Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Stargate SG-1. Even so, I don't think anyone's quite done what I have using it.

Unknown

Green eyes opened. They frantically searched the dark room, seeing nothing. Where am I? The eyes traveled down along their host body, taking in the tattered clothes, scorch marks, sweat stains and all-around filth, but didn't take in any of the unfamiliar parts. What is this? None of this makes any sense. I don't know this body… I don't know anything… But… why is this body so familiar? Who am I? Green eyes traveled along his arms, seeing the blood-stained arms and the strained palms, stakes driven into each. I'm in shock; that's why I can't feel the pain… How can I know that? Each eye scanned the room once more. What is this place?

Light filled the room as one of the walls caved in. The light blinded his eyes but he could do nothing to cover it. He could hear screaming and loud hissing noises. Explosions found their way past his eardrums, resounding heavily upon his tattered mind. Do they have to be so loud? Shadows flashed across his closed eyes, eclipsing the blinding light for a few sparse moments. "Alastor, can you hear me?" a voice cried out. "Alastor!" He could feel his body being shaken. The stakes in his palms were ripped out and he fell into welcoming arms. Alastor… Is that my name? He opened his eyes testily, finding the light to be far less aggravating. He found himself staring into the face of a grown man. A brownish-black goatee covered his mouth leading up to an average nose and black eyes. He stared at those eyes; within he could see concern, but also a distant coldness. It was not unwelcoming. His eyes continued up, taking in the low-cut black hair atop the handsome face.

"Who are you?" Alastor whispered out. The man's face contorted into anger.

"Do you not recognize me? What have they done to you, Alastor?" Another explosion drew his attention away. "We must get you out of here. Can you walk?" He tried to pull the amnesiac up, meeting only slight resistance. For all his pain, Alastor regained his motor skills rather quickly. The man threw Alastor's arm over his shoulder, helping him to walk out of the ruined room. Two men stood guard at the entrance. Each wore a black armored suit with only their heads visible. Black armored plates covered almost all of their bodies with only a thick black fabric bodysuit underneath. One of the men held a compact weapon. Though Alastor could not describe it himself, the weapon resembled a Tauri rifle. However, it looked sturdier and fired charged beam blasts out of his double-barreled bore. The other man had a similar weapon latched behind his shoulder and carried a much larger weapon in his arms. Alastor could not recognize it; if he could, he would have seen its resemblance to the Staff Weapon. However, it had a shorter stock and its head only showed a barrel. A cord ran from the stock of the weapon to a canister on the man's back. Much larger beam blasts shot from it, bursting on the walls of the complex. Alastor took all this into his mind within a few milliseconds. He had no time to do anything else as the man carrying him dragged him down a side-passageway with the other two providing cover.

"Where are we going?" Alastor groaned; his voice strained from disuse. Behind them the two men backpedaled, shooting as they went. Alastor could not see what they were shooting at but could tell that the one man had switched from his large cannon-like weapon to the smaller rifle design. Up ahead of them, two men appeared wearing steel armor plates atop thick chain mail. Each man had a tattoo on their head. For a split second Alastor thought that they may be allies. This thought quickly disappeared as they started shooting at them with large weapons similar to the other man's cannon. Beam blasts shot over their heads as the handsome man pulled Alastor to the ground. Quickly one of their bodyguards rushed forward, dropping down to a crouched position, firing his rifle rapidly. Small beams impacted the armor of the enemy soldiers, dropping them within seconds.

"We must keep moving," the handsome man advised as he pulled Alastor up. Only then did Alastor realize that the man wasn't wearing the same armor, but rather durable leather clothing. "Soldier, make us a hole!" Immediately the guard rushed forward, drawing his cannon from its holster on his shoulder. The weapon unfolded, forming the large weapon once more. He grasped a pistol-like hand and took aim. The soldier held down a trigger as a charge built up in the weapon. After a few seconds, he released. A massive blast shot across the corridor, impacting the wall roughly. An explosion nearly blinded Alastor for a moment, heat searing his body. When the light died down a large hole remained in its place. Quickly the entourage rushed through it, out into open daylight. The sounds of battle wafted over Alastor's ears, the hissing of these energy weapons becoming more prominent with each step on the rocky soil. Large wing-like fighters shot overhead, followed by more streamlined craft, beam-guns shooting rapidly.

The entourage dragged Alastor across the ground. A shimmering sound invaded his ears as a small ship appeared, looking for all intents and purposes like a smaller version of the Goa'uld cargo ship, not that Alastor could remember that. A door quickly opened and the men rushed into it. One of the guards moved across the spacious room, seating himself in a pilot's chair. He grasped two control sticks without hesitation. Without any noticeable motion, he lifted the small ship off the ground. In the rear of the ship, the handsome man set Alastor up against a wall, allowing him to sink to the ground. Alastor sighed deeply; his shock had worn off. Now adrenaline was the only thing keeping the pain he knew was coming away.

"Who are you?" Alastor whispered out as the ship left the planet's atmosphere, flanked by two of the teeth-shaped craft. The handsome man sat himself next to Alastor with a heave.

"I'm shocked that you can't remember me," he said sadly. "We used to be friends. We knew everything about each other. But now…" he trailed off.

"You didn't answer my question," Alastor pushed. The man chuckled.

"You always were paranoid, and for good reason," he allowed. His head turned to face him. "I've been called by many names over the years. The name I go by now is Baal. I've been your friend for many years and have been all the better because of it. However, it seems that you don't even know who I am." Alastor shook his head. "Your name is Alastor, as I think you've realized. Your mind has been damaged; you cannot remember me or yourself because the parts of your brain that control memory have been traumatized specifically. Some call it amnesia, when a person cannot remember who they are. It is possible to remember, but it will take time."

