AN: I know I shouldn't be starting a new story, but I've had this knocking around in my head for a couple of years now, so I decided to finish it up and post it, hope you guys think it's good.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or fandoms, either mentioned or implied.
Enjoy.
He gazed over the crusaders as they charged full pelt over the desert. He searched the Horizon for those they were pursuing. A dust cloud was all that could be seen. But he knew he could not interfere. And so he watched, as the Axis forces crushed the Allies. He turned away only to see a ethereal being holding out a hand.
"Time to go, eh?" He asked, before chuckling when the being didn't answer. It never did, why would this time be any different?
As he took the hand, he felt the familiar tug to his naval. And, as always he fell in a heap. He stood, straightened his storm coat, and looked around. He seemed to be in a graveyard of some sort, probably a private one judging by the fine manor house he could see in the distance.
He was shocked out of his observations by a scream. A familiar scream, a scream the echoed in his skull. He knew that scream. He turned towards the source and saw a circle of black robed men, surrounding four teens and a creature who looked disturbingly like the Silence. All four teens were writhing on the ground in agony.
"Halt!" He shouted.
"Well, well, well." The Silence look alike drawled in a voice that made him shiver. "What do we have here? It seems that someone has come to rescue you Potter. Shall we see if they can stand against the might of Lord Voldemort!?"
Potter, Potter. Why did that name seem so familiar? While he pondered this, the Silence look alike launched a sickly green beam from his stick? No wand. He wasn't sure how he knew that it was a wand, but he did. He was subsequently hit in the chest by a green bolt of energy that made him feel…tingly. The caster stared at him as if he was waiting for something to happen.
"Hmm, that tickled." he said, with a feral expression before drawing the large boxy pistol at his hip, brought it up, aimed and let loose a hail of high-explosive, micro millimetre bullets that tore through the masked figures surrounding the children.
All the masked figures grinned as they just felt a small pinch on their chest. They started to wave their wands to cast a number of, rather deadly, curses and hexes, when they were vaporised.
Both the children, teens now that he gave them a proper look over, and the Silence look alike, he really needed to find out that guys name, oh right Vol-de-mort, stared at him.
"Is there something in my teeth?"
"Perhaps I was a little hasty in my decision to eliminate you."
"Don't listen to him! He's evil!"
"Silence you foolish girl!" The man, he decided to call him a man, even though he was a hideous parody of the form of the Homo Sapien species, almost what they would look like if you added a dash of snake into the mix, shouted. "Don't pay attention to her, she simply misunderstood the situation. Such things happen, as you can imagine."
"So that's why Potter's so familiar. My birth name's Potter, don't you know. But why would I be rescuing myself?"
"Yo-your name's P-p-potter? But-but, you're dead! I killed you!"
"Well you obviously didn't do a very good job of it." He retaliated, sounding quite put out. But then who wouldn't?
As the he began to raise the strange contraption in his hand, Voldemort turned with a sharp CRACK! He, thinking that Voldemort was trying to run, snapped off a shot. A sudden scream was his only reply as Volemort apparated away.
With that he turned around to the four teens who were lying on the ground catching their breath.
"Greetings, younglings! I am Harrison Jameson Potter! And you are?"
Heather Potter, Girl-who-lived, Fourth Champion, and all-round pretty good witch, was having what was possibly the worst year of her life so far. First, she found her boyfriend of the past year, Dean Thomas, cheating on her, then she had been shanghaied into the tri-wizard tournament, never mind that she was under-aged and it's a tri-wizard, as in three contestants, closely followed near incineration, half-drowning courtesy of faulty gillyweed, oh, and let's not forget being made into a social pariah because she "cheated" her way into the tournament. And to top it all off, here she was, kidnapped with her sort-of friends sort-of opponents and forced to take part in a horrible ritual to resurrect her eldest brother's killer.
She felt a sharp pain in her right arm as the silver blade sheared through her flesh, spouting blood everywhere. She dimly heard the strange rodent like man chanting.
"Blood of the enemy forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe"
She could only watch in fascinated horror as the man repeated the procedure with each of her competitors, not even bothering to wipe the knife after each incision.
As the one-handed man stumbled back towards the stone cauldron fervently wished for someone, anyone, anyone at all, to save her. She swore she would be a better sister, to always do her homework, to do what ever it was her savour asked, if only someone would save her.
Unbeknownst to Heather, her fellow captives were making similar oaths, if only someone would save them, they would do what ever they asked.
