Author Note: Hello, dear readers, and welcome to the first chapter of my newest story. But first of all, I need to tell you several important things. One: my other story, Remnant – A World Where Dreams Come True, is on an indefinite hiatus bordering on abandonment. I am literally unable to write it any more. I had, what, fifteen drafts of the sixth chapter, and none of them were any good, so I switched to this story. Two: since I had been expelled from university, and my parents who pay for my education do not approve of me writing fanfiction and push me to get a job instead, updates will be erratic, infrequent, but of better quality than my previous work. After the 1st of September, I expect the updates to come out on a bi-weekly basis, but still do not hold me on it. Three: I already have seven chapters of this story written as of today, so at least there is that.

Now, enjoy the story!

Chapter 1: Veritas Revelio!

Around the world there are a lot of legends, tales and stories alike, carried through generations. One such legend states that long, long ago a massive cataclysm struck the Earth, tearing apart the very fabric of time and space. Thus a new world, called Remnant by its survivors, was born.

Thousands of years passed on both worlds, and gradually, the cataclysm began to wither away from the minds of people, until both worlds forever forgot the other ever existed. The Remnant inhabitants manifested Aura from what little magic they had left, and used Dust – crystallised ley-lines of their former home world, to battle the abominations of nature they named Grimm.

However, even after millennia, on both worlds one could still observe the consequences of the ancient cataclysm. Rifts in time and space, leading to who knows where, random abnormalities here and there. Nothing substantial and certainly nothing that could one day change everything. Right?

He was running through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, desperately trying to contain sobs that threatened to escape from his throat. Nobody was chasing him, or throwing spells into his unprotected back, no. In fact, the hallways were deserted as if the whole castle was devoid of people. The reason Harry Potter was outside of his common room at night, bawling like a toddler, was simple – he was feeling betrayed.

Why, you ask? Well, let's jump back in time a bit, and you would certainly understand the emotional turmoil our protagonist is currently in.

Several hours earlier, Headmaster's office.

Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door, and, receiving no response, swung the door open. As expected, there was nobody inside. Even Fawkes was suspiciously absent from his fireproof perch near the Headmaster's table. The trinkets on the shelves didn't puff, twirl or jingle. In fact, if one were to look any closer, they would notice that even dust floating in the air was still. Everything looked dull and grey, and the only indication time hadn't stopped in the room was a medium-sized ornate bowl on the table, inscribed with various glowing runes. Inside the bowl Harry could see some kind of a swirling silvery substance that glowed warmly, invitingly. Being somewhat curious, Harry came closer. The light intensified and with it, the inviting feeling began to blossom inside Harry's heart. He couldn't help but peer down into the bowl only to touch the pearly surface with the tip of his nose.

The feelings that suddenly assaulted all of Harry's senses were jumbled and fragmented, as if someone pushed them through a meat grinder at least twice. A veritable kaleidoscope of colours flowed all around him in a maelstrom, entrancing Harry. The boy was so amazed by the scene, that he certainly did not expect to suddenly hit the floor.

Looking around, he noticed that there was no more swirls of colour, quite the opposite. Everything was in shades of grey, like an old film, and that unsettled Harry quite a bit. But what caught his attention was the three figures he saw. One of them was easily recognizable – it was Dumbledore, who looked a tad bit less old and without his customary garish robes. The other two were facing the other direction, and he couldn't say for sure who they were, but something in their postures and appearance tugged at his heartstrings. Luckily for him, he did not have to dwell much on this mystery, as the figures within the room began to speak.

"Albus," greeted the man. "You were very vague in your reason to call us at such time of the day, I must say. Surely you understand?"

"Yes, James, I do."

Harry stood, rooted in place, not even breathing. He didn't dare hope that the Headmaster said what he did, but…

"Then enlighten us, please. Me and Lily were… busy a bit, when you called, and I'd like you to be brief."

"James Charlus Potter!" shouted the woman, noticeably blushing. "One more word and you will be occupying the couch for the next year!"

"Yes, Lily dear," James visibly cringed. "Whatever you say."

Harry's heart skipped several beats. These were his parents! Living, breathing parents!

