Twenty-one years have passed since Lord Voldemort's final defeat at Hogwarts, and the wizarding world since has enjoyed quiet stability. Lily Potter, youngest child of Harry and Ginny, has watched her two older brothers head off to Hogwarts and eagerly awaited her own opportunity – but as Lily takes her first step in her formal magical education, an ancient horror awakens from its forgotten slumber.

Lily faces the trials and tribulations of boys, grades, and school trouble as Hogwarts both tantalizes and troubles her, but as part of the magical community, she'll have a part to play in the unfolding of a dark plan long in the making. The cruelest wizards of the modern age, Grindelwald and Voldemort, may be dead, but some horrors have no qualms about shattering the wizarding world's fragile peace. Some horrors know nothing of humanity, and Hogwarts, again, will host a struggle between good and evil.

Prologue

October 7, 1964

Teutoburg Forest, Germany

"This place reeks. Smells of…earthworms. Old cabbage. And…ah. I can't place that other smell."

Mitchell Serrett rolled his eyes. Poor excuse for an Auror. He rubbed a swath of gray hair out of his eyes, twirled his wand around his fingers, and crunched a red, dry leaf under his boot. His robes caught on the ocean of twigs littering the forest floor, and he wrenched them up in frustration.

"How would you even describe the smell of earthworms?" Mitchell snorted. "This place is making you delusional. Three days tromping around the German wilderness does that. If the office just let us Apparate somewhere decent to shower every night at least…"

His partner, a thin, lanky man at least six and a half feet tall and covered with a mop of blonde hair, looked away into the thick treeline. "It's like the forest's just remembering how to be alive. All this color and everything's so still."

"It's autumn. Everything's like this in autumn."

Mitchell preferred running into Gellert Grindelwald himself in this forest over spending another hour tromping about with Patrick Theirin, pursuing traces of magic on the hunt of a sorcerer on the run. When the Auror office had given him a partner for this assignment and told him he was an up-and-coming star, he'd figured he'd be getting some brash hothead. Instead he'd gotten a grade-A weirdo. Recruiting standards these days.

But what did he know? He'd just fought Grindelwald's supporters back when the most evil wizard of the modern era had been in power. Now that he was on the tail of Grindelwald's last known living supporter, things had changed. Spectacular. Another day and he'd start to sound like some old codger. In my day, laddie…

"You could at least keep your wand out," said Mitchell. He scanned the trees, his eyes running over leaves yellow and red, tracking dead twigs and listening for the sound of something other than the hundredth squirrel trotting about a rotten log. "We tracked him a kilometer to the south this morning. He's around here. Bleeding – he couldn't have gotten much farther. Something attacked him."

Patrick frowned, picked up a twig, and glanced at the rivets in the wood as if they'd spring to life and attack him at any moment. "Grindelwald's last supporter getting caught off guard in the middle of bum-rut nowhere?"

"Supposed to be sylvans in this forest."

"Grindelwald's last supporter getting caught off guard in the middle of bum-rut nowhere by a sylvan?"

"They're dark creatures. They can take a man down. But more about us. The fugitive's a killer. Twelve wizard murders during Grindelwald's heyday, and countless more since then? If he's willing to run off from Britain here to the continent, he's willing to fight for his life. He'll fight us."

Mitchell's partner kept shaking his head, as if the two Aurors had missed something, something more dangerous, something more mysterious than Alexius Lydden. Lydden had been a faithful supporter of Grindelwald twenty years back, and when the Ministry of Magic had found him hiding in Cornwall a month ago, he'd taken off for points south. Another several weeks and they'd tracked him here – and Mitchell and Patrick were on the hunt. Take him in – however it had to be, dead or alive. That was the goal.

So what was irking Patrick so much? Earthworms and old cabbage?

A gust of wind sounded off a percussion chorus across the forest. Patrick held out his hand to stop his partner, raised his head, and glanced around the forest canopy. "Something's here."

"Yeah, the wind. Everyone's dramatic these days, sheesh. Even the Muggles, with their Cold War –"

"It's not the wind. It's Lydden."

Patrick ran through a batch of trees and out of sight. Dammit, thought Mitchell, clutching his wand and hurrying after his partner. Idiot's going to sprain his ankle on a molehill or something. If they ran into Grindelwald's last supporter, the idiot wouldn't give himself away. Mitchell clawed a branch out of his way, emerging into a forest clearing. A rushing stream cut through the middle of the space, clear water bubbling up in white bursts across slippery black rocks. A pair of ptarmigans darted through the underbrush away from the other side of the bank, their brown feathers flying in a flurry of motion before disappearing into the camouflage of the autumn forest in an instant. High above in the canopy, a northern harrier cried out a shrill warning.

At the bank of the stream stood Patrick – and five meters away from him lay a short man with wild orange hair, his chest heaving, his face lined and tired, his brow furrowed. He looked up at the young Auror with an expression of pure loathing, his hands clenched into fists, his wand obviously missing. Mitchell stopped, torn between feeling impressed and shocked at his partner's discovery and ready to jump into action to subdue the target. There he was, Alexius Lydden, unarmed, on his back, at their mercy, outnumbered. Grindelwald's last major supporter. It couldn't be this easy.