Voldemort, wanting to show his superiority and enraged that his audience wasn't paying attention to him or his monologue, nodded to his followers, giving them silent approval to torture the captives.
What neither the Deatheaters or their victims knew was that their oaths, prayers and pleas resounded across all of time and space, before breaching the barriers between the universes and echoing through all of the multi-verse, aided by a prophesy forged with Heather's birth and completed by the actions of Voldemort.
Back in the graveyard, Harriet felt the worn obsidian and emerald locket she had worn since the day of her brothers death, heat as the men in black robes tortured them. The pain stopped with a sudden snap, as a voice exclaimed "Halt!"
All of the cloaked men, 'Deatheaters!' Heather realised with a start, and Voldemort turned towards this new comer.
"Well, well, well." Voldemort drawled "What do we have here? It seems that someone has come to rescue you Potter. Shall we see if they can stand against the might of Lord Voldemort!?"
Heather watched in horror as the man, who seemed to be lost in thought, was hit by the sickly green bolt of the death curse. Her rescuer was going to die, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Again her thoughts were mirrored by the rest of the hostages. As one, they whispered "I swear, upon my life and my magic, to-" the man's face was under-lit by the curse, "serve-" the man was struck by the bolt of emerald death, "my savour-"
"Hmm, that tickled." the man said.
"unto death or he releases me from his service and my oath. So mote it be."
As the teens finished their oaths, they stared at the man, who was still standing, despite being struck by an unblockable bolt of death from the most feared Dark Lord of recent memory, who Heather had escaped only by the sacrifice of her twin brother.
The man raised the device in his left hand. They heard twelve muted "BANG"s, one after another. Seeing the total ineffectiveness of the attacks, the Deatheaters grinned and the teens despaired, at least they did until the Deatheaters all burst, one after another, in a manner that reminded Heather of some of the beasts from her nightmares.
Everyone present stared at the man in undisguised shock. Not only had he just shrugged off the killing curse, and said that it tickled, but he had then gone on to practically vaporise twelve of Voldemort's inner-circle, all of whom were hardened murderers who could go head to head with the best of the ministries Aurors and Hitwizards and win. And he had just blown them up from the inside.
Seeing them staring, he asked "Is there something in my teeth?"
Voldemort was the first to recover. Seeing how the man had just eliminated some of his best, he realised that the man be of use to him.
"Perhaps I was a little hasty in my decision to eliminate you."
Heather, seeing what Voldemort was trying to do, tried to warn her savour.
"Don't listen to him! He's evil!"
"Silence you foolish girl!"
"So that's why Potter's so familiar. My birth name's Potter, don't you know. But why would I be rescuing myself?" The man concluded.
"Yo-your name's P-p-potter? But-but, you're dead! I killed you!"
Voldemort had turned extraordinarily pale as all of his blood drained from his face.
"Well you obviously didn't do a very good job of it." Was the man's reply. He really did sound quite put out about it, but then again who wouldn't, Heather reasoned, he's just been told tht the man in front of him had tried to kill him.
Voldemort turned tail and disapparated , but not before the man snapped off a shot, hitting the fleeing Darklord.
As Voldemort's scream faded, the man turned towards the teens.
As she looked him over in here hyper-aware, terror-induced state, she saw that he was clad in a well worn trench coat, fitted white, long-sleeved shirt, off-white cargo pants and a peaked cap, similar to the hats worn by the officers in the second world war. His face was ruggedly handsome, with stubble that gave him a dark and mysterious appearance, and a scar running from somewhere under the cap to midway down his cheek, which gave him a dangerous look. But it was his eyes that truly held her attention. They were vaguely almond shaped and were a brilliant emerald green. 'The same as mine' she thought dazedly. Only her eyes were like summer pools, tinted by light passing through the trees.
His eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen things no mortal man should see. His eyes were old eyes, so very old. Eyes that had watched Civilizations rise and fall, Empires triumph and burn, the eyes of a man who had seen the very stars burn out and had seen what comes after. His eyes were the eyes of a man who had stared into the abyss.
And the abyss had stared back.
She was broken out of her introspection by what the man said next. And sent into a shocked stupor.
"Greetings, younglings! I am Harrison Jameson Potter! And you are?"
So there it is. I probably won't update this story all that much. I need to work on my other stories, but I'll be updating my stories as inspiration strikes. Also, the Warhammer crossover is minor, at least for now.
Thought for the day: Every lone spirit doubts his strength.
It seemed appropriate.