The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling

Part 1: The Avadroid Invasion

Chapter 1

S.I.(R.)I.U.S.

2005, July 07
Thursday
7:07:07 AM
Location Undisclosed

At precisely seven seconds after the seventh minute of the seventh hour since the beginning of the seventh day of the seventh month, Invictus Stark allowed the final ingredient of his brew to touch the simmering surface of the as-yet-incomplete concoction. Coincidentally, it was also roughly seven years after the downfall of the last Dark Lord, Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle. As Invictus began stirring the cauldron, anticipating the end result, he thought of Riddle's ideals, and discovered something grand, something so incredibly magnificent, that he could not believe he hadn't discovered it before: Tom Riddle, he thought, you were an idiot. Pleased with this astonishing conclusion, he allowed a smile to play on his thin mouth. He realized now how simple it would have been for the Muggle Prime Minister to order an air strike and annihilate Riddle's entire army. Then he realized that he had not, in fact, done such a simple thing. He wondered, briefly, what the world was coming to.

At precisely three minutes after beginning, he stopped stirring. Now, he only needed to wait six months before the potion was complete, and the end result was born. I know exactly what the world is coming to, he thought, Vengeance. Equality. Fairness. And I shall be the one who brings it. He sat back and thought back to the day that he had made this goal, all those years ago...

1981, October 28
Wednesday
8:53:44 PM
Location Unknown

He was in a forest clearing. Bats screeched as they flew overhead, under the dark sky. Two dozen or so others were also there, in a rough circle. Slowly pacing in the circle was a tall hooded man. This man spoke in low, menacing tones, walked a slow, menacing walk, and breathed in a slow and menacing way. His name was Tom Riddle. Invictus didn't think there was anything wrong with being named Tom Riddle. But for some reason, this man did. He called himself "Lord Voldemort". Once, Invictus had thought that it was a funny name and a boastful title. He soon changed his mind. Lord Voldemort was powerful. Lord Voldemort was merciless. Lord Voldemort could tell when you were about to piss yourself. So when Lord Voldemort called, you answered. When Lord Voldemort spoke, you listened. When Lord Voldemort looked at you, under no circumstances were you to piss yourself.

Lord Voldemort was currently bragging about a potion that his Potion Master Severus Snape had brewed. It apparently multiplied the drinker's magical power about two or three times.

"Give me the vial, Snape," he drawled in his low and menacing voice.

"My Lord," Snape said, as he moved towards the Dark Lord. Invictus wondered how he made his cape billow like that.

"My Lord," one of the others said, "should we not test it first?"

Vial in hand, Voldemort looked at the Death Eater who suggested the ludicrous suggestion. "Dolohov," he hissed, "do not presume to fool me. I see what you are trying to do, Dolohov. You wish to 'test' this yourself, so that you may become more powerful and overthrow me!"

"N-no, my Lord, I was merely concerned for—" he stammered, but Voldemort would have none of it.

"Crucio!" He coldly watched his follower writhe on the ground, screaming. Satisfied, he lifted the curse.

Voldemort slowly and menacingly opened the vial, and slowly and menacingly drank the contents. Just as Invictus wondered if he felt any tingling, Voldemort slowly and menacingly turned and pointed his wand straight at him.

Must not piss myself, must not piss myself, must not piss myself, must not piss—

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hmm, he thought, tingly. Strangely enough, he wasn't dead. There was silence for a few moments. Then—

"DOLOHOV! Why did you not test this?! Crucio!" Once again, Dolohov was on the ground, writhing. But not with pain. Instead of screams, he was emitting high pitched giggles. The Dark Lord's eyes widened. He lifted the curse, and cast it on his other followers. One by one, all his followers fell on the ground, giggling hysterically. Except Snape, who somehow managed to just stand there, looking like he was waiting in a particularly slow line. "Snape, how long before this monstrosity wears off?" He asked coldly.

"About three hours, my Lord," he said, looking inexplicably like he hadn't just diminished his Master's power by 96%.

Voldemort growled in fury. Invictus could feel the heat from where he was. "You are dismissed. If I hear one word of this incident in the future, you will regret it. A lot."

Invictus apparated away with the rest of the Death Eaters. He was incredibly proud of himself: the first person in the history of history to survive the Killing Curse! It was only when he tried to summon his paper that he noticed something wrong. He couldn't get it to budge. He was in shock. He would have to live like a damn Muggle for the rest of his existence! Not to mention he would be kicked off the ranks of the Death Eaters...

In fact, he was fired the next day. Good thing, too, as two days after he was fired, he read about the Dark Lord's demise at the hands of a presumably omnipotent infant, and the round up of all his followers. Since he was now officially a Squib, however, and since he hadn't done anything for the Dark Lord, he was not captured.

It was then that Invictus Stark began his quest to disprove Pureblood prejudice. Lord Voldemort was killed by an infant. Then again, he was a half-blood. But still, his beliefs got him killed. By a baby. Invictus got a job as a Muggle geneticist, and soon began to plan his ultimate creation: a Wizard. Not just a Wizard, the Ultimate Wizard. To subdue to idiotic magical population, and restore power to Squibs and Muggles everywhere.

2005, July 07
Thursday
7:16:53 AM
Location Undisclosed

It was a daunting task, certainly, but he knew he could do it. He had a House Elf, after all, who was magical. He had Diagonal Alley, which sold magical items. And he had his skill with potion making, rivaled only by the man who now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts; the unsung hero of the long war, Severus Snape.

2006, January 01
Sunday
1:00:34 AM

The potion began bubbling. Wisps of black and silver steam rose from the cauldron. Invictus, who had been sitting in the same spot for six hours, started. He rose, and put on his dragon hide gloves. Any minute now...

1:01:01 AM

Something jumped out of the cauldron, spilling fluid all over the floor and Invictus' trousers. He grabbed it at its apex, and admired his creating with glee. He had engineered the perfect Wizard with DNA from various magical creatures and prodigious Wizards, specifically to enhance its magic and make it a master of light, illusion, and magical interaction. He knew that this child was the epitome of power. This, he thought, will go down in history. One second after the first minute of the first hour of the first day of the first month, 2006, the ultimate Wizard was born. Now, what to call you...To focus on its power, Invictus believed that any emotion would be counter productive. Thus, he did not give the baby a name. He gave him a title, and called him the 'Supreme Implementor of (Retrograde) Impulsyonics, Umbryonics, and Spectromancy'.

S.I.(R.)I.U.S.

Meanwhile...

1:01:01 AM
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office

"Would you like a biscuit, Minerva?" Headmaster Dumbledore was having a tea party in his office. He'd invited the whole staff, and practiced eye twinkling in the mirror for five minutes beforehand.

"No, thank you, Albus," Minerva McGonagall politely declined, sipping her tea.

Albus Dumbledore was about to do the same, when he suddenly froze, attracting the attention of his guests.

"Albus?" Filius Flitwick asked.

Dumbledore's brow crinkled, his eyes twinkled a bit less brightly, and he lowered his cup. "I sense a great disturbance in the Force, Filius," he solemnly stated. Then the great and revered Headmaster of Hogwarts , Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, dressed in his most magnificent violet gown sporting orange polka dots that bounced off each other, fell quiet and drank his tea. His guests, after exchanging glances, followed suit.