Author's Note: New story! I really should stick to one story at a time but I've wanted to write my own version of a HP/PJO crossover since I was about twelve. And that was quite a while ago, thank you. Enjoy.

Sowilo

Chapter I

Gringotts Forgets to Charm My Owl Dry

Summer had started with a bang in the usually sleepy county of Surrey. Since the start of the holidays, from London to Southampton, thunderstorms had raged war on the urban England countryside. Mothers herded their children inside and everyone carried an umbrella with them at all times when leaving the house. Though today was the first day that the rain had lightened from a downpour, it was by no means safe for one to loiter outside in the elements. Despite this fact, on the little street of Privet Drive with perfectly identical houses, there was a little boy of eleven knelt down on the muddy ground, tending to a garden, seemingly unbothered by the gloomy and dark clouds and the harsh winds whipping his drenched hair and baggy clothing around. With a trowel in hand and a face full of determination, he continuously plunged his hand into the wet earth and pulled out weeds, satisfied at the quiet squelch they made. Though his hands were busy with his task, the boy's mind was far away.

His name was Harry Potter and he was different.

When he was younger he had done everything within his power to be as normal as he could be, to be able to hide in the background unnoticed, but no matter what he tried it was impossible. No matter if it was because of his unkempt hair, his raggedy hand-me-down clothes, his bright emerald eyes, or more recently his status as a war hero from infancy, he was always noticeable and a reluctant attention grabber. He was different and if there was one thing he had learned in life, it was that people can always tell when someone is different.

Within the last year however, Harry had found out that he was more different than he could ever imagine. First off, he was a wizard, someone who was gifted with the ability of magic. But he was beginning to think he was something more than just a wizard, a feeling which he was trying to pass off as just from his new-found hero status and the awed looks he would get whenever around other wizards. But strange things had always happened around him and whenever he would bring some of the instances up nonchalantly around his schoolmates, he would get strange and concerned glances.

The first incident he could remember was when he was four years old, doing the same chore he was doing now, tending the garden. He was new to it back then and his still slightly chubby hands had a hard time grasping at the weeds and using the pruning shears was a near impossible task which had left him with a cut palm. He remembers cradling his hand against his chest and rocking back in forth, fighting back tears and whimpering. He had gotten up to grab for the hose to clean out his dirty cut when he saw it. It was a man nearly thrice as tall as his uncle. But his size was the least of the things scary to the four year old. For where his eyes should be, there had only been one staring hungrily down at him, and in his right hand was a large ax easily twice as long as Harry himself. He had been scared stiff, cut palm completely forgotten and limp at his side. All he could do was stare at the large and imposing figure so it was with a strange and fascinating relief to the young child that each time the creature would take a step forward, it seemed to run into an invisible wall. After almost an hour of the two staring at each other, Harry's aunt had stepped outside and yelled at him for not working and rushed him inside, apparently not noticing the bloodthirsty monster just outside of her driveway. For the next week as young Harry would go outside to continue on his yard work, the monster had been there, vigilantly watching him, letting out terrifying grunts and growls intermittently. When after a week and the four year old didn't see him anymore, he was overly relieved, but he had never felt safe outside of the comforts of Number 4 Privet Drive again.

After that came the time when he was in his very first year of school and his cousin Dudley had come up with the game Harry Hunting for him and his friends in which they would chase around the slightly younger boy and if they managed the catch him, they would continue to knock the stuffing out of him. Harry that day had had sore muscles for scrubbing the entire kitchen floor the day before, so when he saw his cousin and his friends start their game, he was seriously not in the mood. He managed to stay away for fifteen minutes before Dudley had finally managed to grab ahold of the back of his shirt. Harry could remember the downright evil smirk on his cousin's face right before he brought his fist back to slam into his face. Harry could remember thinking 'Please no' before the fist finally reached his nose, creating the shock of a lifetime, quite literally. While Harry was smarting pain from the punch, it seemed his cousin was in a whole lot more as he yelped and let go of the smaller boy, electrocuted. Harry's hair that always seemed to stick up at odd angles was even more messy afterward and he could see sparks dancing across his fingertips. Of course, when he got home and his cousin complained about what happened, Harry got a beating far harder than he would have if Dudley had been the one to give it.

Even his cases of 'accidental magic', as he had been taught to call the strange coincidences that happened in his youth, were far from normal cases. When he had admitted to teleporting onto his school's roof to his classmates Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville he had gotten wide eyed looks from all four boys and a "Mate, you actually apparated when you were eight?" from Ron. He was then told quickly about how apparation was highly advanced magic that one was not even allowed to attempt until they were seventeen. Harry had tried to pass the occurrence off as nothing more than his body trying to find safety high up in the air but his dormmates refused to let it be.

