Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

HARRY POTTER AND THE SOUL OF THE HERO

Chapter 10 - The Lord of Twilight, The Bringer of Chaos

As nightfall does not come at once, neither does oppression.
In both instances, there's a twilight where everything remains
seemingly unchanged, and it is in such twilight that we must be
aware of change in the air, however slight, lest we become
unwitting victims of the darkness.

~~William O Douglas

Albus Dumbledore walked down a shining crystal hall that led to the stairs which, in turn, led up to his booth in the enormous rotund chamber that sat hundreds of members of the International Confederation. His footsteps echoed softly on the smooth marble floor, mirrored in the crystal walls, and his progress was watched by no less that two dozen security personnel.

Located on one of the empty islands near Fiji, hidden away from Muggle eyes and on land that no country truly laid claim to, the International Confederation was a towering monolith of shining white towers and glass. Issues that affected the world were raised and decided here.

Walking through a pair of limestone doors that would open only for him, Dumbledore stepped into the Grand Chamber and two thousand faces turned to meet him, two thousand pairs of eyes looked at him with varying degrees of respect, hate, uncertainty, and loyalty.

This was the tenth time this month the International Confederation had met, seventy eighth this year. Not since World War II had the Confederation met so frequently, and never for more dire reason than this.

The very invisibility of their world was under threat, and it could be pinned solely on two individuals. Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort.

The room was set out much like the Muggle House of Commons in London. Each seat was occupied by a member, or an ambassador, of their countries Ministry. Many countries had more than one ambassador present; some had up to a dozen. But unlike the House of Commons, each group here were there for their own interests, and that of their Ministry. It was a meeting of ambassadors from every Magical Ministry on the planet, not just the separate political forces of one country. It was a place where the future was decided.

Dozens of members of the world's press lined rows and seats behind the politicians, the ambassadors, flashing cameras shone off the crystal and a line of light robed Aurors stood guard. There were dozens of Aurors, hundreds. Security had never been tighter at the International Confederation.

Voldemort was a threat, although one the world as a whole did not want to deal with, but they knew he was a threat, and the International Confederation had taken appropriate precautions. None of it was enough; none of it could be enough - not anymore. It would take more than a brave few - or one, as it seemed - to win this war.

Dumbledore was here now, standing next to Arthur Weasley in the booth for the British Ministry. A handful of advisors, including Percy Weasley, were there as well. The roof was open and looked out upon a twilight sky. To Dumbledore, it seemed oddly fitting. He had always felt twilight was, in some way, special, and tonight would be special.

"Do you have any idea what to expect?" Arthur asked, undaunted by the thousands of eyes now staring silently at them.

Dumbledore shook his head. "This is unprecedented, Arthur. The security of our world has never been so compromised. There may be panic, rash decisions... ignorance is born in fear and idleness, after all."

Arthur nodded. "Have you... did you... Harry?"

"Not a word," Dumbledore sighed. The meeting was just about to begin. A few representatives had yet to arrive, but the majority were here. "He has been gone two days, and no one has seen him - anywhere."

"He may be held accountable, Dumbledore," the Minister for Magic warned, shaking his head in regret. "This lot may blame him for that display over London. The Muggle world is in an uproar!"

Across the way Dumbledore met eyes with the American Sorcerer John Rafter. He was speaking into the ear of the American Minister for Magic, and it had been clear for years who held the real power between those two. Rafter pretty much ran the American government, and the small balding man sitting next to him was nothing more than a figurehead for the press. Rafter worked in the shadows.

He was the most outspoken member of the Confederation that was against declaring Voldemort a global threat. It was this man who controlled the largest magical government in the world, this man whose loyalty was to himself... it was this man that was allowing Voldemort to tighten his stranglehold on Britain, and Europe... and eventually the world.

Dumbledore and Rafter broke contact almost immediately, each wearing a dark frown. Dumbledore had no doubt that whatever he said today would be countered swiftly by the American sorcerer. It was... frustrating. Like a tug'o'war in which both sides wouldn't give an inch, and all the while the rope burned in their hands, set alight by Voldemort. Terribly frustrating.

The last few ambassadors and press, security and Confederation personnel were moving into the Grand Chamber, and with a loud clunk the large shining marble doors at the end of the chamber were pushed open. It used to be, back in Merlin's time, that the strongest wizard of the age used those doors to address the full International Confederation. It hadn't been used in hundreds of years, but it was kept open out of tradition, for one day a wizard or witch of Merlin's strength would come again.

Dumbledore's thoughts turned to Harry at that thought. The pedestal that Merlin had stood on for one hundred and twelve years was covered in dust from disuse, and it looked out upon both halves of the chamber equally. It was there that the strongest magical person in the world made themselves known. It was a seat of power, the Seat of Power. Nations at war had settled their disputes when Merlin spoke from there... it wouldn't have the same affect these days, but tradition held.

"The International Confederation meets," John Rafter bellowed once the Doors of Merlin were opened. The thousands of magical folk in the chamber fell immediately silent. "Our first order of business - this!"

Rafter waved his hand, and from the roof a shower of sparks fell - he was always one for flare - and formed an image floating in the air a few metres high. It was the picture of Harry and Voldemort in the sky, blown up a hundred times.

Dumbledore wanted to sigh, but he would not show weakness here. It was going to be a long, heavily protested meeting, and it had only just begun.

*~*~*~*

Hooded in a long flowing black cloak that shadowed his face so that only his green eyes glittered in the marvel of crystal, Harry Potter walked with a calm ease down the shining Hall of Merlin, which led to the Doors of Merlin, and the unclaimed power seat in the Grand Chamber of the International Confederation.

He wore steel capped leather-plastic Muggle boots that were thick and offered a lot of protection, and tucked into those boots, strapped to his legs with buckles and cords, Harry wore leather pants and a tight fitting black sleeveless shirt - underneath his cloak, that is.

