A/N: Ahh, and another alternate dimension added to the ranks. I couldn't help myself, every author deserves one! Hopefully it's something different and please don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
Summary: The Dark Lord has fallen under the Saviors hands, leaving a broken and war-hardened wizard. The years have left him with no family, no friends, no life-nothing ties him to his world…so he is sent to another where he is unknown, a place where he can live an ordinary life in relative peace. But can our Hero watch as another world falls apart? Powerful!Semi-Dark!Harry, Graphic/Mature themes, eventual slash!
WARNINGS: This story will have graphic details that may not suite your tastes- most will only happen when Harry recounts the deaths of his friends and can be easily-avoided but I'm warning you now, so no raging at me later. ALSO! There will be eventual slash. I haven't decided what the pairing will be and it won't come up for awhile, but it will be there. So again, no raging at me.
He had accomplished his destiny.
The very thing that had ruled his life the moment an old seer spoke those damning words- Born as the seventh month dies…
The prophecy.
He let a painful breath escape, his ribs protesting the small movement. The exhale brought forth a handful of blood that easily fell past his chapped lips.
He had fulfilled his end of the deal. The deal Fate had cast upon him. Kill or be killed.
And he had killed.
He idly turned his head, his dull green eyes staring at the body that had once been Tom Riddle. Starbursts of black were dotted along the serpentine skin, bits of blood and other nameless matter oozing out of the holes. Blood seeped around the still body, staining the grass a muddy brown. The face was sunken in, no longer distinguishable- no doubt an effect from the blast.
He sighed, his blood staining his lips a dark cherry color. He had defeated him but what did it matter when you were alone?
The war had taken his friends and those who he had considered family. Would the wizarding world survive? Ofcourse.
This would be a day celebrated by most and mourned by few.
But he would mourn-mourn for everyone.
It had started with Sirius, Ron, Neville and Ginny in his fifth year.
Hagrid, Tonks, Remus the next.
His seventh year proved to be the least amount of casualties but also the worst.
Hermoine.
He couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks at the thought of his friends demise. They had stuck together since Ron's death, the once golden trio reduced to two. She had stayed by him through his training, offering her unconditional support through their last two years together. Then, during Yule she was captured. While her parents lay within the same hall as Neville's, their minds nothing but mush, she sat in Voldemorts' hands and the hands of his Death Eaters. Her body turned up two days after the break. Bound and broken, her mangled and naked corpse lay twisted on a spike in the middle of Hogsmeade. A Howler lay tucked under a cold breast, only spewing it's contents once Harry touched it.
Her screams had echoed in his ears for days, her shouts and pleas-his name. She had called out for him and he hadn't been there to answer her. He hadn't been there to save her. Guilt lay in his chest like a dark pool, swirling through him.
He would never forgive himself for her death. But she wasn't the last, not by a long shot.
His ears vaguely picked up a soft whistling, the sound fading in and out.
He brushed it aside, his memories claiming his mind and body once more.
He threw himself into his training with renewed vigor. He hadn't attended a class in Hogwarts since the end of his fifth year. After his tantrum in the Headmasters office, Dumbledore had caved. He began intense training with various Order members, including Snape and the Headmaster himself.
Occlumency, the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Wandless magic, Earth magic, Animagus training, Warding, Runes, Defense, Potions and Alchemy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Parslemagic…the list went on.
He had even trained in the muggle arts of sword fighting. Moody and Kingsley had been surprisingly well versed in the arts of muggle combat. During those years, his body had transformed from the scrawny, malnourished fifteen year old to a toned and fit body. He had grown in height, though he would never measure up to any of the males in his year.
Hermoine had once joked that even as trained and paranoid as he was (courtesy of his favorite instructor -CONSTANT VIGILENCE!-) he would never notice the looks of adoration and longing he received whenever he stepped out of his private rooms.
And now, seven years after the events at the Ministry, seven years of intense training, he lay in his own blood, his chest aching with relief and desolation. During the last three years, the war had escalated, both sides giving as good as they got. The Order grew to a massive amount, matching the Dark Lords army almost evenly.
Then it had happened. The wards fell under Voldemort's hands and the final battle began- with their leader at the forefront and their savior at his side.
Albus Dumbledore had survived the years leading up to what was sure to be the last battle, the only telling of his weariness were the wrinkles around his eyes and the lack of twinkle in his eyes. In the end, not even Dumbledore could match the sheer amount of magical prowess that he had. But he hadn't been called the greatest wizard in over a century for nothing. Albus had taught him the greatest lesson of all.
How to stay human.
And with that thought he cried, his chest heaving as strangled sobs escaped his mouth. His ribs protested the movement, the pain flaring across torso but he didn't stop. He had defeated Voldemort but lost everything that had ever mattered to him. His family, his friends, his childhood, his life. It was all gone.
He never noticed the increasing resonance of the high-pitched whistle. And then at the crescendo he was gone. No flashy lights, no bangs or sparkles. He was just gone and the whistle slowed and faded into silence.
Calm blue eyes watched from ruins of his once beloved castle as the boy- no, man- he had considered his grandson faded away. And the sparkle that had seemed to be permanently lost from those old eyes sprung to life, flaring brighter than ever. He tightened his grip on the hand in his and turned away, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Time to rebuild Minerva."
.-.
A/N: And that would be the end of the first chapter! Yay! I hoped you all enjoyed it and that it sparked an interest! Please don't be afraid to let me know what ya'll think, reviews are very much welcomed along with any ideas!
-Civil Raven
