Disclaimer: No, unfortunately I don't own Harry Potter, W.I.T.C.H., Final Fantasy 7, Final fantasy 7 Advent Children, Code Lyoko, Ben10, The Life and Times of Juniper Lee, American Dragon Jake Long, My Life as a Teenage Robot, Resident Evil, Shadowrun RPG, Dungeons & Dragons, Various D20 sources, any of the characters therein, or whatever else the reader may recognize as coming from a TV show, movie, comic book, book, or music video. This story is going to be a huge crossover as well as a self insert fic. It's written for the enjoyment of others in mind and not for any personal profit. Well, I really have no money anyway, so it would be pretty pointless to sue, huh?

Warning: The following story contains graphic descriptions of torture, mutilation, intense violence, and maybe some sexuality, I still haven't decided yet (pathetic, huh?). For safety's sake, this fic is rated M.

Thunderstruck: Chapter 3

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Corridor

Professor Minerva McGonagall was calm as she approached the Headmaster's office. She had finally made up her mind and she refused to turn back. As much as she hated to admit it, it was finally time to put her foot down. Pausing in front of the gargoyle guardian for Prof. Dumbledore's office, she had to take a moment to remember the password.

"Twizzlers" she said. Honestly, these passwords get more ridiculous every year. The gargoyle hopped aside. Climbing the stairs, she knocked on the office door.

" Come in Minerva" Prof. Dumbledore's voice came, muffled only slightly by the door.

I hate it when he does that! She thought as she opened the door. No doubt he thinks it amuses people.

Prof. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, apparently going over the list of new first year students for the coming year. His office had barely changed over the years. Desk in the center, portraits crowding the walls, mounds of paperwork, cluttered shelves of arcane knick-knacks. It was one of the few things that remained constant over the years. No matter what, Headmaster Dumbledore's office conveyed a sense of comfort and confidance. It was this fact that made any difference glaringly obvious.

Fawkes was missing.

Professor McGonnagal paused in surprise. raising one eyebrow at the empty perch, she stepped all the way into the office.

"Tell me Albus, where is Fawkes?"

"I...really don't know." He replied, clasping his hands beneath his chin. Directing a sad look at the perch, he continued. "I have not seen him in nearly a week, since my last visit to Azkaban. I do hope he returns soon, I quite miss my faithfull pet."

"Pet? Hmph. I was always under the impression that he was more of a companion or a partner than a pet." She shot him a small glare. "Perhaps he knows something that you refuse to even consider."

"Please, let us not start this again, Minerva. I realize that you felt very attached to the boy, but you must simply face facts. He is guilty, the prophesy was obviously false (serves me right for relying on Sibyll), and soon, he will be paying the ultimate penalty for his crime. Now please, no more of this nonsense. We have much work ahead of us to prepare for the coming school year."

"Correction, Professor Dumbledore. You have much to prepare for, not we. In light of recent events, and a great deal of soul searching on my part, I have decided to tender my resignation as both transfiguration professor of Hogwarts, and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I have no doubt that you shall be able to locate a qualified replacement before the school year begins again in two months."

"Minerva, please-"

"NO! I realize that you were relying on me a great deal. I, however, have made my decision. Sometimes I don't even know who you are anymore. You refuse to even consider the possability that you may be making a mistake. You think far to highly of yourself Professor. Where is the famous humility you once displayed? The fairness? The sense of true justice? All I see now is arrogance, egotism, and a complete disregard for valued laws. Even if Harry had killed the Dursleys, which I don't believe for a second, it would have been your fault!"

At that, Dumbledore looked completely shocked.

"My fault? How on Earth could it be my fault Minerva! How can I be held responsable for that murderer's decisions?"

Gritting her teeth at Prof. Dumbledore's obtuseness, Minerva retaliated swiftly.

"Really? It was you who repeatedly sent him back to that Purgatory of pain and anguish every year. For Merlin's sake! You knew they were beating and starving him. You just didn't care so long as those blood wards held! If Harry was indeed the killer, than you are the one responsable for creating him! Just as you created Voldemort the same way!"

