A/N Hello, Jo here. This is my first story, and I want to do it right. This has a long reaching plot, with a few 'minor' changes to the both universes.
This isn't just a throw Harry in Remnant, give him OP weapons and see what happens. No, this is a story of Harry's involvement with the pre-RWBY world.
Also, ignoring the hell out of Volume 3. A talking Neo, Qrow's weapon, Maidens? No thanks.
Disclaimer: I owned RWBY for two minutes, but that may have been a dream.
Chapter 1.
I May Fall
There's a day when the world burns around us
11:30 PM 31st December 1999
On a small plane of existence, there exists a small rocky planet orbiting a small yellow star on one arm of a galaxy among many. It lies at the metaphysical center of the universe, not the physical center. It's about seven trillion light years west of the real center. It's the metaphysical center because it has the only Life in a cold universe.
No, hang on, say the scientists. Surely somewhere in the vast emptiness life has evolved. And they're right. But not Life. Not intelligent Life, defined by their willingness, not to survive, but to exist and persist.
On this small blue-green planet, called "Earth" (a not very reasonable name given a good two thirds of it is water), there exists a small island. On this island, in a small street, in a small suburb, there is a small house. It's not very nice-looking, and it's very grubby and dirty compared to its neighbours. There is one small important detail about it however, and this is it:
It's not really there.
None of the neighbors can see it. They simply remark on the quite amusing clerical error that caused number 11 to end up next to number 13.
Magic hides it, showing it to only those who know about it. The force of magic is strong on this world, permeating through the air and through the people. Not many worlds have something quite this powerful, and the power always comes with a price, a way for Darkness to rise. On this world, the power is easily abused, man easily corrupted.
Inside the building, wherever it may be, sits a group of magicals around an oak table. They are nervous, and making final goodbyes. They know that they will lose people, that some may fall in the name of justice.
Because they are about to try and illuminate that Darkness, attempt to purge the corruption, the greed, the worst of humanity.
The teenager at the head of the table looks very weary, as if waiting for the guillotine to drop. He has dark messy hair, and is wearing a set of black wizarding robes. The table is silenced quickly when he stands to his feet and clears his throat. He green eyes twinkle behind his round glasses, all weariness gone, instead replaced with a burning fire.
"My fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix, today may be our final battle, our greatest offense."
He paused, and looked around at the expectant faces.
"We will be victorious, whether we win or lose. Because we will burn as a light in the darkness, blinding the shadows and bringing hope to the masses. We will deal a great blow against the Dark Lord today. We will show him that we are still fighting."
An inspiring speech, given by a leader to his people in a time of need. They don't question him, nor his plan, but simply know that there is no alternative.
They clap for him as he leaves the room, two others following him, close by his side. The trio climb the many stairs in a grim silence, punctuated only by the occasional sound of chatter escaping from downstairs. They reach the top, and enter the attic, unlocking the door with a key hanging from the leader's neck. After closing the door and casting anti-eavesdropping charms, they collapse into the three soft armchairs.
The large desk occupying the centre of the room is covered in miscellaneous books and papers. Thick books, paper blueprints and most curiously, a small leather-bound book, its cover scarred with a perfect circle. The journal simply extrudes malevolence, without actual doing anything.
"Why can't we tell them the whole plan, Harry?"
The woman in the rightmost chair spoke first. She had brown curly hair, and was wearing a wrinkled set of robes. She looked like she hadn't fully rested in a week.
"We just can't. To give them that much hope... If I were to fail, it would break them." explained Harry.
"But they deserve to know, Harry."
"No, Hermione."
The redhead interrupted, trying to change the subject. "Where did you pull that speech from, Harry? 'Light in the dark' and all that. Pretty impressive."
Harry looked down, and said dejectedly, "Professor Dumbledore's old notes."
"Ah."
After a few moments, Hermione spoke up again.
"How can we be sure this is even going to work? The ritual might not work with multiple Hocruxes, and the two times we know it did, the people only had one."
Harry sighed, as if he had already explained this. "The info is definitely from the Department of Mysteries, just stolen by Rookwood, and intercepted by us before it got to You-Know-Who. And just as well too. "
He stood up and started to pace around the room. "We've been on this Hocrux hunt for almost a year Hermione! And we haven't found anything! People have been dying, left and right, while we went on a glorified camping trip. But now we have something, and no matter how untrustworthy the information may be, we have to act on it."
He gestured at the smallest pile of books. The books ranged from a few centuries old, to maybe even a millennia. The top book's title was written in strange spidery writing, in ancient Greek:
Το λεξικό δεν Ερπων ὁ δεινός.
