Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Prologue - Dark and Dangerous Times Lie Ahead

We need help, the poet reckoned.

~~Edward Dorn

A scattering of silver stars burnt in the night sky, shining with their ever-lasting radiance. It was a night of destiny, of great happenings and of forging paths of choice. The moon was a sharp sickle crescent hanging above a rocky summit, a mountain, whose dark silhouette shadowed the glowing lake, which was a reflection of the sky itself.

Despite the warmth of summer, it was a cold night. Across the vast lake a rolling mist was slowly spreading, shielding the reflective surface from the never-changing night sky. And like the cold of the night, it was not natural.

The lake lay in a valley of the large mountainous range of Glencoe, in Scotland. It was out of the way, and for most of the year no one came near it. The nearest road was three miles to the east. It truly was isolated... and evil.

A seething mass of decaying flesh was the source of the unnatural cold and mist. Dementors, one of magic's mistakes, and Inferi, one of mankind's mistakes, were the source of this... unnaturalness. Nine hundred and twenty two Dementors floated around the now dead and frozen valley, fast spreading across the lake as they continued to breed, to swell their numbers and serve their dark master.

Inferi, two hundred and fifty undead corpses, walked amongst the mass of Dementors. Soulless husks of men and women who had been forcibly raised from their graves, bound to a creature that the Grim Reaper himself would be wise to fear.

The valley had become a staging ground for a series of attacks planned by Lord Voldemort against the world - both the Magic and Muggle worlds - had become a nest for the strongest concentration of dark creatures on the planet.

The Dark Lord himself stood on a rise overlooking the valley. His red eyes smouldered softly in the darkness; his pale skin seemed almost grey in the moonlight. Garbed in billowing black robes, what light there was seemed to die around the thin form of Lord Voldemort.

Also on the crest above the valley were half a dozen of his servants, of his Death Eaters. One recently initiated and five in his service over twenty years. Of those five, one was honoured amongst all overs, and it was he who approached the Dark Lord now, he alone with the backbone to speak before being spoken to.

Severus Snape was garbed equally in black robes, and as he stood this close to Voldemort his Dark Mark prickled hotly, almost painful but not quite. A subtle reminder that he was branded, owned, and that his owner was nearby. Snape had, since June, been receiving private tutoring lessons from the Dark Lord in the dark arts... a reward no other Death Eater could have ever claimed to have.

For it had been three weeks since Severus had cast the spell that ended Albus Dumbledore's life, three weeks since he had fled Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy in tow, and three weeks since he fulfilled his Unbreakable Vow. Well... vows.

"This is impressive, my lord," Severus whispered, his Occlumency shields intact and at full strength. Only a determined, full on attack by a Master Legimens would gain access to his mind.

"An army fit to change the world, Severus," Voldemort hissed without turning around. His red gaze was kept solely on the valley of dark creatures.

Or destroy it, Severus thought. "Indeed, my lord. Any opposition will... be crushed by this force."

Surprising Snape, Voldemort laughed - cackled - and it cut through the cold of the night like a knife. "There will be very little opposition once the world sees my true strength. No, at the least we can expect a valiant yet futile effort from Scrimgeour. Can you see the Ministry surviving an attack by an army three times as large as this one?"

Snape inclined his head in the darkness. "I cannot," he replied truthfully.

"Months now, Severus," Voldemort continued quietly into the night. "Too long have I waged this war and been denied victory by the accursed Light. What time they had has been reduced to mere months now, with what we accomplished at Hogwarts."

"I live to serve," Snape bowed.

Voldemort grinned. It wasn't a happy grin. "Yes," he said. "You do... But come now, Severus. You are my most loyal Death Eater, my greatest servant, my right hand, even. When this world ends in ice and fire you will be there at my side as we reforge it anew. The future is ours."

Not if I've anything to say about it, Snape thought and then, unexpectedly, added, or Potter. That brought a scowl to his face, but in the darkness it was masked in shadows. "What are your orders, my lord?"

Voldemort mused silently for a moment. "Draco Malfoy," he hissed. "He is to be given another chance to prove his worth. Tell Bella to cease her torture of the boy... he has learnt his lesson I think."

He learnt it within the first hour, Severus whispered in his mind.

"And, Severus," Voldemort continued. "Failure this time is not an option for him. Punishment for it will be death."

"I'll make sure he understands."

Voldemort nodded and continued to survey his dark army with a madman's glint in his crimson eyes. "Then you are dismissed."

