Chapter Two

Moonwork: The Beginnings of the War

When Harry Potter woke up it was as if he had woken up from a great slumber. He felt tired, exhausted actually as if he couldn't move a muscle and usually he was a fit warrior, always ready for action. So when Ron Weasley poured a pail of cold water over his face he was surprised when he didn't reach for his knife that always stayed strapped on his ankle, or try to choke the afore mentioned party like he normally would. In fact he found himself too tired to move, the inertia claimed him and wouldn't let him out of its grip. All he could do was open his eyes and what a hard thing that was too.

Distantly he heard Ron's voice coming from somewhere far away and slowly reality steeped into Harry Potter like a warm hot chocolate on a cold winter afternoon. He felt awakened and more energized than before but still he could not catch Ron's voice, it was like static, he couldn't tell what the boy was saying. A boy… the thought almost made him chuckle but he had lived too long and seen too much to be able to laugh any more. The only thing he did was move his eyes to take a look at Ron's visage:

Red hair, freckled face, warm eyes. Okay. This was Ron Weasley. A little kid. What was he, Harry Potter, a hell of a lot older than Ron Weasley doing in… in… where the hell was he anyways?

He looked around as he slowly got up. He was in his Hogwart's dorm! Uh oh… the memories started rushing back so fast he got an instant headache. He screamed, a bone chilling scream that surprised even him and he clutched his scar. Scar? He had no scar but he did, he could feel his scar bursting with hurt, anger and pain. What the hell was going on.

"Harry! Harry, are you alright?" Ron said, sounding worried.

"I'm fine, mate," Harry croaked out and stumbled out of the bed, feeling the soft carpeting on his feet. Bloody hell, it couldn't be! The past – his past – seemed a dream, but here he was, only was it a dream or a nightmare?

He didn't know, he couldn't tell anything anymore, all was confusing and the whole room started spinning around rapidly like the yellow merry go round near Privet Drive where he once lived
(Privet Drive? What's Privet Drive?)
where he used to go to get away from Dudley Dursley. Who? What was he? Where was he? What the hell was going on? His thoughts were all jumbled up and screaming at him and his scar was burning and boiling. "Aahh," he groaned in pain as he stumbled his way into the washroom. The white porcelain tiles gleamed at him but the markings on the tap that he knew were there (how? Was I here before?) looked blurry.

Glasses, thought he, a picture of his stellotaped spectacles rising in his mind like smoke, the kind of smokey smoke that came from the cigars the Minister of Magic (Ruforth Mugguhy, man of a thousand faces) used to smoke. An image of a cigar rouse in his mind, half smoked, hanging limply from the late minister's teeth. The Minister had been dead when Harry had entered the office, assassinated at the hands of death eaters and that had been so close to his own family's assassination that-
STOP!

JUST STOP GODDAMIT! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!! His mind screamed at him and suddenly all was quiet and still.

He turned on the tap, cold water surged out. He cupped a handful and splashed it across his face as he looked at himself in the mirror. Gone was the ponytail, the cool looking specs, the bandanna and the seven o'clock shadow on his face that one got from lack of shaving. Everything was gone, and all was left was a younger version of himself.

Bloody Hell it worked!

"IT FUCKING WORKED!" Harry yelled out, grinning maniacally like a monster.

"Harry?" Ron asked, coming up from behind him. "What the hell is goin' on?"

"Ron! Ron you're dead-" Harry's eyes widened as realization came and on the heels of that came the greatest feeling of happiness Harry had ever experienced. All his loved ones were alive! They were all alive, and well, and happy as well and Voldemort? Where's Voldemort?

"Voldemort, where's he?" Harry asked Ron, who flinched as if Harry had struck him open handedly.

"Bloody hell, don't say his name."

I remember! Harry felt in awe, of everything, of Hogwarts which in his own world was gone, destructed, imploded from death eater attacks – no from him. He remembered with clarity how he himself blew Hogwarts up in a fit of rage to prevent the death eaters from getting him. He started laughing, he could already feel the castle hating him and fearing him. The castle was a sentinent being, everyone knew that or at least the observant ones did, Luna, Dumbledore, etc. etc.

But still here he was in the past and now… the possibilities were endless. He started walking out of the dorm, picking out every detail as he entered the COMMON ROOM from the fireplace to the red armchairs and the golden reddish wallpaper. Everything was just perfect. He was perfect and he looked from the corner of his eye at Ron: his old friend.

Life was godlike for him right now and on the heels of that came a startling realization, here in the past with the knowledge of the future and his own proficiency, he was a god, or at the very least a demigod.

How wrong he was!

He went out of the Gryf House, looked at the fat lady for at least a minute and then he moved his way down the stairs to the kitchens. All along the way Ron Weasley followed like a lost puppy, continuing conversation in a monotone and he looked pretty worried as well. God, can't you just shut up, Harry said in his mind but of course he didn't say it aloud for fear of hurting his friend's feelings.

He had always blamed himself for Ron's death, along with the deaths of his family. After all they wouldn't have died if they weren't near Harry Potter and the whole point of the assassination was subsceded because Harry was still alive. He had been opposite, picking out a book for some light reading later when the !!MAGIK-BOMB!! exploded in showers of green and gold like a thousand fire crackers going of all at once, a la Gnadalf style form that movie Lord of the Rings.

