Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Chapter 3 - Fantasy is Reality

Pandemonium did not reign; it poured.

~~John Hendrick Bangs

"Incredible," Remus Lupin muttered, holding the glowing stone in his hand that was tracking the progress of an owl heading towards Harry. "Albus, we should seriously consider inducting those three into the Order."

Dumbledore smiled. "Such simplicity," he said. "Hundreds of thousands of galleons spent on a worldwide coordinated search, and Hermione Granger does it faster and better than all of us for nothing."

"She's too young to be in the Order," Molly Weasley said warningly. "And I'll not have my Ginny and Ron in it yet either - if ever."

There was a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at their headquarters in London. Grimmauld Place. Twelve members sat around the ornate wooden table in the meeting room, sealed away from the world. Dumbledore, Remus, and Molly Weasley, Fred and George Weasley as well as Severus Snape (both he and Dumbledore visiting the Ministry) Tonks and Kingsley, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones. Mundungus Fletcher sat in a cloud of his own smoke, and two seats away from him was Elphias Doge.

"They're fighting this war whether you want them to or not, mum," George Weasley said, stroking the small beard he had been growing on his chin. He quickly turned red and said no more under his mother's glare.

"The young see things differently than the old," Dumbledore continued, staring at a spot on the table. "I want to arrange a twenty four observation of the tracking stone," he continued. "Miss Granger informed me it will glow deep red upon reaching the owl's destination. That is, when the letter is removed from its leg."

"It can be used as an Apparation beacon," Remus continued. "We can zone in on the signal, and Apparate straight to Harry!"

"With nothing less than a task force of two dozen Aurors," Dumbledore finished, glancing at Kingsley. "I have reason to believe that Harry is... being held prisoner."

"WHAT!?" Molly Weasley exploded, and several cries of shock rose from the other members around the table. "Albus... what... how?"

"Ron, Hermione, and Ginny," the old Headmaster began, "have been having nightmares the last few nights... all the same, and all of Harry shackled and trapped inside of a dark room."

Molly gasped.

"Surely you cannot credit mere dreams, Albus," Severus Snape scoffed, resting his chin in his hand.

"They are real, Severus, and are not mere dreams. Ron Weasley awoke this morning with a black eye. He dreamt that Harry was beaten, and knocked unconscious with a blow to the face."

"Dear Merlin," Fred and George Weasley whispered, and Molly seemed close to tears. "What can we do?"

"We find Harry as soon as possible," Dumbledore said. "I cannot begin to imagine what is causing these dreams, or why Ron is feeling Harry's pain - but it is happening, and we have to act now."

"I'll put the Aurors we can trust on alert," Kingsley said. "Dermas Trask has been given the rank of commander, by the way. He rose fast through the training program."

Dumbledore nodded. He would file that away. Perhaps one day Dermas would become a member of the Order, like his fiancé had been before.... he sighed. "See that it is done, Kingsley. I fear we are trying to balance scales, and Harry is the weight that will tip us either into the abyss or into light."

*~*~*~*

It was dark in the box they kept him in, and even though the pain was beyond belief, the terrors unimaginable, it was the darkness that frightened him the most.

Harry's hands were shackled behind his back and to his ankles. He had discovered, after a few hours bent almost double inside of this small box that the harder he pulled against the chains, the tighter they became. He had tried to make himself go limp - slack after that, but occasionally his cramped muscles twitched and the shackles cut into his skin. He knew his wrists and ankles were bleeding, but he couldn't care.

Once a day the box opened, and it was always at night. He hadn't seen the sun in years, it seemed. He was allowed out still shackled to eat and drink, and relieve himself. There were always seven creatures poised to kill him if he didn't do exactly as ordered though, and they hurt him anyway.

Just for kicks, he thought, laughing insanely as he remembered the beatings and the agony of waking up in the box bruised and battered, night after endless night. He had long since run out of tears for whatever was happening, and why. The pain had lessened somewhat over the days as well, and now felt like an old friend.

The vampires still did their best to hurt him, but it was as if he had grown numb to it all. He was lost, alone, within a reality that couldn't be real, and he had no idea why this should be. His memory was as blank as the day he had awoken on the beach.

How long ago had that been? he wondered. I hope the Jordans are okay....

A constant and maddening pain tore up his back every hour of the day, and only lessened when he was allowed to stand for about ten minutes at night. It seemed, even though the creatures hated him with a passion, that he was to be kept alive.