"What're you doing down there?" Mitchell chortled, hurrying up to Patrick and aiming his wand at Alexius. The dark wizard clutched his side, blood leaking out from his abdomen and staining his gray robes crimson. "Trying to crawl away from us?"

"He's got no wand," Patrick breathed.

Mitchell laughed. Days of tromping around the woods for this. It didn't get any easier. "Got something to say for yourself, Alexius? You look like a wreck."

The dark wizard licked his lips, grimaced, and clutched his hand tighter to his wound. "You idiots."

"Mad?" Mitchell said, smirking. "The law never quits. Where did you think you were going to go after murdering that Muggle family in Falmouth? Bit obvious, perhaps?"

"Arrogance got you killed," Alexius gasped. His wound was paining his every breath. "Isn't your partner supposed to be the hothead? Every story like this the young Auror is the brash one. You this eager to make your mark, old man? Eager enough to go to the grave?"

Patrick waved his wand at him. "No one's dying. You're coming back to England with us."

Alexius shook his head, a painful grin spreading across his lips. A vein bulged in his forehead, and he pulled at his hair with his loose hand. "None of us are leaving here alive, pup. Not you, not me, not daddy here."

"You gonna kill us?" Mitchell scoffed. "With what? Where's your wand? I think Gellert would've been mighty displeased if you'd lost your weapon, hm?"

Something struck Mitchell as off about this as he boasted. Every time he'd hunted Grindelwald's supporters in the past, they'd put up a tough fight, wounded or not. Alexius in particular had shown no regard for human life during his villainous run. Even at the mercy of two Aurors, why give up? He couldn't be this cowardly knowing that a life term in Azkaban awaited him. Did he really think the Dementors a preferable option to death?

"You have no idea what you walked into," Alexius breathed. "I didn't either at first. He's going to come back and finish me off, and then he'll get rid of you two, too."

"Who?" Patrick asked.

"The gray one. Gray skin. Like a corpse. He's coming back. You're in too deep now. Your wands are useless at this point. Pray to some heathen gods if you have them. It's your only chance."

Mitchell was inclined to grab the man and Apparate away right now, but just as he thought to say something to his partner, the wind rustled again. Woosh! It didn't feel natural this time, but like a funnel, a cyclone directed towards somewhere across the riverbank. Leaves swirled and spiraled in a kaleidoscope of color. The harrier took off from the uppermost branches, beating its wings as hard as possible to escape into the skies.

Patrick backed up but kept his wand aimed at Alexius. "There's someone else here."

"Stay here," Mitchell whispered, his wand out and aimed at the forest across form the stream. "Make sure he doesn't move a muscle."

"Don't worry, Auror!" cried Alexius. It was more of a taunt than anything. "Dead men can't run!"

Mitchell stepped over the slippery rocks, his footing slipping on the last one as he caught himself with a hand and crept into the opposite woods. Leaves as far as the eyes could see – leaves, trees, autumn everywhere. Then – something. Motion. Mitchell had trained his whole professional career to pick out the little things like this, and he ducked behind a tree while aiming his wand downrange.

"Who's there?"

He received no response. Instead, a green blast exploded from the brush, and Mitchell dodged behind his tree just in time to evade it. The curse zipped past him, and when he looked up, he saw energy coursing across Alexius Lydden. Patrick had dodged to the side. The mark was dead – but not by their hand.

"Cover!" Mitchell shouted, rolling behind a downed stump nearby and training his wand into the thick brush.

He'd moved just in time to see a flash of white light in the brush, hear a loud crack, and look back to see Patrick dodge to the side just in time to evade another green blast coming in from the opposite side of the forest clearing. As Mitchell turned to face the new threat – were there two of them? – he spotted something emerging from the forest down the stream from Patrick. It seemed a gray blob from here, like a man but huge, towering, a behemoth, its skin mottled and the color of cement. If the enemy – man, beast, whatever – had hair or clothes Mitchell couldn't make it out.

It clearly wasn't in the mood for negotiating.

Mitchell raised his wand to engage, but a loud snap! from behind distracted him. He turned his head, and there it was.

Whether it was a dark creature or some creation – or something else entirely – Mitchell didn't know. The thing strolled out of the forest ahead of him at a leisurely pace, its arms swinging in lazy arcs by its side. It was towering, at least ten feet tall. It wasn't remotely human, but instead seemingly made of the forest itself – earth, wood, and bone, from its clawed feet to its wide, sloping shoulders, to the talons that tipped the dinner plate-sized hands at the end of its bony arms. Worst of all was the beast's head. It didn't have a face at all, rather a black void at the center of a skeletal ring of cheekbones and jaw. A pair of long, milky, bony protrusions mounted the top of its cranium, like antlers but sinister, angular, and demonic.

