Title: Reaching For the Red Moon

Author: Llawela Dragon

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me, Llawela Dragon, except for Phoebe's children, any other characters you do not recognize, and the plot. Harry Potter belongs to that literary goddess, J.K. Rowling, and I'm sure she'd have a stroke if she saw what fan fiction writers did to her characters.

Warnings: Spoilers for OoTP, Slash

Genre: Drama/Romance

Summary: A Charmed/Harry Potter crossover. When Wyatt Halliwell has a very disturbing vision of the death of Harry Potter, his family decides to take action, and moves across the atlantic to Hogwarts. There are some things that Wyatt left out of his recount, however, and things are being put into motion now that the Halliwells have arrived. What follows is the tale of two boys and their friendship that becomes more, all leading up to the final battle with the creature that would not be stopped.

Author's Notes: This is a SLASH story, meaning a story with a male/male relationship. If that bothers you, than leave, now. This is my first slash piece, so I beg of you - be kind! I look forward to any reviews and/or constructive flames that I receive. Please help me in any way that I can!

Prolouge - Visions of Red

The moon shone oddly down upon the earth, its unclear edges fringed with a deep, crimson red. Slowly, as if someone had lit a match under it, the moon was being consumed by the unusual, and unwelcome, color. A red moon means the death of someone that you know. He looked around the field, wondering if anyone else could see what was happening to the moon, but everybody was absorbed in the battle that was happening around him. Why couldn't anyone see what was happening to the moon? Did anyone care that innocent people were being killed?

He wanted to yell at them, to tell them to stop, that fighting wouldn't resolve anything, but he had spent his whole life fighting against the evil, and he wasn't the person to tell them this. He looked around, searching for a face that he knew. All he could see were unclear faces, blurred with the intensity of the magic occuring around him. This isn't natural. And then, out of nowhere, he saw his mother. The red highlights in her dark hair glimmered under the crimson moon, or is that blood, and her brown eyes reflected the emotion that she always felt when defending her family from demons. There was anger- the anger of a mother defending her children, a woman defending her sisters, a wife defending her husband, and a Charmed One defending the innocent.

She wasn't defending herself. She was falling, falling to the ground, a dagger sticking out of her leather-clad chest, blood spilling down her front. Her face twisted in pain, and Wyatt ran, ran for her, but with each step he took, she appeared further and further away, until he could no longer see her through the bodies that were already littering the ground, and the fight that still, despite her death, was going on.

Was that why the moon was red? Was it because she was dying?

But hadn't the moon already turned red?

He looked around again, his vision blurred, not because of magic now, but because of his tears. He ran away from the battle, ignoring the grass thatsquished with blood under his feet, and found himself staring. One of his aunts, lying amongst the cloaked, dead bodies of the opposition, stared unseeingly up at the moon, which was almost completely red, now. He ran to her, holding his hands over her chest, but he could do nothing; he could not heal her wounds. It was too late. No. She was dead.

Gently, he lifted a hand and closed her eyes. He saw how he left a red streak on her face, and looked down at his hands. They were stained with blood, blood that wasn't his own. Demons don't bleed. Why were his hands covered in blood? Who had he killed? He looked up again, and heard his name being yelled. Wyatt! He ran, quicker than he had ever in his life, towards the source of the noise. Wyatt!

Screaming his name, standing before a tall being bathed in shadow, was a young man. Everything around him blurred as his features became clear. His hair, darker than the night around him, stood up, as if on end. His eyes, so green, glittered with malice and hatred and love and longing and so many other things that Wyatt couldn't understand. His body, skinny but muscled, was covered in leather. He wore chain mail over the leather, which fell around his knees like a dress. In his left hand, he held a shining, glimmering sword. Not Excalibur. Wyatt realized that he, himself, held Excalibur, although he hadn't remembered summoning it. In the young man's right hand he held a long stick of wood. He radiated power and goodness.

Harry. The name came suddenly to mind, ripping from his throat. "Harry!" The shadows before Harry shifted, allowing a creature like no other to pass. He was unnaturally tall and thin, with long, spidery hands, and a bald, round head. His serpentine tongue flicked out into the air, tasting the fear of those around him. His eyes were red, the same color that the moon had turned.

Harry hadn't turned though. He was still looking at Wyatt with that nearly unreadable look. The creature with red eyes lifted a wooden stick, pointing it at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" the creature called, but his lips didn't move; his mouth didn't open. A green light shot out of his wand, absorbing Harry, who still hadn't turned. When the light passed, Harry was no longer standing, but lying, crumpled, on the ground, his eyes still on Wyatt. "No! Harry!"

All around them, the battle had stopped. Everyone stared. The creature leaned down and lifted the wand that Harry still clutched in his hand, holding it high in the air as Arthur had held Excalibur when he had pulled it free from the stone. "I have won!" he cried, although his mouth was still closed. "The world is mine!"

"Wyatt!"

Updated on: January 26, 2005.