A/N Hello its me again , this is my second story. I was going through harry potter and rwby archive and saw an intresting story plot so I asked the author Thyjoking for permission to use his plot and he gave me permission.
So here we are.
A/N #2 : so am throwing harry into remnant giving him supercool weapons and his involment in the pre-RWBY arc so no team RWBY , JNPR , CVFY and CRNL so hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I owned RWBY and HARRY POTTER for a year, but that may have been a bad dream.
Chapter 1.
When I fell
11:30 PM 31st December 1997
On a small blue-green planet, called "Earth" (a not very reasonable name given a good two thirds of it is water), there exists a small island. On this island, in a small street, in a small suburb, there is a small house. It's not very nice-looking, and it's very grubby and dirty compared to its neighbours. There is one small important detail about it however, and this is it:
It's not really there.
None of the neighbors can see it. They simply remark on the quite amusing clerical error that caused number 11 to end up next to number 13.
But something hides an apartment block from normal eyes but Magic hides it, showing it to only those who know about it. The force of magic is strong on this world,permeating through the air and through the people.
Not many worlds have something quite this powerful, and the power always comes with a price, a way for severe Darkness to rise. On this world, the power is easily abused, and man easily corrupted.
Inside the building, namely Number 12 grimmuald place, sits a group of magicals around an oak table. They are nervous, and making final goodbyes. They know that they will lose people, that some may fall in the name of justice. To end the war that ravaged and destroyed their world.
The teenager at the head of the table looks very weary. he looked as if he hadn't slept in a while, as if waiting for the guillotine to drop. He has dark messy hair, and is wearing a set of black wizarding robes. The table is silenced quickly when he stands to his feet and clears his throat. He green eyes glowing behind his round glasses, all weariness gone, instead replaced with a burning fire.
"My fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix,today may be our final battle, our greatest offense."
He paused, and looked around at the expectant faces.
" Today we will fight , Today we will be victorious, whether we win or lose.
Because we will burn as a light in the darkness,
blinding the shadows and bringing hope to the
masses. We will deal a great blow against the Dark Lord today. We will show him that we are still fighting. What we stand for and hopefully put an end to him."
An inspiring speech, given by a leader to his people in a time of need. They don't question him, nor his plan, but simply know that there is no alternative.
They clap for him as he leaves the room, two others following him, close by his side. The trio climb the many stairs in a grim silence, punctuated only by the occasional sound of chatter escaping from downstairs. They reach the top, and enter the attic,unlocking the door with a key hanging from the leader's neck. After closing the door and casting anti-eavesdropping charms, they collapse into the three soft armchairs.
The large desk occupying the centre of the room is covered in miscellaneous books and papers. Thick books, paper blueprints and most curiously, a small leather-bound book, its cover scarred with a perfect circle. The journal simply extrudes malevolence, without actual doing anything.
"Why can't we tell them the whole plan, Harry?"
The woman in the right chair spoke first. She had brown curly hair, and was wearing a wrinkled set of robes. She looked like she hadn't fully rested in a week.
"We just can't. To give them that much hope... If I were to fail, it would break them." explained Harry.
"But they deserve to know, Harry."
"No, Hermione."
The redhead interrupted, trying to change the
subject. "Where did you pull that speech from,
Harry? ' Light in the dark' and all that. Pretty
impressive."
Harry looked down, and said dejectedly, "Professor Dumbledore's old notes."
"Ah."
After a few moments, Hermione spoke up again.
"How can we be sure this is even going to work? The ritual might not work with multiple Hocruxes, and the two times we know it did, the people only had one."
Harry sighed, as if he had already explained this.
"The info is definitely from the Department of
Mysteries, just stolen by Rookwood, and intercepted by us before it got to You-Know-Who. And just as well too. "
He stood up and started to pace around the room.
"We've been on this Hocrux hunt for almost a year Hermione! And we haven't found anything! People have been dying, left and right,
But now we have something,and no matter how untrustworthy the information may be, we have to act on it."
He gestured at the smallest pile of books. The books there ranged from a few centuries old, to maybe even a millennia. The top book's title was written in strange spidery writing, in ancient Greek:
Το λεξικό δεν Ερπων ὁ δεινός.
A rough translation would have been 'The defeat of Herpo the Foul'. Herpo the Foul was the first man to breed a basilisk, the creator of many dark arts, from the burning Fiendfyre to the Drink of Despair, a successful attempt at the recreation of a Dementor's ability to bring forth the victim's worst memories.