"Alive...." he croaked, feeling the shackles biting into his wrist and shins. His legs were bent up around his back, and he tried not to think on it. There was too much pain. "Still... alive."

He was, he knew - and it was this thought that hardened his resolve into steel. One day he would make them all pay, even if it killed him. Thinking back to the night he was captured, it seemed so long ago, Harry recalled the feeling of power that had surged through him.

It was as if he had been someone else in those furious few moments before he was knocked unconscious. And he knew, for a few seconds at least, that he had been who he was before the memory loss. That, even beyond the creatures that tortured him nightly, frightened him through to his very soul.

For those few moments in the fight, he had felt totally and utterly confident that he could do anything. Absolutely anything.

Tear apart the planet if needs be.

The chest shook and he winced against the cuffs, not knowing where the vampires were taking him didn't matter. He'd escape, he would, and they would pay.

I'm not a pawn, he thought, and it was another of those odd thoughts that seemed to have nothing to do with anything. After that, he closed his eyes and concentrated on nothingness, making himself forget that he was living a life without hope.

When Harry opened his eyes again it was still dark, still cold, but there were stars once again overhead. He lay on cool, damp ground and for the first time in days fully stretched his numb, painful limbs that screamed in pain as he moved. He still wore the shackles, he knew, but they were locked in front of him now instead of behind.

Something struck him hard in the ribs and he exploded into a coughing fit. "Move again," a dark voice hissed. "And I will gouge out your left eye, and feed it to you."

Harry went slack, not daring to even blink.

"Good, boy." It was Khaltar, the large male vampire. "You show obedience and you may yet live one more day."

Harry coughed; he couldn't help it, "Where... where are you taking me?"

Khaltar laughed and he heard others around this dark grove laughing as well. Harry turned his head to the left and saw three vampires with their fangs buried deep into the throat of a body wearing a black dinner suit. Another two human corpses lay to the right, a woman and child.

"To Hell, Darkslayer," Khaltar hissed. "You will beg for your life before the Lord Masorn."

Something defiant surged up in Harry at their mocking laughter, and complete disregard for human life. These creatures should not exist. "Friendly chap then, this Lord Masorn?"

Khaltar hissed and Harry took another shot in the ribs. "Bite your tongue or lose it, human."

Harry did as he was told, although his glare spoke for him more than words ever could. He was fed stale bread and cold water, before being shoved back into the small crate again, cramped and leaning forward until his face almost touched his shin. He did bite his tongue then, to stop the screams and pain - he would not let them see or hear that, something inside of him roared against such a thing.

It was who he was, he knew, and it was getting stronger. Despite his current circumstances he felt that soon, very soon, these creatures were going to be beyond sorry. He laughed then, but didn't hear it.

*~*~*~*

"The potion will take two and a half weeks to stew, over the full moon," Hermione said, quoting straight from her mind. "I asked Remus about it two days ago and he wrote down what he could remember."

In one of the many spare classrooms around Hogwarts castle, this one on the third floor and covered in so much dust it was clear that it hadn't been used in decades - if ever - Hermione sat around a bubbling cauldron that she was stirring periodically whilst adding vital ingredients to the mixture that would, once complete, be used to draw new maps with the qualities similar to that of the Marauder's Map.

"How did Snape take to you having free reign in the potion stores?" Ron asked with barely concealed glee.

Hermione coloured. "Well... he didn't.... he didn't take to it with a smile," she mumbled. Ron burst out laughing and she glared.

Ginny sat with crossed legs next to Hermione and a bubbling cauldron of her own steaming in front of her. She hesitated in stirring it, an irritated look upon her face. "I should pass my potions OWL for doing this," she growled. "This is beyond NEWT level!"

"Stir it counter clockwise half a dozen more times and then add the quill ink," Hermione said calmly, having been watching Ginny out of the corner of her eye. "You're getting there."

"It'll be good practice for your OWLs next month," Ron added, and Ginny scowled at him.

"Harry probably wouldn't do too well on his exams," Ginny muttered a few moments later, pouring in some ink to the slimy concoction. "He missed so much of this year."

Hermione and Ron nodded, staring glumly at the floor. "He'd do well in Defence, at least," Hermione said pensively. "Unfortunately...."

Ron cleared his throat. "How long does this potion have to sit?"