A rough translation would have been 'The defeat of Herpo the Foul'. Herpo the Foul was the first man to breed a basilisk, the creator of many dark arts, from the burning Fiendfyre to the Drink of Despair, a successful attempt at the recreation of a Dementor's ability to bring forth the victim's worst memories.
But the darkest of all, the discovery of a ritual that finally turned him from man to monster, was the creation of a Hocrux. He split his soul and his mind for immortality. And this book documented the first Dark Lord's fall from power.
His Hocrux may have been immune to his other inventions, Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre, both destructive beyond measure, but it was not completely indestructible. You didn't need to destroy them, only send them elsewhere.
"For the first time, we have found a way to kill him. Completely and forever. And we have to take that chance. We can't keep running around, hoping to just stumble upon the rest of Voldemort's Hocruxes."
Harry sat back down, leaning forward.
"We've discussed the plan, and it's final. Hermione and I will take Polyjuice Potion of the ministry workers we stunned last week, and I will make my way down to the Department of Mysteries under the Cloak, while Hermione splits off towards the security office and tries to disable the security measures."
Hermione nodded, face looking a little apprehensive about her job.
"After this, Ron will take the Order through the Floo and fight through the Ministry. Try to free as many of the prisoners as you can, and supply them with wands. The apparition wards should be down, and you should evacuate everyone who can't fight."
Ron also nodded, face grave. Hermione spoke up, in a hesitant voice. "But what if something goes wrong? What if You-Know-Who shows up before the ritual can begin?"
Harry picked up the diary, and the fire was back in his eyes.
"I'll improvise."
Then the best die and leave us behind,
1:30 AM 1st January 2000
Some time later, the strange people are back at 12 Grimmauld Place.
They are tired, they are injured, and they number far less then they did only an hour before. Grubby, torn and in many cases bleeding, they elicit many cries of astonishment from the wide-awake neighbors. And the neighbors are still awake, simply because the people are firing fireworks into the air, along with what look like lasers. It is far too loud, even for New Years, especially so far past midnight.
Some of them are crying, some are celebrating, and one just sits at the moodily lit kitchen table, contemplating the stains on the surface in front of her.
Hermione Granger was a strange person, and still is. A bookworm till the end, and very loyal to her friends. She never made friends easily, tending to scare them away even at a young age. But Hogwarts was when that had changed. She had found friends, adventures, and magic.
But all good things must come to an end, and evil and discrimination had finally reared its ugly head. She had the scar to prove it, the word Mudblood cut onto the inside of her arm. They had been forced to hunt for indestructible items, hidden from sight. An impossible task. This wasn't a fairy tale, it wasn't possible to destroy the undestroyable, let alone find the unfindable. So they found a way to bring the Hocruxes to them.
The book had described a ancient Archway, hidden deep underground. It told of a soft tattered veil hanging within, muttering, gently whispering to those who had lost family, luring them closer. It told of brave men who had died to find Herpo the Foul's Hocrux, desperate to stop the monster. They had thrown it into the Archway of Death, hoping that it truly would pass beyond the Veil. But Death needed both pieces of the soul, and Herpo too was forced through the Archway by forces unknown to man.
And with this knowledge that the book provided, the battle was won, not because they gained anything, but because of the destruction of a monster. Voldemort was dead, killed once and for all. The Flight from Death was over. And the price was paid, in blood.
Harry Potter was dead. Of course, quite a few others had died too. But the Boy-Who-Lived, dead? Impossible. Yet true. And Hermione would have to accept that.
The plan had succeeded, and then failed. The world had been rid of its darkest shadow, moments before it had lost its brightest light.
People wouldn't mourn the death of Harry Potter. They wouldn't celebrate his life.
No, instead the people would celebrate the vanquishing of the Dark Lord, just as they had done sixteen years before. And Hermione couldn't blame them.
Ron sat down heavily opposite Hermione. He looked just as she felt. He probably felt even worse, losing his family as well as his friends. A deep cut had been scored across his face, cutting to the cheekbone, but he didn't seem to care. It would scar him forever.
"He's dead" he muttered in a low voice. She didn't know whether he was talking about Harry or Voldemort. "Really dead this time."
"Either must die at the hand of the other," Hermione said hollowly, "For neither can live while the other survives."
Ron winced at the line of the prophecy. It was all too obvious now. Prophecies were never straight forward. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were destined to die together.
More people were celebrating in the next room over. Ron could vaguely hear loud bangs, probably more fireworks, outside.
No-one had actually seen either of them die, of course. But too many people had seen Voldemort himself travel down to the Department of Mysteries, with swift movement, blasting anyone, friend or foe, out of his way.