But the darkest of all, the discovery of a ritual that finally turned him from man to monster, was the creation of a Hocrux. He split his soul and his mind for immortality. And this book documented the first Dark Lord's fall from power.
His Hocrux may have been immune to his other
inventions, Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre, both
destructive beyond measure, but it was not
completely indestructible.
You don't need to destroy them, only send them elsewhere.
"For the first time, we have found a way to kill him. Completely and forever. And we have to take that chance. We can't keep running around, hoping to just stumble upon the rest of Voldemort's Hocruxes."
"We have to act quickly before he realise his horcrux are missing."
Harry sat back down, leaning forward.
"We've discussed the plan, and it's final. Hermione and I will take Polyjuice Potion of the ministry workers we stunned last week, and I will make my way down to the Department of Mysteries under the Cloak, while Hermione splits off towards the security office and tries to disable the security measures."
Hermione nodded, face looking a little apprehensive about her job.
"After this, Ron will take the Order through the Floo and fight through the Ministry. Try to free as many of the prisoners as you can, and supply them with wands. The apparition wards should be down, and you should try and evacuate everyone who can't fight."
Ron also nodded, face grave. Hermione spoke up, in a hesitant voice. "But what if something goes wrong?
What if You-Know-Who shows up before the ritual can begin?"
Harry sigh and picked up the diary , and the fire was back in his eyes.
"I'll improvise."
1:30 AM 1st January 1998
Some time later, the strange people are back at 12 Grimmauld Place.
They are tired, they are injured, and they number far less then they did only an hour before. Grubby, torn and in many cases bleeding, they elicit many cries of astonishment from the wide-awake neighbors. And the neighbors are still awake, simply because the people are firing fireworks into the air, along with what look like lasers. It is far too loud, even for NewYears, especially so far past midnight.
Some of them are crying, some are celebrating, and one just sits at the moodily lit kitchen table,
contemplating the stains on the surface in front of her.
Hermione Granger was a strange person, and still is.
A bookworm till the end, and very loyal to her
friends. She never made friends easily, tending to scare them away even at a young age. But Hogwarts was when that had changed. She had found friends,adventures, and magic.
But all good things must come to an end, and evil and discrimination had finally reared its ugly head.
She had the scar to prove it, the word Mudblood cut onto the inside of her arm. They had been forced to hunt for indestructible items, hidden from sight. An impossible task. This wasn't a fairy tale, it wasn't possible to destroy the undestroyable, let alone find the unfindable. So they found a way to bring the Hocruxes to them.
The book had described a ancient Archway, hidden deep underground. It told of a soft tattered veil hanging within, muttering, gently whispering to those who had lost family, luring them closer. It told of brave men who had died to find Herpo the Foul's Hocrux, desperate to stop the monster. They had thrown it into the Archway of Death, hoping that it truly would pass beyond the Veil. But Death needed both pieces of the soul, and Herpo too was forced through the Archway by forces unknown to man.
And with this knowledge that the book provided, the battle was won, not because they gained anything,but because of the destruction of a monster.
Voldemort was dead, killed once and for all. He took most of his death eaters with him. The Flight from Death was over. And the price was paid,in blood.
Harry potter was dead. But what ever he did ensured the end of the war once and for all because what ever happened in the department of mystries killed almost all death eaters ,those that didn't die were rendered squibs for the rest of their pitiful lives. But the-boy-who-lived dead. Impossible. Yet true. And hermione would have to accept that.
The plan had succeeded, and then failed. The world had been rid of its darkest shadow, moments before it had lost its brightest light.
People wouldn't mourn the death of Harry wouldn't celebrate his life.
No, instead the people would celebrate the
vanquishing of the Dark Lord, just as they had done sixteen years before. And Hermione couldn't blame them.
Ron sat down heavily opposite Hermione. He looked just as she felt. He probably felt even worse, losing his family as well as his friends. A deep cut had been scored across his face, cutting to the cheekbone, but he didn't seem to care. It would scar him forever.
"He's dead" he muttered in a low voice. She didn't know whether he was talking about Harry or Voldemort. "Really dead this time."
"Either must die at the hand of the other," Hermione said hollowly, "For neither can live while the other survives."
Ron winced at the line of the prophecy. It was all too obvious now. Prophecies were never straight forward. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were destined to die together.
More people were celebrating in the next room over.
Ron could vaguely hear loud bangs, probably more fireworks, outside.
No-one had actually seen either of them die, of
course. But too many people had seen Voldemort himself travel down to the Department of Mysteries,with swift movement, blasting anyone, friend or foe,
out of his way.
