystander as he... himself... Harry Potter... defied the voice of Death - of Evil itself.

"There are thorns everywhere, but along the path of vice, roses bloom above them," Harry said, his voice strong and powerful despite the dying condition his body was in.

"Rose or not nothing can deny me," the Demon of evil incarnate replied, mocking the lone hero. "Defiance will always be wrought in blood, in death. Redemption will never be yours, Potter. To postpone the inevitable only costs billions of worlds their existence. END IT!"

Harry smiled and his grin revealed several missing teeth and the ones that were there were bloodied red. "Beelzebub, that you?" he cried into the darkness. "That is not dead which can eternal lie. Yet with strange aeons even Death may die."

Laughing into the darkness, Harry - the Harry seemingly floating around his own body - felt the demon in the darkness roar with anger and fury. He almost cowered away when bright spots of light flooded the area around his body, and the demon itself was shown.

It was the smiling, laughing man from his other dreams - and the floating Harry screamed in fear, but he saw that his body - himself - didn't even flinch, but smiled. The demon wasn't smiling now though, its male face was twisted in a grotesque image of hate, anger, and... was it fear?

"How utterly pointless everything you have ever done is!" exclaimed the demon, twirling a dark black rose between his fingers - deftly avoiding the thorns.

Harry watched himself laugh. "Not pointless - unique!"

Cold ice flared in the eyes above the roughly stubbled face of the demon, and the black rose exploded in his hands - dark sparks rained down upon the two of them. "Value your words, Potter. Each one may be your last...."

"That's not for you to decide," Harry heard himself say. "Destiny - God - has already decided that for us." Harry heard himself say that, but he got the feeling that, somehow, he was beyond destiny - and making his own.

The demon grinned now, and it stretched from ear to ear - but to Harry it looked like a grimace of pain. His eyes began to bleed and his forehead tore open, revealing - for just a moment - its true form. Hideous, seething, bloated flesh assaulted Harry's eyes, and then it spoke.

"Do I look like someone who cares what God does?" he cackled, and then was gone.

In the magical community, and the Muggle one, many thoughts and opinions have been given over the significance of dreams. Some see them as the mind replenishing itself, cleaning out the refuse to make way for new energy and thought. Others see them as our consciousness speaking for itself, and others still consider them prophetic to some degree.

No one knew for sure what the purpose of dreaming was, but to Harry it was only a cause of constant suffering.

Days of almost sleepless hassle passed in this strange-familiar world for Harry. He awoke feeling tired and dejected - waiting for something to happen for almost two weeks into May.

After the Quidditch match, Harry had thrown himself into the protection of this world. First by having the Ministry wards remapped and recast, under his, Crouch's, and Dumbledore's key signature. This little change wasn't made known to the Ministry at large, so hopefully if any spy within the government attempted to bring down the old wards, he would find nothing and unmask himself in the process. It was only the beginning, but really all they could do at the Ministry.

There was outrage in the international community when it became public knowledge that Britain had withdrawn from the International Alliance, and only France - who had some idea of the horrors of this war - understood Britain's position. Crouch immediately went on the offensive and the cries began to die down a week after they had begun.

Nothing - at all - was seen or heard from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Recruitment agents were no longer sighted anywhere, and people began to fall into a hopeful calm, a premature calm, and at times Harry thought that he was the only one who remained alert. He knew he wasn't, but everything had grown so lax in so short a time. It was unnerving.

Harry spent his days pondering the riddle to the location of Slytherin Fortress, and growing increasingly fatigued and worried as the world seemed to fall apart around him, and everyone carried on as if that were normal. He hadn't breached this topic with anyone yet - say... Dumbledore - and he wasn't about to. Harry was alone in this world.

All around him were familiar strangers, and enemies. It was dark and getting darker, and the dawn seemed forever away.

Tired grey bags hung heavily under Harry's eyes every hour of every day. Sleep, even with dreamless sleep potion, rarely lasted more than four hours a night, or early morning to be more specific. He was tired, beyond tired, but everything was happening and nothing was happening at all.

It was like the calm before the storm, except the calm wasn't so calm. It was a madness before the storm. Whatever was happening to this world, to existence, was draining him physically as he continued to grow stronger magically. It was killing him, and he could do nothing about it until the equinox.

"You look tired," Sirius had commented.