"Hmm...? Oh, a fortnight or so - give us a chance to draw the outlines of the new maps, get the blueprints for Diagon Alley and whatnot. Remember to ask your dad about that, Ron."

Ron nodded. "I will - I'll send him an owl tonight."

"Have you heard anything about the letter you sent to Harry?" Ginny asked quietly, unable to avoid the question. It seemed that no matter what they did, it always came back to Harry. It was simply unavoidable.

"Last night Remus said that it was to the southeast," Hermione sighed. "And heading further east. If... he's.... He is somewhere on the Continent, I think."

"Europe's a big continent...." Ginny mumbled. "And then there's everything that isn't Europe to the east."

"We'll find him," Ron said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "It won't be long now. He's on the move, if the owl keeps changing direction - so that must mean he's alive. Merlin knows what he's doing though...."

"Riding out the summer on a tropical beach somewhere," Hermione said. "Having a rest before he comes back."

Of course he wasn't - they all had the dreams, the nightmares, and Ron still had a bruise or two from them. His eye was black and refused magical healing, as were his ribs. It was getting worse as well. Every night now they all shared the same dream. Harry - standing in shadow surrounded by unseen creatures that struck him again and again. Harry shackled and chained, drifting in and out of consciousness. Harry looking lost, with two swords hanging above his head.

"He's in trouble," Ron said, and he fully believed it. "I've no idea why or how, but something isn't right - something's wrong - and I don't think Harry can get out of this one on his own."

Ginny clenched her fists and shuddered. "He may have to...."

*~*~*~*

The Carpathian Mountains

Midnight

It was dark in the box, it was always dark. But today it seemed darker, the pain more fresh and sharp. The shackles cut mercilessly into his wrists and ankles and he was cold, a battered bruised body felt that cold - and every breath he drew made him want to die.

Wherever he was the air was rancid, old and stale. He was moving, he could feel the small crate he was kept in moving, swaying through the air. That was all he felt besides the pain. He had long since given up any chance of rescue from anyone or even anything, given up hope of figuring out why this was happening....

Darkslayer, the word whispered through his mind and shook the pillars of his consciousness. They think I'm something called the Darkslayer. Perhaps I am? I can't say I'm not....

It was cold.

He was still only wearing the grey boxer shorts he had been abducted in, that and the shackles. All his other clothes were presumably still in the room he had been given back in that farmhouse - the Jordans, yes the Jordans - if the house hadn't burnt to the ground. He wondered if they were still alive, he hoped they were, but knew he would never see them again.

And then there were the dreams - dreams that could have been memories if they weren't so extraordinary, even compared to what was happening to him now. He had dreams, that could have been nightmares, of flying through the air on a - a broom, and outrunning what could very well have been the apocalypse.

There was also a girl with auburn hair smiling at him from underneath an azure twilight sky, another girl with bushy brown hair - her arms around a tall boy with red hair. Just the same memory, under that twilight sky, and that was all he had.

He couldn't remember if he preferred tea or coffee anymore, and now it didn't matter.

It hurt to blink, it hurt to breath. His joints burnt with the fire of the sun and he knew he was dying. He had lost weight in the days that seemed like years since he had been captured and his flame was slowly burning out. Still, a small spark remained - a small, undeniable spark that had the strength to scour the heavens.

Defiance, Harry thought, it is my defiance - and I will never lose it. Never, until the last breath, the last drop of blood.

Now where had that thought come from?

That was another thing he did to take his mind off the pain, which was the only constant in his life now. He remembered everything he could, to replace the holes in his head. He sometimes thought and said odd things, but had no other memories for these sayings and ways of thought. It was just who he was, and what he said.

But what normal person would defy Death itself, if it came to that? Why was he willing and unafraid of the prospect of fighting the creatures that held him captive? Who, in the world - in all worlds - was he?

All worlds, he thought then. Why did I say all worlds!?

He wanted to scream, but all that came out of his mouth was a low crackling sound. It was then that his coffin was thrown roughly to the ground, the lid fell open and he tumbled out onto cold damp stone, coughing and wheezing. Raising himself to his knees using his weak arms, Harry straightened as much as he could with the slack afforded by the chains.

"Good evening, Darkslayer."

It was night - night somewhere high above the earth. Harry looked out of a nearby window and saw the night sky, speckled with the dust of diamonds and below the moonlight lit up a mountainside that disappeared into darkness. Before him though, sitting on a seat of bone, a hideous creature smiled - victory flashing in its eyes.