The first sign of a great battle fought between Harry and Voldemort, were the rumbles deep below the ground. Cracks had appeared in the lower levels of the ministry, releasing the Dementors from their cells. They had descended upon both sides of the battle, feeding on any unprotected souls.
Thankfully, the next thing that happened were the terrifying shrieks of every Dementor as they lit up in individual in flames.
No-one knew what had happened to the no longer immortal Dementors. Some were saying the concentration of magic was too extreme, and that they had been vaporized, but that didn't explain why the Dementors in Azkaban were missing as well.
No-one was even able to study the burnt remains, because seconds after the immolation of the Dementors, the entire Ministry had collapsed, straight down into the dark secret chambers of the Department of Mysteries.
But that was not only thing that had happened across britain.
The Lestrange vault in Gringotts had cracked open and the goblins were inciting rebellion, again.
A hole had been blown through the wall of Hogwarts,taking out several of the millennia old wards as well as a much surprised Headmaster Snape.
Stonehenge had been disturbed, the large stones
surrounding a deep crack in the ground. Muggle
investigators were reporting recent human bones
buried underneath.
And last but not least, the headless body of Umbridge had been discovered in her home. The last one was probably good news to most people, especially to the muggleborns she had been prosecuting.
But at the department of mystries something else happened.
11:59PM 31st December 1997
Harry stood upon the pedestal in the darkened room,waiting patiently. A small book was held loosely in one hand, and his wand gripped in the other. His Invisibility Cloak was hiding him from sight, though he knew it would be useless.
The atmosphere was brooding, tense. The Veil
fluttered gently in an invisible breeze. The air was cold and still.
Harry waited. He knew that Voldemort was coming, had felt his rage through the scar, seen the blood of his minions spilt. Voldemort knew of the theft of his Hocrux, and was coming to reclaim it.
Harry heard the loud bang, as well as seeing the
explosion through Voldemort's eyes.
The door was blasted off its hinges, but it was. Not the right door.
Voldemort strode on, melting another door into a heap of bubbling metal, and this time, he had found the right room.
Harry turned and watched his invisible self from Voldemort's eyes through the Veil. It was a
disconcerting sight, watching a blank space where you knew you were. He knew Voldemort was sharing this double vision with him and could pin-point exactly where he was. Looking through the shimmering Veil wasn't helping either. It gave a twisting image through the transparent fabric.
"Harry Potter."
The name was said slowly in a low menacing hiss, not so much as a name but as a curse. Voldemort looked directly at him, invisible or not.
"Tom Riddle." Harry replied, with equal loathing. He pushed back the hood of the cloak, his head becoming visible. "It's your birthday." he to Voldemort.
Voldemort scowled. "Age does not matter to an
immortal." He proclaimed.
Harry held up his hand. The diary dangled from it,supported by one page pinched between two red eyes grew angry at the sight of his mistreatment of the Hocrux.
"An immortal, huh?"
"What do you expect to do with that?" Voldemort asked angrily, slowing his stride towards Harry. "And, I suppose it was Dumbledore who told you about my Horcrux, wasn't it?"
Harry nodded silently, swinging the diary from side to side. Voldemort's head followed it, like a
hypnotized snake. Oh the irony.
"You cannot hope to destroy it. It is indestructible,even to the darkest Fiendfyre." Voldemort boasted arrogantly, standing on the other side of the Veil now, staring intently at Harry. "Even Basilisk venom,which dissolves through the strongest enchantments,won't affect it."
"I know," said Harry, pulling out the sword of
Gryffindor from under his cloak. "I tested it, I tried. The venom only did destroy the compulsion charms you placed on it though." He sliced across the cover of the book, and a small amount of black steam rose, before the cut healed itself, leaving a white scar across the mottled circle already present. Herpo the Foul would set safeguards against his own creations after all.
Harry spoke, with a grim smile on his face. "Oh, but don't you see? There has to be a way to destroy them.
Don't you ever wonder why there aren't any other immortal evil wizards around?"
Voldemort took a deep breath, leaned forward, and his eyes seemed to glow red in the dark. His pale face was lit by the meagre light, and showed its snakelike features to Harry.
"I have come closer to immortality than any who have come before. I hold the Elder Wand. I have split my soul seven times, and I have already come back from death's door once."
He was angry now, fury behind every word.
"If Nicholas Flamel was at the gates of the immortal's palace, then I have already ascended the highest tower. I SHALL NEVER DIE! Do you not understand that you can never hope to defeat me?"