In his right hand he carried a long black glass sceptre that rippled in the light, just an inch or two taller than he was, at the top of which rested a glowing diamond, roughly the size of his fist. It wasn't real, he had made it himself, but it would hold up to any test and, if he sold it, make him enough money in the Muggle world to live comfortably for the rest of his life. It was all for effect.

Behind him a long line of unconscious Aurors, men and women, lay on the crystal floors, and a mist was rising behind him, snaking through his legs and licking at his knees. It clawed up the walls and roiled around on the ground, thick and impenetrable.

The wards here had been pitifully weak - pitifully - and he'd Apparated straight through them all. There were those against unauthorised magical use, each wand had to be scanned before it could work here, but Harry hadn't used a wand for decades. Merlin himself rarely had, and his power paled compared to Harry's - a trickle beside an ocean.

This is gonna be so cool, Ethan offered, laughing insanely. Dumbledore's face is going to be priceless!

Harry grinned in the darkness of his cloak, his self generated mist spreading out ahead of him towards the massive open marble doors - the Doors of Merlin, he knew - and he could just glimpse the Grand Chamber through them. He could hear voices up ahead, and saw one or two more Aurors.

They saw him as well, but Harry just kept on walking, a wave of invisible power surging from him, leaving a rift in the mist, knocking them unconscious. They would awake in an hour or two feeling a little disorientated, nothing more. That was something he had decided on, whilst forming the plan. He would do this, all of it, without killing a single person that stood against him. Save those who were Dark, of course - they would die.

Reaching the large towering doors, Harry saw the likeness of Merlin carved into the stone, his eyes two shining sapphires in the rock. They seemed to look down on Harry and frown, giving him an itch between his shoulders. He wasn't fearful though, the Darkslayer didn't fear the Light, or the Dark.

The large heavy marble doors were open before him, and no wizard or witch in their right mind since Merlin had ever stepped through them, had ever used this entrance to the Grand Chamber. Not even Dumbledore, and he was almost a rival for Merlin - almost. A trend that Harry had noticed, was that magic seemed to fluctuate through the centuries....

It had been enormous in humans at the time of the Founders, and then it died down a bit - still there but not as strong - and then Merlin was born in the fifteenth century, dying in the seventeenth. He had been powerful, and after him magic had deteriorated again, until Voldemort and Dumbledore....

And then there is you, Ethan said. Harry Potter, Battle Lord, The Boy Who Lived, The Darkslayer, Lord of Twilight, Salvation of Hope, Destroyer of Darkness... what else did they call you?

Harry chuckled as his mist began to seep through the doors and into the Grand Chamber. It was only the beginning of his special effects. There were dozens of other names across the worlds we saved, and dozens more across those we doomed, Ethan.

The Bringer of Chaos, the Dark Angel, Ender of Life, the Darkslayer - that was both a blessing and a curse.

Well I'll use the first lot today, I think - yes the first lot.

Ethan sighed. Make your move, Harry, may the world not weep too long for it.

Harry nodded and for a moment his calm emotionless face crumpled. What was he doing here? Him, Harry Potter? A boy of sixteen.... one hundred and seventeen... Merlin, what was he to do....?

Forcing those feelings back, Harry began to summon and weave illusions around himself. The mist was spreading fast now, seeping out into the Grand Chamber, and there were cries from within about it. He had to be fast.

In his library at his manor house on the coast of Australia, Harry had learnt a lot about the International Confederation, enough to know he would make the biggest impact coming through these doors. That was about it - the rest was barely planned, but would be magnificent! His illusions would see to that.

He had stayed up late last night planning it out, and the thought made him chuckle. How to take over the world in less than twelve hours, abridged version... It would be magnificent!

Before him, two men in shining white cloaks appeared. They weren't real, they were illusions, but each carried a banner on a long white flag pole with a sharp point to be driven into stone on the bottom. Today Harry would make his mark, and if they did not submit he would leave a reminder that he was out there. It would be terrifying!

The two men were identical, twins, and each wore a grizzled amount of stubble on his cheeks, intensive grey eyes and short brown hair. They were heavily muscled, and their voices would match their stature.

The banners they carried, Harry had devised last night. Merlin had been the last wizard to assume the Seat of Power in the International Confederation, the first and the last, and his banner had been a circle of stars surrounding a wand on a red background.

Harry's banners, and he had two, were... different, and would either inspire terror or fierce loyalty. He was not sure which would garner him more followers.

The first banner held by the Illusion Twin on his left, was - of course - a white rose. The White Rose, upon an azure purple background, twilight. The rose seemed to be crying, the drops of dew looking infinitely sad on its length. It wasn't dew though, it was blood. The rose bled upon the banner. It was fitting, really, Harry thought - he had filled an ocean with blood saving existence and the white rose.

It was fitting!

The second banner, held by the Twin on his right, was a different matter. Harry had spent half the night thinking of this one, and was unfortunately pleased with the results. If the first banner was forged in bright colours, then this one was its opposite.

Everything has an opposite.

Black as the night, two silver swords crossed each other in front of a hooded figure that Harry had met in person once, and had danced with times beyond count. Death. He drew swords against Death's neck, and threatened him to take him. The Darkslayer defeated Death, and his banner would reflect that.

Come and get me if you dare, Death, he whispered to himself.

Despite being inside, the two flags blew softly, rippled, clearly showing their symbols, as if in a light wind.

The mist was well and truly covering half of the circular floor in the Grand Chamber now, and Aurors were moving down towards the doors from the other end. As law, no one who was claiming the Seat of Power could move through the Doors of Merlin, but Harry was about to break that law.

He made the Illusion Twins start striding forward purposefully with their banners waving proudly, and then weaved more illusions out of magic. A magical beast, two in fact, that were considered the most dangerous on the planet.

Nundus.

Two illusions of Nundus.

Leopard like creatures that Harry had faced once before, one hundred years ago. Their breath was poison and one had claimed his left eye viciously. He had been unconscious in another world for two months after battling these beasts. It would be nothing now, of course, the work of the blink of an eye - but it would take hundreds of wizards to destroy one of these. If they were real....

Fear - he would use fear and intimidation.