Harry had laughed bitterly. "This world looks no better," he had replied. "And I think all the others are on the edge as well. But don't worry, you can't see it, and I'll fix it."

He had said that to Sirius and it had left him confused, he had said it to himself as he was trying to fall asleep and felt certain that it would never be that simple or easy. This was another riddle, he realised, a larger much more complex riddle - and everything hung on his solving it, soon.

****

May 15th

May 15th was one of the hottest May days in over twelve years. Harry awoke early - four thirty in the morning, after falling asleep just after midnight - and wondered what the hell he was going to do today. There was nothing for him to do, really, until he found Voldemort or the equinox rolled around.

The dark humour wasn't lost on him. He had been nearly killed almost more than once a week over the last four months, he had broken the boundary between universes, he was at the head of more than one war - and yet he was bored. Or more specifically, frustrated.

Nothing was happening, and that was tiring him - and making him feel useless.

Breakfast that morning consisted of a small goblet of pumpkin juice and a few slices of toast pilfered from the kitchens where - Harry had noticed with some remorse - there was no Dobby. For all he knew, the house elf was still enslaved to the Malfoy's or didn't even exist in this world.

There was a meeting to be held today with his team but that wasn't for a good eight hours, and Harry doubted anything productive would actually occur then. There were no attacks - anywhere - and Voldemort was in hiding. They were searching high and low but magic had a way of making sure if you didn't want to be found you probably wouldn't be.

So Harry did what he had been doing almost on a daily basis the past fortnight. He went to the library and walked through the stacks, summoning various magical books to him as he approached one of the wooden tables near the large, sparkling window that looked out over the lake.

It could never hurt, he thought, to know more defence magic.

He wasn't just learning defence though, as that would never keep him alive for long. The best defence is always a good offence, so Harry spent his afternoons away from the library, and used the Room of Requirement to practice magic of a more... darker nature.

A duelling platform sat square in the middle of the requiring room, and on it stood three dozen wooden dummies, all arranged in a square - surrounding an attacker who stood within the middle of the square.

At that moment, the attacker was Harry, and at that moment he was lost deep in his thoughts and magic. Standing unflinchingly, making not a single sound, barely drawing more than short gasps of breath, Harry meditated - for use of a better word - with his eyes closed and his palms glowing with dangerous light.

The air crackled around him with magic as he fell further into the vast resource of power that dwelt within him - calling it forward, harnessing it in a way no other wizard or witch ever had.

"Come on..." Harry whispered, shaking from the rush of pure magic surging through every one of his veins.

Harry had been practicing this for the past few days, and he was slowly developing a skill he thought would be unmatched - by anyone. Blue sparks of power, of electricity and fire, rippled and burnt across his arms, right up to the shoulder which was protected by the basilisk armour.

"Yes..."

Over the past year, in both worlds, Harry had noticed the crackling blue sparks of power that rippled on his skin when he was feeling very emotional, in particular when he was angry or in the heat of a battle. He hadn't ignored or forgotten this strange display of power, and was working on a way now to harness that phenomenon, and use it as a weapon.

There was the hum of magic and electricity in the air; all of Harry's senses were reacting to it. He could smell the sting of it, feel the flow of it, and taste the purity of it...

Harry opened his eyes.

For a moment the same blue fire that rippled up and down his arms shone behind his emerald green eyes, and they glowed blue for a few seconds. Then he lost control, as his arms were wreathed in the blue electric fire. It didn't hurt him; it never could, as it was a part of him, but large jolts of flame erupted in every direction from his coated arms, and wreaked destruction upon the room.

Two dozen of the spell dummies exploded into hundreds of splinters of useless wood and went whistling through the air as they were struck with the full intensity of the electric fire. The walls were pockmarked with black, sooty burns - as were the floors - and dust from the broken stone rained down around Harry.

"AH!" he cried, and brought his powerful arms together, dispelling the blue flame and breathing heavily.

Collapsing to one knee, Harry struggled for breath for a moment and looked around at the destruction. Not bad, he thought, getting better and quicker anyway. Just got to learn to direct it and keep it controlled.

A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he exited the room.

Later that evening Harry re-entered the Room of Requirement and found no signs that it had been very nearly destroyed that afternoon. He hadn't expected to find any signs either, like he hadn't the other few days he'd been experimenting with this force.