Harry held up the diary properly, and opened it with the other hand, flipping through the blank pages as if he were reading. He sighed and bowed his head, then said pitifully, "I guess you're right."
Midnight 1st January 1998
He looked up again, and Voldemort almost stepped back with the intensity of the flames in his eyes.
"But the balance must always be restored. And did you know Herpo the foul died here" And with this, he tossed the book gently towards Voldemort.
Voldemort, startled, instinctively reached out to catch
it, but as it passed through the Archway between
them, it fell into the shimmering Veil. It dissolved into scarlet dust, floating through the air.
Voldemort just stared in bewilderment, fingers
sweeping through the red mist. His face tightened in surprise, and he screamed in a primal voice.
"No. No! NO!"
Harry's scar burned like lava. Slow, steady, and
dissolving everything. His mind was filled with the agony of anger, pure rage and utter loathing.
Voldemort raised his wand to curse Harry but it was torn out of his hand, and passed through the Veil in a shower of bright white dust.
The Veil was flapping wildly, caught in an invisible gale.
The floors rumbled and cracked, spitting out a golden goblet through the dark crevice. It flew towards Harry, who was still hunched over in pain. Only because of his Seeker reflexes did he roll in time as the goblet shot pass him. The goblet dissolved into shining yellow dust as it passed through the Veil, floating through the air as motes of light.
Voldemort had ran around the Veil to where Harry knelt in pain. He grabbed Harry by his throat and pulled him up to face level. Harry stared into his panic-stricken eyes.
"What have you done?" He screamed into Harry's face.
Harry laughed, even though he was still in agony, his throat burning at the touch of Voldemort's slender fingers.
"Did Herpo the Foul ever regret? Did Black Alyss, a woman who made her own daughter a Hocrux, ever love?"
A ring, set with a dirty black stone whipped by, inches from the pair, and shattered into black dust as it hit the Veil.
"You're dead Tom, whether you truly regret your life or not. Your soul is passing through Death's true door even now."
A locket bounced through the open doorway,
sounding like it had broken several important items, and Voldemort dropped Harry. It was green, and emblazoned by a green S, and the chain it hung was on covered in blood. Voldemort tried to grab it as it passed, but it tore itself away from his grip, flying through the Veil and turning into green dust.
Voldemort was panicked now, and Harry knew why.
Only one Hocrux remained now, according to his count.
The roof began to shake, and boulders began to rain down on them. Harry rolled to one side to avoid a particularly big one, the size of a couch.
Harry saw, lying on his back, the shiny tiara soar
through the air towards the Archway. Voldemort
failed to stop it again, and his hand was left bloody from the impact. A blue spray of dust hung in the air behind him.
Harry stood up slowly, and met Voldemort's eyes stared into red, and only one pair was triumphant. Voldemort stepped forward but stopped and, if it was possible, paled further.
All he could do was watch in silence as Voldemort stumbled, and slowly, slowly he was pulled backwards, as if by an invisible force. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, as he was pulled back into the Archway, vanishing forever from this world.
The emerald green dust left behind glittered in the air, like sunlight shining on the scales of a jungle snake.
Harry fell to his knees in exhaustion. The pain in his scar, the pain he had felt for years, was gone, silenced at last. The monster was dead, the world saved, many innocents avenged. The chamber was falling to pieces around him. "Maybe now," Harry thought with skepticism, "I can have a normal life."
A new pain in his forehead told him no. He started being dragged slowly on his knees, pulled towards the Veil. He shouted, panicked, and grabbed the nearest thing, the boulder he had nearly been crushed by.
The Archway was pulling him in, taking him with Voldemort. The Veil was trying to take him!
His scar was burning again, more painful than
anything Voldemort had ever caused him. His head was being pulled back, his neck straining under the pressure.
He couldn't leave behind Ron and Hermione, leave behind his friends and family.
No, no, NO!
But Harry's exhausted grip was slipping on the rock,and he felt himself let go. The tattered fabric fluttered, as if reaching out gently for him, and he closed his eyes and felt no more pain as he passed through the should have known the victory was to good to be true.
All that was left was glowing scarlet dust. It hovered in the air for a few beautiful seconds, mixing with the emerald green, before dispersing into the falling rubble from the roof.
A/N #1 I will say most of what I wrote was taken from Thyjoking 'shadows without light'
So in case you didn't read the heading I asked for permission from the author to use his story to create this ... Fin
No flames
A/N #2 update will be posted weekly.