Ahead of him now, the Illusion Twins, bearing his banners, had just entered the Chamber in knee deep fog, and a loud resounding gasp rose up from the thousands of people seated in there. A good three or even four thousand of the world's magical leaders, their aides and ambassadors, and members of the press. Press coverage would be vital.

The gasps died down to muttered whisperings, and it was then that Harry made his move, made himself known, and used the banner bearing Illusion Twins as announcers.

"BEHOLD!" they yelled in unison, their mouths moving as one - they were one. Harry was controlling them, thinking to them and weaving their voices so they boomed around the vast shocked chamber. "THE DARKSLAYER COMES!"

Dumbledore, at least, would know who's coming, Harry thought. He had read the letter from Voldemort a few days ago, in which the Dark Lord named him Darkslayer.

Dead silence rang out in the Chamber, and Harry pressed the Twins onward.

"THE LORD OF TWILIGHT, THE SALVATION OF HOPE, THE DESTROTER OF DARKNESS, BATTLE LORD OF VERIOS, HE COMES!"

Verios had been the name of the world that they had honoured him as a battle lord, for saving them from a demon horde. Not the usual demons, something conjured out of dirt and stone. Still evil enough. He had earned these titles more than once.

"KNEEL BEFORE THE CHOSEN ONE, BEFORE THE KEEPER OF LIGHT AND THE BANE OF EVIL. KNEEL AND SUBMIT TO HARRY POTTER, THE BOY WHO LIVED!"

The last title echoed round the chamber ominously and every ear that heard it quivered. Harry waved his hand as he began to walk through the Doors of Merlin, and the Twins moved to either side of the pedestal upon which he would stand and claim the Seat of Power. As one, the Twins, without making a sound, thrust the sharp-pointed banners symmetrically into the sides of that pedestal, where they rung and rippled in the 'wind'.

Still knee deep in the mist, Harry had the Nundus prowl around him and growl, loosing a wisp or two of their deadly green breath. All for effect - one, how did he tame Nundus? Two, how did he survive their breath? Questions that would keep his opponents of balance.

As he entered the Grand Chamber, fire sprang from behind him and roiled in circles and spun up in spirals in the air, at times crossing his face an inch away, throwing back his hood and revealing his hard face to the four thousand beyond shocked wizards and witches.

He swung his long glass sceptre through the air and cleared a path through the mist. The only sound in the chamber was his echoing footsteps from his hard Muggle boots. His banners rippled in sync with his footfalls.

The Nundus elicited screams from the weaker hearted people in the chamber, and gasps from others. Mostly he saw wariness and anger, fury and incredulity.

Unopposed, as he had expected to be, Harry walked silently up the few short steps to rise on to the pedestal. An ethereal glow from beneath surrounded him as he stood in the centre of the marble structure, placing his sceptre firmly in front of him.

"I," he began, and his voice boomed into every corner of the room, reached up high to the furthest booths dozens of rows back on either side and in front of him. Camera flashes from the rows of photographers were a constant blazing light. "Harry James Potter, claim the Seat of Power, within the International Confederation, from this day forth as my own. Let anyone who stands against me speak now, or keep their peace for time everlasting.

"As Paendro t'ithlin Merlin held it before me, so do I hold it now. This Confederation will hear and submit to me or feel the wrath of the Lord of Twilight."

The silence was deafening, and stretched on for long moments before anyone, out of four thousand leaders, found anything to say. Harry stood calmly in his resolve, sceptre floating before him, hands linked behind his back. He stood tall, proud, and met eyes with as many as he could arrogantly.

Still, despite all the glamour, the illusion, the booming voice and the Nundus, the banners and the way he held himself, his claims and titles, the majority of the International Confederation still saw a teenager of sixteen years.

A tall man stood first, and then hundreds of others did. As the largest magical nation on the planet, America had first say on whether or not they supported his claim, so said IC law. It was the same tall man who spoke for America. He had a goatee beard and an arrogant swagger that Harry immediately took a dislike to.

"This is absurd," he said, stretching every word and shrugging. "I don't know how you got in here, boy, but the Aurors will soon find out. Arrest him!"

So, they weren't even going to follow law and tradition for when a claimant stepped onto the Seat of Power. Harry sighed, he had expected as much. The plan was made in the expectation that they wouldn't accept him, and so be it.

Following the tall American's example, dozens of others began to shout for his removal. The chamber was designed so voices echoed, and hundreds of voices echoed very loudly. He picked Dumbledore out of the crowd, several rows up, standing silently surveying him. Contemplating, Harry would have thought, if he did not think Dumbledore would do anything to see him under lock and key in Grimmauld Place.

No sooner were the words out of the tall man's mouth than a hundred Aurors, two hundred even, seemed to converge on Harry from all around the chamber. They came from down aisles; they left rows and appeared from security patrol routes on the outer rim of the structure.

Wands drawn, in less than a second four dozen stunning spells converged on the Seat of Power, and Harry did not blink. The red beams shot through the air and when they got within a four foot radius of him, the fizzled and melted away against a barrier that grew stronger on magic.

With a thought, Harry made the Nundus growl - made them roar - and his face went from serene calm to outrage in a heartbeat. He swung his sceptre lengthwise across his body, spinning on the spot as mist spiralled around him, and plucked two hundred wands from two hundred hands. He had just disarmed every Auror in the Hall. The useless wands he piled in front of him beneath the pedestal.

Shock once again reined in the Grand Chamber.

"You have just witnessed the power of the Darkslayer," Harry whispered, his voice made frost seem warm. "Do not anger me... I can destroy you all!" He wouldn't, but they did not know that. Fear and intimidation. "I claim this Seat, what say you?"

The tall man had paled slightly when all eyes turned to him, and Dumbledore, but his arrogant swagger was still firmly in place. He scowled at Harry. "You exposed our world, you are still at school, and have had some luck in surviving in this British Dark War, Potter. You have no claim to the Seat of Power that I will acknowledge."

"I second Sorcerer Rafter," a dark skinned witch said, and from the crest in front of her booth he supposed she represented one of the African Ministries. There were a lot of them, and all of them followed suit.