Dumbledore's eyes now narrowed dangerously, the trademark twinkle now replaced by a cold hard edge rarely seen.

"If you continue with this course of action, I will have no choice but to notify the Ministry and have them place you under house arrest untill after Potter's execution."

Obviously dissapointed in him, but fully expecting that response, Minerva answered.

"I know. All my possessions are already packed. I merely request a few hours to say my goodbyes and to reach my home before you inform those Ministry boot-lickers."

"Granted, but do not take too long," he replied in a sadly resigned tone. "I can only hope that you come back to your senses before too long."

"I already have" she frowned back at him before she wheeled around, strode through the door, and closed it behind her.

Prof. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Dear Merlin, Potter. How many more do you intend to drag down with you before you finally die?" he muttered.

Finding no answers forthcoming, he heaved a great sigh and straightened up. Reaching for a quill and a blank sheet of parchment, he began to draft an advertisement for a new transfiguration professor to send to the Daily Prophet.

Meanwhile, as Minerva left the office, she paused. She had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. Glancing around and finding nothing, she shrugged it off as inconsequential. It was probably nothing she figured. Merely an odd sensation brought about by frazzled nerves and a riled temper.

As Minerva walked off, the entity watched her with satisfaction. She (for the entity was definitly female) was very glad that at least one staff member besides Hagrid didn't believe Harry guilty of these stupid charges. For the first time since his imprisonment, she began to feel hope.

Ever since the Founders had discovered this place of power and built their school here, she had watched all the dramas that had occured within these walls. It was, after all, far more interesting and important than simply drifting through the lifestream. This place was special to her long before the school was built. It was one of the few places on Earth where the lifestream came close enough to the surface for her presence to be felt and allow her to interact with people and things. Over time, she had gained complete controll over the castle in ways Dumbledore would have thought impossible. The Founders, confused by her presence, had simply named her Lady Hogwarts. Her real name was completely forgotten by history. It wasn't that she needed recognition, but honestly, who wanted to be named after a pig's skin blemish?

Well, for the past thousand years, she watched protectively over the school. She saw all the interactions between students, teachers, and other staff. Much of the time she was amused. At other times sad. Or rarely, angry. Now was one of those angry times. She knew Harry had not commited any crimes, much less murder. It simply wasn't in his character. And she would know. He was the descendant of two of the greatest friends she had ever had. Cloud and Tifa would be absolutely livid when they found out about this. Well, she thought. At least I can make my displeasure known around here. She knew that any manifestation involving the "Lady Hogwarts" was always taken seriously by the staff and students, as well as making big news everywhere in magical Britain. Time to make Albus Dumbledore sincerely regret his decisions regarding dear Harry. Though she was not a vindictive person by any stretch of the imagination, she felt that it was due time for some good old fashioned payback.

And with that thought, Aerith began to plan.

London - An upper middle class home

Hermione lay curled upon her bed as Hedwig watched her worridly from her perch atop one of the many bookshelves lining the walls of the room. She knew that she should be studying to prepare herself for her first year of highschool. Fortunately for her, it was relatively easy to bring herself up to the appropriate grade level. But every single time she picked up a book, her mind would wander back to the times she, Harry, and Ron would spend hours studying and doing homework in the Gryffindor comman room.

Even then, she could see Ron's jeolousy of Harry spiraling slowly out of controll. It was no secret that he greatly desired everything that Harry possessed. Wealth, fame, talent, respect. Everything he felt he had been wrongfully denied in life. So his turning against Harry during the trial was no real surprise to Hermione. No, the real surprise had been Ginny. That little slut! Apparently her crush on Harry had been based mostly on a desire to be connected to his fame and wealth. After her betrayel, Ginny found herself being courted by any boy who could get close enough. She obviously thrived on the attention. Both Ron and Ginny had gotten even more arrogant when Prof. Dumbledore had taken them into his home after they had been disowned. So now, they both bore the surname Dumbledore.