However, he did find seven people waiting for him around a large ornate circular table, and as Harry entered the room a vase of large and elegant white roses appeared out of thin air with a spark of magic. This didn't surprise any of the eight people now in the room, as Harry had been doing it for the last four meetings - ever since they'd received the armour with the rose engraved upon it.

All of those present found it somehow fitting, and yet couldn't think of any reason why. Harry didn't know either.

"You look beat, kid," Sirius offered as Harry sat down. "What's getting you down?"

Harry yawned and twisted his head until his neck clicked with a satisfying crack. "Bored to tears," he said with a rough smile. "Pulling twenty hour days and hardly doing a thing."

Dermas clicked his teeth thoughtfully. "Dreamless sleep potion keepin' you awake?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't help much anymore, no," he replied, and caught all of the worried glances directed towards him. "But let me handle that... any news?"

The Indian man Art Nuan, who was stroking his beard, spoke up first. "Bounty hunter sightings have been down to a minimum over the last few weeks, Commander," he said calmly. "Your... no tolerance... approach, has rattled most of them - especially after you stopped BlackDragon-1, who were held as one of the elite in the bounty hunter community."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Sophia, French Aurors?"

Sophia Tréla, the blonde haired duellist who was extremely quick on the draw, drew a small smile. "Approve of Britain's withdrawal from the International Alliance. There is talk of a greater alliance between our two nations, a recognised alliance that will result in more Aurors from France coming here."

Nodding again, Harry turned to Nymphadora Tonks. "Any news from the Ministry concerning Voldemort, or that riddle to his fortress?"

"None whatsoever," Tonks replied dejectedly. "It just doesn't make any sense. Nothing... there's nothing. No sign of Death Eaters or even the recruitment wizards anymore. Dementors are still missing as well."

"Do we still think he'll attack the Ministry?" Thomas Fright asked, and Grace Arnair nodded in agreement.

"Perhaps," Dermas said, shaking his head. "Though Voldemort's not stupid. He'll know Harry can be at the Ministry in seconds, if needs be, and that will put an end to any attack quickly."

Silence for a few thoughtful moments.

"Then Harry's life may be in danger," Sirius said, and then caught his tongue as he realised he'd just stated the bleeding obvious. "Well... you know what I mean...."

"No, I don't think we do," Dermas said, smiling.

Sophia had understood better. "The Commander's life may be in danger because he can stop any possible attack against the Ministry. The first new attacks might fall here first, in an attempt to kill him and leave this world basically defenceless."

"Good point," Fright nodded. "It may not even be a full blown attack - could be something small..."

Harry had been tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the side of his chair, and looking longingly at the pale band of skin on his index finger where the silver ring he had received from Ginny had sat since Christmas until March 20th. His Ginny had kept that ring when he had stepped into the boundary. It was his promise to her that he was coming back.

"Whatever happens will happen," he told them. "I'm probably going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life - however long that will be - and I've survived this far on my own. Let them do their worst."

"That seems rather reckless, Commander," Sophia commented, arching her left eyebrow.

Harry sighed. "It's not realistic that I can, or should, be guarded twenty four hours a day - no. I'll just carry on as I have been, always assuming the worst."

The white roses in the centre of the table gleamed with moisture and seemed to sparkle in the torch light. Harry's eyes glazed over in confusion as he beheld them, and he fell into his thoughts and memories - not hearing the discussion continuing around him.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still aflying, And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

Shuddering as that verse appeared in his mind out of nowhere; Harry shook his head and returned to the world of the living. When he fell back into the discussion, Sirius had just mentioned something important.

"The dark detectors around the school were re-cast today," he said. "They'd been growing weaker over the last few years - getting too much use, so they were taken down and cast again by Dumbledore. He made a few modifications, but this is the first time in over a century they've been renewed. It should be stronger."

"That's good," Harry nodded absently.

The conversation carried on for a good few more hours into the night, and near midnight Harry crawled into his bed up in Gryffindor Tower - tired beyond measure. Sleep didn't come easy, it probably never would again, but it did eventually come. He had nightmares, in which he destroyed worlds, and grappled with the demon.

****

May 30th

HOPE IS BUT A WAKING DREAM

Special Correspondent Felice Garnet

Have we seen the end of the Dark War and just
not realised it? Has this month of peace been the
beginning of a new era in which we may live in a
world free from war?