Australia, New Zealand, France, Italy, Germany, Poland, Russia, South America, Switzerland, Belgium, Indonesia, China, Japan, Nepal, Hungary... dozens more, following tradition now, voted against Harry's claim on the Seat.

At last it came to Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley, seated high up in their booth, and Harry felt true anger coming from his once headmaster. The man was furious, beyond furious, so, of course, Harry smiled.

"A wonderful display you have put on for us today, Harry," Dumbledore began. "I suppose I do not have to tell you how many laws and traditions you have shattered in the last half hour? No, I did not think so. The United Kingdom does not acknowledge the claim of Harry James Potter. He is not lawfully recognised to sit on the Seat."

A lot of satisfied smiles and smirks came Harry's way at that, one or two concerned and fearful ones as well. No matter what they said, they had seen his power and were undoubtedly worried he was going to snap. Not today.

Surprising them all, Harry laughed. A deep, almost sardonic laugh that rattled up and out into the twilight sky. Scornful and mocking, Harry bit away his laugh with a growl and thrust his sceptre into the marble at his feet. A wave of power rippled out all around him and knocked every one of them in the Grand Chamber back into their seats.

"You're hanging yourselves," Harry said, his calm restored. "All of you are supposed to represent your nations, make decisions for the good of your nations, for the world! And you sit here and worry about what the Muggles will think of you, when Voldemort himself could destroy your precious Confederation with a wave of his hand."

Aurors watched him with narrowed eyes - disarmed Aurors yet still trained to recognise a threat - no one interrupted him as he continued, no one dared.

"You denied me today, and in so doing you drove another nail into your coffin!"

Harry threw up his arms and before him on the ground a vertical line of light appeared, spreading open to reveal the beach upon which his manor house was situated in Australia. It looked just like one of hundreds of beaches in the world, untraceable. He created a gateway from one place to another, and with a click of his fingers sent the Illusion Twins and the Nundus through it, before winking it closed.

"So be it," Harry carried on dangerously, his eyes sparkling. "You are unfit to protect this world, to protect even yourselves. If you will not give me the power I seek to end a war before it destroys this planet, then I will take it! All of you, be warned, for I am coming...."

Encasing himself in a stream of fire that was icy cold, and blue, Harry lost sight of the International Confederation and, whilst in his fiery dome, Apparated away, leaving his sceptre and the two banners fused into the marble pedestal. Nothing and no one would be able to remove them.

A reminder that he was out there - that they weren't safe - that a change in twilight was on the horizon.

Having just challenged the entire world, Harry decided he was in need of something to eat, and reappeared thousands of miles away from the IC near Fiji, in London, one of the places he knew best.

Fools, he thought, stepping out of the empty alley he had Apparated into and onto a busy Muggle street in the centre of London. He could see Trafalgar Square from here, and Nelsons Column. They'll all regret it in the end....

I think you were very dramatic, Ethan offered as they walked down the street. They... he was never alone in his own mind, never. Rattled some cages, to say the least. I won't be surprised if they order your arrest. You did break law.

Harry ignored him and dipped into the first café he came across on that street. A fancy place with metal framed tables and chairs out the front, and parasols to provide shade from the sun. In his back pocket he carried a small leather wallet with some normal Muggle currency.

He attracted one or two looks of surprise, mainly because he was dressed as he was - cloak and boots - but he saw no threat from the Muggles in the shop, and approached the counter where a pretty blonde waitress smiled a bemused smile at him, and asked:

"Good afternoon, what can I getcha?"

"Can I get a cup of tea please," Harry replied, feeling a bit odd. Not only had he just declared war on the world, sort of, but he was surprised by how quick he seemed to be fitting back into this world. "And I'll take a piece of that cake there, thanks."

"Cake and tea," the girl repeated with another smile and humour in her voice. "You here with your grandma or something?"

Harry blinked. "Why do you ask?"

"Because tea and cake are what the old people always order!" she said, reaching into the glass display cabinet to remove a piece of the chocolate cake.

Harry grinned. "Well what should I have ordered?" he asked her.

"Coke and chips," she replied promptly.

"Next time then," Harry said, handing over a five pound note from his wallet. He received two pounds fifty change.

Picking up his plate and cup, Harry was about to turn away when the waitress spoke again. "You seem familiar," she said with a frown. "Have we met before?"

Harry shrugged. "Shouldn't think so," he said, thinking of himself in the sky over London only two days previously. A newspaper in a rack on his left showed his picture clearly, with Voldemort. Muggles were stunned, lost, of course. "Thanks."

Harry ate his cake outside in the sun, sitting at one of the tables, watching Muggle London stream by absently. There he was, the Darkslayer, doomed to die if he didn't put up one hell of a fight, and all that mattered at that moment was the cake, and thoughts of peace.

In peace prepare for war, Ethan mumbled and then in the blink of an eye sat in a chair opposite Harry. He was garbed much the same, but a wind that didn't existed blew through his feathered hair softly. "Are you going to go see her today?" he asked. "Or will you wait for her to read the paper and see what you've done...."

Harry sensed the eyes of the waitress who had served him on his back, and a few more from the people walking by and in the café. No matter, no threat, they probably found him interesting.

"Ginny knows what to believe," Harry said after a moment. "As do Ron and Hermione... I'll pop in, say hello, and then pop out again. After all, we've got to decide on our first target."

"You think it will be easy to just take over a Ministry!? The Aurors will be against you, and any civilian with a wand."

Harry shrugged. "I disarmed two hundred with a thought half an hour ago, I think I got this."

Ethan sighed and flickered in and out of existence. "That Muggle girl is reaching for the newspaper," he said quietly, and then vanished.

Draining his teacup, Harry mimicked his sigh and then disappeared, stepping into a different flow of reality, bending light and space around himself. He hadn't moved an inch, but was invisible, completely not there. Someone could sit in this chair and would pass right through him.