Dumbledore. Hermione scowled deeply as her thoughts turned to her former headmaster. How could she have blindly trusted him the way she did? She had expected him, of all people, to have complete faith in Harry. Instead, he seemed obsessed with preventing Harry from becoming another "dark lord". It was so easy for him to believe Harry guilty. Almost as though he had wanted Harry to be guilty. It was this attitude that had completely disillusioned Hermione.

"Hermione, dear?"

She raised her head at the sound of her mother's voice.

Ema Grainger was an attractive thirty eight year old woman. Looking at her, it was easy to see where Hermione had gotten her looks. Well, all except the bushy hair that is.

"Honey, are you alright?" She asked, love and concern radiating from her.

"No, not really mum. I still can't understand it. No matter how hard I try, I just can't see why it would be so easy for them to believe that Harry was guilty. He would never have killed the Dursleys. No matter how cruel they were. I just know it. He's the brother I've always wanted, mum."

Ema smiled.

"I know dear. You always were smarter than me." Deep pride was evident in her voice. "If you believe in his innocence, that's more than enough for me. I just wish you hadn't given up on your magic."

"How can I honestly be part of a society that disregards its own laws when it's convenient for them? And their citizens see nothing wrong with it! They're so set in their ways, that any new or revolutionary ideas are met with open hostility, fear, and scorn. That's one of the ways Mug-...er non magical people have an extreme advantage. No matter how insane the idea, there are people who will at least listen."

At this, Hedwig swooped down from her perch, landed on the bed's headboard, and gave a hoot of agreement. Ema laughed as her daughter stroked her affectionetly. It was easy to see that the snow white owl greatly missed her true master, no matter how much she liked Hermione. As she stopped laughing, Ema noticed a large chest in the corner of the room.

"Dear, you havn't even looked at the books Mr. Black left you in his will. I know your upset, but that just isn't like you at all."

Hermione sighed. "I know, mum. It isn't as though I'm not gratefull to Sirius, but I can't use any of it now. And at any rate, I can't even pick up a book without thinking of Harry."

"Than read and think of him. Let him inspire you. And unless I'm very much mistaken, the week before the trial, you were telling your father and I about the possabilities of wandless magic. There may be something in that old trunk you may be able to use, if not to help Harry, than to avenge him."

Hermione stared at her mother in shock. "What?" she whispered.

Ema's eyes drilled into her. "You are a brave and strong young woman. As a witch, you were at the top of your class from the very first day. This total miscarriage of justice cannot be tolerated. If there is anyone who can set things right, it's you. You, as always, have my complete faith and trust."

After gently kissing her daughter on the forhead, she continued.

"Well, I'd better get back downstairs and help your father with dinner before he kills himself. A brilliant dentist he may be, but a chef he is not. Please think about what I've said."

After Ema had left, Hermione carefully considered her words. After about twelve minutes, she had to concede that her mother was indeed correct. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she walked over to the chest and gingerly opened it. It was, predictably, filled to the brim with books straight from the Black library. Sirius had prepared it just for her while he had been stuck at Grimmauld Place. They were all very old, the youngest being written about three hundred years ago. Picking up one of the oldest, she stared at the title.

"A Treatise On The Most Ancient And Mysterious Art Of Truename Magic"

"Well, this looks interesting" she muttered to herself. Lying back down on the bed, she offered up a quick prayer for Harry, and opened the book.

The Old Riddle House

As he sat upon his throne, the Dark Lord smiled in appreciation of it's craftsmanship. It was made entirely from the bones of muggle-born witches and wizards. It's cushions were stitched from their skins and stuffed with their hair. Truly, this was a throne that inspired fear and awe in all who beheld it. So of course, the Dark Lord found it quite suitable for one of his noble stature. Leaning back and gripping the skulls at the end of each arm-rest, he looked out over his masked followers kneeling in a semicircle before their lord.

"Lucius, my old friend, any luck on translating the tomes you were so kind to provide for me?" he asked, his voice high, cold and cruel as ever.

