Full Summary: The end was reached, the Master of Darkness stands triumphant, but he stands alone. Everything he's ever known, everything he's ever loved, is gone. Buried beneath the ashes of his final war. Uniting together seven of the world's most powerful artifacts, he seizes a second chance to make things right, and this time, he will make the rules.
This story is the culmination of all the experiments performed by both myself, and The Dark Lord Andros. It is somewhat of a crossover story with Star Wars, but not in the "traditional" sense of crossovers. It will feature a very dark plot and quite a bit of heavy mature content.
I hope you enjoy.
The Jen'ari
"Eternity has fallen. But from the ashes of creation, a new age shall dawn." Standing in the ruins of what had once been the atrium of the Ministry Of Magic, a cloaked man whispered softly to himself as he slowly circled through the battle torn room.
Looking around slowly, his face obscured by shadows swirling within the hood of his cloak, the man seemed to slump slightly. The weight of a great pain unknown by any other upon his shoulders. As his hooded face turned to gaze upon the dried and shattered pool of the Magical Brethren's Fountain, he let loose a somber and mournful sigh, the bottom few inches of his cloak slowly gathering the ashes and shattered glass upon the floor as he moved.
"We knew we faced extinction, and this is where we made our final stand. Not against the forces of darkness, but of destruction itself. Chaos, anarchy, disorder, of all the enemies we faced, the ones that were our downfall were those we unleashed upon ourselves." Reaching up as he stopped in front of what had once been the receptionist's desk, the man wrapped long skeletal fingers around the edges of his hood and slowly lowered it to reveal a sunken and hollow face.
Green eyes that had once been vibrant and full of life sweeped across the carnage, a scar which once had stood out fiercely with its lightning bolt shape was dull and faded, and hair which once had been raven black and free standing with a life of its own, now lay dull grey and lifeless. Harry Potter was the visage of a beaten man.
Turning, Harry came to an abrupt halt as his eyes fell upon a badly charred skeleton, threadbare green robes still hanging upon the ruined bones, a badly scorched yew wand still clenched in the long fingers of the long dead hand. "My old friend..."
Raising a hand, Harry watched as the rubble around the skeleton began to pile upon itself, stacking and smoothing over to form a burial mound over the long dead body, the stones smoothing over completely into a solid slab of marble. With a saddened expression, he gave a flick of his wrist and watched as words carved into the stone. 'Here lies the greatest sorcerer in the world.'
"My one chance lies below, "The final enemy which shall be defeated." But do I dare risk making the same mistakes twice?" Looking sadly upon the faded and broken lift as he turned, he spoke once more to the shadows around him, seemingly at peace with speaking to no one. "What would you have me do Mentor?"
No answer came forth, not that it had been expected, and so with a heavy heart, Harry Potter boarded the damaged lift and pulled a pale wand from within his robe, the knotted wood seemingly absorbing the few rays of light flickering into the ruined atrium. Holding the Elder Wand in front of him, the former Boy-Who-Lived watched as its magic seeped out in accordance with his will, seeping into the lift and causing the contraption to lurch into a controlled fall before stopping with a rough jerk as a mechanical voice croaked and crackled.
"D-d-d-departm-m-ment of M-m-m-m-myster-er-er-eries."
Moving out of the lift, Harry found himself standing in the long dark hallway that had at one time guarded the greatest secrets of the Ministry. But now, as he looked around, he saw only ruin. Walls were held up by crumbling stone, torches had been wrenched free and now lay upon the shattered tile floor coated in dust, and the famous stark black door at the far end lay in splinters, blasted off its hinges in the final battle.
Moving through the damaged hall quickly, Harry brushed through the Hall Of Choices and came to an abrupt halt inside the Death Chamber. Staring at the veil, he couldn't fight the shiver that wracked his body as he held his hand up. Still clenching the Elder Wand tightly in his fingers, he held his arm out and smiled as the black stone set within his silver ring flared brightly in time with the wand before a mass of silvery mist rose out of the Peverell sigil and formed into the roguish image of Tom Riddle.
"Hello Potter." Smirking to himself, the echo of the reformed Dark Lord Voldemort folded his hands behind his back and glanced around the barren chamber, his face twisting into a grimace at the sight. "How long has it been since that night?"
Looking upon the specter of his one time Grand Advisor, Harry couldn't help but smile fondly as he answered. "Near enough of sixty years. I near my eighth decade even as I plot to turn back the hands of time."
"A second chance then? For you, or for those you lost?" Smiling sadly, the specter of Riddle moved forward and placed his hand upon the shoulder of his one time nemesis, the hand actually settling as if it were flesh due to the unification of the Hallows. "Do not think that I've forgotten. You lost them all."
Sighing sadly, Harry moved towards the arch in the center of the room, brushing past the specter of his long lost friend as the final echo of Tom Riddle faded back into the land of the dead.
"The final enemy is mine to best, and I intend to do so... now. Tonight death shall be vanquished." Tears rose in his eyes, silently falling down his face, serving as reminders of what he sought.