The first sign of a great battle fought between Harry and Voldemort, were the rumbles deep below the ground. Cracks had appeared in the lower levels of the ministry, releasing the Dementors from their cells. They had descended upon both sides of the battle, feeding on any unprotected souls.
Thankfully, the next thing that happened were the terrifying shrieks of every Dementor as they lit up in individual flashes of light.
No-one knew what had happened to the no longer immortal Dementors. Some were saying the concentration of magic was too extreme, and that they had been vaporized, but that didn't explain why the Dementors in Azkaban were missing as well.
No-one was even able to study the burnt remains, because seconds after the immolation of the Dementors, the entire Ministry had collapsed, straight down into the dark secret chambers of the Department of Mysteries.
The muggles had reported on the small sinkhole suddenly appearing in the middle of London. But even now, the media were getting distracted by the massive amounts of illegal magical celebrating going on. Even the Obliviators would be celebrating wildly. Flocks of owls, shooting stars, probably some Weasley Fireworks. Maybe some of it would be chalked down to the New Year celebrations. The cleanup would be hard, maybe impossible.
The sinkhole hadn't hurt anyone directly, because the Ministry employees and prisoners had been smart enough to get out of the way of the ensuing battle between the Order and the Death Eaters, and because anyone still alive after the battle had just apparated away as the wards collapsed. Not even any Muggles had been hurt. The Ministry prisoners had dispersed to their homes, probably to pack and move to somewhere safer, maybe France or Australia.
Indirectly though, that was a different matter. At the bottom of the hole were the twisted remnants of the Department of Mysteries. The magic was causing all sorts of weird effects, from white doves appearing in people's sleeves, up to a few new magical plant species popping up.
The magical radiation would take hundreds of years to abate, and that wasn't even including the weird side effects from the broken Time-Turners, which would either shorten or prolong the residue or even keep it going perpetually. The only thing still left standing intact was the Veil, and that was only because it was truly indestructible. The magical forces had twisted even the ley lines in the land.
But that day, the chaos had extended even elsewhere.
The Lestrange vault in Gringotts had cracked open and the goblins were inciting rebellion, again.
A hole had been blown through the wall of Hogwarts, taking out several of the millennia old wards as well as a much surprised Headmaster Snape.
Stonehenge had been disturbed, the large stones surrounding a deep crack in the ground. Muggle investigators were reporting recent human bones buried underneath.
And last but not least, the headless body of Umbridge had been discovered in her home. The last one was probably good news to most people, especially to the muggleborns she had been prosecuting.
Hermione reached across the table and grasped Ron's hand.
"Harry wouldn't want us to mope around. He would have got us to celebrate with the rest, while he did all the moping for us. Imagine what Fred would say if he saw you like this, eh. Probably something jokey, right?"
Ron closed his eyes and squeezed her hand. He opened them again and said seriously, "The war isn't over yet, and we need to make sure what happened last time doesn't happen again. Death Eaters like Malfoy and Rookwood are still out there. The magical world is falling into chaos."
Hermione smiled sadly. "That can wait till tomorrow, can't it? For now, we celebrate."
Ron nodded. "For Harry."
"For Harry." Echoed Hermione.
They sat together, and watched the sky through the only window.
The fireworks filtered down through the grubby window and lit the teen couple, sleeping on the table, exhausted beyond belief.
Because the darkness won't tarnish
11:59PM 31st December 1998
Harry stood upon the pedestal in the darkened room, waiting. A small book was held loosely in one hand, and his wand gripped in the other. His Invisibility Cloak was hiding him from sight, though he knew it would be useless.
The atmosphere was brooding, tense. The Veil fluttered gently in an invisible breeze. The air was cold and still.
Harry waited. He knew that Voldemort was coming, had felt his rage through the scar, seen the blood of his minions spilt. Voldemort knew of the theft of his Hocrux, and was coming to reclaim it.
He scar burned, and he saw the image of a door, heavy and black. Voldemort was at the entrance, it wasn't long now. A round room, spinning. This time, Harry heard the loud bang, as well as seeing the explosion through Voldemort's eyes.
The door was blasted off its hinges, but it was not the right door. Planets hovered, and then exploded, as a child might pop balloons. Pluto spun gently until it collided with a chaotic Neptune and both collapsed into each-other with a slow finality. The sun shone blindingly, a wall of flickering flame, before it was darkened by a whispered spell.
Another door, and Voldemort entered the Prophecy Hall. Glowing blue orbs shattered under his pure rage, accidental magic lashing out randomly. Garbled messages played out to no-one, specters of prophets long dead.