*~*~*~*

Brenda, the blond Muggle waitress, watched the cloaked teenager at the table outside out of the corner of her eye. He did look dangerous, very dangerous, but she did not think he would make trouble. When he had been near, she had felt inexplicably safe, whilst at the same time felt a brush of extraordinary distance and... and... time. Time sounded right.

He sat eating his cake, and was looking through the chair opposite him. He was speaking, she saw, but to know one. Where did she know him from? He looked vaguely familiar, like someone you pass in the street everyday, or see on the train on your way to work... it was frustrating, on the tip of her tongue.

Absent mindedly wiping down the counter with her cloth, it suddenly hit Brenda like a blow to the stomach where she knew him from, and the blood drained from her face. It was impossible, but then so was what had happened two days ago. With a sudden lurch, and a fearful glance out at the young man at the table, she looked away from him and reached for yesterday's newspaper in the rack to her right.

Flipping it open to the front page, she saw a shocking mess of black hair and a strong faced boy... man... with a weird scar on his forehead. It was him! She hadn't seen the scar when he ordered because his fringe had been obscuring it. Only five seconds after looking away from him, she glanced back over to his table and--

He was gone, leaving nothing but a few crumbs on his plate and an empty teacup. Brenda felt her legs go weak and she held onto the counter to steady herself. It had been him, she was sure of it.

She looked down to the newspaper, and to the emergency hotline number that had been set up for anyone with information relating to this... this incident. One hundred and twelve people had died, and this boy was caught up in it somehow. She reached for the phone, and dialled the number.

*~*~*~*

Not knowing who to expect or where, Harry Apparated whilst still in a thinner fold of reality, out of sight, and appeared in Grimmauld Place invisible at the top of the stairs on the second floor landing. The world, in this layer of reality, was tinged slightly red, as if the other colours that made up the world hadn't been painted on yet.

They haven't been painted on yet, not here, Ethan offered. Hell of an Artist, though, to paint this, to paint it all.

Paint it then abandon it, Harry growled in his mind. This Creator is... not... Leave it be, Ethan! I'll not get dragged into other worlds and powers again, do you hear me!?

It's not me you should be angry at, and you know it, Ethan responded, just as fiercely. You're many things, Potter, but you're not a fool! Are you frightened of what's out there, hmm? Whether you want it or not it is coming, and I'll be damned - we'll be damned - if I'm going to live in a head that can't stay strong anymore.

Harry shut him away with an angry wave of his hand. Sometimes the truth hurt, as did the fact that he had to be reminded of it. But he was the Darkslayer, damn it, the Lord of Twilight, for what it was worth, and he should be able to do anything. It hurt, knowing that he couldn't. And that was a foolish thought.

The landing at the top of the stairs was deserted, and looking over the banister Harry saw a few Order members walking about in the hall, obviously waiting for Dumbledore to return from the IC. Wouldn't he have a surprise for them....

Harry checked the room that had been his first for his friends, but found it empty. Ron's bed had been slept in though. Checking the girls' room, empty, he headed into the extensive Black library but it was also empty. With a thought, Harry jumped up the stairs to the third floor and entered the room where Buckbeak was kept.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny were lounging on the bed and in chairs near the open window, summer sun streaming in during these first early days of June. Buckbeak was, surprisingly, not there.

"...berra is the capital of Australia, Ron," Hermione was saying. Canberra. Harry walked over to them and, before stepping back into the first, true layer of reality; he listened and observed his friends for a moment. "The wizarding government there is located in a large skyscraper that reaches down many floors under the earth as well."

Harry knew all this, having read up on it the other night.

"Will we be going there?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Shouldn't think so, Ron. My parents wouldn't be allowed in, to begin with, not without good reason. But we can visit the shopping plazas and whatnot. There'll be plenty to see."

"D'you reckon Harry will have time to come with us?" Ginny asked quietly. She was lying on her side on the bed in a blue blouse and jeans, scratching idly on a piece of parchment with a dry quill.

Hermione clicked her teeth irritably. "I don't know what to think about Harry anymore," she said. "He frightens me a bit these days."

Harry sighed and looked down at his palms. He was frightening, he knew, but to Hermione... she knew he'd never hurt her. He would die first.

"Harry has a war to lead," Ron said strongly, and Harry saw he was reading a book on Auror tactics and frowning in thought. Good, he would use Ron before the end, if he proved his worth off the chessboard, and his soul would be damned for it. Well... damned further, if that was possible. "He can't be too soft, you know. We don't have to fear him."

That's right, Harry agreed.

"Oh I know that," Hermione replied, straightening her skirts unconsciously. She was leaning against the window and half sitting on the open ledge. "But... its... it's his eyes mostly, you know. He sees everything! And they... they just--"

"Look dead sometimes," Ginny finished, staring ahead of herself at nothing. "At times they sparkle, a lot like Dumbledore's, but most of the time they're haunted and dark. That's what's frightening."

Ron thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "He's still Harry, no matter what happened to him in those two months he was missing. He's still Harry.

"I think, to him, it felt longer than two months," Ginny sighed with a frown. "A lot longer...."

Harry stifled bitter laughter. Ain't that the truth, he thought. It felt about a century longer than two months.

Ruefully shaking his head, Harry bent reality with a thought, stepped around light, and appeared on the edge of the triangle his friends made - Ron in the chair, Hermione against the window, Ginny on the bed - and smiled what he hoped was a friendly smile, one of greeting.

As he appeared in an instant, Ron swore and jumped, Hermione was startled and grabbed her hands together, whilst Ginny uttered a short scream and leaped backwards on the bed.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron growled as Harry laughed. "You scared me half to de--"

"Death?" Harry finished, tilting his head. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if you get scared half to death twice?"

"Very funny," Ron groaned, sitting up in his chair and picking up his book from down its side.

Harry went and sat down on the bed next to Ginny. She sat up and moved close next to him, placing her hand on his arm, her fingers brushing the long scar that stretched along his left forearm.

"Where've you been these last two days?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Here and there," he evaded. "You'll see when the Prophet arrives tonight," he finished with a somewhat anticipating grin.