Falling silent, Harry made his way towards the archway, his right arm sweeping outwards with the Elder Wand as he silently summoned two other ancient artifacts from deeper in the Department of Mysteries. Watching coldly, he smiled as first the Mirror of Erised, and then the Pensieve of Seoche landed silently on either side of the Veil.
Though few had ever known it, the Veil itself had a name beyond Veil, or Death Arch. It, like the other two items that had just entered the room, bore a name which served only as the reflection of its purpose: the Arch of Thaed.
All in all, what was planned to happen here tonight, would require seven ancient and mystical artifacts, each one powerful in its own right, and each one a piece of a larger puzzle. The Elder Wand, the Ressurection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Mirror of Erised, the Pensieve of Seoche, the Pearl of Anubis, and lastly, the Arch of Thaed.
Each artifact had its own legendary tale, but they all originated from the same family. The family that had hidden itself by splintering off, only for the lines to remerge many years later in the man now standing before the Arch.
First, the three most famous, the so called: "Deathly Hallows." Forged by three brothers who bargained with Death. Or so the legend said.
Second, the Pearl, the Pensieve, and the Mirror. The first of the family's artifacts. The power contained within aided greatly in the conception and creation of the more famous Hallows. Though, these lesser known artifacts were in many ways far more terrible. Two had at one time found themselves within the halls of Hogwarts. While the third had been hidden away within the Peverell's family tomb.
And lastly, the Arch itself. The Veil as it had once been known. Crafted at the end of the journey of the First Three. The Arch served little functional purpose. In the purest sense, it was little more than a conduit, a power supply, a crucible. Elegant, simplistic, and functional. But by itself, very limited, and almost crude.
However, the man who now stood before the Arch, with all seven items united, held the power to unlock its full potential, to achieve anything his heart desired.
Moving forward, Harry dropped his outer cloak, letting it fall to the ground where it settled almost gracefully into the dust. With the outer shadowy garment removed, the shimmering material of the Cloak of Invisibility flared brightly to life as it began to blow in a non-existent breeze, the magical power flowing through the air almost palpable.
Levitating the Mirror of Erised with a flick of the Elder Wand, Harry moved it towards the Arch before smiling sadly as ribbons of sickly violet energy reached out from the stones to wrap around the mirror, pulling it quickly to click into place in the center of the Arch, the tattered remnants of the so called "Veil" falling away as the mirror swelled to fit perfectly into the empty space between the stones.
"Erised, htaed, the desire to traverse the realm of death. Let it be written, let it be done." Violet flames erupted along the outer stones of the Arch, ancient and arcane sigils being revealed, carved long ago into the worn stones. "The first joining of the seven, gathered forth."
Holding his wand arm out, Harry watched as the Resurrection Stone pulled free of the ring upon his finger before floating towards the butt of the Elder Wand and slamming into the wood with the same flash of violet fire, the stone embedding itself into the wand.
"To see death, you must first call it forth. The desire to command the forces of life. Let it be written, let it be done." The Elder Wand erupted in the same flames which now coated the Archway, similar runes appearing and glowing ever brighter as the wand returned to its Master's hand, though the flames didn't diminish.
Holding his free hand out towards the discarded cloak behind him, Harry watched silently as a large glittering egg shaped crystal orb of shimmering blue flew into his grasp, violet flames already alight upon its surface, similar runes visible, but not yet gleaming as brightly as on the other pieces of the puzzle.
Holding the stone out towards the Pensieve, he spoke once more, this time more powerfully as the Pensieve shattered, the stone and silvery liquid within flowing together into a stark white energy which poured into the crystal egg.
"Animus corpus, memento spiritus. The desire to remember the dead, so that they may be called forth anew. So let it be written, so let it be done." The Pearl of Anubis now held within his left hand finally flared to the same brightness as the Arch and the Wand, the three pairs made whole and awaiting only the final joining to begin the ritual.
Releasing the Wand and the Pearl, Harry smirked as they hovered in the air, seemingly supported by the violet flames engulfing them. Removing the Cloak from around his shoulders, the wizened man fought back sobs as he held it out, violet flames engulfing it before pulling it quickly to the Arch, the cloak fusing with the Mirror and hanging between its frame and the Arch, leaving it to hang as a new veil.
This time, he didn't speak, instead he held his hand out towards the Elder Wand and smiled sadly as it flew to his grasp. Holding it out, he watched in amazement as it levitated from his grasp to hover above the keystone of the arch. Slowly, the gnarled wand slid itself into a hollow groove atop the keystone, like a dagger into its sheath, stopping when only the handle remained visible.
Finally, Harry stepped back, watching as the pearl moved of its own accord towards the mirror before vanishing into the surface, its reflection appearing deep within the center as the Philosopher's Stone once had. At last, he watched as the archway pulsed with black lightning coursing throughout the violet flames before finally erupting outwards into violet smoke and reforming as a metal framed mirror with the same dimensions as the previously existing archway.
With no further reason to speak, Harry found himself stepping forward, into the cold metal as the image of a cupboard filled the reflective surface, his second chance had finally come, and he was going to claim it.
With one final breath, he stepped completely through the portal, and into oblivion, meeting only with an endless void of shadows.