Of course, thinking about his schoolmates lead him to thinking about his school itself. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a miracle to Harry. Throughout his primary school life he was plagued with nasty looks and detentions for things over which he had no control. Whether it was a case of accidental magic like the teleporting onto the school roof fiasco (which had gotten him expelled, by the way), his inability to sit still, or his diagnosed dyslexia, he had never found a school, nor teacher which had liked him. Dudley was a brute who would get constantly kicked out of schools for fighting and 'roughhousing' and wherever Dudley would go, Harry would go. If Harry was expelled for the year though, instead of switching schools and having Dudley follow him, Harry would be forced to stay inside Number Four Privet Drive with a chore list. While Harry had never enjoyed being expelled (for he truly did enjoy learning), he had felt safer inside the confines of the Dursley household than at school, and that feeling had nothing to do with adults and children alike looking down their noses at dirty and scrawny Harry Potter, but the strange monsters Harry would see from time to time that no one else seemed to take notice of.

Harry had been resigned to going to Stonewall High where the children wore drab gray uniforms and everyone looked as miserable as can be. Harry just knew that he would not learn anything there and it wouldn't have surprised him if he had been expelled a month in at the school. Harry remembered his Uncle Vernon coming home with a wicked smirk on his face as he handed him a brochure for St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys to show him what he would have expected to be sent off to had he been expelled from Stonewall. So it was with wonder and awe that Harry learned that he had a school he had been promised to go to his whole life, already paid in full by his deceased parents.

Hogwarts was a godsend for the troubled boy. Though writing with quills was killer on his dyslexia and he had gotten in trouble countless times with his teachers for his 'chicken scratch', nearly everyone at Hogwarts was kind to him. He had even gotten his first present, a great white snowy owl he named Hedwig from the groundskeeper, a half giant by the name of Hagrid. Harry had always been fond of birds and used to watch the birds of prey that would glide outside his window in awe, so having his own was euphoric, though he hated having to own a cage for her at all. Harry also had an easier time reading the names of spells than textbook chapters. So while his theoretical magic work wasn't the greatest, his practical application was almost always flawless after a few tries, a feat which he took great pride in. The only classes he had trouble in were Astronomy, History of Magic, and Potions. Astronomy was mostly because it was hard for him to remember so many names and the ways to spell them. History of Magic was hard because his teacher was a literal ghost who only spoke of goblin revolutions, a most boring topic that was barely part of the curriculum. Potions was the hardest class for him because between ADHD, dyslexia, and a teacher that had it out for him, Harry couldn't follow the instructions.

The classes, though while incredibly interesting, were the least of the things he enjoyed about his school however. His entire year at the castle was full of magic and adventure and he had loved almost every second of it. Though his very favorite thing of Hogwarts had to be flying. Putting all of your weight on a tiny piece of wood and being suspended up in the air sounds like a terrifying prospect, but to Harry it was utter heaven. The feeling of being in the air was like the feeling of home to the young boy. Each gust of wind was like a loving caress, and even almost falling off of his broom entirely in his first game of Quidditch could not make him fear flying in even the slightest.

But Harry Potter was strange, strange even for a wizard and this fact had been cemented in his first year at Hogwarts.

It had first started before the year even began, on his trip for school supplies at Diagon Alley. The first strange occurrence had began inside Gringotts, the Wizarding bank run by the magical race of goblins. Everything had been going well until the goblin Griphook was ordered to bring Harry and Hagrid to the vaults they had requested to be brought to. When Griphook had lead the young wizard and his giant companion to a cart to go down into the bowels of the bank, everything had seemed normal enough. Or well, as normal as a bank run by goblins could get Harry supposed. But when Griphook had held the cart door open and finally looked at the bank's customers, his eyes had widened. Hagrid didn't notice as he was too busy getting into the cart and the goblin's eyes were fixed solely on the newly turned eleven year old. Harry had been self-conscious but had grouped the wide eyed look from the shorter creature with the assault of handshakes he had gotten from grown wizards at a tavern right before he had learned of his mother and father's murders. It wasn't until Harry was beginning to leave the bank that he heard "Good luck young half-blood," in a language that most certainly was not English that he began to second guess himself.

The next strange occurrence had happened but an hour or so later as he walked into Ollivander's, the wand shop owned by Mr. Ollivannder.. Mr Ollivander was a strange old man with milky silver eyes. Harry wouldn't be surprised at all if the old man was blind, which was why it was alarming when he heard something the man said.

"I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father on the other hand… Well I'm afraid I have nothing to tell you of your father, young one, except that he is a powerful man and you no doubt will be one too."

Hagrid had then spoke up, confusedly, saying how Ollivander had surely helped James Potter pick out his first wand as well. But Mr. Ollivander had merely smiled mysteriously at the both of them before replying, "Why yes, yes I did. James Potter had favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course."

