Harry Potter Belongs to JK Rowling. I'm Just Going to be Playing with Her Characters for a Few Years.
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The pitter patter of rain slapping against mud echoed around a torn up lawn, scattered with corpses.
Following the lawn's slopes up and towards a magnificent castle, explosions and flashes of light streaked through the rain drenched grounds, screams of pain and cries of death carried on the wind among the chaos.
Through it all, atop the tallest tower of the castle regardless of the shocks of explosions, the slams of Giant's clubs and all many of distractions, two figures circled each other in vicious dance of light as they traded magic of the most lethal kind, each aiming to kill the other.
They both stumbled slightly as an uncontrolled Blasting Curse slammed into the ramparts showering the combatants with stone shrapnel.
Eying each other, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle exchanged a set of sardonic smirks, the elongated fangs of both obvious.
And they began once more, the wolf and the snake fighting for victory.
Just one last time.
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Howling
A Harry Potter Epic.
Written by The General Electric/Jordan Briggs.
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Book One - Blood Stone
'There is no such thing as a Lone Wolf. No matter what the World may think'
Chapter One – The Boy Who Lived
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It had happened so quickly and so suddenly, he didn't have time to curb the young man's tongue as he spotted the excitement and relief in his eyes, no time to stop him before he had nearly screamed those small five words.
Oh but what words they had been.
He had been in the Great Hall at the time, worrying over the war and what could be done to stave off Voldemort for as long as possible, an action he believed to be somewhat desperate at the time, the Dark Lord's conquest almost falling off the edge of fringe terrorism into a full blown battle for domination of the Wizarding World.
And then Severus had come storming in, robe waving behind him as the young man dashed towards him, stopped in the middle of the hall, not even noticing the students surrounding him or the teachers at the bench and he had, in a manner so contrary to his own nature screamed.
"The Dark Lord is Dead."
Oh those five little words, if only the boy could have waited the 30 seconds it would have taken to walk outside, away from the students, he could have avoided the pandemonium that exploded in the silence afterwards.
In the end though, he couldn't blame the boy his slip, it was such wonderful news. But how had it happened? The Prophecy he had been witness to had just been told not 5 months ago, predicting the birth of Voldemort's killer.
And then a terrifying thought had hit him.
"Was Voldemort off to anywhere special tonight?"
Severus had just looked at him strangely. "Just a little village in Wales, Godric's Hollow or something to do with your little pet lion's."
The colour had drained from his face, it was not possible, he had cast that Fidelius himself. There was no way Voldemort could have broken through it.
Unless the Secret Keeper had told him where to find the Potter's.
He wouldn't, no couldn't believe that Sirius would sell out James and Lilly, he would reserve judgement until he saw the man in person.
Apparating into the ruins of the Potter's home, he had to marvel at the seeming lack of destruction.
Oh there were a few holes here and there, a n unfortunate tree just resting against the walls had been blown into splinters, but ultimately the damage was not something he would have expected from a Duel resulting in Voldemort's demise.
Stepping cautiously past the remnants of the door, he let out a soft sigh as he spotted the prone form of James Potter, impaled above his fireplaceby a rapidly melting spike of ice.
Shattering the icicle, and gently moving the cold body to the ground, he followed the tear of destruction up the stairs and towards a room at the end of the house.
Eyes widening almost comically as a wailing screech hit his ears, all thoughts of caution were abandoned as he stormed towards the room, finding the body of Lily Potter, almost unmarked if not for a few cuts marring her skin. It seemed her death had been much kinder than that of her husband.
But there, unbelievably alive and crying, curled up to his mother's quickly cooling body was Harry. As the young boy wailed poking and pulling at his mother's clothes, desperately trying to coax a response that would never come.
He took in a thin scar on the child's head, shaped like a lightning bolt, and coursing with the taint of darkest magic, but at the same time, a brighter even denser magic could be felt emanating from the boy as well, combating the taint that was attempting to seep into the boys soul.
After what felt like ages, he walked up to the child slowly, the green eyes gazing at him, unusually wary for one so young, but then again he had never seen a child thrust into a situation quite like this one, so he was unsure as to how the child should look.
"Hush now child." He had spoken, bending down to pick the child up, holding back a groan as his old bones protested. "It's over now, it's over."
"Mama?"
Finally allowing himself to shed tears, the innocent question pushing him over the brink, he could only hold the child tighter, no idea what to say or do.
Somehow, the child, not barely 2 months over the age of 1, had managed to slay the darkest Wizard of their time.
Somehow he had come out of it with no more than a scratch, the stench of the Avada Kedavra finally registering in the old man's mind.
He had survived the unsurvivable. He had defeated the undefeatable. And he had been marked, as an equal.
The Prophecy, it seemed had started fulfilling itself, meaning Voldemort wasn't dead, only temporarily vanquished.
Which meant the boy had to be hidden, had to be protected.
Yes, he would use the sacrifice of Lily Potter as a blood ward catalyst, placing the boy with his Mother's sister, Petunia was her name.
It would be best. He would be safe and protected, but most importantly he would not know the fame that was to come with being the conqurer of the Dark Lord.
Of being the Boy Who Lived.
And as Albus Dumbledore strode out of the broken cottage, the restless child hiccupping as he ran out of tears, he never noticed the faint shimmer of blue flame, nor the hard lupine eyes that followed him.
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Ugh, another story. Okay, yes I have other things to update (So many other things) but I've said it before and I'll say it again. My muse is a bitch Goddess.
Anywhos, read review. You know the usual stuff, and hope I manage to finish the chapter of Cliché I've begun to finish within the week.