"-the crow, the raven-"
"-white fang once against, now with-"
"-the blade's arc shall strike down-"
Unknown, unfulfilled and unheard, the prophecies released their words in white smoke.
The next door simply vanished, and Voldemort stepped carefully through into the next room. His magic was reined in now, careful not to disturb anything. Destroying this room would have dire consequences. They called it Uncertain Death. Not certain death, because well, you might not die.
A relentless ticking filled the air, from the clocks of all manners lining the golden walls. A glass case in the corner shattered, and then rebuilt itself. A bell jar stood on a counter at one end of the room, a broken egg at the bottom floating up to become a dead bird at the top.
Voldemort strode on, melting another door into a heap of bubbling metal, and this time, he had found the right room.
Harry turned and watched his invisible self from Voldemort's eyes through the Veil. It was a disconcerting sight, watching a blank space where you knew you were. He knew Voldemort was sharing this double vision with him and could tell exactly where he was. Looking through the shimmering Veil wasn't helping either. It gave a twisting image through the transparent fabric.
"Harry Potter."
The name was said slowly in a low menacing hiss, not so much as a name but as a curse. Voldemort looked directly at him, invisible or not.
"Tom Riddle." Harry replied, with equal loathing. He pushed back the hood of the cloak, his head becoming visible. "It's your birthday." he stated.
Voldemort scowled. "Age does not matter to an immortal." He proclaimed.
Harry held up his hand. The diary dangled from it, supported by one page pinched between two fingers. Voldemort red eyes grew angry at the sight of his mistreatment of the Hocrux.
"An immortal, huh?"
"What do you expect to do with that?" Voldemort asked angrily, slowing his stride towards Harry. "And, I suppose it was Dumbledore who told you about my Hocrux, wasn't it?"
Harry nodded silently, swinging the diary from side to side. Voldemort's head followed it, like a hypnotized snake.
"You cannot hope to destroy it. It is indestructible, even to the darkest Fiendfyre." Voldemort boasted arrogantly, standing on the other side of the Veil now, staring intently at Harry. "Even Basilisk venom, which dissolves through the strongest enchantments, won't affect it."
"I know," said Harry, pulling out the sword of Gryffindor from under his cloak. "I tested it. The venom did destroy the compulsion charms you placed on it though." He sliced across the cover of the book, and a small amount of steam rose, before the cut healed itself, leaving a white scar across the mottled circle already present. Herpo the Foul would set safeguards against his own creations after all.
"And I know you have more than one Hocrux, Tom. You made six of them, didn't you? Splitting your soul into seven pieces. Unnatural. "
The two leaders were circling the Archway slowly, step after step, gazes fixed on each-other. The silence reigned for a few short seconds.
"Yes, I did. But in the course of my experiments, I found that splitting the soul is not unnatural. In fact, the soul is already made up of seven parts, but they are always conjoined, tangled in impossible ways with each other. And with acts that some would consider foul, I unraveled the knots that bind humanity, I made my Hocruxes. I am now more than just a wizard. I am an immortal."
Harry spoke, with a grim smile on his face. "Oh, but don't you see? There has to be a way to destroy them. Don't you ever wonder why there aren't any other immortal evil wizards around?"
Voldemort laughed. It was a small laugh, but it sent shivers down Harry's spine. "They gave up. They had moments of remorse. They let themselves weaken and succumb to love." The last word was spat out in such disgust that Harry flinched.
"What of your teacher, what of Grindelward?" he asked.
Voldemort laughed again. "Grindelward never made a Hocrux, you naive child. He was Dark, but he was never had the courage."
Harry raised one eyebrow, and replied "Maybe not, but just remember, the man who boasted of his invincibility lost to Dumbledore at Nurmengard. Just as you will lose to me."
Voldemort gave a silky smile, like a snake finding an extra meal. He stopped walking, and Harry stopped too. They had swapped sides now, and Harry now had his back to the molten remains of the door.
Voldemort took a deep breath, leaned forward, and his eyes seemed to glow red in the dark. His pale face was lit by the meagre light, and showed its snakelike features to Harry.
"I have come closer to immortality than any who have come before. I hold the Elder Wand, which Grindelward gave unto me, until it was stolen by Dumbledore, and I stole it back from his grave. I have split my soul seven times, and I have already come back from death's door once."
He was angry now, fury behind every word.
"If Nicholas Flamel was at the gates of the immortal's palace, then I have already ascended the highest tower. I SHALL NEVER DIE! Do you not understand that you can never hope to defeat me?"
