Disclaimer- Well I guess I don't own anything from the Harry Potter 'verse, not least the heavy borrowings from HP4 in this chapter or anything from other copyrighted material that may slip into the story at any point. Thank you. (Please apply to the entire story.)

All Along the Watchtower

Prologue

Harry's eyes opened lazily; it was dark and his vision was blurry, he couldn't see more than a few feet in every direction. Where was he? Where was his wand? He couldn't feel his magic; he couldn't focus at all, he could barely think coherently. He looked to his left; he was tied to something with…rope? Golden rope? He looked down, why was he tied to up? There was so many questions, but Harry's mind couldn't fathom an answer to them.

He shook his head and tried to focus, tried to remember. He looked at his robes, the unfamiliar cut and silver accent jogged his memory, the tournament and the trophy.

James!

The urgent thought struck Harry and helped him focus; all he could see was stones, rectangular stones…a graveyard? Harry could remember taking the Tri-Wizard Cup with his brother and a blue flash of magic and then blackness, a portkey?

James!

Harry thought again, where is he? His mind flashed to the worst outcome and it cleared away the fog from his mind a little. He couldn't be dead; Harry would have felt his brother's death. The shock of losing the connection he shared with James would keep him awake for weeks.

He tried to concentrate but it was hard, much too hard. He pulled weakly at the rope, unable to loosen the bindings at all. Harry pulled at them again and again, shaking and struggling. His mind was becoming clearer but he was concentrating hard to keep the fog away and Harry was tired from the effort. He had to find James; he had to find his brother. The sky was inky black and cloudy and the moon peeked fully from behind the clouds; he needed his magic, his power to get out and he needed focus to reach it.

A scream ripped from his throat as a sharp pain pierced his left wrist, slicing deeply, halfway down to his elbow. The wound left his arm a bloody mess and he could feel the blood pour down his arm. His eyes went wide when he saw his attacker. "Uncle Peter?" He whispered in disbelief, forgetting the pain for a second as he eyed the squat man and the dripping dagger in his hand. "Uncle Peter what are you doing? Help me, let me-"

"-Silencio," said the cold whisper so unlike the gentle, nervous person Harry knew so well.

Harry's mouth flapped open but could not form sound. The squat man lit a fire and James appeared heaped next to a gravestone. Harry relaxed a little when he saw the gentle rising of his brother's chest. The pain from his wrist was constant and slow but it cut through the fog and sharpened Harry's mind. He could almost feel his magic again; it was so close but still a hair's breadth from his grip. The fire drew his eyes and he shivered at the power he could feel from it, just waiting to be ripped away and fuel his magic.

The fire became even larger and wisp-like tendrils reached for the inky black until a huge black cauldron was slapped on top. Harry could only observe wordlessly as potions were poured and the ritual was put together, as Peter carefully placed an object from a pile of cloth into the potion and pulled what looked like bone from a nearby grave. All through it Harry focussed, using the pain in his wrist to focus his mind on finding a weakness in the yellow runes which stole his magic. Peter was a poor wizard at best and it would only take one slight imperfection in the structure of the runes to allow his magic to breakthrough.

As his mind cleared it began to make sense, all of it.

Uncle Peter, the portkey, the absent pain in his scar, the hallucination-like dreams he had been having all year. He thought it was the stress of the tournament which brought them on. They couldn't have been real? His Uncle Peter was the one? The betrayer his parents never found in fifteen years? He was the reason Remus was captured and had the secret tortured out of him by Fenrir Greyback. He was the one who incapacitated his parents that night and handed Harry and his brother over to the Dark Lord.

Harry pulled at his bindings again, he had to stop Peter. He couldn't let his Uncle complete the ritual, whatever it was. Harry pulled at the bindings again and felt them loosen but he needed his magic; he needed it desperately, more desperately than he ever had before.

Peter raised his arm and Harry choked back vomit as half was severed and a hand and full wrist plopped into the cauldron as potion slopped over the edges. He threw in the dagger he cut Harry with after a few whispered words and the tendrils of fire grasped upward violently, encircling the cauldron as Peter retreated.

NO!

With a final, powerful pull the binding around his right wrist shattered as his magic thrust past tiny cracks in the runes. His hand stretched out and the rest of the bindings snapped away as it hit his palm.