"What have you done, Harry Potter?" Hermione asked strictly, her brow furrowing into a frown. "Nothing illegal, I hope."

In response, Harry burst out laughing. "I... em... I may have broken one or two laws, Hermione," he began carefully once he finished laughing. "And one or two traditions."

"Such as?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry raised his palms towards the ceiling and looked down at them. They were calloused and blistered, red raw in places, but he no longer felt the constant pain from them. He had long grown accustomed to it.

"Merlin, Harry," Ginny exclaimed, seeing his palms, she caressed his skin softly with her silky smooth fingers. "What have you been doing? Here, let me heal it." She drew her wand and before he could protest, muttered a few mending and skin knitting charms.

The pale blue light issued forth in a steady flow from her wand and pooled in his palms. But it wasn't right, it faded away and the skin remained calloused, blistered, and raw. She tried again, as Harry sighed resignedly, to the same result.

"I don't--"

"Some wounds can't be healed, Gin," Harry told her gently. "There's a price to pay for using the power I use, and this doesn't even scrape the surface. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt." He placed his palms on his knees out of sight.

"You look tired," Hermione commented, as Ginny put her hand against his forehead.

"And you're hot!" she said. "You have a fever."

"No, it's the scar," he said, tilting his head forward. "Been burning constantly for a few days now. Don't worry, only bothers me if I think about it."

Ron's face flashed concern and he looked about to say something, but at the last minute changed his mind and said something else. "So, what can we expect in the Prophet then? Something like, Boy Who Lived Dead Again? Or how about, Harry Potter Defeats Dark Lord at Blackpool Tower?"

Harry chuckled and then stared at the floor. "Try, Harry Potter Threatens International Confederation, or, Harry Potter Wanted for Treason, or maybe, Boy Who Lived Finally Snaps and Declares War on Wizarding World."

Ron gaped. "Y-You're not serious!?"

Harry smiled without mirth. "Wait for the paper," he said. "It'll say something along those lines."

"You didn't, Harry," Hermione said. "...did you?"

Anger flared in Harry's eyes, but it wasn't directed towards his friends. "I did, and I've got the power to back it up. The fools in the IC are sealing their own fates and I won't let them drag this world down with them. Not after all I fought through for it!" He continued, heedless of what he was saying. "We're going to need every Auror to fight against whatever Voldemort cooks up, and I have my suspicions, so if they don't give me command I'll take it."

"You are serious," Ginny said, sitting up straighter. "Merlin, Harry, you were serious when you said you were going to overthrow the...." She trailed away to nothing, staring wide eyed at him.

"And destroy every dark creature in the world," Ron finished.

Harry grinned coldly. "That, basically, is the whole plan," he said. "I intend to unite the world, not break it, and send every man and woman I can against Voldemort in the final battle."

Hermione shuddered. "Harry... this is either really insane or really... really insane! What do you think you're doing!?"

Harry shook his head. "This whole damn world is asleep, Hermione. I'm the only one awake enough to see and do what needs to be done. You'll understand, before the end."

"But people could die for this, Harry," she stressed. "Good people."

Harry frowned. "A lot of good people have already died," he said. "You don't need to tell me, of all people, that. And I don't need to tell you what it means to be at war. It's real, painfully so. We bleed, we die, I survive and so will the world."

Silence stretched for a long awkward, reflective moment, before Harry sighed and stood up, squeezing Ginny's hand reassuringly.

"Okay... how do I look?" he asked.

"Powerful," Ginny muttered, staring at him. "And tired, Harry." Sad, even. "What're you going to do now?"

"Pay a visit to the Muggle Prime Minister, of this country, to reach... an agreement. There are millions of soldiers out there in the Muggle world... I won't say more than that now. Just make sure you go to Australia with Hermione," he finished. "If I don't see you before then, I'll see you then."

He prepared to Apparate away, but Ginny stood up quickly and caught his arm. A moment later she briefly pushed her lips against his and he shuddered when she pulled away. "Be careful," she said. "This is big, Harry, what you've done. Don't... I don't want to hear that you've died in mysterious circumstances. Take care, please, take care."

"I'll be alright," he told her, brushing her cheek with his rough hands. "You take care... here; I should have given you this the day I left."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins. Muggle coins. Two gold one pound coins, and clenched his fists around them. His palm shone and when he opened it the coins crackled faintly blue, little shots of power jumping across their length.

"If you ever need me, for anything, just squeeze this as hard as you can," he told her, pressing one of the coins into her palm. "This one," he pocketed the other coin, "will burn a hole in my pocket and I'll Apparate straight to you, using your coin as a... beacon. Keep it safe, Gin; don't let anyone outside of this room know you have it."

Hugging her quickly, and nodding to Ron and Hermione, Harry promised to see them again soon, and then disappeared without a sound.

*~*~*~*

The Muggle Prime Minister, of course, hung his hat at Number 10 Downing Street, that was well known. The best security systems in the world protected Number 10, the famous door, and there was also always a strong police and secret service force in the area, whether it was seen or not.

In the office of the Prime Minister, there were motion sensors and laser beams for whenever the man himself was not in the room, amongst other things, and when he was his life signs, heartbeat and pulse rate, were transmitted to a 'safe' box in the head of security's room down the hall. If it became too elevated, or dangerously low, alarms sounded and the cavalry rode in.

All of this technology and human presence however, didn't count for much when the wizarding world was concerned. The Prime Minister sat at his desk, scowling at the documents and information before him on the 'terrorist' attack the other day on the London Bridge.

He scowled from the documents and their 'official' results, and looked up to the empty portrait across the way, the one that announced a visit from the other Minister, the Minister for Magic. Unbelievable, even now, after three years of meetings between two different other Ministers. Fudge and then Weasley.

The Prime Minister also looked down at the newspaper, a day old, resting in his lap. It showed a boy, a young man, with twin swords above his head bringing them down upon a creature that even the makers of horror movies would find hard to reproduce. The Prime Minister looked down at the Dark Lord Voldemort, and shivered.