"No, unfortunately none my lord." he replied hesitantly with fear in his voice. He hurried on before Voldemort took the opportunity to punish him. "None of the translation spells in existance have been able to make any sense of them. The language and lettering predate anything known on Earth today, master."

"Hmmmm." Voldemort pondered for a few moments before looking up again with a disgusted, but resigned frown twisting his features. "Unless I'm mistaken, the muggles have excelent linguists and code-breakers amoung them. We may as well make use of some of their few real talents before we enslave them all. I would rather not have rely on our obvious inferiors, but it seems there is no choice."

"Of course, my lord" Lucius replyed, surprised, but pleased that it appeared that he would not be punished for this failure on his part. "I will hire an appropriate firm immediatly."

"Good. Now, Weasly, report!"

Beneath his mask, Percy smiled grimly. He was so glad that he had the sense to become a Deatheater. His foolish former family simply had no pride in their heritage, their birthright. They were also far to close to that muggle loving fool Dumbledore. It was these reasons and the lack of monitary assets that had driven him into Voldemort's camp. His position in the Ministry had made him exceedingly valuable agent to the cause.

"I have excellent news, my lord. It appears that twit Fudge and the old man have finally decided to have Potter beheaded publically in Hogsmead at the end of the month."

Bolting upright, the dark lord smiled widely in cruel pleasure. His followers murmered in happiness at the thought of Harry being killed by those he had once tried to defend.

"This is truly wonderfull news. I am most pleased by this."

"I am sorry to interrupt my lord, but there is more." Percy interjected.

Voldemort, not very pleased to be interrupted, raised one eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Apparently, there is to be a large festival that day in order to commemorate the occasion. The execution is to be the main "entertainment". Witches and Wizards from all over England will be flocking to attend it. Fudge and Dumbledore will be acting as hosts and masters of ceremonies for the occasion."

Now laughing openly (and loudly), Voldemort nearly doubled over in mirth. "Wonderfull ! Truly wonderfull! Why, they are doing all our work for us. I simply cannot wait untill I have that old fool at my mercy and confess to him that it was I and not Potter who killed those wretched muggles. Ahahahahahaha! The look upon his face will be priceless as he realizes that he had killed the one they looked on as a symbol of Light." A mock sorrowfull pout appeared on his twisted featured. "How sad that I will not be able to attend the festival. I do so love a good party."

Laughing loudly with their lord, the deatheaters were drunk on the feeling of imminent victory in the air. Without their precious Golden Boy as their symbol of defiance, the Wizarding world would soon kneel at their lord's feet.

"Go, my friends. Go and continue your assignments. Know that soon, the world will be our's!"

Dismissed, the deatheaters bowed to their master and filed out of the makeshift throne room, still chuckling and talking of the victories to come.

Now alone. Tom Riddle relaxed and leaned back in his morbid throne. Reaching to his right, he picked up a small, ornatly carved box of some unknown alloy from the table at his side.

"Well, well, well. Such pleasant news." He murmered softly, setting the box down in his lap and opening it. "Soon, soon we will finally rule this world and those of pure blood shall be revered as gods amoung men. And you," he whispered to the tiny pulsing bit of unidentifiable flesh within the box. "You shall be responsable for it all. It is quite fortunate that Lucius found you when he did. Surrounded by those ancient tomes for so many thousands of years. If he had not found you, we would never have known what power could have been ours. Power that shall bring our enemies and the world to their knees. Soon this world will know me as it's father and you, as it's mother. Yes. Mother. That is what I shall call you. Mother."

In the box, the tiny piece of Jenova wriggled slightly as Tom Riddle stroked it with a lovers caress, his laughter echoing through the mansion.

Auther's Note: Okay, that's it for this chapter. I know it's taking me a long time to write it, but I am a very disorganized person. And I am still trying to figure out how to introduce all the characters I want to have in this fic. Much less, what abilities to give them and my self-insert character. So please be patient and remember that this is my first fic.