Little did the black haired, gray eyed 21 year old man know, he was about to fulfill his godfatherly duties by doing no more than adding three drops of his precious, Black blood to the sacred ceremony. Of course, no one could guess that the next few months would see a legendary group of friends splintered to the precipice of being broken beyond repair, of being eviscerated worse than one could do to an opponent with the blackest of magic. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail. Four of the greatest friends, four Marauders under one moon. None but Fate herself had to listen to the anguished shrieks of a friendship being shredding like cheap sheet metal, none shivered at the awful sound but Her. Sure, friends of the "only" surviving Marauder could try to comprehend his loss, try to understand, but only the Lady Fate shivered as the nails scratched their melodies on the chalkboard...
"I'm sorry sir. I truly regret this, but it's the only way. Forgive me, Professor Dumbledore." The voice echoed in the marble confines, sounding for all the world as if it were a small opera house. Then a blinding light filled the pristine vessel, and as if asleep on a bed, lay the greatest wizard of the age: Albus Dumbledore. But Harry Potter, to whom the voice belonged, knew him to be at peace, removed from the horrors of a war. Dead. Bright green eyes shimmered with unshed tears barely held in, and his black hair was windswept. With reverence, the 17 year old man removed the Elder Wand from his mentor's hands. After a moment's hesitation, he replaced it with his own Holly and Phoenix feather wand.
"Thank you sir. Thank you for giving me a fighting chance. I'll do you proud, I promise. Just...I feel so lost without you. I'm a contradiction, an enigma. I'm so empty, devoid of any fight at all...but I'm burning with lava flowing through my veins. From the depths of my heart, I feel the wisps of clouds forming, I feel an unfamiliar feeling flooding my senses, whispers of a loved one I know to be dead echoing in my head...I feel..." the young man cut himself off with a choked sob. "I must be raving mad, I'm talking to a dead man." he snorted, and with a wave of the Elder Wand, resealed the tomb of his mentor. Power rushed through his blood, The Deathstick jubilant at the thought of its new master. Unknown to the wizard walking away towards the gates of Hogwarts, changes started to take root in his soul. The Horcrux of the Dark Lord was consumed by a blazing inferno of power hidden behind old childhood restraints. Memories, spells, residual power all swept away in the tide of the hurricane being unleashed, only to be seized by subconscious instinct to be integrated. The power swept through his unfettered soul, pausing only to rip the last chain off the glowing white ball. Finally free, it reached to a wavy strand that was red in color, and at first contact between conduit and power, the conduit shot itself straight as an arrow. The power reached the choppy end of the bond, and subconsciously recognized it as a warm feeling, a feeling of safety and security, of wet dog and warm fur. At the end of the Godfather bond, a little bulb hung desperately on, begging to be unleashed once more upon Earth. With what humans would see as a bow of acceptance, Harry's soul allowed the little bulb in. When the two, powerful forces touched, something akin to a nuclear bomb went off in Harry Potter's mind, and the wizard slumped into the cot limply, green eyes wide open...