Author's note: Hey there, this is my first time writing a fanfic. I don't claim to own any of the characters; this is my personal fantasy of what happens when two of my favorite series clashes. I'm just going to have fun with it, and I hope you like it!

Harry, Hogwarts, and Halla

Chapter 1: St. Daine's Dementors

A lone raven circled in the bronze twilight night on Privet Drive, Little Winging, in the lonely suburbs of a city in England. It flew, unnoticed by all but a dark-haired adolescent with round glasses perched on his nose. He rubbed the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead when he spotted it, weaving between the telephone wires.

Harry Potter was lying back in the shrubs under the window. Getting dirty was not something he worried about; his oversized hand-me-downs from his pugnacious cousin and shabby sneakers lent little to the goodwill of the neighbors. He knew they thought him shabby and uncouth, and little did he care.

He was too busy to worry about such trivial matters anyway. The most evil wizard in the world had risen again, and he had already tried to kill Harry three times in the past four years alone, and for some reason he had a stinking suspicion that Voldermort wouldn't throw tradition this year.

Harry had a problem, though: he had been totally isolated the entire summer. He had gotten zero news about what Lord Voldy-pants was up to, and barely a "how are you" from his friends Ron and Hermione. So Harry was reduced to hiding in the shrubbery to catch the news, because his estranged aunt and uncle wanted him out of their sight for as long as possible.

Not that the muggle (non-magical) news had much of worth on. Disasters, disappearances, and murders were what he was looking for. Those could, at least, have been caused by Voldermort's crazed followers, the Death Eaters.

Suddenly a booming crack filled the air, and, without thinking, Harry whipped his wand from his back pocket and sprang up. Before he could try to locate the source, his skull felt like it was being split in two, and he nearly fell over. It seemed he had forgotten he was under the windowsill, and had hit his head on the wood. Worse yet, the windowsill belonged to the house of none other than his reluctant foster family, the Dursleys.

More pain ripped at his scalp as his uncle Vernon dragged Harry through the window by his hair. "Boy! What do you think you're doing? Brandishing that thing! Put it away now, before someone sees." Terror and rage filled the maroon face of his uncle. Vernon's mustachioed maw was spewing saliva and cookie crumbs as he stuck his face inches from his nephew's, so as to better scream at him.

Harry had heard it all before, and, quite frankly, did not want to hear the speech again. The Dursleys detested all things magical and supernatural, and Harry had used this knowledge from time to time to his aid.

They struggled for a minute or so; outside the gigantic raven cawed again, and alighted on the fence. It seemed to fix its gaze on the Harry, and he felt a stab of pain in his scar. At that particular moment Uncle Vernon released Harry, as if he could no longer defile himself by touching his nephew.

Harry braced himself, and daydreamed the entire way through his uncle's shouting. When he had done, Harry looked at the man's puce face and turned to leave. He walked out the door and ran down the street.

Harry slowed and sat on the park swings. He saw his cousin Dudley and his gang a ways away, picking on some kid. Harry wanted to go and invite a fight, to egg them on so they could really get their asses kicked. Then warning bells went off in his head, and his fantasy dissipated as he remembered his godfather's warning. "Don't be rash" Sirius's voice echoed in his head.

So Harry sat back and watched as each of Dudley's gang members left Magnolia Lane with the same call: "See ya' big D!" When they were gone, Harry wandered over to his cousin. He wasn't quite sure why, it was an impulse; a whim, some might say.

Nothing strange or out of place happened for a majority of their journey. Dudley (now wider than he was tall) threatened Harry, Harry threatened him back. Then Dudley crossed the line. "Dad, Mum, help me! Help me! Save me! He's gonna' kill me mum!" he mimicked in a warbling falsetto. "Dad! Mum! He's killed Cedric! Why! Help me!' Who's Cedric, your boyfriend?" Dudley cackled as he revealed the content of Harry's recurring nightmare.

Harry was shaken. He had revisited the graveyard where Cedric was killed most nights, but he didn't know he talked in his sleep! And Dudley heard? Suddenly he was filled with a terrible rage. What did he know about that? He couldn't possibly know what Harry had been through!

He pinned his wand to his cousin's meaty forehead. Suddenly, the bravado was gone. "You take that back now, Dudley and never speak of it again! Forget it! Do you understand me?" he growled at the sniveling mass of pink flesh in front of him.

"Caw! "Caw!" The raven had followed. Harry suddenly noticed a massive black bird perched above him. The air took on a chill, and his blood ran cold. Dudley collapsed in a cold faint. The sound of a rattling breath being drawn filled the air. Dementors were in Little Winging.

"Dudley, cover your mouth. Don't open it again." Harry commanded his reviving cousin. Harry dredged his happiest memory to the forefront of his mind, and concentrated with all his might on that thought. Once, twice, the patronuses failed. The third time, a shining silver stag erupted from his wand. The one of the dementors had already made their way to Dudley, and was lowering its hood. Harry's patronus charged the creature, and drove it through where the monster's heart would have been. It turned and chased away the second dementor with it.

Harry hefted his gargantuan cousin up to his feet. Dudley was shaken, his eyes staring wildly in front of him. Suddenly, their neighbor Mrs. Figg trotted into view. Gray hair fighting to escape the hairnet that bound it, carpet slippers flopping, and shopping bag clanking, she rushed toward the two boys.

Harry made to put his wand out of sight, but before he could, she said "don't put it away, idiot boy! What if they come back? I swear I will kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

Confused, Harry followed the raving old woman back to the Dursley's. On the way, he learned that Mrs. Figg was a squib. She was working for Dumbledore. He was having Harry watched for protection by the crazy cat lady and other wizards. That explained the loud crack earlier; Mundungus had apparated.