Harry knew he should have been scared - terrified - but that old familiar and yet completely foreign feeling was bubbling inside of him. The defiance, the will to... resist. These creatures were beneath him, had no right to existence - not if they slaughtered the innocent for no other reason than it brought them simple pleasure. He wasn't afraid, a part of him wasn't afraid anyway. And it was this part he drew his strength from.

"Where am I?" he asked calmly, if a little throatily, staring at what was obviously the authority figure amongst these creatures. It was a vampire, he knew, sitting on that throne of skulls. One that was riddled with grey flesh, covered in dried blood and stinking of decay. Folded black wings rose from its shoulder blades, and the monster's eyes were yellow, bloodshot red until the whites disappeared.

"You are my guest," the vampire replied, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see another seven or so creatures kneeling before this other one. There was Khaltar, snarling at him, and the other six that had captured him. He swallowed fear, and turned back to the head vampire. "I am Lord Masorn, sworn overlord of the Vampiric Empire... do you have a name, young Darkslayer?"

"Harry," Harry said, pulling on his shackles. "As far as I know, it's Harry," he finished with a shrug. He also suppressed a shiver, not wanting to show weakness. It was cold and he was barely dressed.

Masorn rose what was left of his left eyebrow, and his pale grey forehead titled down into a frown. He was glaring at him now, and Harry returned that glare. "Khaltar...." Masorn began, but hesitated. Clenching his fist, he continued, "Khaltar, lift his fringe...."

Grunting, Khaltar did as ordered, and very nearly pulled Harry's hair out as he lifted the black fringe covering his forehead. Harry saw and heard Masorn gasp when he did.

"Harry Potter...." he hissed.

Khaltar grunted again and drew one of his claws across Harry's throat, breaking the skin just beneath his ear. "Can I kill him, my lord? He has caused me much pain...."

Masorn rose and walked down the bone steps towards Harry. They kept their eyes on one another and neither would blink. Harry thought he might gag from the stench, but he kept his face straight and defiant - inside he was a wreck of nerves.

"You will...." Masorn motioned to Khaltar, "not kill him." Harry noticed he never said anything about harming him. "He is Harry Potter... the Boy Who Lived and the Darkslayer... our bargaining chip with the Dark Lord for greater power when he renews his war against the wizarding world."

Despite the cold and the pain and the fear, Harry tried to make sense of everything he was hearing - and failed miserably. Dark Lord... wizarding world... Potter...

"I'm Harry Potter," he said out loud, not realising he had until Khaltar knocked him across the face. Harry fell to the ground, spitting out blood as he went. Growling, he rose to his knees again and glared at the vampire.

"This is the boy that nearly defeated Lord Voldemort!" Khaltar exclaimed, holding his forearm. For the first time since meeting the creature, Harry noticed he had a tattoo on his inner forearm of a skull and snake, green flames and fear. Something inside of him detested that tattoo with every fibre of his being. Another odd feeling, another piece of the puzzle?

"He is," Masorn said, returning to his throne, but still never taking his eyes off Harry. "The scar... it is the mark of death - the lightning bolt. This boy, Khaltar, is the enemy of everything dark. It may be wise to dispose of him now."

"As my lord commands," Khaltar replied with a hint of satisfaction, and advanced on Harry, baring his fangs.

Harry stumbled back, the chains keeping him from rising, and fell back onto the cold dark stone - almost into the paths of the other vampires behind him. They snarled and hissed at him and he rolled away.

"I commanded no such thing," Masorn whispered. "Take him to the prisoner chambers in the north rise - put him on the Ledge. This boy is for the Dark Lord, and no other."

*~*~*~*

Two days later
May 6^th

Ron walked next to Hermione down the dark halls of Hogwarts. It was near midnight and it was their turn on rotation for the nightly DA patrols of the castle. Another three pairs of DA members were patrolling other parts of the castle, and would continue to do so until more maps could be made.

Hermione held the only map, the Marauder's Map, at the moment, and she and Ron were heading towards a spot on the fourth floor in one of the lesser used places of the castle. Apparently two students were meeting there, after curfew, even after Dumbledore had expressly forbid it. It could be nothing, but the DA had the authority to check it out.

"Hope Parkes and Dillon Roberts," Hermione read off the map. They were in a disused classroom in the west wing of the fourth floor - and standing practically on top of one another. Hermione didn't think they were Death Eaters, though Dillon was a Slytherin, and she blushed at what she thought they might be doing together. Ron was oblivious of course.