Harry had been confused by the encounter but had pushed it to the back of his mind as he later found out in his visit that the wand that chose him was the brother of Voldemort, the man that had murdered his parents.

The strange coincidences continued on at the school itself however. First at his sorting, when the sorting hat mentioned not sorting much of his sort other than 'Her' children. That comment had confused the boy but it was once more a comment pushed to the back of his mind as he fought to stay out of the House that his new friend seemed to hate.

That same night was the start of his 'adventure' as it was the first night his scar had hurt.

Harry's scar was something he had loved in his childhood, and while knowing it came from the man who had murdered his parents and had marked him as a freak and an orphan, he could never truly hate the lightning bolt mark on his forehead. As a child, when he had been forced into the damp, dark, and cramped cupboard under the stairs, he had traced his scar repetitively, enjoying the strange feeling of warmth and love that seemed to emit from it.

Harry's scar was something he had had almost his entire life and it had never hurt in any way in his entire life before that night, so he knew deep down that there was something to worry about, making his Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and his general jumpiness go haywire throughout the year. He had accidentally shocked more than a few of his classmates with static when fleeing from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Though Harry had a hard time reading, thanks to the letters jumping off the page and rearranging themselves as they pleased in his mind's eye, he had scoured the school library in the rune section to see if his scar's symbol meant anything important in the magical world, other than merely being the aftereffect of a previously unheard of surviving of the Killing Curse. Throughout his research, he had come to the conclusion that by third year when he could take Ancient Runes as a class, he would definitely not be taking it. There were countless upon countless runes and symbols with multiple meanings. He had almost given up when he had finally found it. A rune in the shape of a single lightning bolt, Sowilo. The rune meaning the Sun: Life, energy, victory, discovery, and disclosure. According to Ten Thousand Runes and Their Meanings by Wiglaf Makepeace (And wasn't that a fun book for a dyslexic to get through), Sowilo was a rune which could be used as a form of attack over darkness by light. Good vanquishing evil. The rune when applied gives one the power to bring positive things to fruition and to face them without fear. There was no way in which to reverse this rune, though it took one of great power to make it work. Kind of ironic, Harry thought, given how he received it. He was able to, thankfully, quit his research with clear conscience once he had read the entry.

It wasn't that much of a surprise to himself that he had managed to find himself, along with some companions, on the forbidden third floor corridor later, face to face with a giant, slobbering, growling three headed dog. Truthfully, Harry had long ago learned that he could always manage to find himself at the wrong place at the very wrong time, and the night of the false duel issued by his schoolyard rival, a member of Slytherin House named Draco Malfoy, was no exception to this standard.

It wasn't, however, until Halloween that his adventure really hit off. Harry had been reluctant to head down to the feast in the first place. For one thing, he had learned only three months earlier that Halloween was the night his parents had died on. Not a very good night to party in the eleven year old's mind. He also had a feeling in the bottom of his stomach that was warning him that something didn't feel right. But Ron, his first friend, had looked so happy when gushing about what his older brothers had told him about the Halloween feast and Harry didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't feeling up to it. Besides, he had never been able to celebrate Halloween at his relative's house because they considered it a 'freakish' holiday. (Though they never stopped Dudley from eating tons of Halloween candy.) So it was with a fake giant grin that Harry Potter had joined the rest of the school in the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. Halfway through the feast, Professor Quirrell ran in shouting about a troll in the dungeons.

Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the school, (and as such someone Harry dearly wished to be on the good side of- he really didn't want to be expelled from this school) ordered everyone to their common room while the teachers dealt with the invasion. Harry had been all too happy to have an excuse to hide up in his tall tower, before he had remembered something that had shook him. Hermione, though a know-it-all and merely an acquaintance of Harry, a housemate of his was said to have locked herself up in the girl's lavatory after their Charms class early that day, due to Ron's complaints about her. Harry hadn't been very comfortable with his friend's griping, reminding him much too much of his relatives when speaking of him, but he had grown up with abusers and as such knew that it was best not to speak up against them unless you wanted to be targeted. Though, if Harry had known the girl had been listening in, he might have stood up to his friend if it meant he didn't need to do what he had to do then when he should be on his way up to his bed beside the large window in the boy's tower.

But as he had kept silent earlier in the day, he now had to risk his hide against a troll, something he and the others had learned in DADA about that was rather impervious to most magics. Great. Just Great. Of course, while trying to save the girl, he had accidentally locked the girl and troll into a the same room, essentially sicking the troll on the twelve year old girl. In the end, thankfully, he and Ron had managed to knock the monster out with its own club, though he was sure the monster seemed a tad bit more intelligent and bloodthirsty when looking at him. After that night, the boys had made a friend and ally in the infamous first-year Gryffindor know-it-all.

