Synopsis: The war has begun. Sirius' death is but one of the casualties in the war and Harry learns to accept that. He then vows to train and get powerful enough to rid not only England, but the world of evil. As he gains new powers, friends, enemies, allies, training, and more, so does Voldemort. Dumbledore also seemingly begins to train and eventually becomes one of Harry's mentors. However, when new players come into the war, things change, and the entire world is suddenly engulfed in a war led by the most powerful wizards. They are the titans in the war, the ones with immense power that they could reshape the world. Is there enough time to save the world from new enemies AND defeat Voldemort? Is there really any hope?

New powers, weapons, magic, allies, friends, enemies, dangers, twists, evils, and more! A powerful and somewhat independent Harry. His friends also gain much power.

Ships:

Harry/Hermione
Ron/Luna
Ginny/Neville
Draco/other female
Kaji/other female
Blaise/other female
Lupin/Tonks
others...

Hmm, well I hope that I can finish this story this time. The other stories I've written I lost interest in (except the relatively new Halo one - I shall continue that some time soon). Please forgive me and I appreciate ANY reviews at all. Any. It just makes me sad when I don't get reviews. Makes me sort of... give up on writing? Meh. No matter, I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Veteran

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Potterverse, really. JK Rowling came up with it and I am only extending and adding on to what she already thought of - so I own parts of this story. By no means do I own HP at all and am not making money off of it, blah blah blah... you get the point. On with the story!

War of Titans

Prologue

No. 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England...

Harry Potter stared at the ceiling, hands clenched. His eyes were focused on a point on the ceiling, but if one looked close enough, one would see that his eyes didn't have any focus at all. It seemed he was lost within himself. Battling with the demons within his own mind, oblivious to all around him.

Indeed, that was what he was doing. Battling himself. Guilt, anger, and depression were but some of the emotions that engulfed him as his thoughts raced around his mind.

'What have I done? Sirius... oh, Sirius... I'm so sorry... it's all my fault! If I hadn't been so rash, if I had learned Occlumency, if I had used the mirror... if only...' were but some of the thoughts that rolled around his head. The pain in his soul and his heart defied any pain his weak and malnurished body felt.

Truthfully, he had been lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, for three days in a row. Sleeping only when exhaustion finally forced his body to shut down. Yet, even in his dreams, he was plagued with nightmares of Sirius' death at the Ministry, of his friends getting hurt, of his big mistake.

'It's all my fault... all my fault... his death, my fault. My friends' injuries, my fault. Endangering everyone, my fault. Believing in Voldemort's projected dream, my fault. Believing in Kreacher, my fault...' he thought dully, his eyes more red than emerald.

He never noticed the figure that had appeared in his room. A pale, translucent, figure of a man with messy black hair and a sad look in his eyes as he saw the sight before him. The figure hovered a foot off the ground, his face full of sorrow and yet care for the sixteen year old boy.

Harry was thin, so very thin. His skin was tight across the muscles he had from Quidditch, he had not an ounce of fat on his body, and in some places his bones were showing. He wore filthy clothes, or they actually looked like large rags for some animal. His hair was unkempt and more unruly, though he also had dirt and filth all over his body. His lips were cracked and dry, his eyes very red, and his skin was dry.

The only part that was wet were two long streaks from the sides of his eyes, down his cheeks, and past his ears. The poor-excuse-for-a-pillow, or a bed for that matter, was thin and he might as well have slept on the floor. The sheets were torn and were also covered with dirt.

The ghostly figure was revolted by the sight, but knew he had to be there. He needed to be there, it was Harry's only hope of surviving. He ran a hand over Harry's face as his fingers went through some parts that he touched. He knew that if he wasn't dead, he would have died from the stench alone. He shook his head, trying not to think of it as tears formed in his eyes.

They fell, though they disappeared into the floor, going through anything in its path.

"Harry..." the figure whispered softly and yet with a slight sob.

The boy with jet-black hair and emerald eyes didn't stir. His breathing was shallow and his heart fluttered excessively. His hands were still clenched, weakly, and were shaking.

"Harry... please... wake up... I-I have to speak with you... Harry.." the figure tried again, breaking down.