"A fifth year Slytherin and Ravenclaw," Ron said, thinking hard. "Didn't want to join the DA." He had his wand gripped firmly in his hand.

Until the ink was ready for the new maps, of Hogwarts and elsewhere, the DA had to have four sets of two roaming the castle of a night. Afterwards, those on duty could just remain in their common rooms and watch the map, as the four common rooms were located at key points around the castle - each would have their own area almost equally split up.

Dumbledore was also having a magical alarm system installed and giving each group on rotation the panic button, which would alert the entire castle to danger. It was a necessary and, Hermione thought, good precaution. Hogwarts had proved, over the years, that it wasn't the safest of places to be, contrary to what everybody believed.

But then again, she thought, Hogwarts is only a danger because of Dumbledore... and Harry. Voldemort's greatest enemies. Even though she had known Harry for years, it still made her feel sick when she thought that he would one day have to defeat the Dark Lord. It isn't fair!

"You needn't carry your wand around like that, Ron," Hermione told him as they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. "It's probably something a lot more innocent than a Death Eater meeting."

Ron smiled slightly and shrugged. He didn't put his wand away though, and never would while he was on duty. He had made a mistake in March, when Malfoy had portkeyed them all to Voldemort. It would not happen again. "I feel safer holding it," he said. And I won't lose again.

Hermione heard what he said and also what he didn't say. She nodded, flexing her wrist to feel her own wand in its holster.

They were wearing their armour and battle robes, black robes at night - for better camouflage in the shadows. They also wore the DA rings, white gold with sparkling green gem.

Approaching the classroom with the two curfew-breakers in it, Ron held his wand arm by his side, but even through the robes and armour, Hermione could tell he was ready to strike in a heartbeat. He had, just like she and Ginny, been learning all they could about duelling over the last few months.

They entered quickly, Ron first and Hermione second, each choosing their own flank as if this was a junior Death Eater meeting. Assuming the worst and reacting appropriately. If it was a meeting it would likely result in a duel, if not then at least they were prepared. Better to be safe than sorry.

A few torches were lit in the room, and these spilled light on the two people caught in a tight embrace in one of the dusty old chairs. They gasped and jumped as Hermione and Ron entered, and Hermione recognised them as Hope Parkes and Dillon Roberts. She was sitting on his lap, arms around one another and shock written all over their faces.

Ron snorted before he could help himself and doubled over laughing, almost dropping his wand. Hermione took on a more serious approach, frowning with every ounce of authority she could muster at the pair, before glaring at Ron. He was a prefect, like her, and should take his duties more seriously.

"You two should be in your common rooms, or asleep," Hermione stated, speaking very clearly and showing the pair that she was not amused. "You are breaching a number of very serious school rules."

The two fifth years separated quickly, Hope smoothing her robes and blushing crimson in the pale moonlight afforded by the windows. Dillon, a tall brown haired Slytherin, was frowning and obviously wasn't pleased at being interrupted. "We weren't doing anything wrong," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh no?" Hermione replied. "You have broken curfew, come to a disused part of the castle where anyone or anything could be, and if you're not out of here before I count to ten the Headmaster will be informed. Professor Dumbledore has made it very clear that two weeks detention in the dungeons is the penalty for being outside after nine."

Dillon tried to fluster a reply but Hermione beat him to it. "One," she said. "Two, three, four...."

The two of them ran from the room hand in hand, casting angry and uncertain glances at Hermione as they went - the night obviously not going as they planned. Hermione nodded with satisfaction as they left, and then rounded on Ron with a frown that stopped any jokes he had been about to make in their tracks.

Ron swallowed his laughter. "Not junior Death Eaters then," he said with a small smile. "Why didn't you dish out the detentions?"

Hermione shrugged. "They were... just being friendly and... well, you know. If we catch them out again I will!" she finished quickly.

No chance of that though, Hermione saw as she looked at the Marauder's Map again. Both of them had gone their separate ways, back to their houses. She folded the map away in her pocket.

Ron was bouncing on his heels and smiling when she looked up at him and she asked, "What?"

He gestured to the chair, still grinning. "D'you wanna pick up where they left off?"