That night, after the trio were marched back up to the Gryffindor tower by their stern and worried Head of House, Harry allowed himself to actually gorge himself on the Halloween sweets, his energy sapped from the previous rush of epinephrine. He was sure, the next morning, that an overabundance of sweets and an upset stomach was the reasoning behind the strange dream he had Halloween night. When he awoke, he vaguely remembered a beautiful woman with vibrant red hair speaking to him in comforting tones and telling him she was so proud of him.

November passed quickly, as well as December, and suddenly Hogwarts was empty as everyone went home to loving families for the winter holidays. Harry, of course, stayed at Hogwarts and he had been delighted to find Ron would stay as well, as his parents were visiting his older brother in Romania. Though the two had promised Hermione they would continue searching the library for Nicholas Flamel over the holiday (the newest lead in their adventure mystery), after searching the library for so long, the two boys had chose to relax and play games and roam the long empty halls instead. Christmas came before long and Harry was surprised to see presents were at the foot of his bed then, as he had never, in as long as he could remember at least, gotten any Christmas presents whatsoever. He had loved his wooden flute the reminded Harry of Hedwig's call, sweets and an actual knit sweater from Ron's mother, some chocolate frogs from Hermione (how she got them, he wasn't quite sure but he was beginning to feel guilty he hadn't gotten her or Ron or anyone else for that matter a gift—in his defense he hadn't expected anything whatsoever but still), and he was bemused when he saw his relatives actually sent him a fifty-pence piece, which he quickly gave to Ron because he seemed interested and anything from his relatives gave him a vile taste in his mouth.

The last gift was the one that had given him pause, however. It was wrapped in brown paper with an old frayed rope keeping it together. It hadn't seemed to be anything important at a glance but as Harry picked it up, he felt something. Living in a magic castle with talking portraits, moving staircases, ghosts, and walking suits of armor had made him sensitive to the feel of magical objects. They gave off a feeling wholly different from items he was used to in his old life in Little Whinging. In fact, the only times he had felt anything remotely magical in his previous life was when he had encountered the strange monsters that nobody else had seen. But the magic he had felt coming from the brown paper parcel was closer to the magic of the monsters than the magic he had begun to get used to at Hogwarts. While whatever was in the package didn't feel alive, per se, it did feel sentient, and once he had touched it, the magic inside seemed to have connected to his own and seemed to give a hum of approval. He was wary due to the feeling, but the magic hadn't felt malevolent so he opened it up and was surprised to see a cloak—a pretty cloak made of a silvery and shimmery material, but a cloak nonetheless. He was sure he must have looked confused because Ron took notice of him and got overexcited because apparently it was an invisibility cloak, something worth more than his whole family's earnings for ten years. Harry had been skeptical, but sure enough, as he had placed the cloak upon him, which was so large that it trailed behind him on the floor (he could already imagine himself tripping over it constantly), his body became invisible. Ron had still been super excited and didn't seem at all bothered by the unsigned note telling him to use it well and Harry hadn't felt the need to tell him about how the cloak had felt as if it was bonding itself to him.

That Christmas day had turned out to be the best in his short and miserable life and by the time Ron was passed out and snoring, Harry had felt his ADHD begin to mess up, making him need to get up and move. With all of the extra pent up energy, Harry had decided to use his new cloak to go into the only area of the library they had been unable to enter—the restricted section. His adventure out after curfew had been exhilarating instead of nerve wracking as this time he had been alone, and all was going well until he pulled one of the heavy tomes off of the shelves of the restricted section, only for a long, loud, and high-pitched bellow to come from the book. He had hurriedly shut it, breaking his lamp in the process and leaving it behind as he heard not only Filch but Snape on his tail. Bolting as silently as he had been able to down the hallways, utterly thankful for his many years of Harry Hunting, the eleven year old wrenched open a slightly ajar door and ran inside, holding his breath as they passed. He had let out a quiet sigh of relief before taking in the abandoned room and looking at the only thing of interest, a tall and ornate, gold-rimmed mirror.