This... monster... had killed one hundred and twelve of the citizens he represented, whom he was supposed to keep safe, and many more in the past. This monster was responsible for starting a war in that hidden wizarding world. A war that was spilling over into his world, that the majority of the population knew nothing about.

And then that man, that Arthur Weasley, had had the gall to tell him to calm down, to see reason, to stop acting like a fool! He had been told nothing, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom knew next to nothing about a war being fought on his own soil, in the very streets of London!

He slammed his fist against the table, and wondered what to do. No one would believe him if he went public with the wizarding world. Despite what had happened the other day, the claim was absurd - it would be the end of him. Easier to blame some terrorist organisation. No one would believe them if they denied it.

But that did not solve his problems.

One hundred and twelve funerals did not even begin to solve his problems. This world was dangerous, more so because of the powers they dealt in. Magic, they called it. Magic! Incredible, always there, out of sight, and used by roughly a million people worldwide.

Their war had started some years ago, the Prime Minister knew, and since then there had only been one or two isolated deaths of his normal people. But this was atrocious. They obviously could not control the Dark Lord, as they called him, and it might be time to take some action anyway, for the good of the nation.

The question was, what? The truth of the matter was no one knew about the existence of this world, no one! It wouldn't be easy to mobilise forces against a target buried somewhere in London, that much he knew, without proper reasoning or excuse.

But his countrymen were dying for a war they knew nothing about, and, by God, something had to be done!

*~*~*~*

Harry, standing in a fold of reality, bent the light around himself and refracted it off the shiny black door of Number 10 Downing Street. Inside, he knew, the Muggle Prime Minister went about his job, and from what he had heard Mr Weasley say about him, he was going about it with increasing anger.

Harry could understand that. The man had probably been told next to nothing, and was expected to sit on his hands whilst a secret war was fought in his backyard. Harry shook his head and walked straight through the door, because it didn't exist in the level of reality he stood in.

Hadn't been painted in yet.

Moving quickly, jumping, Harry searched for the Prime Minister's office. He didn't know where to look exactly, but he knew what the man looked like. He followed the most heavily guarded areas towards a large oak door. Security cameras and guards were everywhere, but they couldn't see Harry.

Something he had always thought, after giving it a bit of thought years ago, was that the wizarding world had grown too used to isolating themselves from the Muggle world. There were billions of Muggles, literally billions, whereas the magical folk numbered scarcely one million.

Given the right application of magic and Muggle technology, the wizarding world would never be short of Auror recruits or even its own army again. Sure they wouldn't be able to do magic, but a weapon with preset spells and a charge of magic in it would be just as useful as a wand.

Jumping down a long corridor, Harry walked through a door in this red tinted world and saw a man scowling at his desk, hitting his fist against it before glaring up at a portrait on the wall, which was empty of its occupant at the moment. Obviously magical, Harry could see a faint glow around it in this layer, the first brushes of power.

The Muggle Prime Minister of the United Kingdom wasn't happy, as Harry took a seat opposite the man's desk. There were a lot of empty coffee cups on his desk, a lot of scattered papers and Harry could see the newspaper with himself on the cover as well. There was a small slip of paper pinned to his forehead, obscuring most of Voldemort.

"Good day, Prime Minister," Harry said as he shifted reality with a thought and stopped bending the light around himself. Still dressed in his billowing black cloak and boots, leather pants and tight fitting black shirt, Harry knew he looked dangerous, despite his age.

The Prime Minister, to his credit, only flinched slightly back into his large leather chair, rocking backwards an inch or two. A brave man, a warrior, Harry thought. Good, they would be of like minds. Especially if the man had been left out of the loop by the Ministry of Magic.

"I saw you in the sky," the Prime Minister said calmly after he gathered himself. "Two days ago..." Another copy of the paper sat in his lap, and he threw it onto the desk. "You're the one who challenged this Voldemort, and five minutes ago I was told you were sighted in a café by Trafalgar Square."

Harry bowed his head and a small smile played around his lips. "Harry Potter, sir," he said, and reached across the table to offer his hand. Only hesitating for an instant, the Prime Minister shook it.

"Well... you're obviously one of them. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"

Harry appraised the Prime Minister for a moment before he answered. He was a tall man, with greying hair that would have been chestnut brown in its day. He had sharp piercing grey eyes and a strong chin, which was covered in a rough growth of overnight stubble. Obviously no press meetings today - the man looked tired and grumpy.

"One hundred and twelve people died Wednesday morning, two days ago. One hundred and twelve people were buried this morning, Friday, June 13^th 1997. Are you a superstitious man, Prime Minister?"

The man shrugged but held himself tall and proud in his chair. "I wasn't until I took office three years ago, young man. Then I learnt of your world, and I look at everything twice since."

Harry inclined his head again. "Friday the 13^th always has an ominous feel to it, especially in the wizarding world, sir. Sometimes magic can act strange on such days, that is where the legend of the 13^th comes from. Not often and usually in ways we don't even notice, but it's unlucky for some."

"You didn't come to talk dates with me, Potter, what do you want? I warn you now, my patience with your kind is wearing thin. One hundred and twelve of my people have died because they could not defend themselves against your- your magic."

Harry's eyes flashed dangerously and the Prime Minister took notice. Whatever he thought, he knew the young man sitting opposite him was no boy. He kept his foot on the panic button beneath his desk. Should the worst happen, he pushed that button and two dozen armed men would burst through his door in seconds.

"Exactly why I am here, Prime Minister," Harry said with a grim smile. "They did die, and our elected officials told you nothing. Our government shoved you aside because you can't do magic. You have a country to run, but there is a hidden world within it. I know a lot about worlds upon worlds hidden in worlds, sir, and I know you're probably very angry with mine right now."

The Prime Minister nodded. Hard as a lion, this one, and perhaps enough strength - not in magic, but of the soul - to see and do what needs to be done. "I'm very close to considering your world, Mr Potter, an enemy of the United Kingdom. War is an option I am considering. Tell me, do you think it could be called civil war?"

