Disclaimer: I own nothing
In the dead forest, a man is running for his life. He hears cracking and popping as his pursuers draw closer. Bolts of light fly past him impacting against the surrounding trees, sending splinters flying. A few graze his cheek while others embed themselves in his arms that he raised to protect himself. With a step, twist, and a crack he distances himself from them, just a little farther.
He can't stop.
He won't stop.
More cracks echo behind him. They keep coming, no matter what he does they keep following him. It's been this way for eleven years.
He fights.
He runs.
They follow.
It's always been this way.
And tonight he's counting on that.
One of them clips his leg before he can step away, and his mind is assaulted with pain as the bone explodes. His leg is little more than a tattered rag now. Biting down a scream, he blocks out the pain and continues forward. He's almost there, one more step should do the trick.
He can't stop.
He won't stop.
He's suddenly yanked back by a dirty, clawed hand. A gasp of pain wrenches itself from his mouth as he lands on his shattered leg. Without looking back, he raises his palm behind his and intones the incantation in his mind.
Incendio
A gout of flame burst from his hand, engulfing his enemy who releases him immediately. He moves onward, leaving the wretch to roll around frantically trying to put out the flames. He knew it wouldn't kill them, werewolves are stronger than that, but he couldn't afford to do anything fancy. He was saving it for the big finale, and he was almost there. With another step and a crack, he arrives at his destination.
There's a small clearing surrounded by withered trees, with sticks and leaves haphazardly strewn about hiding a complex runic circle from view. Hopefully they wouldn't notice, they never were the most observant.
Reaching underneath his black cloak he grasps the silver handle of a sword, with rubies embedded in the pommel and handguard. Drawing it from its scabbard, the sound of scraping metal is heard as a sleek double-edged blade is revealed.
It would be considered beautiful if it weren't for the dark aura emanating from it, cultivated through the slaying of countless lives and the poison held within. He reminisces on when he first held it in his hands. Thirteen long years ago, and two years before the war. It has seen him through many battles and saved his life on more than one occasion. It's a shame what he must do to it now.
Plunging it into the center of the formation, he rests his weight on the sword and waits. Drawing in from the vast current of power below, the weapon is now a conduit between him and the world. Energy flows into him as nearly all his preparation are complete. Now all he needs is time.
Unfortunately, that's the one thing he doesn't have. A tearing sound is heard across from him and a hole opens up in the fabric of reality, through it he can see a gothic throne room, complete with a black throne. Stepping through the hole is a regal, pale man with slicked back black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes are a deep red with snake-like pupils. It is the Dark Lord, Voldemort.
He must have looked pathetic to the current ruler of the world in front of him. With his cloak in tatters and his black muggle attire in a similar state, dirty matted hair, splinters of various sizes running up and down his arms, a leg blown to hell, and numerous cuts adorning face, he looked like a man on the verge of defeat.
He was anything but.
"I grow tired of these games Harry," his voice is smooth, serpentine, and unnatural, "this world is mine, and everyone but you seems to have accepted that. It is… frustrating to say the least."
"I live to serve," responded Harry before finishing with a mocking grin, "my lord."
"Keep up that false bravado all you want you insolent brat, I can see how terrified you are, after all," the Dark Lord drawled, pointing at Harry's hand, "you're shaking like a leaf."
Startled, he looked down at the hand holding the Sword of Gryffindor. It was trembling, but not of fear, no, instead because of the absurd amounts of magical energy flowing into him. It was much greater than before and he was curious as to what had happened, but he also started to panic a bit. He couldn't let Voldemort focus too much on the sword or his hand or else he might detect what was going on.
For you see Harry had set up a complex formation meant to channel potent magical energy from the surrounding area into his body. And he had chosen this spot specifically as it was a location within the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts where several ley lines crossed. Ley lines are a series of crisscrossing natural forming channels of magic that span the entire globe. Hogwarts was built on one of these intersections, as well as Stonehenge coincidentally, and so was this runic array.
And now that energy was flowing into Harry, and at an unexpected and alarmingly fast rate, one that he wasn't sure his body would be able to keep up with for very long. This was not according to plan.
"Soon I shall break you, just as I have broken all your friends, comrades, and lovers," he taunted, toying with a wand he pulled out from his robes, "if I remember correctly, this one belonged to that metamorphmagus friend of yours. Oh, she was such fun to toy with, I never knew that her kind could take on such fascinating forms, her screams were delightful."
Harry clamped down on his emotions with occlumency, he couldn't afford to lose control now, this was a critical moment.
"I must tell you that our sessions were so very informative," his snake eyes flashed with malice, and his regal features twisted into an ugly grin, "It was truly a fascinating experience, learning the limitations and capabilities of a metamorph, did you know for example that when performing human transfiguration on-"
That did it, the dam broke and Harry's rage poured through in full force before he was able to reign it back in and his control on the turbulent magic beneath him loosened. Just for a millisecond, but that was all it took to send it into haywire.
He had to act quick.
Drawing from his now immensely overflowed reserves he thrust his free hand towards the black-robed serpent and muttered the incantation in his head.
Accio
Using the maelstrom of magic from the ley lines he overpowered the anti-summoning charms protecting the Dark Lord, violently pulling him towards his outstretched hand.
Screaming from the pain of releasing such potent magic through his system, a pale blue glow began to emanate from underneath his skin as the madman came flying towards him. His skin begins to crack, and pure, raw magic started to exude from his body. A giant blue pillar of energy formed as Harry prepares himself.
Mid-flight, Voldemort realized Harry's plan and his red eyes widened in realization. His body twisted as he attempted to apparate away.
Harry's eyes, now enhanced by the excess magic saw this all in slow motion and he let a vindictive smirk form on his face. It was too late, for both of them.
Gotcha you bastard.
This was the only way, and it was months in the making. Harry knew he couldn't outduel the Dark Lord, and while he might have possessed more power than Voldemort he didn't have his cunning, experience, speed, or knowledge. Sure he picked up a lot of useful things in the war, none of them seemed to be able to even the odds. Save for his most recent discovery, runes. The one area that his enemy deemed unnecessary. Turns out that half-baked prophecy was true after all.
And now it would be the end of both of them.
Harry released his control on the swirling vortex of arcane energy, both within him and beneath the earth. As he did so he felt every atom of his being disintegrate and caught a glimpse of the Dark Lord, mid-apparate, being caught up in the wave of destruction.
His job was done.
And the world was engulfed in pale blue.
Author's Note: So here's the first full chapter I guess, it could also really be called Prologue Part 2 since the main story/premise kicks in during the next chapter. Let me know what you think. Any and all feedback is appreciated.