Severus bowed before disapparating, leaving the five other Death Eaters behind, and reappeared in his home at Spinner's End. As soon as he arrived in the sitting room, Snape drove his fist into the nearby wall, cutting off a string of curses and breaking the plaster.

As they had done almost every minute of his life since that night at Hogwarts, his thoughts turned to the man he had killed, had not even hesitated to kill. Albus Dumbledore. A man who had risked everything to battle darkness his entire life, a man who had seen some good in Severus Snape when he himself could not see it.

A man who Snape had, over the years, come to respect and think of as a mentor, someone to look up to, someone he... could call a friend. And in the end, his promise to the old man had won out atop of that tower.

Severus thought back to the argument the two of them had had, after he had revealed the truth - that he had made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy to kill him should Draco Malfoy fail to do so. Dumbledore, with his unbreakable morals, had asked of him a promise, a vow - not an unbreakable one, as no one could be trusted to cast it - but one that meant more than the magical vow.

"Promise me, Severus, should this come about you will fulfil that vow - I will not see you dead, not when you will be in a position to gain the knowledge I... Harry needs to end this war."

"I will not--"

"A vow, my friend," Dumbledore cut in, smiling quite calmly. His eyes... By God, he was sealing his own doom and those damn eyes still twinkled. "Promise me that you will end my life if Draco Malfoy fails to do so. It is the only way we can win this war, I fear, the only way the children of this school can survive, the only way Harry can live...."

"Damn you, Potter," Snape breathed, slumping into his armchair and holding his head in his hands. His skin had grown haggard over the last three weeks, and even paler. Stress, guilt, regret, pain, bitterness... He wanted to die. "Damn you, Albus, for making me do it."

Snape summoned his bottle of Firewhiskey. It was half-empty, but it was enough to make him forget for awhile. Slowly he was gaining more and more of the Dark Lord's trust. Slowly he was being brought into his confidences, his most secret plans. In time, he thought, the Dark Lord would get careless and reveal the location to one of his Horcruxes.

But time was something they no longer had, not after seeing that army tonight. Snape knew he would have to step up his tutoring with the Dark Lord, spend more time with the creature and hope, pray even, that he could discern the location of the soul fragments. Nothing was of greater importance.

Severus would be quite happy if he died with the world thinking he was a loyal Death Eater, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, if he could only take a horcrux or two with him.

*'*'*'*'*

Rome
July 9th

Matthew Tristan held the shaking and ragged body of Merton, one of the men he had come to for information before. He smelt terrible, as he lay dying in Matt's arms, and his skin was oily, revolting. Merton charged a lot for the information he collected, but it was always right, always true - and that made him dangerous. Someone, or something, had killed him for what he had learnt.

"Tristan," he growled, his grizzled face streaked with blood, on the last of his strength. "The legend is true... It's out there, just waiting to be found."

Matt stared without blinking into the dead man's eyes, his form suddenly rigid. Reddish black hair lay atop his head, over grey eyes that had seen a lot in the twenty five years he had been alive. His clothes were Muggle; draped over a well-built athletic form. Everything about him screamed Muggle, down to his Nike cross-trainers, save the wand in the leather holster strapped around his wrist.

"What is, Merton?" Matt asked. "Damn it, what happened?"

Merton, damn him, managed a weak smile that was fading as fast as his life. His teeth were blood stained; his grey hair was matted to his head.

"The Chosen One," he grimaced. "The man with the power to... either... save or... or destroy the world. Prophecy...." Blood flowed freely from the large wound in Merton's chest, the gaping hole that cut right through his left lung. He hadn't just been killed, he'd been butchered. "He can... he can... open the way. Save us, Matt, he can lead you to the Source!

Matt snapped his head back fast and looked down at Merton incredulously. That could not be true... it was a myth, nothing more. Matt's mouth hung open in shock, and at seeing that Merton managed a weak laugh. It was weak, not like the usual snickering laughter the man produced.

Vaguely, Matt realised then that he was going to miss this old bastard.

"It can't be..." Tristan breathed.

"The Source exists... it always has... Matt."

Matt was sweating now, his eyes wide with... awe. "No... how did you--?"

Merton laughed again at that, harshly. "Sold my soul to the devil," he growled, his eyes now fluttering uncontrollably. He was going. "For my life... I was given the chance to ask one question...."