Thirty eight days have past since the last reported
sight of a Death Eater was confirmed in the
British Isles, and our society has timidly begun to
prosper and rebuild itself after twenty years of
horrific war. But is all this peace just a farce
, a
false peace.

The Ministry, after shocking the world by removing
the United Kingdom from the International Alliance,
warns us all to still be on our guard, that the threat
is still there. You-K
now-Who lives, as do his armies,
and attack could come at anytime.

Our dark world has been getting progressively lighter
over the last two months, with the hope of the people
falling on the shoulders of a sixth year Hogwarts student.
There is probably not a single magical person in Britain
that hasn't heard of Harry Potter.

Heroism has been shown in many forms over the last
twenty years - through the efforts of each and every
one of us who have been desperately trying to hold on
and make a difference.
But we were still only just
surviving.

Given a field commission as a Commander in our
armed forces, Harry Potter has turned this war around
for the Light - and whilst we relax back into the relative
comfort of peace, Potter and the Ministry are searching
the world for You-Know-Who.

We have grown too relaxed in the months we have been
free from attack.
The Prophet, would like to take this
opportunity to remind our readers that we are still at
war, that we are not free from evil yet.

As the great wizard Aristotle once said, hope is a
waking dream. Don't fall asleep Britain, use this time
of peace we have to build your home defences, report
anything you see
as suspicious to the Ministry by Owl,
and above all remain
vigilant.


cont. 2

Albus Dumbledore drained his goblet of pumpkin juice and glanced out above his copy of the Prophet at the sea of young faces that sat before him at their house tables. For the first time in he didn't know how long - perhaps fifteen years - he saw the laughing, smiling, carefree faces of youth, and realised most of them had already put the war to the back of their minds.

The blow will be worse when Tom returns, Dumbledore thought. It may be calm now, and every one of them may have lived their entire lives under the threat of war, but they're growing careless nonetheless.

Dumbledore pondered this for a moment, and then decided they had ever right to. School children shouldn't have to live in a war, let alone fight in one. His thoughts then turned to Harry Potter, and the role he played on a universal scale. It was huge; there was more to that boy than just two worlds.

In time he may learn how much, but Dumbledore believed Harry would - perhaps one day soon - reach above the power of those who control the way between worlds. That could be extraordinary, too grand even for his mind to comprehend. His thoughts returned to what seemed a smaller issue, when put aside one of Harry's.

The disappearance of Voldemort. April and May nothing had been seen, or heard, and that was the longest absence in twenty years. Any day now, Dumbledore thought. Any day we're going to be attacked - somewhere. If anything, this bout of peace was more unnerving than knowing Voldemort was active.

As if his thoughts had awoken the devil, Dumbledore suddenly felt a disturbing pull at the back of his mind, a moment later Fawkes, his brilliant phoenix, appeared before him with an ear-splitting cry of dismay.

Dumbledore was on his feet in a second, just as an almighty roar shook the Great Hall. It was the call of some wild animal, and everyone in the Hall jumped as if stung. Everyone except Dumbledore, who was already racing down between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw house tables, Fawkes flying before him.

He's back, was Dumbledore's only thought, and then another ear-wrenching cry filled the castle. Dumbledore's old heart was pounding in his chest - he knew what animal that cry belonged to... dear God... How could he not know when that same animal had almost killed him one hundred years ago in East Africa....

Pounding, loud and desperate, splintered the castle doors in the Entrance Hall, as Dumbledore ran in panting. He immediately sealed the Great Hall doors behind him, protecting his charges first, and then pooled all his magic for some reinforcing spells to place on the bending and cracking main entrance.

He was just about to cast his spells when the assault on the castle doors ceased, and Dumbledore heard a new animal cry - one he associated with an eagle. The pieces fell into place quickly from there, and Dumbledore paled as he figured it out.

Not an eagle, but a griffin... Harry... no!

****

Five minutes earlier

Harry had made his way up through the castle to the Astronomy Tower in the early morning. He sat once more upon the wall built along the balcony of the tower, and gazed out almost unseeingly at the world.

Between his hands which rested just above his lap blue electric-fire jumped from one palm to the other. Harry's control over his enormous power had grown tremendously over the last three weeks, as he had been practicing it almost five or six hours a day. It was all about willpower, he had realised about one and a half weeks ago - and Harry had willpower enough to control this blue magic.