Hermione looked at him for a moment and then blushed. They were supposed to be dating one another but with the war, and the fact that it was impossible to leave Hogwarts for any reason - and that Hogsmeade weekends had been cancelled because there was no Hogsmeade - they hadn't had much chance together. They had been together five months or so, and managed two brief trips out. But then now wasn't the time for what Ron was suggesting!

"Ron," she said sternly, fighting back the blush. "We have a job to do," she finished, patting the map in her pocket.

Ron sighed, looked wistfully at the vacant chair, and nodded. "Probably not the most romantic place in the castle anyway," he said with a sly smile, wiping away a layer of dust from one of the desks. "Let's get back to the patrol then," he ended with another sigh.

Hermione nodded and then, surprised at her own boldness, stepped forward and stood up on her toes to catch his lips with hers for just a brief kiss. "We should work out something for when we finish in June," she said, which was about a month and a half away. "My parents will want to go on holiday and I'll ask if you can come along."

Ron nodded, smiling at the prospect and holding Hermione around the waist. "If we find Harry by then," he said, his voice trembling. "I don't think it'd be right to go anywhere unless we know Harry is... safe."

Hermione sighed, putting her head against his shoulder. "It could be any day now," she whispered hopefully. The owl had been gone over ten days, and was now staying constant of a course just short of east. Wherever Harry was, he wasn't moving - and the distance between the owl and him was shortening by the minute.

"He's been gone long enough," Ron agreed. "Sooner he's back the sooner everything can get back to normal."

He was, of course, talking about the nightmares - and how they were more real than dreams. Harry was in trouble, perhaps held prisoner, and Ron still carried a few bruises from the torture his best friend had been put through. Over the last few nights though the dreams had sort of disappeared, had become hazy.

Hermione would have given a lot to know why they had happened in the first place. Something to do with Harry, obviously, which meant it was probably something new to magic, or him breaking the old rules.

"I doubt things will ever be normal again, Ron," Hermione whispered, stepping away from him. "But come on, we have a job to do."

*~*~*~*

Upon the wall in the meeting room of the Order of the Phoenix, a large map of the world had been stuck up and upon it was a narrow cone heading just south of true east. It stretched from a small pinprick in London and across Europe towards the edge of the map. A long line and somewhere upon it was Harry Potter.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair alone, glancing at the wall. The meeting wasn't due to start for another twenty minutes or so, so he had some time to examine the map before they began. There was no need to place much significance on most of the country that the glowing blue line touched, nor the oceans either.

One or two places along that line though were causes of concern. It stretched through long empty lands, across many seas and bodies of water, and through the Carpathian Mountains....

Dumbledore sent up a silent prayer to anyone that was listening that Harry was not in the Carpathian Mountains, the stronghold of the Vampires.... There was no reason he should be, but the line crossed over those mountains near perfectly. The owl could only be about three quarters of the way to the mountains, if that - he just prayed it veered away soon.

There had been an increasing number of reports over the last few weeks that the vampires were more active lately, more thirsty. The Fourteen Clans had all met for the first time in living memory, and rumour was many of them had sworn for Tom.

Despite all that he had been through in his long years, Dumbledore shivered. Thousands of vampires joining the Dark Lord was unthinkable. The Aurors were not ready for such an attack - not against an army of such size. Not for the first time, Dumbledore thought of informing the Muggles of the crisis facing the entire planet. Their armies were huge, millions of soldiers, but they were easier to slaughter.

Cannon fodder, he thought grimly. I will not let them become that....

Ever vigilant, Dumbledore kept his eyes on the tracking device placed in the centre of the ornate wooden table. It shone faintly blue now, and would burst into a blinding red when the owl's letter was removed - presumably by Harry. Post owls, unless otherwise instructed, did not let anyone other than the recipient remove their letters.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore was at a loss. He did not know what to do about Harry, and the vampires. If he knew anything of the last surviving Potter, that boy would be in the thick of whatever was happening. Fate, or something higher, seemed to draw him into these things.

"Stay strong, Harry," Dumbledore whispered - silently willing the owl on. "We're coming."

*~*~*~*

The Timeless Battle

He had known it would happen, had known ever since Potter stopped the fabric of Existence from burning to ash. The Guardian, Gryffindor, shone brightly in the darkness of the Boundary - which had become a battlefield on many different levels of reality.

The Destroyers had come, after countless aeons they had decided not to work from the shadows, play by the sidelines, and the War for Creation was begun in earnest.