Harry remembers walking up to the mirror and seeing an inscription that was completely impossible for him to even begin to decipher with his dyslexia. But the mind-numbing inscription was the furthest thing from his mind as he stepped into the range of the mirror and saw what it reflected. Now, months later, he still couldn't rid his mind of the image. It had been him, but standing behind him had been the most breath-taking pair he had ever seen. On his left side was a woman with brilliant hair of fire and shining emerald eyes. He had known immediately that that had been his mother, for he had heard constantly since he entered the Wizarding World that he had his mother's eyes. She had smiled down at him with the most loving look and he had felt his own eyes begin to tear up. On his right side, with a large hand on his shoulder, which he was quick to check if it was actually there (and was wholly disappointed when he saw nothing but air even though when he looked upon the mirror he could swear he felt the weight), was a tall and broad shouldered man. His hair was the same dark black unkempt waves and curls as his own, but with intermittent streaks of silver and grey throughout (surprisingly the man managed to pull off the salt-and-pepper hair very well). The man's eyes were an unearthly electric blue and he was looking down at him with a prideful and smug look in his eyes that just made the boy's heart leap to his throat. He knew that these were his parents. He had tried to remember every aspect of the faces in the mirror, from the length of his mother's eyelashes to the chiseled and unshaven chin of his father. He had not been sure how long he had stood there, gazing lovingly up at the adults who continued to watch him with love, but when he had finally pulled himself from the mirror that night and had gotten back up to the tower, the sun was already making its appearance known.

The next day he had woken up late and then told Ron about his find the night before. Ron had been excited at the prospect of seeing Harry's parents and agreed, though he had been upset that Harry hadn't felt it prudent to wake him up in the first place to raid the library with him (Harry had been actually bemused at that, seeing as the last place Ron would ever want to be was the library—he had the feeling his friend had been just a little jealous he hadn't let him join in on his first adventure with his invisibility cloak). That night Harry had led Ron under the cloak through the castle halls, the cloak still trailing behind them under two eleven year olds. When Harry came upon the door for the second night in a row, he had felt overwhelming relief that he hadn't lost the way but when Ron saw himself with numerous awards and power, instead of his parents, he had been overwhelmed with confusion. Ron who was a first-year most certainly not a head boy and wasn't even a member of the Quidditch team, let alone the captain. With Ron's naive questioning if the mirror told the future, Harry had begun to finally understand the mirror's purpose, but he still stubbornly clung to the image of his parents in the mirror. So it was no surprise to himself when he went again to visit the mirror the next night, nor the night after that, though it had been a surprise to be interrupted on that night while he had been staring up into green and blue eyes by no other than Headmaster Dumbledore himself. He had had a feeling that the mirror, which he was told was the Mirror of Erised, was only showing him what he wanted, but it had hurt to hear the Headmaster's kind and stern voice telling him that he would waste away like many others before him who had found themselves entranced by the mirror's visage if he continued to come. The Headmaster had continued to stand there, waiting for him to make his leave first, so Harry had been forced to take one last glance towards the mirror to try to memorize every last line and feature of his parents, before he had quickly turned away, tugging on the comforting magic of his invisibility cloak.

Yule holiday had soon ended and all of the children came back to warm up the cold castle hallways with their body heat. Hermione had been disappointed when they admitted to be unable to find anymore leads on their mystery over the break, but soon they were whisked into the hunt again. Then came the Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon Egg Fiasco as he liked to think of it. Before the dragon had even hatched, Harry had felt a sort of kinship with the winged beast, much like kinship he had felt with birds of prey as a child and had been unsettled with the thought of a great flying beast being cooped up in a tiny wooden hut instead of soaring in the skies where it belonged. Thus, Harry got himself and his friends to help Hagrid get his newly hatched dragon (which he named Norbert, oddly enough) a new-found home in the dragon reserve in Romania where Ron's older brother Charlie worked. At the end of that particular fiasco, Harry winded up forgetting the invisibility cloak at the top of the tallest tower. When he had been up there he had felt completely at ease and in his element, so much so that he didn't feel the call of the cloak that had bonded to him trying to call for his attention before he and Hermione had left the tower, only to be caught red-handed out of bed by Filch the squib caretaker himself. Of course, being caught out after dark by Filch had gotten them both detention along with Neville and the Malfoy scion (which was to be spent with Hagrid. At night. In the Forbidden Forest. Which was thoroughly forbidden to all students because of dangerous and dark creatures. Great decision staff.) The night was the first night Harry had seen Voldemort face to face since he was a baby, and he doubts he will ever forget the vision of a disgusting face twisted into deformity with the silver blood of a unicorn, the most innocent and pure creature upon Earth, dripping down its maw. Luckily, right before the wraith of Voldemort attacked him, a young centaur had jumped clean over the fallen small boy and ran him off. Firenze, as was the stunning centaurs name, had watched him with his pale sapphire eyes with the care of an adult over a child, something Harry had never felt before. He was different than the two centaurs he had met earlier in the night with Hagrid, Ronan and Bane, and had even offered to let Harry upon his back to ride him back to the safety of castle, speaking to him like an adult yet still with protective care. He even stood up to the previous mentioned centaurs on his choice to protect him and let him ride upon his back when they had spoke out against it. Harry remembers the feeling of calmness as the Forbidden Forest had whipped passed him from the height of Firenze's back. When they reached Hagrid, he deemed him safe and let him off his back, speaking words of good luck in soft, low tones before running back deep into the forest, white-blonde hair flying behind him, Harry's feeling of safety leaving with him. The only thing that comforted the eleven year old that night had been a shimmery cloak folded upon his bed waiting for him with a note with the words 'Just in case' lying upon it.