Extending the power, his hands were completely enveloped in crackling blue light, that flowed smoothly and without breaks in a dazzling river of power. Concentrating further, he brought it up above his wrists, the tingling feeling on his skin reminding him that this power had the potential to disintegrate a human being.

Up to his elbows was as far as Harry dared to go, and if he could have seen his eyes he would have noticed that they had started to glow blue as well. With a thought and a jerk of his fire encased arms, Harry made the flame dissipate and for a moment he watched his glowing blue veins fade away.

Then he heard the cry - a cry that was both unknown and deadly. Almost in a blur Harry raised his head and looked down towards the castle gates, at which point his heart jumped into his throat. My God, I-

Almost unaware of what he was doing, Harry stood up and realised he was about to jump off the castle again - something he had done more than once over the last few months - with a cry of exhilaration mixed with mingled fear and doubt, Harry felt the wind in his hair.

He was wearing long black denim jeans and a white polo shirt over his basilisk armour, and as he fell they transformed with him into his Animagus form, the griffin. He screeched with fury as he saw the beasts tearing up the castle grounds towards the Entrance Hall.

Wings flew open and caught the air, buffeting Harry back up several dozen feet, before his instinct to fly took over and he angled his wings and head so he was streamlined towards the ground. The castle fell behind him as the ground approached - and Harry saw that these muscular beasts were now already clawing and screaming at the barred castle doors.

He's back, was Harry's thought as he fell. This is a message, he's not gone - it's going to be worse in the long run. Die, Potter, die.

Time seemed to slow down for Harry as he approached the leopard-like creatures, two of them, that were ripping apart the doors to the castle. And in that time he tried to think what he knew about the magical beast known as the Nundu.

The Nundu!

What he knew wasn't much, and unfortunately very disheartening. Considered to be the most dangerous animal in existence... that is usually native to East Africa.... resembles a leopard. How Voldemort had found and controlled a pair he may never know. Its breath was perhaps its biggest defence, carrying death and disease that had wiped out hundreds upon hundreds of people and villages in Africa. As far as Harry knew, nothing less than a hundred wizards working as one had ever brought down a single Nundu.

And I'm only one wizard, and there's two of the buggers. This could be interesting... and probably painful.

Despite the danger, Harry felt good to be fighting and flying again, to be on the edge and know what needed to be done. Voldemort was reaching out for power again, and this was an attempt to kill Harry, as he knew only Harry would face these beasts at Hogwarts, and show the world that know one can stand against him.

Clever, Harry thought, but fancied his chances against these monsters nonetheless. Just have to stay clear of their breath... that's all.

With his heightened griffin senses, Harry's head rattled when the beasts roared again. He could also smell their stink; it smelt of decay and death. Screeching himself as he banked in the air and came at the nearest monster from above, Harry dug his infinitely sharp talons into the corded muscular hide of the Nundu attacking the door.

He arched his wings back and above his strong body and just hung in the air for a moment, dust and debris whirling around in the wash of air he had created with his powerful wings. His talons barely punctured the spotted hide of the first Nundu, and no sooner had Harry tried than the beast cried out and fell low in his grasp.

The other Nundu wasted no time identifying and attacking the threat. Each of them were roughly the size of an African rhinoceros, and as Harry's claws were ripped free of the first beast, the second pounced from the bottom of the stone steps and Harry, as a griffin, was crushed between one Nundu and the other, with the former biting and clawing at any and all exposed flesh.

Harry was grounded now, as he grappled with these two dangerous and unbelievably powerful animals. One of his wings was bent and flattened against the castle doors as the first Nundu lay underneath him and the other one attacked his still flapping left wing.

Roaring and screeching filled the air and Harry felt white hot pain in one of his hind legs. He turned his eagle head and saw that it was in the jaws of the Nundu beneath him, and blood was already freely flowing. Under all of their combined weight, the stone beneath them cracked and Dumbledore, who stood just the other side of the door, was thrown off his feet as shockwaves trembled through the ground.

Harry screeched again and, with all of his strength, threw the Nundu that was tearing at him from above off and over, where it landed with a thud forty feet away - just the other side of the castle driveway and on a small grassy embankment.