Hearing that, Matt let Merton fall back to the carpeted floor, slick with his blood, and scurried back, his eyes fearful and jeans thick with the man's blood. He couldn't have done that... used the Mirror... no, a demon had killed him! He'd contacted the spirit world for an answer to a question humans should not have asked. God above, Merton was damned for eternity.

Matt couldn't believe it - none of it. "What killed you, Merton?"

The only answer he got was a low, guttural gurgling from the now soulless body of Merton, his associate and one time friend. Matt stood, shaking, and it was then that he heard the other being in the room.

A low growl emanated from behind the desk near the far wall. Behind that a window looked out upon the night and the city of Rome. Matt hesitated, a sofa between him and the desk, but a table between him and the door. He flicked his wrist and caught his wand in his left hand, taking a slow step back.

His foot had barely touched the ground before the desk simply exploded into a million fragments, and a ball of liquid fire burnt those fragments to nothing and set the room alight. Matt screamed, jumped backwards, rolled over the table and made for the door as if the fires of Hell were after him.

Funnily enough, they were.

Matt ran into the corridor of the Muggle apartment block and sprinted down the corridor. Behind him he heard the outer wall of the corridor, Merton's wall, explode outwards much like the desk.

Bugger, he thought when he reached the elevator. He pushed the button and then turned, feeling a great heat rush up his back. The hallway had become an inferno in seconds and the white hot flames were fast burning along the walls and carpet towards him. Within them, shrouded in smoke, two glowing red eyes narrowed. That was all he could see of the demon that had crossed over from its own world, and into this one.

"Mother of God," Matt whispered, pressing the button with his closed fist repeatedly. It was no good.

Off to his right a door led to the stairs, but he was twelve floors up. This creature could probably... no, could definitely catch him by then. He knew the truth now, or at least part of it, and Hell wanted him for it. The Source was real! That thought made his head spin, or maybe it was the smoke?

No matter, his life was in danger, and he had always acted on instinct in these situations. Matt powered through the door and onto the stone stairs. Fire followed him as he raced down to the ground floor. He made it down six floors before the metal railings above him began to melt and pour down liquid white hot metal upon him.

"Protego!" he shouted, raising a shield and leaning back against the wall, which was heating up fast. He looked up into the bright flames and could see their centre, where the creature was, moving fast down the stairs after him. Swearing, cursing his luck, Matt tried to Apparate to the ground floor but discovered he couldn't. Something was blocking him.

A deep throbbing laughter from the demon gave him his answer as to who that was. What was left to do?

To stay still was death, to move down the stairs was death, and to face the creature was death. None very good options, Matt thought absently, searching for a fourth. He had always worked best when his back was up against the wall, as it literally was now.

The closer the demon got, its form still shrouded in fire, the hotter it became. Matt was sweating buckets, and could feel the skin on his arm blistering. He needed to get to the ground floor, and to Courtney, who was waiting in the foyer of the apartment building.

He remembered something his mentor had once told him about facing enemies stronger than yourself.

When you find yourself outclassed, Tristan, just remember one thing. Everything has a weakness - exploit it and run.

That was all good and well, but what weakness could a demon, spawned in Hell itself, have? Fire was definitely out of the question, and it was way too hot to combat it with ice. So what was left?

Nothing came to mind, and the creature was now only two flights of stairs above him.

Before him, across the landing, was a door that led onto the fifth floor. Molten metal was dripping down between him and that door, but it was his only chance now. Glancing at the metal drops, at the spreading fire and red stone above his head, and at the door, Matt made a jump for it across the space that separated the stairs and the five storey drop between them.

A blob of sizzling metal hit his back and his clothes ignited, his back burnt and he hit the opposite wall hard, grimacing and cursing. Not waiting to put out his clothes, Matt blasted the door off its hinges and stepped into the cooler air of the fifth floor. It was like every other floor, doors on either side and at the end a window that looked out onto Rome.

Free for a moment, Matt drenched himself with water and cast a freezing charm on the air. People were starting to emerge from their rooms at this point, obviously drawn by the noise of a demon making its way down the stairs.

That reminded him - there was a demon coming down the stairs. Matt sprinted down the hall, shouting for everyone to get back in their rooms, telling them that the stairs were on fire. No good.

About three-quarters of the way down the corridor, Matt chanced a glance over his shoulder and swore. A vaguely man shaped creature stood at the door to the stairs; it was wreathed in fire, shining almost white across its body. He could smell the sulphur from where he stood. Innocent Muggles in the hall screamed and dived for their rooms.