Along the way, Mundungus himself showed up. "FLETCHER I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" Mrs. Figg screamed. Harry became increasingly worried about the well-being of the old woman, whose face was turning several unnatural shades as Fletcher's story progressed. "You were out dealing stolen cauldrons on duty! Dumbledore will hear of this!" She screeched.

"So, I'm being followed?" Harry asked, to validate the nagging thought in his head. The old woman nodded her head and looked at him like he was an imbecile. "You think Dumbledore would let you alone and open for attack all summer? Good lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent…"

She left him at the Dursley's doorstep. Of course she was leaving him to deal with them himself… When they got inside, Dudley staggered to a kitchen chair and vomited. Petunia screamed, and the two elder Dursley's rushed to question their son.

"Who did this to you?" Vernon asked. Dudley pointed in Harry's direction and croaked "Him." Perfect time for him to hind his voice, Harry thought sardonically. Of course Vernon used his trademark bellow-at-Harry-while-acting-a-chameleon technique to interrogate and persecute Harry.

As Harry vehemently denied having caused his cousin's condition, an owl soared in through the window. Sure enough, Vernon howled about not having owls in his house, and Harry opened the letter. It was an expulsion notice from the Ministry of Magic's Improper Use of Magic Office.

Harry couldn't believe what he was reading. He was to be summoned to a hearing at 9 A.M. on August 12th, and ministry of magic officials would be arriving to destroy his wand. He would have to run; there was no way he could let that happen.

As he turned to leave the kitchen, another owl appeared. It was from Mr. Weasly:

"Harry-

Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasly"

As Harry was thinking this through, Vernon was still questioning him. "What were those letters about?" Harry replied coolly, "The first was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me. The second was from my friend Ron's dad who works at the ministry."

His uncle got a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Why are they expelling you?"

"For using my magic."

"So you did do something to Dudley!"

"No, that was the dementors. I used magic to get rid of them."

"What are dementy-whatsits? You're lying!"

It was Aunt Petunia who answered. "They guard the wizard prison Azkaban" Harry stared, and asked "How did you know?" Aunt Petunia looked horrified, and whispered "I heard them talking about it one day. He told her."

"What do they do?" Vernon asked. Harry answered simply. "They suck out your soul, but they didn't get the chance to kiss Dudley, so he should be just fine when he comes out of shock." Vernon just looked at him, and then seemed to decide to believe it. Then another owl came.

"ENOUGH EFFING OWLS!!!" He raged "I HATE those DAMN BIRDS!!" Harry was already opening the Ministry notice. He could keep his wand until his fate was decided at the disciplinary hearing on the 12th. That was good news… it meant he wasn't expelled.

Just as Uncle Vernon was reaching the peak of his tirade about the owls, yet another one flew in and perched on the couch. He was practically foaming at the mouth by that point. "WILL….NOT….BE….TOLERATED!" he gurgled furiously. If Harry wasn't preoccupied with the situation at hand, watching his uncle would have struck him as humorous. The last owl was from Sirius. Mr. Weasly had informed "them" (whoever them was…) about what had happened. Also, whatever he did, he was not to leave the house again. How infuriating.

Uncle Vernon was sadistic. "You! You're on the run from the law! That's why these things are happening! ADMIT IT!" He bellowed, half on the floor and pointing at Harry with an accusing finger.

"That's not how it is" Harry tried to explain. "Of course I'm not a criminal. He must have sent them…" said Harry, almost more to himself than his salivating uncle. Vernon looked at him witheringly and said "Who?"

"Lord Voldermort"

"He… he's the one who…"

"Murdered my parents. Yup."

"Isn't he dead?"

"No. He's back." Said Harry weightily. Petunia stood stock-still with horror. "Back?" she whispered fearfully. At that moment, Harry realized she understood. Well, she understood the danger, at least…

"Yes, he's back. I saw him when he returned, a month ago." Harry said, speaking to her. Uncle Vernon and she digested the news in silence. Then Uncle Vernon stated "Go. Get out of the house now. OUT! OUT! Go now! I've had it with your lot!"

Just then another owl flew in and straight at Petunia and dropped a red envelope on her head. Petunia snatched it before anyone else could touch it. Harry knew that whatever was inside, they would all soon hear. It was a Howler.

"Better to open it," He said. "It's a howler." Then the envelope burst into flame. "REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA" roared a deep voice. Harry wondered who would send his aunt a howler. Just then she turned to Vernon and said firmly "The boy stays."

Harry's uncle tried to question her, but she was adamant. Reluctantly, he agreed. She turned to Harry, back to her normal sour self. "Go up to bed." With that statement, it seemed all subjects concerning magic were once again closed.

Meanwhile, outside in the black of night, a single raven alighted on the chimney. It cawed once, and then melted into a smoky distortion of matter as it changed shape. Where the Raven had been stood an imposing individual.

He was closing in on seven feet tall, wearing a well-made black suit. His ice blue eyes were cold and cruel. His hairless head was covered in blood red, vein-like scars that spread across his skull, like spidery bolts of lightning all over his head. His pale, calculating features shone in the moonlight.

St. Daine chuckled, and a small smile played on his thin-lipped mouth. His eyes pierced the night and the air grew colder as his deep voice disturbed the silence. "What a pleasant turn of events. I do believe the pieces of my plan are falling into place. Bobby does have his work cut out for him with this one…" With that, the demon transfigured again, and with a piercing shriek soared away into the night.