A/N: Finally! My Internet's been down, I've had writer's block but I still got this up! Even though this says 'Calasier Avamela Prologue', you still have to read Calasier Avamela to get this. This is basically to give you some background on the characters. Now, we get a view of what Hari was like before Draco came along to Valivial.
Calasier Avamela Prologue
Hari - Chapter 1: The Letters
The door closed with a satisfying snap. By running a hand through his hair, he easily smoothed back the once dreadfully untidy hair. This was how Hari liked it best. He had been given an image of Harry Potter by his parents and he had to act it out, however unwillingly. He hated the untidy hair, the unshapely clothes and needless glasses on his nose. It was bad enough that he had to spend acting like a nervous idiot without having to do it all day, How Athara could contend with it!
With a scoff, he pulled them off and threw off the second-hand robe, They would have me play a beggar to satisfy this illusion! Tearing off the Suppression Rosary, he gave a sigh of relief as he became an elf again. Locking the door of the Room of Requirement (though there was no real need to), he slumped onto a sofa. The Room had done a marvelous job at mimicking his chamber in the palace and made him more comfortable. At last, there was a fragment of his home world in the mortal one. He would remain with the little fools but he would not content to sleep in the same room.
Just as he was about to relax, he spotted something. A letter sat on the table, rolled up and sealed with red wax, Athara. He broke the seal and unfurled it, What new demand does she bring?
To my dear son, Prince Hari, from the Queen of Valivial, greetings,
It has come to my attention that Quirrel is making his move. I must again urge you to do something about it. In past letters, you have made excuses that this is not your world. I do not expect such selfishness from my own son. As your mother and your queen, I order you to stop Quirrel before he reaches the Philosopher's Stone. Your friends' lives are at stake and I do not want to see this level of selfishness from you again.
Hari sighed again. He had known for a long time that Quirrel was a villain. He had asked Noalith to come to Hogwarts specially and had told his parents that he managed to sense Voldemort there, He always struck me as the fool. A stuttering, witless thing who recoils at the sight of a worm. Dumbledore must be the greater fool, though, if he was fooled by him and allowed him to stay.
No matter how he acted to others, he disliked Albus Dumbledore. He thought him a soft old fool who would let a snake live even if it gave him a fatal bite, Does he know nothing of honour and of vengeance? He has none of a warrior's pride and they look up to him like he is their saviour. If he were a soldier of the Akhohr, I would have sent him to been retired long ago to tend a farm! Warriors who cannot fight are no use to me.
He reached into his trunk and pulled out his sword, I'll bet that he does not even possess one. Imagine! He held it up to the light of the bowl of fire lit above him, "Ah, Bellime. You must find these days as tedious as I. In Valivial, you were the treasure of the kingdom, as much of an honourable presence as your master. People would bow to you were you human, worship you in floods were you a deity. Now, you are an object. What a way you have fallen. What a way I have fallen."
He was bored, he had to admit. He longed for battle and glory. He longed for the beauty of the Elven world. He longed for people giving him the proper respect. The stone of Hogwarts was dull, the corridors dingy, the mortals undignified. His mother had talked at length of how she loved Hogwarts yet Hari could draw no love of the place. The resistance of temptation he faced every day made things no better. Why of all places did he have to fall for the poison of love again here?
No, think not on it. He drew a scroll towards him, dipped a quill in his ink and began to write:
To the slave of Voldemort, Quirrel,
I know your secret. You will be exposed. To know your identity before your doom, meet me in the forests outside Hogwarts after nightfall of the fifth day.
It was short but so would be his plan. It would end quickly. He liked to end things quickly. He simply did not act because he did not feel obliged to defend this dull place with no fight in it. His plan would work. The order to come outside the safety of Dumbledore's eye would be obeyed. It was written on specially enchanted paper and those it was addressed to had to obey it.
When he left the Room of Requirement the next day, he put on the Harry Potter facade, laughed and made idle chatter with the other Gryffindors. His eyes never met them though. One eye, as always, was on the beauty across the hall. The other was on Quirrel as he opened his green-wax-sealed letter. His face went pale and his eyes widened. He was quivering to his silly concealing turban. Hari smiled while Harry pointed him out to Ron,
"What's up with Quirrel?"
"Dunno." Ron glanced over, "Hey," He dropped his voice, "d'you reckon Snape's sent a threat to him?"
"Yeah. I bet he did." Harry nodded. Hari had allowed them to labour under this illusion to greater lead them away from the truth. It did not do to have too many followers in the act he would commit. He would have to conceal his plans from Dumbledore, his parents and the wizarding world. He knew what an attitude they took to what he saw was the only course of action necessary for the traitor.
On the night of the meeting, Hari did not take off the Suppression Rosary but smoothed back his hair, left his glasses on a table and pulled on some specially down-sized Elven clothes he had requested. He felt wonderfully refreshed, like he had just washed off the sullies of the world from his skin. The rich clothes were welcome after the primitive cotton of Harry's clothes.
Bellime was drawn, the window was opened and the ghostly figure leapt from it. Elves' bodies were not so fragile and even with a Suppression Rosary, he managed to land without injury. They were their toughest after the Elf reached one thousand years old and, since Hari had long passed that moment, he straightened up without a care and strode across the grounds. His high boots made no sound against the ground. The velvet made no rustle as he swung his arms a little.
Hari was skilled in the art of secrecy. He stole across the ground with the light-footed grace only an elf could manage. The forest boded no threat to him. He, a great warrior could overcome any of the creatures there. He knew; he had been in there more than once. Centaurs and Acromantulas were fearsome to humans but his skill with a sword meant that he could get by them.
Therefore, he took the route through the forest. This time, he was not looking for a quarrel with the animals there. He took secret paths, therefore. He wondered whether Hagrid knew them or no. Nevertheless, he left no trail and any marks he left on the ground were too small for him to see anyway. The trees cast dark shadows but he was never frightened of the dark. The dark held no threat to a keen Elf's eye.
He reached the wall which separated Hogwarts from the outside world. With a deft leap, he cleared the wall easily. Humans could never manage it but, then again, he was never human. Striding along the borders, he spotted Quirrel ahead. He was easy to spot with that turban. But, he was no longer quivering, This is his true apparel. Keeping in the shadows, Hari called out to him,
"You have come, Quirrel."
The man jumped and looked around wildly, putting on the silly little stutter, "W-who's there?"
"Oh, do stop it, Quirrel. This is me you speak to. I know your stutter is an act, as are other aspects of yourself." He readied Bellime. A voice came from the turban. One he knew to Voldemort,
"Step forward, boy. Let me see your face."
Hari stepped forward with no quiver. He had faced more fearsome foes than this. His scar was covered and he was sure Quirrel would not recognise him,
"You have been a deceived slave, Quirrel," Hari raised Bellime a little, "but I have no mercy for those who serve my enemies." Another step and he was within range. He took it and Bellime became simply a silvery blur. The turban unfurled in a purple ribbon from the severed head of Quirrel. Something smoky emerged from it and a face appeared within it. Voldemort glared at him mutinously,
"I recognise you, Harry Potter." He snarled, "You wear the same clothes as your father did that night he and your mother defeated me. What lies you spin around this world! You make yourself another face in the eyes of your fellows and hide a bloodthirsty nature beneath it. What they would say if they knew their so-called Boy-Who-Lived was a fraud and a murderer?"
"They will not know." Hari answered calmly, "Who would believe your word over mine?"
With a final growl, the smoke vanished in a greyish streak, leaving Hari standing over the headless Quirrel.
A/N: Very short, yes. But you do get the point quickly!