'This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Harry... please! You have greater things ahead of you if you move on, and it's time you did! Oh... you're killing yourself... please wake up! We must speak!' the figure thought, trying to rouse Harry again.

The boy stirred slightly, but still didn't register the pale ghost that now hovered close to him, staring into his eyes intently.

"Harry... don't do this to yourself... please! Wake up!" cried the ghost, a little louder.

"S-Si...Sirius?" asked Harry very softly. His eyes didn't move at all and the ghost of Sirius was truly worried by then.

"Wake up! Shake yourself out of it, Harry! You're stronger than this... you must be..."

"Si...Si-Sir-Sirius?" asked Harry again, this time his gaze moved to the ghost beside him. Reddish-emerald eyes looked into the dark and yet translucent eyes of the ghost that was his godfather.

"Yes, Harry... we have to talk..." he responded, hoping it wasn't too late.

Office of the Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

Albus Dumbledore was staring out the window of his office, his blue eyes gazing out into some unknown spot in the horizon. His hands behind his back, he stood perfectly still, and one would actually think he might have been petrified. However, he still moved from breathing and that was the only signs of life from the old headmaster. The portraits in the room were all looking at him, understanding in their eyes. They had been told of what happened by Dumbledore because he needed their help, their advice.

His mind was churning, a deep regret and sorrow welling deep within him. Fawkes trilled, looking at his companion with concern.

The old man finally stirred, unclasping his hands from behind his back and resting them on the window sill. He had come to a decision, one that he knew he needed to do. He had made a big mistake with sending Harry back to his relatives, especially in such a delicate state. He just hoped the young boy was alright and that all those howlers and angry letters sent to him from his friends would stop.

A single tear fell from his left eye, running past his half-moon spectacles and entering his long, white beard. He just hoped he wasn't too late to be forgiven. He needed to mend the rifts and heal the wounds.

He turned to his phoenix, which looked back at him in agreement. They were very closely connected, the other knowing the thoughts and emotions of the other. Fawkes trilled again, ruffling his red and gold feathers.

"Am I too late, Fawkes?" asked the old headmaster softly...

Back at No. 4 Privet Drive...

Harry had long since sat up and leaned against the wall that was next to his bed. He was very weak. He had barely enough strength to even listen to Sirius as his godfather comforted him, however he felt a little better.

"But...it was... it was my-" he tried to say, though his voice croaked and his mouth and throat were dry.

"No, Harry. I cannot say that there is no blame on you, but we all make mistakes. I made a mistake with trusting Dumbledore and keeping you alone with these filthy, horibble muggles. I made a mistake with not keeping in constant contact with you. However, you have to know that I wanted to die defending you. It was the best way for me to die and it was better than dying of old age and boredom in Grimmauld Place!" Sirius replied seriously.

"It doesn't matter that you ran in without getting too much information, I would have done the same thing. I love you, Harry, as if you were my own son. I would do anything for you, and I did do that. I died protecting you. I died with the knowledge that you would still be alive, and that was enough. I've seen James and Lily, Harry. They love you so very much and would have come, but the powers above did not will it," he continued, "Wallowing in depressing and self-pity will do no good. You have to be strong, Harry, if you are to defeat that ass, Voldemort. You have to move on..."

"I..." Harry couldn't say anything. All this time, he kept telling himself it was his fault. All his fault. If he hadn't done this, if he had done that instead, everything would have been better. He had been thinking too narrowly. Actually, he hadn't even been thinking straight at all. Sirius was right, he had to move on, but...

"I... I-I can't, Sirius... I m-miss you and..." he trailed off, tears stung his red eyes.

Sirius wished so very much that he could physically hug Harry. He wanted so much to comfort him with his physical presence, but he knew it would not be so. "I miss you too, Harry. I know we could have had such good times, but that isn't possible now. You have to look to the future, don't dwell to much in the past. It will hurt you more than you know," he spoke, "This is a war, Harry. I died in the most honorable way possible for me, in the defense of my family."

With that, Harry smiled a little, though he still felt a lot of guilt and sorrow within him, he could feel it slowly ebbing away. Sirius was right, it was time to move on. He had mourned the loss of his godfather enough.