It stopped in its tracks a few seconds after Mitchell spotted it. The beast turned slowly towards him, its body and limbs still, its head twitching, a revenant's puppet jittering on ethereal strings. Whether it spotted him by unseen eyes or by some unknown magical force Mitchell didn't know, but he knew very well when it aimed one of its talon-tipped hands at him and pointed with its index finger.

It pointed at him.

The beast lumbered forward.

He couldn't stay here. Mitchell spun about to relocate just as he saw his partner hit by a green blast. Patrick twirled in the air, his head rolling about, his face blank as he hit the riverbank, still. "Stupefy!" shouted Mitchell, firing a red lance at the gray figure.

No effect. His stunner glanced off of the enemy, shooting away into the forest as Patrick's killer twirled away into a gleam of white light. Mitchell shot a look towards Patrick and Alexius – dead, both – before taking off at a sprint. It had all gone to hell. Mitchell dashed away, his thoughts in chaos, his mind ablaze. His partner dead, his target dead, something, something, all around him. He couldn't think straight. He could only run.

He rounded a tree as a heavy object exploded behind him, showering his legs with needles and darts. Mitchell tripped and fell. He vaulted over a log on the way, getting back on his feet in an instant and sending a pair of stunners into the woods at different directions. Whatever he was up against, it had home turf and a decisive advantage in power. The only hope he had was to keep fighting, praying for luck to swing his way. Auror tricks wouldn't be much good now.

Mitchell rounded a tree and sprinted into a small clearing. Just as he crossed the treeline, a spindly grip grabbed him around the neck.

He found himself face-to-face with terror. Oblivion glared at him from inches away. Waves of black energy coursed around the edges of the beast's void of a face, washing up against the skeletal rim of the creature's head. The beast dug its talons into Mitchell's neck, and he couldn't so much as think up a spell in defense as panic flooded his mind. The beast screamed, roared, wailed, its brooding, mournful cry of pain and anger spilling into Mitchell's very mind.

It clenched its fist. Mitchell felt a blinding pain in his neck, and all was black.

July 29, 2019

Ottery St. Catchpole, England

James Sirius Potter woke up, his stomach queasy, his head aching. Sweat dotted his bedsheets, and something rustled outside his bedroom in the hallway. Probably Lily. She had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night now, anxious about her first year at Hogwarts. He'd teased her about it, but he heard her more and more – and now it wasn't just her waking up at night. Now he was waking up too.

It'd been a strange dream. James had been in the Forbidden Forest, running from…what? From something, something that lurked in the recesses of his mind, laughing, taunting. He'd sprinted to the edge of the forest, Hogwarts's towers in sight, when something had grabbed him. The wind had coalesced all around him in a great cyclone, and he'd seen…nothing. Nothing.

Just a dream. Just a dream, that's all, James told himself, pulling the sheets back over his chest and casting a look towards his door. Go to bed, Lily, he thought. Stop bothering me.

He had his dreams to bother him about the upcoming year, and that was enough. He'd be in his fifth year, and prefect letters hadn't come in yet. The possibility that he might receive the honor – yikes, not sure about that – haunted him, and then there were his siblings. Albus would be in his third year, and his younger brother was enough of a handful. Then Lily would be starting school…and James could just hear his mother's orders. They're your brother and sister. You're the oldest. They look up to you, especially Lily. Look after them.

For some reason, his dream of the forest came back to him right then. James shuddered, cast one last look towards his bedroom door, and turned over in his bed.

Thanks for reading, everyone! This is the first chapter in what's to be a long story – both the coming-of-age story of Lily Potter, youngest child and only daughter of Harry, and the story of a number of villains coming together in the power vacuum of the Ministry of Magic's post-Voldemort days. With Dumbledore and Voldemort dead and Harry the chief of the Aurors, a lull has fallen over the wizarding world – and an evil that goes back millennia, back to the first days of civilization and magic itself, has arrived to take advantage of peace's weakness. Where Voldemort and Grindelwald sought the purity of wizard blood and strength to dominate the world, I aim to explore a different sort of evil, a horror that can be both derided and justified, defended and attacked. In the world of Harry's children and the next generation, the lines between good and evil blur.

I plan for the bulk of the story to be told through Lily's eyes as she grows up in Hogwarts's halls, but I'll flash from time to time to other goings-on around the magical (and every now and then, non-magical) world as the broader story builds. Friendship, drama, adventure, even romance all come together throughout. Aiming for a pretty long story; somewhere between five and eight books depending on how much of my original storyboard I decide to cut down as the story progresses (all books going to be in this thread so you don't have to run from link to link.)

Pertinent disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all properties of the Harry Potter world. Rated T for violence, horror, and themes. Criticisms, comments, suggests, lay 'em on! I welcome all feedback. I am taking slight liberalities with the Harry Potter universe, but don't worry: Most of what you know and love, including Harry, the Weasleys, Hermione, and the HP universe that left off at the end of Deathly Hallows, shall continue here.