Summary: What if, when the killing curse failed, the death energies activated a portal to the realm of the dead? What if what passed through wasn't human?
Hello everyone. This is my first Harry Potter Fanfiction. I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I enjoy guiding you on it. Just so you know, this is meant to be a dark!harry, independent!harry, and introducing one of my own invention (I think... I haven't seen any where this has happened.) Cenobite!harry!!! If anyone HAS seen something with a plot like this, please tell me, so I can give credit to it's author.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything made by JK Rowling, nor anything from Clive Barker. If you've seen it before, it's most likely not mine.
Prologue
The Halloween night of 1981 was much like any other. Unless you were a witch or wizard, of course. In a sleepy little town called Godric's Hollow, the death energies stirred. It's a known fact that Halloween is the day in which or world, and the world of death, overlap slightly. As the night settles over the land, the barrier between this world and the next weakens, until it is at it's weakest at the witching hour. In a series of astounding events, the barrier was breached completely by a dark lord's attempt to kill an innocent child.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-" That was the last thing Lily heard from her husband, as she stumbled from the room. As she locked the door with the most powerful locking charm she knew, there was the distinct sound of wood splintering, a brief cry of surprise, and a flash of green underneath the door. Complete silence, but for the creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door. Lily started backing from the door, and soon found her back against the wall. Maybe he's gone, she thought. Maybe he didn't see us, and only came for Ja-
Suddenly, the door rippled, like a pond on a breezy day. Unfortunately for young Lily Potter, the reality of the situation wasn't near as pleasant. Suddenly, the door burst, showering the distraught woman and tiny infant with debri. A tall, spindly figure swathed in black stood in the door's place. The only color she could see was a red. An unholy, unmerciful red. The color of blood. The color of my blood, she thought idly. As the figure stepped forward, she clutched her child protectively. The creature in front of her pointed it's wand at her. Not me, she realized. He's aiming for Harry! As soon as she realized this, she used her body to sheild her child. The dark lord's eyes brightened malevolently. He began to advance on her, and she realized that she wasn't going to survive the night.
"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything-" The creature shied back, as the young woman's aura flared. When nothing happened, the dark lord sneered.
"Stand aside- stand aside, girl-"
"I will not!" The creature's eyes glowed even brighter.
"So be it! You shall lie with your husband! Avada Kedavra!" The wave of green light shot towards her with the speed of a cannon-ball. My baby... my precious Harry, I love you. My life for you. This was her final thought. As the ball of death energy impacted, two things occurred. Her aura flared in a final display of accidental magic, enveloping the young child as a final means of protection. At this exact same time, her soul left her body, and was fed into the aura enveloping the infant. My life for you. Voldemort, assured of his victory and eternal life, now aimed his wand at the baby.
"Little Harry Potter, now you are my equal. In blood, and in family. No matter, young Harry. The pain of this world is no longer meant for you. I shall spare you of these evils." Little did he know, that his next action would bring Harry in contact with a much greater pain, and a far greater evil. He levelled his wand at the infant, an inch of space between the infant's forehead and his wand. He whispered the next two words reverently, believing this action to seal his immortality. He started laughing, mad and high-pitched.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light burst forth, covering the inch seperating itself and the child almost instantaneously. Amazingly, it collided, not with the child, but the aura of his mother's magic and soul. Impossibly, it rebounded off the child's head, leaving a mark similar to a bolt of lightning. Instead of hitting the child, the curse turned upon it's creator. Being as close as it was, the creature had no time to react, and was struck right in the place of it's cold, black heart. Nothing happened. The dark lord felt the place the curse hit. He survived, unscathed! Once again, he began to laugh. He raised his wand down upon the child, this time more warily. As he was about to mutter the curse, something far more interesting than any of the other events occurred.
When a curse fails, there is a form of magical backlash, known as the magical wave. This wave ripples out, until it comes in contact with a special type of metal. Not much is known about this metal, except that it is extremely rare, and looks like a lump of the darkest shadow. What typically happens is an absorption of the magic. Fortunately, there was an artifact made of said metal right in that very house. Right in that very room, in fact. Within a safe, unopened for many years, was a small box, made of this mysterious metal. Unfortunately, between the nature of the box, and the nature of Voldemort's curse, the hidden properties of this seemingly innocent little toy began to show themselves.
At the very time that Voldemort's failed curse hit the box, a circular design on one of the sides latched out of place, and a chillingly innocent tune filled the vault. Unbeknownst to Voldemort, the mysterious box started floating in the air. Unbeknownst to him, it disappeared in a flash of smoke, only to reappear right behind Voldemort.
As Voldemort was checking himself for injuries, the box... shifted. Part of the box lifted up, revealing it to be a puzzle of sorts.The piece twisted slowly in the air, and came back down on the other piece, forming a star shape. A compartment at the top of the shape split open, revealing a darkness from another world.
And so it came to be, as Voldemort came to deal the final blow to a strangely subdued infant, A series of hooks pulled his wand arm in a direction behind him. As the pain began to set in, Voldemort turned around to see an amazing and horrific sight.