"Umbargio!" Harry heard a voice say, he looked across the hallway at two first years trying to change a feather into a flower. Basic transfiguration how he missed it. He smiled gently and then he heard a voice break his moment of goldenness. "We're going to be late for classes, Harry!"

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said softly as he continued down the hallway to the pears in the fruit ball where he distinctly remembered what to do. Tickle the pear to get the food. He wished for a second he could enjoy his food in peace and solitude just to take in what had happened and though he appreciated Ron Weasley, don't think for one moment he didn't because after all he had wished for everyone to be alive, it was his heart's desire but still… he was a hermit deep inside.

"Go to class Ron." Harry said and entered the Kitchens. He wished he had some music to go along with it and though he could probably conjure some with a wand- wiat, where was his wnad?

Oh Jaisus Chroist, he thought tiredly, so many things to do.

01038502

VOLDEMORT is MAD, HE is A MAD MOTHAFUCKA, thinks the crazy man. This man's a psycho, completely off his loony. That was Iago for you though, this man, with his glowing red eyes that shined brighter than the harvest moon and in fact it looked exactly like the harvest moon. There he was walking along with a golden cane tap tapping on the gravelly ground, humming along to the tune he was listening to on his headphones which were plugged to an archaic tape recorder. He seemed to be listening to bach, because his whistling took on the same kind of tune and tone and though it was a women's whistle – very high pitched – it still sounded GOOD.

Voldemort stared from the high windows up on the second floor of the Riddle House. He sat on the armchair, a scowl forming on his face. He had called his associate? Friend? Ally? He called this man for help but now he was already regretting it knowing that he couldn't torture or kill the man, Iago was too delicate and fragile for that, not to mention powerful as well though in different ways.

Iago looked up, red eyes met red eyes and suddenly before Voldemort could blink – something he didn't do very often – Iago was standing next to Voldemort, hand over Voldemort's shoulder. "Why hello, young man."

"Iago," Voldemort said coldly. "The one and only Iago. My friend…"

"Not your friend, not your enemy. Nothin' but music." There was a loud booming sound as Iago exploded in a shower of bluish sparks. Voldemort looked down, where Iago once stood there was a rabbit.

"Nothin but magic," the rabbit said, one eye blue the other eye red, mouth curled up in a vicious smirk.

"Demon," Voldemort said, sighing. "You know the demon ways, I needy our help."

"And I need my price, you know that."

"I know, you want a sacrifice. Peter, come here."

Iago shook his head, his face was grayish and wrinkled, and stayed dull compared to his bright glowing red eyes that gleamed in the darkness making his face seem like a fake mask. "What do you want most in life Tom?"

"Immortality."

"Indeed and I have told you time and time again you will never achieve it with the way you are going. You are not following the path to immortality, only setting yourself up for destruction."

"I don't want your advice," Voldemort said. "I want your service."

"I'm sure you know what I want right?"

"Willing sacrifices," Voldemort said reluctantly.

"Well, guess what, Peter isn't willing."

Iago pulled out a cigarette and lit it up with a blink of his eye. "But tell you what, I'll give you a freebie, a favor if you like, one that you will have to repay later on."

Voldemort stayed silent for some time before finally saying, and his voice sounded forced too, "Fine."

"Okay, what do you want?"

"Harry Potter's blood."

Iago started laughing hard, "This will be fun. He is an emissary of the Dragon, my arch-enemy. This will be so INTERESTING!" And then he was gone, just disappeared in mid air and Voldemort was conscious of the fact that he just made a terrible mistake. Iago was a demon, he would extract ten times the price of his help.

"Peter," Voldemort snarled, turning upon his serving follower angrily. "It's all your fault. CRUCIO!"

"Master no!" Peter fell to the ground screaming and that was that.

----

One day deep in the darkness of the universe there was a boom and three perfect creations were created out of the nothingness that pervaded everything and everyone: THE DRAGON, THE HUMAN, THE ELF.

The Dragon was the demon that Harry already met, the demon that generously granted Harry's deepest desire for the highest price possible. It was a good demon, as good as a demon could get under the circumstances. These three demons were at war and they couldn't afford to be NICE, but the Dragon was nice anyways to Harry Potter because he (YANG) liked Harry.

The Human, Also Known As Iago, a man with a thousand faces, once a Minister of Magic in Harry's time, faked his own assassination. This man moves through the world in a thousand disguises always seeking fulfillment and ENJOYMENT which he can only get by eating willing souls. Cults and Rock Fans are his favorite kinds of people for the aforementioned reasons. Iago was merciless and cared only about himself and the elf…?

The elf was weird. That's the only way you can describe it in human words: weird. Nobody knew or knows or will know where he is, what he wants, what he is, what's he doing. He's invisible because he has taken on a higher form: nothingness.

Out of these three demons, one shall arise who will lay claim to the universe and from there challenge the highest demon in the hierarchy which is GOD to the mantlehood of supreme power and each wants that position.

Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort… they are just pawns in the demon wars.