Shadows, endless cold, darkness, fire, light, heat, joy, misery. Falling forward and downwards, and sometimes upwards, Harry found himself spiraling through an endless labyrinth of light and dark, twists and turns carrying him further off into more and more obscure corners of reality as he felt his connection to life slowly slip away more and more. "Not like this!"
Feeling the furious rage building within him, he struck outwards, lashing out at reality itself, clinging and clawing, trying to tear some hole in the fabric of existence by which he could cling to its walls and avoid the everlasting chasm. But then, just as the confusion and fury threatened to completely overwhelm him, he found himself standing upright in a black shadowy room.
The results of the portal weren't quite what had been expected. He'd indeed, planned to find himself immediately back inside the cupboard under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive, instead, he appeared to be within some sort of church conference hall filled to the brim with darkness and shadows.
The only source of illumination proved to be the chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, but what drew his attention, was the long conference style table set beneath it, and more interesting than that, the assortment of people gathered around it. All of them were cloaked, with hoods raised to obscure their identity.
Twelve people in all, two at the foot, and five on either side, leaving the lone chair at the head of the table vacant. Knowing that it was intended for him, Harry moved forward and sunk down into it before lacing his fingers upon the table and waiting.
"Harry Potter... the fabled Boy-Who-Lived. The so-called Final Guardian. Lies to feed your legend. When the truth is so much more interesting than what the people once made you out to be. But that's always the way the world turns. The most interesting stories are buried under rather second rate legends." The voice of the one who spoke was ancient, wizened, and coming from directly across from the man being addressed. Though which of the two at the foot of the table spoke, was anyone's guess.
"In much the same way as beings of the supernatural often disguise themselves like some archaic mythological trope." The retort was delivered coldly, without emotion as Harry began spinning his thumbs about one another, adopting a rather disinterested expression as he awaited the explanation that experience had taught him was due after the first piece of a monologue.
"A second chance does not come easily. You didn't think that you would just waltz back through time and space and start over, did you? No. You're not that stupid. You knew there would be a price." One of the two at the foot spoke once more before either or both of them resumed speaking, in truth, it was impossible to tell which of them was speaking, or if both of them were.
"Put simply, Mr Potter, you've got to pay to achieve your aims. We will permit you to carry out your scheme, but, you must shed your memories in order to do so. You will retain the knowledge you have accumulated, but your memories of individuals and events, you have to shed them into the abyss." Silence followed the declaration, stretching on for nearly a full four minutes before the wizened Harry Potter nodded slowly and rose from the table.
"So be it. I was prepared to lose my power and start from scratch, while my memories are precious, they can be replaced." Moving away from the table, back towards the void he'd fallen out of, Harry found himself stopped by a familiar voice.
"Apprentice, do not be so sure. Would you not rather pass forward with your memories intact, or lose them and risk the possibility that you will not rejoin with the same people as you did previous?" Rising from the table, one of the hooded figures discarded his cloak to reveal the wizened and ancient face of Darth Andros, the Dark Lord of the Sith who had mentored Harry as a child.
"This is about more than me, Mentor. I will admit, a large part of my motivation is selfish want. The desire to reclaim what I consider mine. But more than that, more than that, I want to have a chance to set things right. And I don't need my memories for that, only my morals." Speaking softly, Harry found himself shaking slightly as his words rang out, showing for the first time, how much damage the final war had inflicted upon him.
"And what is it that you intend to do? Or rather, that you hope you will do when motivated by your so called "morals?" The cold drawl of Andros' tone was not overtly hostile, but it was far from the caring warmth he'd once shared with his student in days long past.
"I'm going to ensure that the world survives. And that the Empire stretches out once more to the stars. You know as well as I, some things are guaranteed to happen, such as my finding you and learning all you have to teach me." The silence that rang out after his declaration was a welcome one, until it was broken by another of the hooded figures rising as Andros vanished in a swirl of black flames, the nod of his approval the last thing seen.
"Anyone else care to speak, or shall I just go about my business?" No answer came to meet the coldly delivered question, instead, the remaining individuals began one by one lowering their hoods to reveal themselves as the swirls of Oblivion began to swarm around the wizened and aged Potter of Potter.
First, a girl who at one time had been vastly different than she now appeared. Her flesh was sickly white, every vein standing out in harsh detail, sickly purple circles surrounded her eyes, giving the impression of dark shadowed makeup, angry molten red eyes glared out, and finally, a dark chocolate brown hair fell over her back, silky and smooth, but tangled with its own waviness.
"Master..." The tender whispered word of worship from the lips of Harry's former apprentice brought a dark smile to his lips as he nodded in response.
"Bitch." Glancing around, Harry smirked as the faces of the others were revealed, he spoke to each in turn. "Gabrielle, Fleur, Bellatrix, Draco, Riddle, Tracey, Daphne, Astoria, Hestia, Flora." Smirking to each of the revealed people in turn, Harry threw himself backwards, falling into the abyss and watching his long dead servants vanish in swirls of ebony flames.
'Memories of the mind can be lost, but memories of the spirit are forever.'