Free from the burden on top of him, Harry spun and righted himself, and with another cry jumped and tore his leg free from the other beast's jaws. He opened his wings as best he could and fell tumbling into the ground on the gravel driveway several dozen feet away. Back on his paws and talons in a flash, Harry backed up as both Nundus growled deeply in their throats and began to circle him.

Well, he thought, and even the voice in his head sounded strained and in pain, at least they're not gonna get into the castle.

Harry limped backwards, his head low and eyes on his enemies. He cawed and flapped his wings instinctively. His sharp eyes made out a faint green mist rising from the jaws of the Nundu's and he knew that would kill him, or at the least make him very, very sick.

There was a patch of fur missing from both of the Nundus, just on the lower left side of their muscular bodies. Tattooed onto this bare skin was the Dark Mark. Doubt, if there had ever been any, fled from Harry's mind. He knew who was responsible for this.

Adrenalin pumped through his entire system, and that helped dull the pain he felt in his back leg and in the right wing which was slightly bent at that tip. Harry thought that if he transformed back into his human form now, he may have a fractured shoulder bone.

Gravel crunched under the weight of the stinking, sweating beasts, and Harry could feel the power building up in their back legs as they attempted to pounce. The one on his right, nearest to the castle doors pounced first. It felt uncomfortably like getting hit by a sledgehammer, and Harry was sent tumbling back, cutting his folded wings on the gravel as the beast rolled with him.

The second Nundu fell short as it pounced, and began to jump again, as Harry scratched and bit the monster on top of him. It was doing just as much to him and dozens of small feathers fell from his neck which began to bleed - though thankfully not too deeply.

The hide of the Nundu was so strong that it felt as if he was throwing his eagle's beak into stone, and digging his claws into steel. Harry's lions hide was not as strong, but it was tough and he would have been long dead if it was anything else.

Anything else except for maybe my armour-

The second Nundu was upon him, and the three of them became one huge tangled mess of limbs, fur, and flying feathers. The gravel upon the driveway was marred with blood in long streaks from all of the creatures, and several of the small stones were embedded in Harry's back.

CAW!

Harry screeched and bit a chunk of the nearest Nundu's nose clean off, and was rewarded with a sharp claw digging deep into his exposed side, retracting and drawing blood.

Harry kicked with his powerful hind legs, and sent one of the beasts skidding and flipping across the rough gravel. It growled and flipped itself back onto its legs and was already coming back at Harry as the other one fell off him.

With a little more effort this time, Harry made it back into a standing position as he faced off with the beasts, who were circling him predatorily. Blood dripped from his beak and from the jaws of the large leopard-like creatures. Knowing instinctively that he couldn't show any sign of weakness, Harry bit back a screech of dismay.

I'm losing, he thought. Why did I even think I could win? Two hundred wizards would have a hard time taking down these creatures.

Blood flowed quickly from his exposed side and from dozens of other cuts and scrapes across his entire body. His back leg throbbed with bitter pain and one of the claws on his right talon had been snapped off. A loss, probably, of a fingernail or two in his human form.

The Nundu's seemed, for all of Harry's efforts, unharmed. Except for a few cuts, one or two quite deep, and for the large chunk missing from one of their noses - they were still strong and undefeated.

Harry was standing in such a position that he could see the castle doors, and he saw that Dumbledore stood at the top of the cracked stone steps, that were slick with blood, with his wand drawn, and a cloud of purple magic growing around him. Harry didn't know what it was, but he saw both of the Nundu's glance quickly in the Headmaster's direction before turning back to Harry.

They thought him the bigger threat, and time would show that these monsters were correct.

They came at him again in unison, powerful legs pounding up and down on the gravel drive, green mist trailing out behind them. They only produce the poison breath when they're not moving, Harry thought, and have to expel it when they are...

Harry braced his back legs as the first one hit him head on. BOOM! The griffin was shook to his very being from the impact, but managed to hold his ground, pushing back against the Nundu.

It may have been over for Harry if the second one had made it to him, but Dumbledore's magic slowed it down. Working quickly, the Headmaster had cast a spell that forced a large chunk of earth and rock to thrust itself up out of the driveway, blocking the path of the second Nundu. This beast was travelling so fast that it ran straight into this newly created obstacle and it cracked down the middle, forcing the Nundu down onto its knees.

The rock exploded in a cloud of dust, and it only took the second Nundu a second to get back to his feet, but Harry got one over on the other beast because of it.

