Disclaimer: Obviously I own neither of the works, they belong to whomever they belong to, hardcore fans will undoubtedly know who these people are. I can't say i do, though I do know J.K. Rowling.

AN: The beginning of a new story, and the third in what I hope will be the 'Hero Chronicles' spanning across a multitude of fictional universes; as it is this will be the third in the set, the second of which hasn't been written yet, but will the moment I have a clear idea what I want with it. This story cn be read without knowing A Hero on a Foreign Home and I will try to work it as such in a following stories, though there will be certain abilities and talents Harry will have learnt which won't be lost.

Mystic Falls

The town was small, and old, and so wrapped up in the supernatural it could be named Atlantis and no one would notice it wasn't a mythical city. It was perhaps the reason Harry had been drawn to it, his heart had so yearned for something above normal that he was willing to even put up with vampires for the chance to be in his element again.

The first thing Harry had done was build a house, it was a large house, considering he would live alone, with doors of solid oak, large windows which were crystal clear, and stone that looked of the whitest marble. Harry had a lot of money to burn and he was sure to burn most of it before he was killed by someone, something, or some being.

The second, Harry had organised a party. Yes, it was hard considering he hadn't even yet stepped foot in his house but nonetheless it had to be done, he had to meet people and that was the only appropriate thing to do. He had planned to invite the Fells, the Forbes, the Gilberts, the Lockwoods, and the Salvatores; those were not the only families in Mystic Falls but they were the most important. The Founders if Harry was correct, and he always made sure to keep an eye on those—terrible first experiences and all that.

The third, was an entrance. A large entrance that would make sure he would be forever in the little town of Mystic Falls, which was why his car, a sleek, black Shelby Cobra, roared through the winding roads, past the tall and thick trunked trees, towards his property which had been finished a few days ago. He didn't know the populace, or how strict the law enforcement was, but he was rich, powerful, and nothing a muggle did could impede him in the long run; and, above all else, he was free to just have fun.

'Welcome to Mystic Falls,' a board writhing in magic—all the land did in this universe—said as he passed, and Harry sped across the bridge it preceded, just in time to hear a siren start bleating. Green eyes glanced at the rear-view mirror and spotted the flashing blue lights behind him. Time to have a little fun, he thought, while changing gear; the car roared louder and immediately gained distance from the police car. The police car, made to give chase, but the moment Harry turned a sharp corner—it shouldn't have been possible with his speed, but magic went a long way—he put his car in an extra gear, and the car took off into the air, in minutes sailing above the trees.

Harry let out a whoop of laughter as wind whipped around him, ruffling his short and messy, raven hair. Harry loved flying, and as hard as it was to charm a broom, a car was much easier; he didn't have to add Breaking Charms, Cushioning Charms, or Sticking Charms. All he had to do was enchant the car to flying and that was it. Simple...well, when one didn't try to think about how inherently complicated magic was. He could hear the police car below still giving chase, as if it would find him, and when it did how would it explain how quickly he got to his rapidly approaching home?

It was a few minutes before he could see his finely mowed back lawn, and it was really a pity what he was about to do; he started decelerating, the car pointed at decline and landed on the green grass, drawing tire-streaks as it came to a stop.

He let out an excited breath, trying to calm himself and slow down his fast-beating heart. He let out another whoop of laughter as he drove the car through a tight passage and parked it lazily from in the driveway.

"Flashy," said a voice, and Harry wasn't all that surprised to see the blonde leaning in front of his door, her arms crossed and her brown eyes set on Harry.

Harry grinned. "I know. Great right?" What gift is immortality if I don't enjoy it, had been Harry's thought when he'd arrived on this universe. What was the use of getting to see different civilisations, on the same planet, on different planes if didn't try to enjoy it? Harry was sure he would get to see each and every one of them with each instance of his death. So in the mean time, he was going to have as much fun as he possibly could and not get caught up in the politics that would soon surround the muggle and the supernatural world. He was just going to have fun.

She snorted and turned, looking at the door. "Classy."

"You mean wasteful," Harry said. "You know, for a once vampire you sure do like saving money for some inexplicable reason."

"That's why vampires are rich, Harry, we save and the money accumulates."

"Or you just eat..." he hesitated, thoughtfully scratching his chin. The problem with immortality, and being stuck at the physical age of twenty-seven, was that he couldn't naturally grow a beard. He'd gave it some thought, and was appalled at it all, what sort of powerful wizard—and he was indeed powerful, there wasn't a doubt—did not have a beard? But his mind returned to the conversation, "or drink? I mean the correct term would be drink, but I've heard a lot of you say eat so I'm not really sure. But I digress. I was saying, or you just, insert correct term here, people with money and just take their wealth."