Shortly after that night, Harry's year long adventure came to a head. He and his friends went through one trap after another, starting with the cerberus named Fluffy and ending with the Mirror of Erised that Dumbledore had explained in full detail to Harry over the winter holidays. In the back of his mind he had been suspicious over the fact that every trap supposedly made to stop Voldemort was conquerable and already gone over in class by a few curious first year students, but as adrenaline was rushing through his tiny body, he was practically bouncing of the walls, tiny barely noticeable sparks coming from his fingertips as his mind was focusing on the thought of stopping Voldemort before he came back to power.

In the end, he remembered looking in the mirror at his parents looking at him in pride and watching his father slip a deep ruby colored stone inside his cloak pocket, electric blue eyes sparking and darkening dangerously as he glared over at where Voldemort was waiting.

Harry had killed a man that night. He had passed out, clutching onto his teacher's face and body with burned with any skin on skin contact, the only thought running through his mind to survive. The distinctive smell of burning flesh had filled his nose as his world slowly faded to black, the last thing his eyes seeing was Quirinus Quirrell's empty dead eyes staring into his and the dark disembodied spirit of Voldemort screaming and fleeing from it's human container..

Harry had been out for three whole days before he awoke to the Headmaster staring down at him. It was during those three days that he truly was different was hammered into his mind.

Harry had dreamed of a woman. At first, because of the red hair and the feeling of love coming off the woman in waves, Harry thought the woman was his mother. But as he looked at her more closely, the eyes were all wrong and the woman's hair was a true red, with strands of blonde, brown, black, and many other earthy colors seemingly woven in. The woman's eyes were beyond beautiful, a mystifying swirl and mixture of every color imaginable freely flowing and moving within her irises. She was taller than his mother and her face was slightly more angular, but there were definite similarities between his mother he had viewed in the mirror and the powerful woman that had stood before him.

It was after she had allowed him to take in her appearance clearly that she had spoken to him.

"I am so proud of you, my dear, and I assure you that your mother is as well. You have grown into quite the remarkable lad since the time of her passing and know that she had wished nothing more than to be there with you throughout your life."

He had stuttered, before asking her who she was tactlessly, his face darkening to red as he realized his blunder. But the woman in his dream had just smiled down at him warmly before answering him.

"I am Hecate, your grandmother, young one."

Once more, the eleven year old gaped at the woman in confusion before she smiled indulgently at him and summoning a large and fluffy loveseat that had looked and felt as soft and loving as the air he relished. She had then spoke to him with respect, something he almost felt unworthy of in the presence of the stunningly magical woman sitting next time in beautiful Greek attire, as she told him a secret of the magical world that had once been common knowledge but had now become lost to time.

Every seemingly muggleborn child was in fact the child of Hecate, the Goddess of Magic herself, which was why 'muggleborns' tended to have the stronger of magical cores and control of magic, no matter what 'purebloods' spout. The only way in which purebloods were superior to the first generation wizards was in the terms of family magics and blessing and family grimoires, nothing more. It was completely mind blowing to Harry that the world he had been being taught of for nearly a full year now was completely wrong and backwards in everything it taught and thought it knew.

But as the information Harry had learned from the goddess sunk in, he began to become confused again. Why tell him all of this? What about every other supposed muggleborn in Hogwarts, shouldn't they know what Hecate was their mother, if what she said was true? Speaking his thoughts and concerns aloud, Hecate smiled patiently at him as she replied.

"Why you, you ask? Because you are different Harrison. Before you were born there were two prophecies spoken, one by an Oracle and one by a Seer about you. You are my Champion, young one, and you have a great and terrible destiny ahead of you. That is why I'm telling you this, to prepare you so that when the time comes, you can be able to protect yourself. As for my children, while I am a powerful goddess, my demigods' scents are not powerful or overwhelming to monsters, especially now that my descendents have built up full societies to keep themselves away from humans and monsters alike. Each of my children, upon their time for secondary schooling, when their scent is just starting to come out at all, are brought into the secret societies of my descendents where they are given the ability to live and thrive amongst them without any danger from monsters. But you are a different case entirely, young Harrison Evans."

