A/N: Hi everybody! My names Eden and I would like to welcome you to my first crossover Fanfic.
Please review, I'd love to hear your opinions.

I hope you like it!

Summary: The day he died was the day he began to live. Harry Potter becomes the Spirit of the Chaos after he dies at his uncle's hand…but no one knows. After all hundreds of people believe in The-Boy-Who-Lived.

'Thoughts'

It had been a particularly cold day in early January when it happened. It had just finished snowing and the ground was covered with an unusually thick layer of the powdery substance. It was deep enough that the little park in the vicinity of privet drive looked empty of life. Or it would had it not been for the trail of tiny red drops leading towards one of the benches and the hole in the snow within a few feet of the aforementioned bench.

If one were to look in the hole, they would find the still, cold, blood-covered form of a boy by the name of Harry Potter. This is what Harry was seeing too, as he floated just above his body. It had been only moments ago that he had woken up and panicked at where he was, being surrounded by snow and all. He had stood up and simply kept going, gracelessly rising into the air and turning upside down. After a moment he had regained control of his trajectory and looked down to see what had to be the biggest shock of his 12 year old life. Or rather his death. His body was just lying there on the ground below him as he hovered in the air. Blood stained the snow which sparkled calmly in the dying light of dusk, seeming so blissfully unaware of what was going on. Harry envied the snow.

The young dead boy slowly fell to the ground as he recalled the events of the previous day.
It had been a day like any other. Well, a day like any other for a wizard living with magic hating muggles. This year, Dumbledore had sent him home from Hogwarts for Christmas in the hope that he would resolve his problems with his family, which the headmaster had gravely underestimated.

This of course had put a massive chip into Harry, Ron and Hermione's plans to infiltrate the Slytherin common room which they had planned to do during these very same holidays. They were fairly sure that Draco Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin and even if he wasn't he would probably know who was. But that would have to wait until the holidays ended. He just hoped that the Slytherin's monster wouldn't get anyone while he was gone, or when he got back for that matter.

When he had returned to the Dursleys, it had been fairly obvious that they hated him just as much, if not more than when he had left at the end of the summer. They were no doubt still annoyed with him for what dobby did with the Masons. The days had dragged by with more chores than he normally had and Christmas passed by with little event, but on the 27th of December everything went to hell in a hand basket.

The morning had been like any other and the afternoon was just as excruciatingly boring, but on that evening while the Dursleys settled down in front of the telly to watch some celebrity nonsense and as Harry cleaned up after their dinner (of which he got the scraps) Harry's scar began to sting and then burn. With a gasp the young wizard dropped the plate he had been carrying and fell to his knees.

As the pain grew Harry let out a scream that had the Dursleys running into the kitchen faster, having already been on their way when the plate broke. The scene that had greeted them had been that of the boy in their care writhing on the floor as blood poured from the now open wound on his forehead.

Vernon was not pleased. The brat had come to their house in the only time they were free of his freakishness and now proceeded to make a racket and break their plates!

Not. Acceptable.

So Harry's uncle ushered his wife and son upstairs, and when they were gone he turned to the now no longer in pain boy at his feet.

"Damn freak" he hissed as his face turns a rather hideous shade of purple, "you think you can just come here and break my things, you think you can just make a racket and get away with it. I'll show you that's not how it works here!" and he grabbed Harry by the collar of his oversized hand-me-down shirt, and pulled him to his feet.

Harry chose deliberately not to think about what had happened next, as the pain of the beating he got was just as bad as the burn from the curse mark and lasted for so much longer.

The-Boy-who-had-once-Lived vaguely remembered being pushed out onto the porch, bruised and bloodied, barely able to stand. He distantly recalled willing himself to escape, to find somewhere sort and safe, and he remembered pulling himself through the snow, and then the darkness had fallen in and there was nothing.

Now that he thought about it, he should have seen this coming. There was no way he would have survived living with his 'family'. It was just not possible when they were as 'normal' as they were and he was so 'freakish'. It would appear that some muggles didn't mix well with magic at all.

'Never mind' he thought 'at least they can't hurt me anymore'

With a shallow sigh he stood up, slowly this time, and was pleased to find he was not in any pain. As a matter of fact, he felt better than he ever had. He wasn't starving painfully and is bones seemed to have fixed themselves, he had concluded after checking himself over. Odd how he could feel his body when it was really lying a few feet away, and not where his hand was.

This led to him having a somewhat peculiar idea. Since it seemed he could still feel stuff and could still have an effect on things, he decided to try to move his dead form elsewhere, after all he definitely did not want the Dursleys to get anywhere near it or for somebody to stumble across it and have a fright.

Tentatively he walked over to the cold dead form and reached out to grab the arm, putting it out of his mind that this was his own cold dead arm he was about to touch.

What happened was just as much of a surprise to Harry as waking up dead. When his hand came into contact with the dead one there was a spark of energy, and his dead body before him began to slowly turn to nothing. Tiny pieces no bigger than grains of salt floated off from where the skin touched, and it spread. Harry stumbled back and watched in pure awe as his previous being faded away into nothing in a blink of the eye.

At this point Harry sat down. This was beginning to get out of hand.

He didn't know how long he sat there, trying to come to terms with what had happened, but when he was next aware of his surroundings the full moon was hanging in the dark sky above him and the world had taken on an eerie but beautiful quality of perfect silence. But soon the silence ended as a voice came to Harry, from both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Hello, young one" it said, soft and melodious. It sounded male but seemed ageless, as if it had seen the passage of time as a spectator and let it pass it by…

"I am the Man in the Moon"

Harry gaped upwards at the moon. The man in the moon. Once again Harry felt this to be the truth. But there was no man in the moon, right? It shouldn't be possible, the moon was a lump of rock in space, Harry knew that much at least. But no, the voice was telling the truth he could feel it, his magic told him that this was the truth.

Before he could reply the Man in the Moon continued. "I'm sorry to say you have died, Young One, but do not fear, it is not the end for you. I can only talk to you this once, so take heed. You have become the spirit of chaos, a soul that is given form and the control of the force of chaos. You will not die, you are already dead, and you will not age… you are immortal." There was a pause and Harry found himself in an internal battle of whether to be afraid, in shock or curious. Shock won and his jaw dropped even further than it already had. "Since you have been reborn, you will have a new name. You are now Harry Havoc the Spirit of Chaos." Said the Man in the Moon.

"Why me?" Harry called "Why do these things always happen to me?"

But the voice was gone and the night was once more silent.