"No more crying and beating yourself over me. You must get strong and powerful, Harry, or else everyone you love will..." but he left the last part unsaid, looking into Harry's eyes with an even deeper sorrow than Harry's.

"You do not know how much it hurts for me, leaving you in a world where half the people want to kill you and the other half look up to you. Know that I am sorry that I have left you in such a time when you needed me. The world is moving fast, the forces of darkness are already spreading. You are one of the only hopes of the survival of the world, Harry. The survival of the world as we know it. It is time you stop grieving and start training. You will become a very powerful wizard, Harry, that I know, but you must train to get there. I have already left specific instructions in the Black Family vault, which you will own when my will is read. My time is short, now, but know that no matter what happens, I will always love you and watch over you. So will James and Lily, as I am sure they are watching at this very moment," Sirius said quickly.

"A friend of mine once said: The only reason we fall is so we can learn to pick ourselves up. The time for mourning has passed, Harry. It is time to pick yourself up and move on. Kill that bastard for me, will you? Avenge my death by defeating Voldie. I have left things in my vault that will help you-" but then he paused, as if someone spoke to him, "my time is up, Harry. We shall forever watch over you. Know that no matter what happens, we will love you. Always. Goodbye, Harry..."

Harry nodded, though he tried to reach out to grab Sirius, who smiled at the effort. "Goodbye, Sirius.." he said weakly.

Sirius was right, once again. He had fallen, hard and fast, but now was not the time to just stay on the floor. He had to pick himself up and make himself stronger so that next time he would not fall. He had to become powerful. He needed to if he was to protect his remaining friends. If he was to defeat Tom.

His mind was racing as he leapt from his bed, intending to eat something and then finish his schoolwork, but the effort drained what little energy he had left. He fell to the ground, his mind dizzy and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw was the door opening and a tall figure rush over to him. Then the darkness flooded around him and he saw no more.

Somewhere in England...

The black-robed figure saw on his black obsidian throne, a snake on his lap. Thin red slits that were his eyes gazed over the heads of his most trusted followers. His Inner Circle. He was seething and his anger rolled off him in waves, bouncing off the walls of the large stone hall and rippling through his followers, making them shiver with fear and anticipation.

No one spoke. No one dared to. They all shifted noiselessly, awaiting their master's command.

"I am weaker than I thought, Naginiiii..." he hissed in parseltongue, a language that only two people in the world could speak. Harry and Voldemort.

"Too long have I been defeated by an old man and a mere boy! It issss unacceptable. I musssst regain my former powerssss.." he continued, his red eyes fastening onto the large snake curled in his lap.

"How are you to accomplissssh thisss tassssk, masssster?" asked Nagini, her tongue flicking out of her mouth.

"You sssshall sssssseee, Naginiii. I have a plan..." he replied, grinning and then cackling evilly. His followers shivered, looking up at him, though not directly into his violent red eyes.

The Dark Lord had a plan...

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts...

"Poppy! Poppy!! Come quickly!" bellowed the headmaster of Hogwarts in a pained and worried voice.

The nurse of Hogwarts groggily got dressed and entered the Hospital Wing. She stopped as she beheld the sight before her.

Albus Dumbledore was weeping openly. He no longer had that familiar twinkle in his eye as he was sobbing and shaking. In his arms lay the limp and barely breathing form of Harry Potter.

Poppy fought back a cry and sob of her own as she quickly tried to block out her emotions. She needed to do this professionally. She loved the boy like a mother, having had to patch him up constantly over the years. He had always been a source of life and happiness, but to see him near death was shocking her to the core.

"Put him on that bed, Albus!" she ordered as strongly as she could, pointing to one of the beds that lined the walls. She turned and ran around, gathering numerous objects on a large tray that she levitated beside her.

Dumbledore gently laid Harry down onto the bed, his cheeks streaked with tears and his face full of sorrow. He was slouching slightly, as if broken from within. He leaned heavily on a staff that he produced out of thin air, his grief-stricken eyes watching the boy who he loved like a grandson.

"Forgive me, Harry... forgive me.." he whispered quietly, another tear escaping his eyes.

A flash of thunder responded, illuminating the dark Hospital Wing. It was going to be a long night...

Author's Notes: Please review, as always. Thanks.