Millions of other shining bright lights surrounded Gryffindor, and he was just one soldier amongst them all - a barrier against the equally numerous dark Destroyers who were vying for control of the Boundary. They wanted to tear it open, and plunge many layers of Existence into its darkness. Only they could rule such a poisoned realm of death.

The Destroyers had no visible form beyond a shade of darkness dimmer than the darkness of the Boundary. Gryffindor could see them now and he gathered his strength. A wall of the deepest black moving towards their line of light, crackling in places with silver lightning.

As one, as they were all linked now, the Guardians channelled their power into a massive wall of pure energy, and sent it forward racing across millions of miles to intercept the fury of the Destroyers. The Boundary shook with the impact and holes were rent in its reality, but that couldn't be helped.

Many worlds of both mortal and immortal would fall in this war, and it had only just begun.

Gryffindor silently wept as he, as the ascended Guardians, damaged what they had sworn to protect for all of time - even though time did not exist here. This battle wasn't the first in the War for Creation and it would not be the last - it was one of the few that was fought outside of time though, and as such could not be changed.

They had to win here, or lose more ground to the Destroyers, to Evil. They had to win, or more worlds would be overrun with the fires of Hell. There was a balance, the Balance, being broken here... and in that there could be no winner.

*~*~*~*

May 8^th

Odd dreams Harry was having whenever he managed to sleep in his inescapable and terribly cold prison. He dreamed of war, of light and dark, of a deep golden light that battled away all of the wrong. He dreamed of freedom, of memory. He did not dream of salvation.

The Ledge, as the vampire had called it, was just that. The vampires lived inside of a mountain, within hollowed out caves and tunnels. And high up near the peak, accessible only by an iron door several inches thick, a ledge jutted out atop of a sheer cliff face hundreds of feet high. It was about ten feet by ten feet, cut into the mountain, and to Harry it was a prison without bars.

It was evening now, the sun had just set, and the night time chill was just beginning. He shivered, gazing up at the stars in the clear night sky. He lay on uneven ground upon the ledge, six feet away a drop of five hundred feet lay, and behind him a door into the vampires hold.

He laughed but it ended up a grimace. It was a choice between death and death. Time had lost all meaning up here, on the Ledge. There was no way off and the creatures hadn't seen fit to let him back in - he supposed that was a good thing. It got cold at night, very cold, possibly below zero. He was up in the mountains, after all.

During the day the view was astounding. He looked down hundreds of feet into lush green valleys and saw the winding coils of rivers that were thinner than his fingers. In the distance other mountains rose with snow capped peaks, piercing the clouds and silhouetted against the heavens. It was quite beautiful, but ultimately he believed it was the last beautiful thing he would ever see.

Once a day, and soon on this day, he was fed a bowl of grey sludge through a gap that opened in the rusted iron door. It was like a watery bowl of porridge, but fouler and greasier. He didn't like to think what was in it, but it also doubled up as the only drink he got as well. It kept him alive, as did his burning passion for vengeance.

The half-moon had just risen over the distant foothills and mountains when there was a loud creaking and grinding sound behind him, and Harry rolled over to face the door as, for the first time in memory, it opened - allowing a familiar and hateful face to walk through and out onto his prison.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Lord Masorn smiled, his black wings twitching and reeking on the cold air. He looked down at Harry with satisfaction, a look of a man who was sure he had won.

Harry just glared.

"How are you finding my hospitality?" Masorn asked, pacing up and down but always keeping his eyes on Harry's. "Do you know that hundreds have asked for the honour of killing you? Thousands!"

"When you're popular...." Harry managed, smiling weakly.

Masron smiled and his yellow eyes watered. "I admire your courage, Darkslayer. How old are you? Sixteen? I myself am over three thousand years old, and yet I have never met another human who was as defiant as you are."

"What do you want with me?" Harry asked. Why am I here?

Masorn scowled and reached down to Harry's head with a long, clawed hand. He seized a handful of the boy's hair and lifted him up to his feet, pushing him against the wall and holding him there. "I want you to die, Potter," Masorn growled, his breath making Harry gag. "You are the Darkslayer - Man of Prophecy, Enemy of Darkness - I wish you had never been born into this world, and I want to see you die."

Harry grunted and struggled against the creatures grasp - but he was just too weak. He settled for scowling and said, "I bet your mother told you the same thing."