Harry had listened to her speech quietly, taking in every word. He was surprised at the name she called him, especially since his Hogwarts letter had come for Harry J. Potter, not Harrison Evans. He knew his mother's maiden name was Lily Evans, but she had married the wizard James Potter after her Hogwarts graduation and had him sometime later. Harry tried to push the thought that every wizard and witch was related through a common ancestor, the woman sitting beside him. He definitely tried to push away the thought that technically, his best friend Hermione was his aunt.

He wasn't sure what being a Champion entailed, but he was unsettled to know that there were two prophecies out there about him that were written before he was even born that he had never heard about. The worry must have shown on his face because the next thing he knew, the goddess's fingers were threading through his silkily messy black hair comfortingly.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Harrison. But that is why I am contacting you now, so you can have time to digest this and train yourself for your future. I am also telling you this now because I fear that your scent is going to get more and more overpowering as you age. There is a place out there that can teach you how to protect yourself from the monsters that will try to kill you, but you need to go as soon as you can before you are cornered unprotected. My daughter would be very disappointed if I let you continue on as you are now, only for you to die before you can even have a try at your destiny, because I did not properly prepare you."

Near the end she had a teasing lilt to her heavenly voice and the scrawny eleven year old smiled shyly up at his patron goddess. She continued to thread her fingers through his hair absentmindedly as they sat in silence, contemplative for the goddess, and for Harry, well he was just basking in the feeling of the comforting magic pouring off the goddess. After what seemed like both an eternity and only mere seconds, Hecate's multicolored eyes focused down on the love-starved child cuddling beside her. She looked sadly upon him as she began to offer her final words.

"The place you must go is to Camp Half-Blood, a camp for children like you where they learn to protect themselves from monsters. It is located at Half-Blood Hill on Long Island in New York, in the United States of America. I know that is quite a ways to go, but you must, child, for it is for your own safety. Luckily, you are both my grandson and my Champion, and all of my descendents have the strongest control of the Mist than any other demigods. Also, thanks to your father, you have remarkable transfiguration skills, among which is the ability of a metamorphmagus, which you should be able to control with some patience and practice."

The Goddess of Magic looked him over appraisingly, while Harry himself had been tying to come to terms with the fact that his father was a metamorphmagus. Surely someone would have mentioned that to him throughout the year. It was a rare magic only passed down through blood. In fact, the only matamorphmagus in the entire school was a seventh year Hufflepuff girl by the name of Tonks. The starry eyed boy's attention was grabbed by the goddess once more as she pulled off his glasses and placed a hand over his eyes.

"Here, this should help. Glasses on the battlefield are a hazard and should be the least of your worries, Harrison. Besides, if you hadn't spent most of your life inside of a dark broom cupboard, you would have spectacular vision, goodness knows your father's eyes see all."

When a pulse of magic left her hand and entered his emerald eyes, for a moment all he could see was white before her hand was taken away and he was amazed by his new sight. Surely it should be impossible to see every scale of skin upon the goddess's face, no matter how close they were. The goddess's eyes, which had previously been breath-taking, now had so much more depth of beauty. Quickly pushing his awe of his patron goddess away he quickly asked if the reason why no one had told him James was a metamorphmagus was because he had kept it a secret. The Goddess of Magic just looked at him sadly with a small smile on her face as she cupped his small face in her hand.

"I must leave now, young Harrison. But know this: James Potter is not your father."

Harry's entire world seemed to crash down around him at the goddess's words. James Potter not his father? But he had felt so connected to his father when he was flying in the air and then learned that his father had been the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And how many times had he heard Snape sneer over another failed potion that he was just like his 'blasted, arrogant, fool father James Potter.' But Hecate took one last loving look at her Champion.

"Your father is alive, Harrison Evans, and I am sure he will be proud to claim you as his own."

With those last words, Harry's view of the Goddess of Magic's brilliants colors faded into blackness which was only interrupted by a golden gleam which he sleepily grabbed for in the remembrance of a snitch, only to find the gleam to come from the half-moon glasses of his Headmaster.

After a long discussion with Headmaster Dumbledore, and then another talk with his friends, Harry had felt tuckered out, although he had slept for three days. The next day he had gotten permission to go the End of the Year Feast, which he attended and watched as the Headmaster added a ridiculous amount of points to Gryffindor's total House Points, which brought Gryffindor into the lead by a small amount of points, winning the House Cup for Gryffindor.