Just as the Nundu hit the rock wall, Harry was standing on his hind legs, wings flapping wildly and instinctively, and grappling with the other Nundu that also stood on its hind legs. Wind caught in his exposed wings and lifted him up several feet off the ground, streamlining over the imperfect bent wing was impossible, so he spiralled back down on top of the Nundu.

Biting and slashing as fast and as viciously as he could, Harry succeeded in ripping a large chunk of flesh from the scruff around the leopard-like neck. The Nundu screamed in fury and pain and flattened itself on the ground in an attempt to escape Harry's attack. Harry's weight came down on top of the beast though, and he continued to rip and tear at the creature.

He may have actually killed it then and there, but his expert sight caught the tendrils of green mist rising from its mouth and before it could reach him Harry attempted to turn and flee the sickness.

He did turn, removing his claws from the beast's back, and was instantly slashed viciously across the face from the extended paw of the other monster that was directly behind him. Harry stumbled to the side, shock and disbelieve rolling through the human part of his mind. The left side of his face felt numb... and... and...

The claw of the beast had popped his left eye.

Blind, he thought, almost calmly. It's blinded me... on the left side... shit... damn.

Another upthrust of rock erupted beneath the Nundu that had just ruptured Harry's left eye, and carried it up several feet before the force threw it higher up into the air than the rock extended, and it came tumbling back down - hitting the ground with earth shattering weight and power.

Stumbling on his bleeding and bruised claws and paws, Harry was in shock and pain. The world spun in confused circles as he could only see out of his right eye, and he couldn't see the Nundus anywhere - nor would he have had the mind to do anything if he could.

Something heavy and powerful impacted painfully against his bleeding side and Harry was thrown to the ground, the air rushing from his lungs and he was unable to draw more with the Nundu on top of him. Suddenly the effort of remaining in his griffin form became too much, and Harry vaguely felt and saw himself changing back.

Just before he did, his good right eye saw more people than Dumbledore gathered on the steps of the castle. He saw James, Lily, Sirius, Sophia Tréla, and Dermas Trask - all standing alongside Dumbledore with their wands drawn, attempting to cast magic to help Harry. They were keeping the other Nundu from reaching him with a range of transfiguration and barrier spells.

Surprisingly, Harry felt the weight of the Nundu lessen as he reverted to his human form. The pain in his body increased tenfold, but the weight lessened. This was because the right paw of the Nundu was resting on his basilisk armour. His body area had shrunk, and he supposed it was lucky that the other paw wasn't on him - if it had been he would definitely know it.

Harry's face was a mess - marred with dust, sweat, and blood both dry and wet. Worst of all... the remains of his left eye were stuck to his cheek like a glob of jelly. He had no glasses and was down to only one eye. It didn't look good.

Dozens of long cuts stretched up and down his body, the most serious being the deep slash on his side which was now buried beneath the near-impervious basilisk armour, which was saving his life.

"HARRY!"

"COMMANDER, GET-"

ROOOAAARRR!

Harry cried out in pain as the Nundu on top of him spewed forth toxic green fumes from between its teeth. Unable to avoid it or stop himself, as his lungs were screaming out for air from when he had been winded a few seconds ago, Harry breathed in the sickness in long shuddering gasps.

He felt nothing, but his thoughts were becoming more coherent. He had been through so much over the years that even now he still had a hell of a lot of fight left in him.

It can't end like this, he thought. It doesn't seem right... doesn't seem fair. I'm supposed to stand against Voldemort.

The Nundu's paw was still pressing down upon him, and out of the corner of his only eye, in his peripheral vision, he saw the second one charging unhindered towards him, breaking past the obstacles in its path almost effortlessly.

This just keeps getting better and better, he thought with a sardonic humour he didn't think he should have right now - not one he was dying in more than one way... blood loss, the Nundu's poisonous breath.

Amazingly, Harry found that his arms still worked. There were several cuts up and down them and he had lost one or two fingernails, but they remained unbroken and he had full movement with them as the Nundu on top of him was attempting to scratch through his basilisk armour, tossing him back and forth several feet as it did this.

As if in response to his dire need, to his undeniable will to live and fight, blue fire erupted from his hands and encased his arms right up to the shoulder, just as he had practiced. When he had spent time learning the magic, he had always lost control if he tried to reach his shoulders with the blue electric-fire.