Half a second later and his nose was broken, blood spurting down his face even as Masorn withdrew his clenched fist. Pain he could deal with though, and he bared his teeth, strengthened his glare. Using his fingers now, Masorn ran his hand across Harry's upper lip, covering them in his blood. He brought them to his mouth, and shrieked piercingly when it touched his withered tongue.

"Your blood is stronger than any I have ever tasted, and I have tasted the blood of millions."

He didn't acknowledge that, couldn't acknowledge that. A thought came to him. "W-Who is the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, sighing.

Masorn blinked. "You play me for a fool!" he said after a moment, uncertainty passing through his eyes. "You are the Dark Lord's greatest enemy! You have met him in battle many times."

Suddenly Harry was laughing, he could not help it. Laughter which eventually turned to sobs wracked his entire body, and he shook in the vampires iron grasp. "Another piece of the puzzle," he said to himself, "accept I don't have a picture of what it should look like!"

Masorn tossed him to the hard rocky ground and Harry spat out a mouthful of blood and saliva. Before he knew what was happening, the king of vampires seized his matted hair again and pulled his head up whilst kneeling on his back - clearly exposing his throat. Harry froze.

"I want you dead more than I have wanted anything in centuries," Masorn whispered into his ear. "You are the opposite of everything I and my kind stand for - but you will have your uses before the end. The Dark Lord - your enemy - will reward us well for you, alive. In spite of that, I could kill you now...." He drew a razor sharp claw against Harry's throat.

He swallowed, feeling the claw pierce his skin. Harry did not dare say anything - he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

"I could kill you, but then again there are things a lot worse than death - and Lord Voldemort will make sure you learn of every one of them." Harry winced as the vampire twisted his hair and, with his other clawed hand, swiped a bunch of his twisted black hair from his head.

Harry hit the ground and rolled over as the pressure was released from his throat and back, and he frowned up at his hair in Masorn's decaying grip.

"A precaution," the vampire said, retreating towards the door and motioning to the hair. "Should we need you destroyed." His laughter remained with Harry for many minutes after the iron door closed again.

Lacking the energy to move and shivering once again in the cold, Harry glared out at the night sky - wishing and praying for a way out. Of course there wasn't one, hadn't been even when he had the strength to try and escape. There were also wards, apparently, against escape. Khaltar had gloated over that when he had been brought up here. Anti-apparation wards or something, whatever that meant?

God, I want to remember! Even if he died for remembering, he needed to know who he was, why he was, and what was happening. It tore at him, tortured him. These vampires feared him, that much was clear - and he did not know why. Perhaps if he did, he could give them a real reason to fear him.

"I'll destroy them...." he managed, rubbing his bare chest. He coughed as he did and brought up a phlegmy substance onto the mountain ledge. He knew he had a chest infection, perhaps something serious as he was always short of breath and every breath he did draw hurt like all hell.

Drifting between sleep and terrible reality, Harry didn't notice the small animal that landed on the ledge about ninety minutes after Masorn left. The blood from his nose had dried to his face and chest and his breath came in ragged agonising bursts. He was dreaming, and mixed thoughts came in this dream between being awake and teetering into sleep.

"We can't hold them!" a sphere of light shouted. "We must abandon the Higher Realms!"

"NEVER!" roared the second sphere. "NOT WHILE ONE OF US STILL EXISTS!"

"Something drives these Destroyers on and weakens us at the same time," another sphere said. "We can't win, Gryff--

Harry awoke with a start as something had bitten him hard on the side of his head. He turned and gasped as his own eyes locked with a pair of curious amber ones. They belonged to a bird, an owl that was the colour of snow. For a moment he just stared, unbelieving that a wild creature would get so close.

"Were you trying to eat me?" he asked the owl as, amazingly, the snowy white bird stepped up onto his chest and looked down at him, turning its head from side to side.

The owl squawked, and even though it was impossible, Harry thought the bird sounded indignant, offended, angry that he would suggest such a thing. He found himself wanting to apologise.

Unaware that he was smiling, Harry slowly raised his hand and stroked the bird's neck, it hooted serenely and he felt calm. "This is no place for you," he told the owl, sighing deeply. "You're lucky, you can fly away. Get out of here before anything nasty comes through that door."

Harry did not find it odd that the owl shook its head as he began to lose consciousness again. Before he faded, he was aware of the owl snuggling down into the crook of his arm. It was hooting softly in a vaguely familiar way.

*~*~*~*