She gave a shrug as Harry went and stood next to her, both staring at the large ornate door. "What are we looking at?" Harry whispered when both had standing for to two minutes.

"Force of habit," she said before disappearing.

Harry opened the door and beamed, there was just something about a new house that made him so excited; maybe it was because he usually had to fight a hell of a lot to get one, but at the end of the day, the comfort a house, a home, brought, was immeasurable. He toured the house: the first floor having a large kitchen, a walk-in pantry, a diningroom, a livingroom, a study, and a drawing-room; the second floor with three bedrooms, all with their own bathrooms, and his lab, though for the time being it was empty; and the attic was to be his cash and artifact room. He would also need to set-up protective enchantments around the house, with all these supernaturals, witches, vampires, werewolves, hybrids—which were all the talk on the Other side—and ghosts, he wanted to make sure he kept his privacy.

"So," he started as he settled on the couch in the livingroom, the blonde looking out the large, crystal clear windows. "What do I owe the pleasure, Lexi?"

Lexi gave a shrug. "I just wanted someone to talk to," she said. "There aren't many Mediums on Earth that haven't gone insane already."

Harry snorted, reclining lazily against the sofa and putting his feet on the table. "Of course there aren't," he said. "Not with you lot always swamping them when they get into their powers." Harry shook his head at the thought of the last covenless witch he had come across: the man, Harry couldn't remember his name, had been so swamped by the spectral images of his ancestors that his mind had been forever addled, and it had been such a pity, Harry thought, the boy would have been powerful.

"We don't swamp, anyone," she said, with mock indignity.

"Yeah sure, then explain to me why I had to ward off a thousand ghost—" Lexi opened her mouth as if to say something but Harry interrupted, "And no, I'm not exaggerating, it was a thousand ghosts exactly, I counted." Harry sighed. "It was luck alone that I was used to your species and my own mind didn't addle."

"Okay, maybe sometimes we can get a little overbearing, but you have to understand, it's very boring on the Other Side. Do you know how long it took me to find one person I know?" Harry shook his head. "Your the first I've found and I don't know how long that took," she said, "time works differently here. But I know it was a very long time."

"Or it was a very short time, which you felt long because you are essentially, in Purgatory," Harry mused. "What does the Other Side look like?" Harry asked, the question had always vexed him; he didn't much know what the Other Side was or how it would interact with him. He was in essence, supernatural, so did that mean, if he died, he would walk the earth in some Purgatory like plain being bored out of his mind? He wasn't looking forward to it, and if he did by some unfortunate set of circumstance have to wander that plain, then he'd exhaust every resource to me sure he moved on.

"There isn't really a difference in this and the Other Side, the only difference is that this side is emptier. I can't see other ghosts for some reason."

There was a moment of silence, Harry's mind already contemplating his new home. "So tell me about Mystic Falls," Harry said, staring at the ceiling; there was an empty canvass above him, he was sure he could get an artist to paint a marvel of a picture reflecting the night's sky. He could charm that to move given enough time—he'd been practising his Charms work and had gotten to the point where he could enchant a portrait to move. "What do I have to expect?"

"Well, you're rich, so that will get you in with the A-listers," Lexi said as she settled beside Harry. "You don't look old and you have an accent, so that might do you well with the female population."

Harry grinned at that and turned to look at the woman beside him. "I've never been known for my big ego," Harry said, "but you, my dear lady, are giving me an absurdly large head." Lexi gave a small chuckle. "What about the supernaturals? Are they the friendly, yellow-eyed type, or do I need to be worried?"

"Damon Salvatore you have to watch for," said Lexi, and Harry frowned in thought. He'd heard the name before, he was sure, but for the life of him he couldn't remember where he'd heard it. But the surname, that was much easier to remember. A vampire with the name Salvator was once one of the worst Reapers to exist, and Harry had been in the process of finding and killing the vampire but had been stopped by the woman beside him. Lexi had told him, she would try and curb the Reapers' ways, and if she didn't, Harry had full right to do as he please. Suffice to say Harry had stopped hunting the vampire down many years ago. But Harry was sure the Reapers' name hadn't been Damon.

"There's also the witch, Bonnie Bennett," Lexi continued. "She can be dangerous."

Harry waved that off, the witches of this world were powerful in their own right, but their spells took too long to cast, and they had greater power when they were old or worked in numbers; but Harry could deal with the inexperienced, more particularly one witch, if indeed Bonnie was young.

"And Tyler Lockwood, he's a hybrid, and from what I've seen they're all sired to Klaus."