"Mum! Dad! I'm here!"

But none of them ever responded. In fact, even Dumbledore did not even acknowledge that someone else was in the room, besides Lily and James. Harry tried waving his hands in front of his parents' faces, but to no avail. Downtrodden and ready to burst into tears, he lowered his head, only to see…

Himself. Or, himself, had he been a small toddler. His mother was gingerly embracing the sleeping child, occasionally rocking him in her arms and glancing down at him. Even as dense as Harry was, he immediately understood he was seeing the past. Very-very distant past. Sweeping away a lone tear, he listened to the conversation.

"Lily, James, it has come to my attention that it is no longer safe for you to live out in the open as you do. You see, there was a legitimate prophecy concerning your son, and…"

James abruptly rose from his seat, his face deathly pale. "Oh no. Not Harry, no." He began pacing the room, nervously wringing his hands. Lily looked at him like he has lost his mind, "James, why are you so distressed about it? Isn't Divination the murkiest and most unclear subject there is?"

"Yes, Lily, you are partially right," said Dumbledore, gravely looking at her from above his glasses. "But when made by a legitimate Seer in a trance, they become something that cannot be changed. Absolutely. The outcome, however, depends on the subjects' own actions. This is why every single prophecy that ever existed had a dual interpretation, and this prophecy is not an exception."

Visibly composing himself, he began speaking in a deep, almost commanding voice, and Harry had a fleeting thought the Headmaster was trying to impress his very words upon the fabric of reality.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…
Born to those who had thrice defied him,
Born as the seventh month dies…
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,
For he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
And either must die at the hand of the other,
For neither can live while the other survives…"

Then the memory abruptly swirled into a vortex again, pulling Harry along. Tumbling to a stop, he found himself again in the same office, only now his parents weren't there, and he-toddler was currently examined by Dumbledore. While observing the room, he glanced at one of the shelves where Headmaster usually kept his Daily Prophet issues, only to freeze in shock.

The latest issue was dated 30th of October 1981, which meant that his parents were already killed by Voldemort, and this was the night when he was placed in his relatives' "tender care". And sure thing, he spied an inflamed lightning bolt scar on "his" forehead, confirming his suspicions.

"Oh my… What have you done, Tom?" lamented Dumbledore, attracting Harry's attention. "Such a foolish move on your part…"

Dumbledore came to one of the shelves, pulling out an old black tome with blood red runic inscriptions on the cover. Tenderly placing the book on a reading podium, he turned the pages, eventually finding the passage he needed. Harry couldn't help his budding curiosity, and glanced inside over Dumbledore's shoulder. What he found inside shocked him to the very core.

"Horcruxes, or dark soul shards, to this very day remain one of the vilest, unforgivable abominations ever created by man. Created in cold blood, augmented by a murder, they grant a form of immortality to the wizard, for they anchor the broken soul to the mortal plane, never releasing its creator from his half-life into the cold embrace of death. After separation from the main soul, said shard shall be infused into an object of its creator's choosing, granting the object almost absolute immunity against mundane and magical damage alike. The only way to destroy a horcrux is to kill the object, whether it is living or non-living. However, the aforementioned immunity severely limits the possibilities, the only known ways being the Fiendfyre spell, Basilisk venom or the Killing Curse, as it affects everything that has a soul. If placed into a living being, there is no feasible way to extract the shard safely without endangering or killing the host outright."

Dumbledore closed the book and sighed deeply, closing his eyes in resignation. "It seems there is truly no other way. And either must die at the hand of the other; For neither can live while the other survives." He then lowered his eyes, meeting toddler Harry's deep green orbs. "I am sorry for what you are to endure, my boy. I hope you will be able to forgive this old man when he goes onto his next great adventure. Least I can do for you, Harry, is to let you enjoy your childhood in peace."

The Headmaster put the book back into its proper place, waved his wand over Harry and went out of the door, leaving a frozen ghostly observer stare in abject shock and terror at what had transpired here today.

"I… am a host for Voldemort's soul? And for him to die, I should die first?"

An abrupt jerk tore him out of his musings, and for the first time in years, Harry felt truly alone.