On the train home, Harry had chatted with his friends contently, not too happy about the thought of returning to the Dursley's for the summer, but his mind had still been whirring over the dream. Should he take what had happened as truth, or pass it off as an adrenaline based dream to help him focus on something other than dead eyes, burning flesh, sparking hands gripping onto skin, and a black mass of pure evil leaving the still warm and burning corpse in his hands. In his thoughts, his hands had brushed over the photobook Hagrid had given his right before the feast, with words of kindness on his lips and saying how he had mentioned earlier on in the year that he had never had any photographs of his parents. His hands opened the book and ghosted over the moving images gathered within. The woman with fire-like red hair and sparkling emerald eyes was his mother, Lily Evans. But the man with chronic brunet bedhead was not his father. When he looked at the bespectacled James Potter, he saw nothing of him whatsoever. Without his dorky glasses which he hadn't needed since he was out for three days, which gave more proof that the dream did indeed happen, they weren't similar at all. Harry's mind went back to the salt-and-pepper haired man with light stubble and electric blue eyes he had seen in the mirror. Was that truly his father? Was he out there somewhere, waiting and wishing for him as Harry had yearned when in his younger years. Harry's eyes focused once more on the photo album, taking in the contours of his mother's face and the shape of her nose, eyes and mouth, before surreptitously looking up to his bushy-haired friend who was talking to Ron about her parents' job as dentists. His heart gave a twinge as he recognized the shape of her cheekbones and the shape of her mouth. He couldn't deny it any longer. Should he tell her or should he let her stay blissfully ignorant, content with the lie that her parents were faithful to one another. It was only Hedwig's soft hoots of reassurance that kept Harry from spilling his guts out to his two friends that had sat across from him.

Since then, life at the Dursley's had restarted. The minute they reached the house, his trunk was forcefully taken from him and thrown haphazardly in the cupboard under the stairs that still had a small cot that he had slept in only a year ago. It was only thanks to the fact that since the night he had left his invisibility cloak upon the tower's rook, he had begun carrying it around everywhere, to feel the comforting touch of the cloak's sentient magic soothe him and the fact that he kept his wand in an invisible belt holster he had owl ordered during the year that he had managed to keep them with him in Dudley's old toy room, which was still a hazard to walk in as broken toys still littered every inch of flooring. Harry still to this day wasn't sure if his new room had carpet or wood panneling.

Every day a new chore list was given to him just as it had been pre-Hogwarts, though he hadn't gotten any physical punishments from the Dursley's since he had went away to a magic school. Even Dudley appeared wary of him, probably still have phantom limb syndrome of a pig's tail from last summer. It was only after he had finished his chores each day and eaten his meager dinner that he was allowed up in his room. Everyday he tried to tidy it up a tiny bit more, though that was a bit of a fruitless task. And as the thunder continued to boom outside his window, he would crack it open slightly as he worked on letters mostly to Gringotts, relishing in the feel of the cool storm air and the beautiful flashes of lightning outside his window. He felt slightly guilty to send Hedwig out into such weather, but when he admitted such to her she had merely looked affronted before sticking her leg out, demanding for him to let her prove to him that a little bit of weather would not deter her.

That day had been the first the rain had let up even slightly in the fortnight since Harry had returned to Privet Drive, so it was the first day he had been given the chore of tending the garden. When he had seen it on the list in the morning, he had made sure to save the task for last. Honestly, the rain beating upon his back didn't bother him in the least and it was almost nice to have the rain push down his usual static-y hair into his head. It was as he was finishing up in the garden, reluctantly standing up to trudge back indoors that he saw the decidedly drenched and disgruntled white form of his snowy owl against the harsh dark backdrop of the storm clouds. In her talons was an official looking package with a letter on top, spelled completely dry of course.

Harry offered Hedwig his arm as he let out a quiet, "Thanks, girl," under another din of thunder, taking the package and stuffing it under his aged hand-me-downs. With his owl on his shoulders, he walked into the house, careful to only get the front mat dirty before trudging his way upstairs and dropping his package on his bed and grabbing a change of clothes and going for a quick, cold shower as that was all he was allowed at the loving Dursley residence.

Coming out of the bathroom, still dripping but with a content smile on his face, the nearly twelve year old boy opened up his Gringotts package, smiling at the shiny new passport with the name Harrison J. Evans proudly displayed upon it, enough American dollars to last him for the summer plus extra expenses and/or emergencies, and the plane tickets to and back from London to New York. The boy reached out to pet the still soaking owl that was preening her feathers on his bed.

"Well girl, it looks like we're headed to summer camp across the pond."

End Note: Chapter one of Sowilo is complete! I think I have left enough hints as to Harry's parentage throughout the story. A few things to take note of about this AU however: 1) Harry is not, I repeat NOT a Horcrux in this story. His scar is a central plot point still, however. 2) The PJO prophecy is different and the whole plotline will be AU pretty much. 3) This will almost certainly be a gen fic. Harry will notice beauty in both genders, but he will not be on the market. He has two prophecies hanging over his head which are a bit more important. That's all I can note right now. And oh yeah! If anyone gets the Makepeace reference they will get a shout out in the next Author's Note. Because I will love you if you get the reference. Please leave a review and I hope you enjoyed.