And there was a name Harry didn't need too long to think too hard to remember: Niklaus Mikaelson, the first hybrid and a man that had killed many werewolves in the bid to brew himself his own personal army. Harry didn't much like him and would have tried to kill him, but had been advised against that by the man's step-father. Niklaus was said to possibly be the most powerful vampire on this earth.

"A vampire, a hybrid and a witch," Harry said thoughtfully, he grinned. "It has the makings of a good joke in my opinion, but not the point; I think, if good became bad, worse, then worst, and things went south, I would be able to take-on those three."

"They also have friends."

Harry shrugged. "Death is not too big anyway," he said with an absurdly blasé tone, and really, what was death to one who woke up a second later. "Anyway, I need a kip," he said as he got to his feet and started towards his room upstairs. "I begin setting up the wards in the morning."

He slept and woke up bright and early the next morning, he walked outside, black wand in hand and held in front of him, and started: Swish, "Protego Horribilis..." Slash, "Salvio Hexia..." Upward wave, "Cave Iminicum..." Circular wave, "Repello Iminicum..." Jab forward, "Muffliato."

Harry continued in this manner, moving slowly around his property and the enchantments slowing moving further and further up to form what Harry imagined was an invisible bubble over his property. It took most of the early morning to get the entire grounds done, but it wasn't much of a problem; as much as Harry didn't care about dying, it didn't mean he went out of his way to die, and if there was a way to protect himself against the occurance—excluding building a Horcrux—he was going to take it.

"Done," he said, puffing his chest out a little. Not by far the best enchantment he could manage, but if he tried that, intruders couldn't persevere their way in, meaning a lack of entertainment—there was nothing more entertaining than a person trying to kill him, in Harry's opinion, it made the flurry of day, months, and years he was going through much more bearable.

His car was still parked in the drive-way, he walked to it and turned the key; the engine gave a satisfying rumble. Lexi appeared in front of him, her eyes questioning. "Just popping over to the local pub," Harry said before pulling into reverse and speeding off.

He got lost, more than once in fact, but the town's people were more than happy two show him the way—he'd even managed to snag himself three cellphone numbers along the way, Harry though it must have been the accent, his looks weren't way up there as compared to the other of the town's men (it was strange but everyone in the town was good looking, even the old people). So it had to be his accent, not to mention he was making it intentionally thick when he spoke to the female gender.

The pub, of the name Mystic Grills, was subdued as Harry entered; patrons sat hunched and talking quietly to each other, none too expressionful music drifted through but it didn't seem many were listening. He walked up to the bar and took as seat on the stool, a barman, tall, buff and blond approached.

"What can I get you?" the man, still at high school age if Harry were to hazard a guess, said.

"Whiskey, if you would," he said with a smile. A dmoment passed where the barman did nothing, then he awkwardly run a hand through his hair and hesitantly spoke.

"Can I see some ID?"

Harry snorted, trying with all his might to stifle the guffaw about to erupt. He finally managed to have it down, taking a few breaths then said, "I make it a habit not to carry ID around," Harry said. "You have no idea how many times I've had my identity stolen because of a lost ID. But I can assure you I'm twenty-seven." which was a lie, Harry was far over the age of twenty-seven. Heck, his second death—first semi-permanent death—had been when he was older than twenty-seven.

Disbelief shown in the blond's eyes. "Uhm..."

"How about this," Harry started. "I have a house, my own, just built it in fact, it's at the edge of...not important; my point is, to buy or build a house, one usually has to be of age, or obscenely rich but that's not the point. Since I have a house, it's plausible I'm of age, therefore I can get a drink. Make sense?"

The barman looked a little stumped—it was more to do with Harry's mastery of the Confundus Charm than anything else—but he dutifully reached under the bar and poured Harry a drink. The man smiled, it didn't have the burn Firewhiskey had, but it did nonetheless go to his head and that was what he liked. He took a sip, savoured it, then looked at the barman who still looked stumped by him. "So, care to tell me what's going on?"

"What do mean?"

"Well, I know things are different from England over here, but I imagine, pubs work the same; so things should be a little upbeat," he said.

"Oh, yeah," he turned sombre, antsy even. "There was a gas leak on a property at the outskirts of town, a lot of good people died." There was something off about the way he said 'good' people, but Harry chose to let that go, he did sigh though.

"I guess this would be a horrible time for a party, then?" The bartender didn't answer and Harry didn't mind much, he took another sip. "I forgot introduce myself didn't I?" He didn't wait for an answer, he extended a hand. "Harry Potter," he said with a smile.

"Matt," the bartender said, still looking at Harry with a slightly befuddled expression. "Matt Donovan," he said taking the offered hand. "Welcome to Mystic Falls," he added.