The holly of his phoenix feather wand was warm with magic and Harry didn't think twice when he twisted it violently. From the tip of his wand a glittering stream of fire erupted, rocketing forth to encast the cauldron. Harry concentrated hard as he poured more power into it the spell, whatever Peter dropped in that cauldron would not survive, it would burn.

As suddenly as his power returned to him it failed and he was on his knees as pain burst from his scar. It was unimaginable, not the kind of pain he could control but the kind that stabbed behind his mental shields like razor blades through tissue paper. He writhed on the ground like a wounded animal.

It was only when the flames settled to an ember and the light extinguished that the abated enough to allow to Harry struggle to his feet, but he was shaking and leaning heavily on a gravestone. Bandages appeared around his bloodied wrist and Harry nodded in thanks to his brother. They turned to see a man, if the thing could be called a man with its' waxy white skin and crimson eyes, be robed by one of his parent's oldest friends.

Harry raised his wand, a spell almost on his lips but it was torn from his hands and he fell forward trying to grip it from the air.

"I think not Harry Potter. You will wait." The Dark Lord Voldemort said lazily, catching the wand and tucking it inside his robe, "Your arm Wormtail."

Peter presented the bloodied stump wrapped in his robes.

Voldemort regarded it with mirth, "The other arm."

Peter whimpered pathetically, "My Lord…my Lord…you promised…you did promise."

Harry watched frozen, unable to move alongside his brother as Voldemort forced the sleeve of Peter's robe up. He revealed a tattoo, a vivid red stain on otherwise white skin. Harry recognized it, the skull and serpent of the the Dark Mark.

"It is back," Voldemort said softly, "they will have noticed it…and now we shall see…now we shall know…" He pressed a lone, thin finger to the mark.

His Uncle Peter's scream was as loud and pain ridden as his own, Harry fell to his knees, his brother supported him and stopped him from falling to the dirt again.

"Harry," he said, "Harry, what's wrong?" He wiped at Harry's scar with the sleeve of his robe, coming away with a sleeve of blood.

Harry could only breathe deeply as he glared hatefully at the abomination. He was shaking; the pain was fresh and strong and pounding inside his skull like a hammer.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" Voldemort mused aloud and his slit-like crimson eyes regarded the Potters. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

Harry knew the question was not directed at them, it was a statement of intent. "Don't worry about me James, be ready."

James nodded shakily.

"You stand, brothers Potter, upon the graves of my forefathers," Voldemort hissed softly. "Muggles, fools…very like your dear Mother. But my father had his use; I am so very glad I killed him. He has served me well in his death…." Voldemort laughed as a large snake slithered around his legs. "Nagini be patient." He hissed and gestured widely to the manor in the distance. "The home of my father, my mother was a witch who lived in the village, from a once great and powerful family. She fell in love with him. But he abandoned her…he did not like magic…my father, the ignorant fool left her before I was born…I was raised in a Muggle orphanage…but I vowed to find him and revenge myself upon him and he died like a pathetic insect beneath me…" He stopped, looking around, sensing something. "Ah…my true family returns, my Circle of Immortals and my Death Eaters."

Suddenly they were surrounded by streaks of black smoke and swishing cloak. There was upwards of forty darkened cloaks but only a few with a distinctive silver mask, perhaps five or six, only the mask bearers stepped forward from the crowd. Harry felt power fill his veins once again. Fire warmed his body and pooled in his bones, itching to be released. Harry concentrated, ready to rip his wand from the Dark Lord. He was certain he could do it. He only had to hold them off long enough to get the cup; the cup was their best chance if it could be reactivated. "James, you need to get to the cup, I can take care of myself."

James shook his head. "I can help."

Harry acquiesced, eyeing the glinting cup in the sea of black robes. "We'll need to be quick," he whispered, "when I say go."

"I smell guilt," Voldemort announced to his followers. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air-"

Harry reached deep within himself, to the well of power even he did not know the depths of and shuddered as untold amounts of magic filled his veins until they could burst.

"Harry your eyes…" James said suddenly.

"-get away from me, now!" Fire suddenly encased his arms and all eyes turned to him, his wand burned a path from the robes of the Dark Lord.

"It would seem you have a reprieve my friends." Voldemort said to his Death Eaters as he produced his wand and tapped his burnt robe to repair it. "The boys need to be taught a lesson." The sea of black laughed heartily. The Dark Lord bowed gracefully. "Now we begin."