Harry held up the diary properly, and opened it with the other hand, flipping through the blank pages as if he were reading. He sighed and bowed his head, then said pitifully, "I guess you're right."
The sacrifice.
Midnight 1st January 1999
He looked up again, and Voldemort almost stepped back with the intensity of the flames in his eyes.
"But the balance must always be restored." And with this, he tossed the book gently towards Voldemort.
Voldemort, startled, instinctively reached out to catch it, but as it passed through the Archway between them, it fell into the shimmering Veil. It dissolved into scarlet dust, floating through the air.
Voldemort just stared in bewilderment, fingers sweeping through the red mist. His face tightened in surprise, and he screamed in a primal voice.
"No. No! NO!"
Harry's scar burned like lava. Slow, steady, and dissolving everything. His mind was filled with the agony of anger, pure rage and utter loathing.
Voldemort's wand was torn out of his hand, and passed through the Veil in a shower of bright white dust. The Veil was flapping wildly, caught in an invisible gale.
The floors rumbled and cracked, spitting out a golden goblet through the dark crevice. It flew towards Harry, who was still hunched over in pain. Only because of his Seeker reflexes did he duck in time. The goblet dissolved into shining yellow dust as it passed through the Veil, floating through the air as motes of light.
Voldemort had ran around the Veil to where Harry knelt in pain. He grabbed Harry by his throat and pulled him up to face level. Harry stared into the panic-stricken eyes.
"What have you done?" He screamed into Harry's face.
Harry laughed, even though he was still in agony, his throat burning at the touch of Voldemort's slender fingers.
"Did Herpo the Foul ever regret? Did Black Alyss, a woman who made her own daughter a Hocrux, ever love?"
A ring, set with a dirty black stone whipped by, inches from the pair, and shattered into black dust as it hit the Veil.
"You're dead Tom, whether you truly regret your life or not. Your soul is passing through Death's true door even now."
A locket bounced through the open doorway, sounding like it had broken several important items, and Voldemort dropped Harry. It was green, and emblazoned by a green S, and the chain it hung was on covered in blood. Voldemort tried to grab it as it passed, but it tore itself away from his grip, flying through the Veil and turning into green dust.
Voldemort was panicked now, and Harry knew why. Only one Hocrux remained now, according to his count.
The roof began to shake, and boulders began to rain down on them. Harry rolled to one side to avoid a particularly big one, the size of a couch.
Harry saw, lying on his back, the shiny tiara soar through the air towards the Archway. Voldemort failed to stop it again, and his hand was left bloody from the impact. A blue spray of dust hung in the air behind him.
Harry stood up slowly, and met Voldemort's eyes. Green eyes stared into red, and only one pair was triumphant. Voldemort stepped forward but stopped and, if it was possible, paled further.
Should Harry say something to the man who killed his parents? Who ordered the death of so many others? Could anything he said now avenge their sacrifice?
All he could do was watch in silence as Voldemort stumbled, and slowly, slowly he was pulled backwards, as if by an invisible force. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, as he was pulled back into the Archway, vanishing forever from this world. The emerald green dust left behind glittered in the air, like sunlight shining on the scales of a jungle snake.
Harry fell to his knees in exhaustion. The pain in his scar, the pain he had felt for years, was gone, silenced at last. The monster was dead, the world saved, many innocents avenged. The chamber was falling to pieces around him. "Maybe now," Harry thought with skepticism, "I can have a normal life."
A new pain in his forehead told him no. He started being dragged slowly on his knees, pulled towards the Veil. He shouted, panicked, and grabbed the nearest thing, the boulder he had nearly been crushed by.
The Archway was pulling him in, taking him with Voldemort. The Veil was trying to take him!
His scar was burning again, more painful than anything Voldemort had ever caused him. His head was being pulled back, his neck straining under the pressure.
He couldn't die like this. He had so much to do, he had a life to live. He would marry Ginny, have lots of children, and live to the ripe old age of 104. This was unfair!
He couldn't leave behind Ron and Hermione, leave behind his friends and family.
No, no, NO!
But Harry's exhausted grip was slipping on the rock, and he felt himself let go. The tattered fabric fluttered, as if reaching out gently for him, and he felt no more pain as he passed through the Archway.
All that was left was glowing scarlet dust. It hovered in the air for a few beautiful seconds, mixing with the emerald green, before dispersing into the falling rubble from the roof.
There's a day when the world burns around us,
Then the best die and leave us behind.
Because the darkness won't tarnish
The sacrifice
A/N The explanation for why the Dementors disappeared is next chapter, but it's a bit subtle, so read carefully.