But now it seemed like second nature to him, that he had full command of all the powers of the universe surging through his fingertips. If truth be told, that wasn't far from the truth.

Bright blue light coursed through his entire body, highlighting the blood in his veins, making it appear faint blue. His arms were swirling and crackling with the power and they couldn't be seen beneath the blue fire. His right eye, his only eye, glowed as well, faintly compared to the bright blue light spilling out of the bloody and jelly encrusted hole that was his left eye socket.

The magical blue fire was, of course, harmless to Harry - not that he could be much more harmed than he was now - but he had seen what this power could do to the magical dummies he had used it upon, and the coherent part of his conscious mind felt a glimmer of hope and... lust.

He wanted to kill these creatures that had hurt him so personally - effectively blinding him.

Power exploded and the world shook. Dumbledore sensed it first and quickly pushed all of the others around him back into the castle, closing the doors behind him and bolstering them with every ounce of magic in his ancient body.

Harry saw them go and was thankful they were out of harm's way, as he couldn't stop this explosion of power even if he had tried to.

His arms erupted in pure blue lightning, long forks that shot forth and up in every direction. The ground around Harry was scarred deeply and burnt black as bolt after bolt of the fire-lightning reduced it to ash and dust. Acting purely on his survival instinct, Harry raised his arms and clasped both of his flaring hands onto the sides of the Nundu's face.

Not even a cry issued from the most powerful magical beast in the world, as its head was instantly disintegrated to nothing. Its body was thrown away by the lightning forks that shot from his arms, and the other Nundu, which had been approaching Harry fast, sensed his power and made an attempt to turn tail and run.

Not a chance, Harry thought, and directed his power towards the other beast.

Streaks of blue fire tore through its body, leaving grapefruit sized holes. It exploded in a ball of fire and blood and limbs rained down upon the immediate area in a fifty foot radius. The lightning also impacted against the castle - melting glass in the windows it hit, blowing up stone and leaving long, jagged sooty black scars on the outer wall.

The castle was strong though, and only a few bolts of the lightning exploded through shattered windows into mercifully empty corridors before Harry got it under control again.

The sense that he was in total control over this power was fading, and Harry knew he had to dissipate it - and fast. His understanding was slipping, the pain in his body worsening, the fire in his hands growing more dangerous. Hundreds of the bolts had hit the foliage and grass of the grounds, which were now alight.

Clenching his unseen fists, Harry crossed his arms across his chest and cried out,

"ENOUGH!"

The electric-fire flowing up and down his arms vanished in the blink of an eye - Harry's eye - and the last bolts hit whatever they hit, and then all was silent.

Breathing heavily and feeling the Nundu's sickness in his body, Harry somehow found the strength to pull himself to his feet for the last time in many weeks, and glanced out almost unseeingly at the grounds and one of the worlds around him.

He heard the castle doors being flung open, but the sound was so distant it may have been in another world for all he knew... or cared.

I guess I won... well... I guess... I guess I can walk away one more time.

Footsteps, rushing footsteps, behind him.... and a voice crying out in joy and concern, all at the same time.

"Harry... HARRY!" Lily Potter cried joyfully. "You did it, you-"

Lily stopped and then screamed as Harry turned to face her. He's dead, was her only thought, before she fell to her knees in fear and... and sorrow. I've lost him again....

Harry turned towards his mother, and his tired dull green eye connected with her tear stained ones. He managed a single step, and a small, painful smile, before he screamed and blood mixed with saliva and vomit exploded from within his mouth. He was unconscious and near death before he hit the ground.

His final thought before the nightmares descended was,

That is not dead which can eternal lie. Yet with strange aeons even Death may die.


and,

Do I look like someone who cares what God does?

****


Author notes: Thanks for reading and if you take the time to review that would be much appreciated. If everyone who reads this can review once, even just a few words, then that'll make my day. News about next chapter on the reviewboard - there, that's a bribe of sorts.

Join my Yahoo! group, we're open to all who want to discuss my story and Harry Potter:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hero_trilogy/

Oh, in the dream sequence, some of Harry’s lines are attributed to these people: Lovecraft, DeSade, Lec, and Herrick. Various quotes from across the centuries. These have more meanings than I'll get into now, but these people do have an impact on the overall story - a small one, but it is there.

Cheers much,

joe