These was no more sideshow as Harry hastily sidestepped the first curse and spun away from the second, his wand whipping around with a whisper of 'sophor irrationalis' and a powerful stunning spell erupted from the tip. The blindingly intense spell was deflected into the crowd of Death Eaters and four would not waken for a week at least. It was almost wordless as they traded blows, skilful slips and thrusts of wand as they slew energy at one another and James pitched in where he could, fending off blows and creating openings for his brother.

Harry switched between defence and attack, opening himself fully to his brother's mind until they were almost one. Perfectly they slipped and slid around one another, cursing, shielding and holding their own until Voldemort decided to stop playing. Harry recognised the green flare of dark magic and tore up a gravestone to block it but the follow up wasn't far behind.

It was the smallest of mistakes in his form, the kind of mistake years of experience would have hammered out. His wand whipped around but it was a tenth of a second late, succeeding in deflecting the powerful cutting curse but only enough to take it off course. Instead of being eviscerated at the waist, the tip of the spell tore into his side. Harry sucked in a painful breath and looked down at his robes, at the blood leaking from his side. The laceration was deep, cutting through bone but he raised his wand again, he couldn't die yet, he had to protect his brother. His wooden stick raked the air, throwing power back at his attacker.

James dodged in and out of his line of sight. "The cup," Harry snapped at him, "we need the cup." And when James tried to get back between his brother and the Dark Lord Harry pushed him hard, hitting him with a bluish spell until he tumbled through the crowd of black. Harry took cover behind a statue as acid ate into the stonework and the crowd laughed.

He stepped back out quickly, flicking dark curses away. The air was charged, hot, almost enough to choke on and he struggled to draw breath. Magic cracked and lashed out as two titans unleashed their power. One held the finesse of ages while the other was power incarnate and they threw streams of magic in all colours of the rainbow, renting tombs and blackening the earth for miles around. Harry used his greatest asset, the power which lay welled within him and always threatened to break from his skin. It was freeing to use it, to pull on that everlasting well until the flood would drown his enemy.

Little did he know the well was far from everlasting.

He was losing; the pain in his side was unbearable. It hurt more to move his wand arm and all too soon he was not holding it together. All it took was a stumble and he thrown into the air as a curse struck his shoulder.

It took everything in him to get back up, to ignore the pain and get to his feet and Harry slung magic from his wand. Most of it was unfocussed from his poor wand movement but destructive as his Element rippled through the spells to compensate. Harry forced the fire through his arms and felt pain as they burned but ignored it and forced through more. More fire, he needed more power. Harry pulled at the well so deep within him, pulling all the magic he could the surface, pouring it through his body as he felt the veins and blood vessels of his arms distort and rip and burn to keep up the flow of destructive magic.

While he suffered Harry stared into the unblinking gaze of an enemy who held his ground with ease, who revelled in the destructive magicks they slew at one another. Harry kept his focus as his wand weaved paths of destruction through the air but his arms were like lead weights and he felt blood drip from his nose and eyes and forehead. The power was making him shake and his body couldn't keep up with his mind and every delicate turn and flick needed of his wand. It was growing hot from the power he had to force through to compensate. JAMES! Harry screamed desperately in his head.

Harry's most powerful shield shattered and he threw himself away from a silver-like spell which broke his barrier, missing another stream of destructive magic as he fell. Harry landed in a heap, wiping the blood away from his face desperately, where was James? Harry looked at his arms through the rips in his robe, they looked burned. That wasn't supposed to happen, fire, his Element shouldn't burn him.

"Come now Harry…come out and stand before your Lord…I will make this quick…"

The Death Eaters laughed with amusement as he got up from his spot on the scorched earth. He dropped his wand to the ground and didn't have the energy to pick it back up. If he was going to die, he would die on his feet, not bowed before the Dark Lord like a coward. He walked out shakily from behind the small crypt and stood his ground. Fire pooled in his hands; burning a costly path down arms. Harry tried to extend his arms but they failed him and his knees buckled until he was cradling the leaking wound in his side with the Dark Lord's wand between his eyes. "Please," Harry begged as his resolve broke and tears came to his eyes, "I don't want to die…"

The Death Eaters jeered for the death of one who would challenge their master.

"Harry my boy I am a merciful Lord, you will live a while yet…crucio."