Harry Potter and the Wrath of Death

Summary: "He thought that he could escape, that he could cheat me! The poor fool, he has only prolonged the agony that shall be wrought upon him!" After the Triwizard tournament, Harry Potter, is left with the Dursley's, alone and despairing. However can a letter from an unknown ally make all the difference? Starts during the summer after GoF, AU from there.

Chapter 1: Traveling Despair

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, and my characters. I'm not J.K., even though I wish I had that type of bank.

Normal

"Speech"

'thought/writing'

'spells'

"parseltongue"

London was constantly a place of hustle and bustle it seemed. Even creeping into the wee hours of the early morning, many humans, wizard, muggle, and squib alike inhabited this fruitful metropolis. The loud blare of music, from one the local clubs, could be heard from any inhabitant that happened to walk along the streets of the city. Raucous laughter, catcalls, wild yelling, and the blaring of horns could too be heard during the lonely hours of night for him.

Twas not a single star in the sky that burned brightly as the figured stepped along the sidewalk, taking in the facial expressions of all those he passed. His face was a mask of indifference as he watched the multitude of beings bustle around him, ignoring his presence as if there matters were far more important than his own.

'Fools.' He thought to himself as his cerulean hues landed upon a couple stumbling by him, the stench of alcohol causing him to step back, increasing his distance from them. He shook his head in disgust, the hood of his pitch black jacket hanging over his visage, casting a shroud of ebony to obscure his visage. 'None of these imbecilic whelps have no idea what awaits them. Their self-worship alone is enough to make my stomach curl.' With another sickened shake of his head he set off toward northern London, walking through the brightly lit metropolis, blending in with the inhabitants of the heavily packed city.

However the man, if he could be called that, was not like the rest whom he blended in with. Far from it. He was no muggle, nor was he a filthy wizard; stuck in the ways of the past. 'Magic' He thought, with a wry grin, was no more than a crutch to get by in this miserable world that seemed to grow exponentially over time. Magic wasn't something he often liked to think about. 'Why should I? I know of things that would cause wizards to rethink their position in society.' Smiling wryly he glanced up towards the pitch black, night sky. Droplets of rain began to flow from the heavens, creating a light cacophony of smacks as each droplet came into contact with the cold cement of the street.

The world that he found himself on was one of misery. The inhabitants of the world were either slaves to their own greed, or slaves to the will of others. It sickened him greatly, and it had his large hands clenching into tightly balled fists at the sheer situation he found himself. "Death…" He whispered to himself, his deep voice barely rising above the din of the steadily falling rain as he came to a stop outside a large complex. Turning his attention upwards, the wanderer found his attention drawn to the neon lighting of, Seraph Inc.

With a small lightening of his heart he proceeded to walk up the set of grandiose stairs that led to the beginning of his salvation. As he took hold of one of the massive door handles and pulled, the lone man felt the first clutches of despair, that had so brutally clutched at his shattered heart, begin to ebb away into nothingness. 'I promised you, I promised you that one day, you and I would come back to one another. I keep my promises to you, my dear heart.'

At number 4, Privet Drive, a young, bespectacled boy woke with a start. The dreams had been getting worse. Voldemort was growing stronger with each passing moment, he knew. He could feel the maniacal wizard within his blood, his mind, and even in the darkest pits of his soul. The darkest wizard of the century, perhaps of all time was growing stronger, and yet nothing was being done by the Ministry of Magic. Rather than believe the emerald-eyed boy, the Minister himself had gone against the young man's word, furiously denying the fact that a seemingly dead man, if the Dark Lord could be called that, had returned to the plane of existence.

Harry had just returned from his fourth year of, Hogwarts; School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Triwizard tournament had been held that year, and it was with great trepidation that, the-boy-who-lived, found himself entered into the contest against his will. The scrawny student found himself pitted against dragons, merpeople, skrewts, acromantulas, sphinxes, and one of his greatest fears to this day, asking the opposite sex out for an evening. Young Harry Potter, who had just turned fifteen within the past few minutes stared out of his window dismally. The fresh images of, Cedric Diggory, his fellow Hogwarts champion, being cut down in his youth, right before Harry's own eyes burned within his mind's eye.

Add the fact that his friends hadn't even written him all summer, aside from his Godfather, and it was easily understandable why the bespectacled wizard was so quiet and withdrawn. However his world was in for a shock, for as soon as he rose from the bed an opened a window a deep grey blur quickly shot into his room. Whipping his head around with wide eyes, he quickly scrambled for his wand, figuring himself to be under attack. That is until he caught sight of the bat that was hanging from the ceiling, a relatively small envelope strapped to the creatures body.

Swallowing thickly, the dark-haired wizard opened a hand, gently coaxing the bat down from his ceiling whilst Hedwig ruffled her feathers in her cage, eager for a nice morsel. "Who could be using…a bat?" The last Potter whispered to himself as the creature lowered itself to his hand, peering up at the young boy with deep, coal colored eyes. As soon as it was freed of it's burden the bat took off out the window with a faint screech, leaving Hedwig to hoot in disappointment at a lost meal.

As Harry unfolded the letter the confused frown on his features would grow deeper, slender brows creasing in concern as he read the message.

Dear Harry Potter,

You and I are very alike. We were both forced to suffer from young ages. We were forced into roles that we wish could be bestowed upon others. We were robbed of what others have taken for granted, several times. You, a mere infant at the time, were robbed of your parents. All because of megalomaniac's quest for power. Not only did he rob you of love, but he robbed you of something almost as equally important. You were robbed of closure. That disgusting wretch, Voldemort, that charlatan, robbed you of closure. He robbed you, and myself as well. He cheated death. I believe you, f or I, more than anyone, can feel that impudent coward still out there. I have watched you as time has gone on. I've seen you develop into someone worth admiration. A burden has been placed on your shoulders, and yet I have yet to see you fold under the enormous pressure you were faced with. I will not tell you who I am. At least, not for now, but know this; You are not alone. Your path that will eventually lead you to cross wands with, Voldemort, is not one that is meant to be walked alone. You and I shall meet whilst fate guides us by our noses to the final close. Know this, Harry Potter, we shall not be cheated from our closure. The reign of darkness will end before it has truly begun, and we shall be at the axis of it's finale. Strength alone will not help you, but guidance shall.

Until we meet

Lanmo