Harry's small grin faded away and dead calm replaced it. "There is a war coming," he whispered and the room seemed to hold its breath, grow darker. "A Dark War, the Last War... one that will see this world in ruin before the end."

"Voldemort," the man said the name sharp and clear.

Harry nodded. "The last thing I need, you need, is a war against the wizarding world." He removed the one pound coin that connected him to Ginny from his pocket and began to roll it expertly up and down the back of his knuckles, all the while staring without blinking into the Prime Minister's eyes.

"You've come to me with a choice, haven't you?" the man asked.

"The War is coming," Harry began, the coin a blur on the back of his knuckles, "and it will rain blood, that I guarantee you. It is simply unavoidable. The fools in my world let Voldemort grow too powerful sixteen years ago, and now he is damn near immortal--"

"What is your place in all of this?" the Prime Minister cut in, gesturing towards the newspaper.

Harry grinned, it looked insane, maddening, and showed a lot of his teeth. "I'm the saviour of the world," he said simply. "I'm the man who will soon rule the wizarding world. I'm Harry Potter, the most powerful wizard on this planet. I'm all that stands between Voldemort and wiping those he deems unworthy off the face of the earth."

"Unworthy...." the man repeated. He had been told a lot about Voldemort by the last other Minister, Fudge. "Us, Mubbles, as you call us."

Harry nodded. "Your numbers are far superior to ours. You outnumber us a thousand times over. What I want, today, Prime Minister, is an agreement between ourselves that you'll commit forces to the take over of the wizarding world, to aid me, and in time face the Dark Lord Voldemort in the last war of this world."

For a long moment, Harry thought he had finally unnerved the man. His jaw hung open, gaping, before he snapped it closed quickly and regained his regal, proud manner. "Say that again...." he whispered.

Harry sighed and looked down to the coin blazing up and down his knuckles. "Heads or tails?" he asked the leader of the United Kingdom.

The man opened his mouth, looked at Harry and then down at the coin, before waving his hand. "Heads," he muttered.

Harry flicked the coin up into the air where it blurred into a flipping circle before coming down in an arc over the oak desk. It landed with a thunk on the desk and, for a long moment, spun on its side, spinning faster and faster before abruptly stopping - poised on its edge, neither heads nor tails.

"The entire world rests on the edge of that coin, Prime Minister, both of our worlds - this whole planet! It can tip either way. You and I, we picked heads, Voldemort picked tails. Which way will it fall, I wonder?" The coin wavered, dipping left and right but never falling. Harry opened his hand and the pound coin flew into it.

"Despite what you've told me," the man said harshly, scowling. "I see before me a boy who should be in school. I don't pretend to understand your world in the least, but you wish me to believe that you are going to take it over, and you want my forces to help you!?"

"Essentially," Harry agreed. "I want to do something that hasn't been done before, in any world I know of; I want to mix the Magic world with the Muggle world. I want to blend our technologies; I want us to fight side by side against a common enemy. I want us to work together to send Voldemort back to Hell!"

"You don't want much," the Prime Minister commented wryly, twitching an eyebrow. "You're a very confident young man."

Harry chuckled. "I was once told that confidence is courage at ease by a man who died with his guns blazing. Went down swinging, as the saying goes... I do what has to be done, Mr Prime Minister, because no one else can...."

"And will the world pay hell for it, I wonder?" the Prime Minister mused.

"Undoubtedly," Harry replied. "There will be death, before the end. Death and blood and fire and pain. But there will be less of that if we work together. Think carefully on that, Prime Minister, it may be the most important decision anyone in this world has ever made...."

For the first real time since this young man had arrived in his office, the Prime Minister felt a sudden longing sense of immense, titanic distance. For a brief moment, he saw a road walked thousands of miles, and around Harry Potter a blazing inferno suddenly shone and then died.

His eyes widening, the Prime Minister dropped his gaze to the desk in front of Potter, unable to meet his eyes. He felt... safe... yes, safe was the word, around this boy. Nothing in the way he held himself told the Prime Minister that he was dangerous, deadly, and yet he was sure he would be dead in the blink of an eye if Potter wanted it so.

That wouldn't effect his decision here, not in the least.

For three years really, ever since he had learnt of the hidden magical world, he had been looking to get a foothold in what goes on there, and this boy, who claimed he would soon rule that world, was willing to give more than just a foothold. He was willing to mix both worlds, perhaps even reveal its existence. Harry Potter was his proof, and he was offering just that.

Still... this magic was incredible. They had all seen the display over London. How did he know that any forces he did commit were not just going to be slaughtered by spells and enchantments? The very Thames had been frozen by Voldemort; he had killed hundreds with his magic.

This was a decision he really wasn't fit to make, not without knowing more, but Potter wanted it now... and it may not come again.

"Just tell me one thing, Harry Potter," the Prime Minister said finally. "Do you honestly believe that you can defeat Voldemort, that you can end this war?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't.... I wouldn't have just claimed the wizarding world as my own if I didn't. I wouldn't be alive today, if I didn't."

As one, the two men shook hands, and the world was changed again by choice. Where it would lead was not clear, as there were many more choices to make, but it would take the Lord of Twilight one step closer to the end of his great game.

So long had he played it that he no longer knew anything else, but he remembered that the playing pieces did have souls - well, every other piece save himself and Voldemort had a soul. His was bereft and torn, lying in tattered ruins against a tombstone in a graveyard of damned hopes and last breaths of defiance.

The Soul of the Last Hero was damned - doomed to suffer an eternity in Hell for his crimes. If that wasn't irony then such a thing did not exist.

Suddenly laughing at the thought, Harry didn't feel the Prime Minister snatch his hand back or see him gaze with a growing amount of fear into his insanity riddled eyes. Eyes that sometimes held a dead soul behind them.

So be it, Harry thought through his laughter. Satan probably wouldn't have me anyway - too afraid I'd take over.

One choice today.

Another tomorrow.

Harry had started something that very soon he would be unable to stop, and the world would pay hell for it. Bringer of Chaos, they had called him - and he would do just that.

*~*~*~*