"Thanks," Harry said.

Harry spent the nest half-hour listen and watching—it was an unfortunate curse that he had shot at himself an over-zealous Supersensory Charm and was now stuck with above average senses; to many it would seem a gift, he knew, but they never thought about the many different, repulsive odours existing in the world. But he had to admit it useful, especially all the conversations he was privy to.

He smiled as a particularly intriguing one began beside him and it started with, "That seat's taken," this said by a dark-haired, dark dressed man who would qualify perfectly for the term, 'Mysterious Dark Stranger', except for the fact the blonde woman dressed in a police garb knew him.

Harry didn't glance, but peripheral vision was a beautiful thing when you cursed yourself; he could make out the blonde woman throw something sounding like paper on the table.

"Faulty gas line leads to tragic explosion at Young farm," drawled the Mysterious Stranger. He put down the paper. "Really?"

"Town Council blown up. Police have no suspects. Unless the perpetrator is right next to me." The blonde made sure to whisper, but it was still high enough fo Harry to hear. Harry was finding he liked this town more and more with each passing second.

"Well, don't look at me. I always take credit for killing people." There came the swish of liquid; the man taking a drink, then, "Seriously," he sounded annoyed, "stop looking at me like that, Liz. If I was going to kill twelve people, I wouldn't blow them up, I'd have a dinner party."

A vampire. That made sense.

"The explosion was sparked from inside. This wasn't an accident," she said, her voice still low, but even so, Harry had to wonder: Why were they having this conversation in a bar of all places? Didn't they know walls had ears?

"The Council's dead, Liz. I see that as a win."

"I've known some of the council since I was a kid. They were my friends."

"Well, your friends tried to kill your daughter."

Harry coughed, stifling a laugh. Maybe it made sense in context, but this was by far one of the strangest conversations he'd ever listened-on, the council trying to kill a police-officer's daughter and all of it discussed with nonchalance, that almost never happened. But there were bound to be differences between universes, that's why they were called alternate universes in the first place. That aside, Harry listened further.

"Who's the new guy?" Harry heard, it was the Mysterious stranger.

But just at that moment a new voice interrupted the conversation. "Excuse me, Sheriff?" it asked, though it was clear the man—Harry took a glance, he was tall and dark-skinned, his head shaved—knew who he was talking to. "Hi, um, I was wondering if I could speak to you for a minute about the explosion at the Young farm."

"I'm sorry, Mr...?"

"Oh, right. Connor Jordan," the man finished.

"Are you with the insurance investigators?"

"No, no. I'm more of an independent contractor," said Conner, then he paused for some a reason Harry thought would be too suspicious to check-out. He added in a bit of a whisper, "Can we speak in private?" Liz agreed and the two began to walk off.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr Busybody Guy," muttered the Mysterious Stranger as he returned to his drink.

Immediately after the Sheriff left Harry felt the urge to cause a little mischief, what that mischief he didn't know yet. But there was no rush, as immortal as humans weren't, they could live for more than a few days, and he'd missed breakfast. Mischief wold have to wait for the time being. He drove home thinking about what'd he'd overheard, it was really worrying for the muggle population of Mystic Falls that their Police Chief was in league with vampires; this, in essence, meant the entire town was run by the undead, especially if said undead were in the habit of feeding without care. But, Harry thought, the Sheriff couldn't be that stupid, she wouldn't allow the people she was supposed to protect suffer—except if she's Compelled, some part of Harry added to him. Harry hummed, he'd only heard of a few muggles that could fight off Compulsion, therefore in was possible for the Chief to be under a vampire's thrall.

Harry shook his head of the thoughts, ideas, and plans filling his mind. You said you wouldn't be pulled in, a part of him said, you said you were only coming here to have some fun, and I for one don't think trying to save a town is fun, it's work.

Harry snorted, as if he had not known the urge to help innocents wouldn't overcome him the moment he saw injustice, that was, afterall, why he had became a hunter and of Reapers particularly. He had noted vampires needed to feed, they were another species that preyed on humans, and as far as the natural order went, humans were suppose to adapt to defending themselves; he had noted this and made clear to himself he wouldn't kill a vampire on sight, instead he would kill Reapers—who to him, were like greedy cousins constantly stuffing their faces—and those who fed at such a scale that they were easy to spot. There still was a masquerade to protect and what not.