The demon roared and raised its arms. A tongue of white hot flame shot out and widened, blazing down the corridor at a phenomenal speed, hitting the floor and ceiling, scorching everything in its path.

Once again Matt swore. He was left with nowhere to run. But he had been trained to always look for another option... and there was one. The only option left was to....

Matt, bleeding and burnt, still in a state of shock and disbelief over what had happened in the last ten minutes, threw himself at the thin window and fell in a shower of glass into the night air, five floors up, just as the tongue of flame exploded out of the corridor behind him, lighting up this part of Rome for miles around.

Matt fell. He was on fire again and not having a great night. There was nothing to break his fall except the concrete of the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he had one or two tricks up his sleeve. A... modification to the traditional use of the shield charm would work here. It would hurt like hell, but he probably wouldn't break anything.

"Protego!" he cried, pointing his wand towards the fast approaching ground.

The shield charm flared to life five metres above the ground, above a few concerned looking people watching him fall with their hands over their faces and shock in their eyes. The charm would only last a moment.

Matt hit it; hit his own shield as he fell. It shattered of course, not made for such a physical attack, but Matt felt his momentum slow. For an instant he almost stopped, atop of the whole shield charm, but then it shattered and dispelled into the ether. It was like running head on into a brick wall, but it slowed him down. Winded, Matt fell again the remaining five metres, falling head on into the concrete.

No, not having a good night at all. He did a bit more cursing.

He also, unfortunately, bit his lip as he landed. And that was what actually hurt the worst, even brought tears to his eyes.

Concerned citizens, Muggles, rushed over to him as he rolled over and looked up at the towering inferno the apartment complex had become in so short a time. The demon was still up there, in its heart, burning the building down around it. Matt struggled to sit up and draw breath.

A tourist, a pair of tourists by the looks of things, asked him in a strong American accent, "Je-sus! You okay, buddy?"

Matt managed to give the man and his wife a thumbs up, slowly crawling to his feet. He was sore all over, but there was still one thing left to do. He ran back towards the doors of the apartment building, pushing through the crowd that were only too happy to jump out of his way. Thankfully, the fall had put the flames out in his clothes again.

"Courtney?" he called, running through the revolving doors. She was right where he left her reading a magazine twenty minutes ago, before he had gone upstairs and found Merton dying. She wasn't reading her magazine now. The fire alarm was blaring loudly and she had been watching the lift and stairs for him.

At the sound of his voice, she turned round and her eyes widened when she took him in. "What did you do?" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Jump out of the window?"

"Yeah," Matt said calmly, "I did. But we've not time for that now, babe. Big trouble - let's go."

He grasped her hand and they ran. Well, Matt limped. He had really begun to feel his injuries. Courtney was a Muggle. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that could stop traffic. She had been with Matt for a number of years now, having saved his life when he was twenty. Since then, she'd taken up with him - a real relationship - and gotten into his line of work.

Matt was a treasure hunter. He could use magic, something that had taken Courtney a few weeks to get her head around, but he preferred doing most things the normal way. He travelled across the planet searching for relics, magical or not, and sold them to the highest bidder. He was wanted in more than one country for... damages to property... and a few broken international laws.

"What's going on?" Courtney asked as she followed Matt out of the building. "Did Merton kick you out of the window?"

Matt raced down the street with Courtney towards their car. "Nothing as lovely as that. Merton's dead, Court," he panted. "Did something stupid and paid for it. We all might pay for it...."

"The building's burning down!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder and up into the raging maelstrom of fire and heat.

Matt managed a small smile. "Tell me about it."

In better shape than Matt, Courtney soon overtook him as they ran for the car, parked on the corner, and she was soon dragging him along. Fumbling for the key, she jammed it into the driver's side door when they reached the blue Audi and yanked the door open fast. In the distance she could hear the sirens.

Matt being Matt, he slid across the bonnet smoothly, leaving a trail of black ash and a bit of blood smeared across it, and pulled open the passenger door, getting into the vehicle.

"Drive, honey," he whispered, leaning back in his seat as Courtney keyed the ignition. Finally given a chance to catch his breath, Matt leant back into his seat and really felt the pain of his injuries.

He was alive though, and that was what mattered. He was also the only person on the planet that knew the greatest mystery of all time could be solved; every question about life could be answered. The only person alive who knew the universe's dirty little secret.

The Source was real! One hell of a treasure to be found. Matt had just become the most hunted man in more than one world.

*'*'*'*'*