Where once was empty space, there now stood four figures. Each being was so mutilated, that only their body shapes looked vaguely humanoid. At the front of the group, walking towards him, was a creature that looked like he came straight out of Hell. His skin was the blotched color of burned flesh and melted wax. His nose and ears were nonexistent, and his eyes were covered up by the flesh pulled from the back of his head. And barbed wires pulled his lips away from his jaws, showing blood-colored gums and aging teeth. Come to think of it, Voldemort wasn't entirely sure whether it was a "he" or not. To make matters worse, this creature was constantly chattering his teeth, making a sound not unlike the rattlesnake's tale.
Voldemort tried to back away, but the hooks held him taut. Looking down, he realized that the hooks were coming from inside some sort of decorative box. A music box, he thought idly. Or perhaps a puzzle box? Whatever it was, it wouldn't budge.
Soon after his struggling started, he felt a set of hands grabbing him, holding him in place. When he looked back, he saw an old, bloated face, with sharpened teeth and eyes hiding behind smoked glasses. The creature behind him gave him a throaty gurgle, and the chattering monster forced his head towards the final two.
The woman, who stood next to the man in a way as to imply that she was second in command, almost looked human. Almost, were it not for her blue skin, and a piercing through both cheeks. The piercing, while strange, was not the worst part of the woman. The piercings ended in a wire, which pulled back the flesh on her throat, exposing her vocal chords for all to see. As freakish as these three were, the supposed leader was so much worse.
He, like the woman, seemed normal. With the slight exception of his pale skin and unnaturally black eyes, he could have passed off as normal. Except for the scars all of his head, forming a grid pattern. Except for the nails that were hammered into every scar's intersection. And except for the fact that he gave off an aura that no dementor could ever hope to pass off. His aura reeked of true evil, and of endless suffering, of immense power, of fear and pain. All of the beings watched Voldemort in a way, that he felt he was being judged.
"Who are you?" He asked, reeling in pain. It wasn't the worst he'd felt, but it was bad enough. "What do you want?" The leader looked at him, with a look of cold logic and cruel intentions.
"We are the gaurdians of the forbidden fruits." He said in a deep voice. "You summoned us, we came." Summoned? What did the creature mean? Voldemort voiced this.
"We were awoken by your essence. An essence of death, on the night that death and life can exist on the same plane. You must now come with us. It is time for your eternal placement." Voldemort spluttered indignantly.
The leader snapped his fingers, and dozens- no, hundreds!- of hooks rained down on Voldemort, each one trying to pull him into the shadows. Voldemort squirmed and writhed in agony, but could make no sound. The hooks began to drag him to the center of the room, where a hole with large, glistening teeth opened up. Voldemort attempted to crawl away, but to no avail. The once proud dark-lord was now begging for mercy. His wand, having been dropped when the first hooks snagged his arm, was just inches from his grasp. And getting farther away by the second. Soon, crunching sounds, as well as screaming, filled the room. Voldemort's last sight in this plane were his own legs, his back having been snapped as he was forced down the fanged chasm.
As Voldemort issued his last scream in this world (but first scream in the next), the previously forgotten child began bawling. Pinhead walked to the bundle, and picked him up. The baby instantly stopped, transfixed by the nails.
"What are we to do with an innocent? His parents are know longer a part of this plane, and I sense that this child's life will be a waste of so much good suffering. What say you, Larchen?" The bloated creature looked at the boy in an offhand manner, and began picking at the large wound in his belly.
"The child is an innocent, and it lives. As such, it belongs to this chaotic realm. He stays." Pinhead looked at him coolly, and turned to his lieutenant.
"And what say you, Mortentia?" The woman walked forward, staring at the baby in a cold, calculating manner. In a voice of multiple people, she spoke.
"It is true that the child lives. But this child has been marked by death. A mark that leaves a stain on the soul, and washes away all pathetic innocence. This child lives, so belongs to this world, and yet has lost it's very innocence. The mark of death condemns him. He goes." Pinhead turned away, thinking deeply.
"This child, who has touched death on the very instant our world's merged most, has slipped through the cracks of the system that Lord Leviathan developed as protocol. As such, he is a child of limbo. As such, he can slide between our two worlds with the greatest ease. That makes for a great ally, or a great enemy. He is an anomaly in Lord Leviathan's system, wielding the powers of both chaotic life, and methodical death. He is a child of pleasure and pain. He is of us, and he is not of us.
"He shall stay on this plane. For now. Lord Leviathan now knows of the child, and the child will grow under Lord Leviathan's watchful eye. He shall influence the dreams of any the child stays with. He shall shape the boy, until he is more powerful than any human or cenobite. He then instructs me to grant tutelage unto the boy. This boy shall be ours." With that, Pinhead set the child down, and placed the Lament Configuration into the pudgy hands of the child. All that accompanied the cenobites' dissappearance was the crackling of flames from below, and the sound of an engine revving from above. As the child drifted off to sleep, his weak grip on the lament configuration tightened protectively.
Well, what do you think? Good idea? Bad idea? Review, I'd like to have some input!
Author's note: You'll notice how I named the cenobites. I did this because I can't just call them "Butterball" and "female cenobite."