He parked the car in the driveway, walking into the house and started breakfast—Bacon and Eggs had became something he enjoyed every morning, an addiction of sorts, he was lucky he usually led an active life-style or his was sure he would have been Vernon's size. Time passed, Harry amusing himself with thoughts of when he would ward his Vault and get started on his lab, he was still trying to charm some kinks out of his gun—the thing sometimes didn't work as expect and shot off very different ammunition than Harry was going for, not to mention the thing was still on the clunky side. Done with breakfast, Harry proceeded to the kitchen, began washing the plate, dried it, turned and—

It broke as it hit the floor, not that the sound registered to Harry, his hand had already gone to his pocket and pulled out his wand, its tip glowing a fiery red as it expectantly waited to fire a spell. But Harry didn't fire, in the time it had taken his mind to think no less than nine deadly curses, it had also worked out that his house was already warded and he would have heard anyone with ill-intent break through them, he had also noted that the people standing in front of him—about a dozen or so, with ages varying from six to eighty and clothing reflecting different periods—were not blinking or breathing, they just stood, looking at him in an eerily cold fashion.

"Knock," he said annoyed, "clear your throats, announce that your about to enter a room before you do, I don't care just don't surprise me." His tone ending with a shout, he didn't like being surprised, he'd learnt while fighting the fast that his mind could think fast enough and his body work to those thoughts before the speedster got to him, therefore he'd decided to take out the former and let only instinct guide him. It worked, but it meant he was more ruthless to speedster than he often intended.

The ghosts disregarded this and kept looking at him, then one of them stepped forward. "Twelve have died," she said, her voice solemn. "The precedents of very dark magic."

Harry raised a brown. He thought it many times, the magic in this world was powerful in its own right, more especially that witches didn't lose their magic even after death, Harry hazarded a guess and thought they may be more powerful after death, which was why he didn't like them much; powerful people, dead, alive, or undead, often thought themselves gods, Harry had this affliction too but this had more to do that he was thought a god and thus he felt as such; and people who thought themselves gods, often expected that they get what they wanted irrelative of what anyone wanted.

"Okay," he said, the silence getting to its awkward phase, "and you're telling me this because?"

"We seek your aid," said another witch, there was something archaic in the way she spoke. "There a things at work far from our sight," she said, "but we can see the signs, we know what is coming, and it has us all worried."

"And what is coming?" Harry asked.

"A dark and terrible age," said the first witch, her voice going deep and adding to the effect of hopelessness.

Harry sighed, he could see he wasn't going to get any answers and felt a bit put-off, in his opinion it was rude to expect help and not give the full gravity of the situation beyond 'dark and terrible times approach'. He went back to the remainder of his dishes but said, "You want my help, and I'm not saying I'll help or anything, but if you do want my help, then tell me everything you know. Why are dark times coming?"

No one spoke for a while, close to the chest they play their game, Harry thought, but he wouldn't have it. He waited, washing the pan and his glass, drying them and packing them away, he mended the broken plate, then washed it again before anyone spoke, it was one of the young ones, she said, "Expression," the words said with distaste that reverberated through the room. Harry shivered, though he didn't exactly know why, his spine hit by an intense cold.

"And is that supposed to mean something?" Harry asked, though his voice betrayed him, it reflected emotion Harry didn't know from where it came. The word 'Expression' held its own magic, it wasn't dark or evil, just powerful; filling him up with raw power then leaving him wanting more. It was addictive, seductive, and entrancing.

"Expression is the darkest kind in our magic," said the girl, her voice shaky. "It has the potential unweave the fabric of reality, to undo what has been done and set in place millenia ago."

"And it starts with twelve dead?" Harry asked. There was no answer. None of them even looked at him at that question, Harry found it odd to say the least, but he remained quiet, let them contemplate what they were going to tell and he knew it wouldn't be enough.

"Do as you please," another witch said sounding defeated. "But we ask that twenty-four more do not die," and they vanished. Harry remained in quiet thought, ghosts couldn't hide from him, it had more to do with his Master of Death status than the silver ring with a large, black stone on his finger; and so he felt safe that they wouldn't see he was worried, with that sort of information they could manipulate him into doing what they wanted.

Was he going to help? That's sort of being pulled into the politics of this world, his mind-voice said.

"Yeah," Harry said out loud, he couldn't pull of different voices on his head and eventually he would lose track of who of the similar voice was standing for which point, it made sense to speak out loud. "But it could be fun," Harry said.

So would fighting a dragon but you wouldn't go doing that now would you, there was a small pause, Harry smirking then, nevermind. Harry chuckled at the resigned tone of his mind-voice. He was going to at least save innocent, save those twenty-four, from dying because of some magic ritual; that by definition was darker magic, and Harry didn't much stand for that. But he'd play it by ear, when things went south he would stop it, but not go out-right looking for it, he still had things to move and labs, vaults, and other things to charm.