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?" Alastor asked, his eyes narrowing. "For all I know you could be my sworn enemy. Am I supposed to trust you based on words alone?" Baal's face saddened further.

"Alastor, I swear that I mean you no harm," Baal said sincerely. "I'm your friend; friends trust each other. Trust isn't something given idly; it must be earned. Given your condition, I have not earned your trust. However, you have more than earned my trust. Therefore, I will trust you in hopes that someday you will learn to once again trust me." Alastor searched his eyes as hard as he could. They held a secret, one closely guarded. Alastor could barely see it. Still, he could find no deception, only trust to the very core. His face relaxed for a moment.

Pain coursed through his body. Alastor seized up, mouth hanging open but no sound came out. Baal hurriedly placed his hand on Alastor's head. A faint green glow appeared for but a moment as the pain slowly dissipated. Alastor shakily regained control of his body, sinking closer to the ground. Above him Baal smiled in amusement as the amnesiac slowly fell asleep.

Kinnahi (Baal's Home World)

Alastor slowly opened his eyes. For the first time in a while, he felt relaxed. Silk night clothes adorned his body as it resided peacefully in a lavish bed. He could not remember anything softer in his life, or something more welcoming. As he tried to move his arms, Alastor could only feel a slight pain and soreness. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up in bed. The room he'd slept in had thick curtains surrounding the bed and on the walls, all painted a variety of dark colors, ranging from black to dark red. Immediately Alastor felt a great distaste for the room and its décor. He climbed out of the bed, placing bare feet onto the stone floor. Warmth spread into his body at that simple touch instead of the cold he'd been expecting. With a tense body, Alastor pushed up onto his feet, standing on his own power for the first time since he could remember. He slowly placed one foot in front of the other, taking a few cautious steps. Immediately he realized that this would not be as difficult as he'd once thought.

Feeling heartened, Alastor walked carefully over to the door, opening it easily. With a smile on his face, he left the lavish room behind, entering a set of corridors. No one appeared to stop him as he walked out into the palace. The corridors had high ceilings with windows on one side to provide light. Fittings for torches aligned the walls, likely to be lit as darkness fell. Through the windows, Alastor could see a blue sky, but not much else. Breathing deeply, Alastor walked through the halls for a while, trying to find a way outside. He found a door quickly. He opened his carefully and, much to his delight, found balcony leading to the outside. Alastor quickly moved towards a railing, gazing out at the landscape.

Before him was a large city, spreading out for several kilometers. Through the center ran a wide river with bridges crossing here and there. No, wait, it wasn't a river. He could see both the beginning and the end, both of which were ocean. It was a channel that divided two portions of an island. No building rose above 20 meters except for the palace atop which Alastor stood. Merely by glancing at it he could tell that these people were not particularly advanced. These thoughts quickly disappeared as two teeth-like fighters shot overhead, disappearing across the ocean to the west. Alastor could see no land except for the city. Is it a floating city?

"I thought that I'd find you here," a voice said from behind him. Alastor swung around, finding Baal in the doorway, walking towards him. Alastor watched him carefully, but could not feel any ire coming off him. "You always enjoyed the outdoors, even if you could only see it from a balcony."

"You seem to know me well," Alastor said, implying nothing.

"You knew me well too," Baal countered, leaning on the railing beside him. "We'd been friends for many years before you were captured. I could always be myself with you, never had to worry about trivial things like ceremony or status. You would always see past those things. It was something we shared." Alastor sighed, looking back out across the city.

"You seem like a good friend," he said quietly. "I wouldn't expect someone to attack a fortress for only one man."

"That's what friends do," Baal explained. Alastor turned on him.

"Okay, if you knew me so well, why did you put me in a room that you must have known that I would hate?" Alastor asked. "The colors in that room made me want to rip my eyes out!" Baa; broke out into laughter, genuine laughter.

"I did it because you never let me when you had your memories," he laughed. "If I ever assigned quarters to you, you'd just huff and sleep on the roof!"

"You obviously never bothered to care whether your friends cared about extravagance," Alastor slyly replied. Baal laughed again.

"It seems your memories are returning to you," Baal said, clasping his hand on Alastor's shoulder. "I'd remember that razor-sharp wit anywhere." Alastor actually allowed a smile to crack open on his face; this wasn't so hard to believe anymore.

"Alright," Alastor started, changing the subject. "If we knew each other so well, how did we meet? What did I do? What did you do?" Baal looked up, thoughtfully.

"We first met on this very planet, Kinnahi," he started. "I was the sovereign here. I'd been ruling here for many years. You first came here as a bounty hunter. You'd found one of the traitors that I'd put a bounty on. You found him, defeated him and brought him to me alive, something that no one could easily do. But you did it without breaking a sweat. When you arrived, you demanded that you meet with me and my guards refused, rather violently I might add. I heard the sounds of battle from in my quarters and came to see what was going on. When I arrived, I had two dead guards and a traitor that I thought I'd never see again. After viewing your combat capabilities, I forced you to have dinner with me, which you vehemently refused. Still, I won out in the end and we had a feast worthy of a God. Over dinner, I decided to offer you a position as one of my bodyguards, or possibly a commander in my army." Alastor raised his eyebrows. "This is not the only planet that I am sovereign over; this is simply my capital. Enemy armies march on my planets seemingly every day and my own armies must counter them. I saw your capability and did my best to make you my personal soldier. Unsurprisingly, you refused, claiming that you enjoyed the feeling of freedom. I saw that there was no way that I could get what I wanted, so I gave you a mission, one with a heavy payoff. At the time I was spiteful and wanted to see you dead. But you went off like I knew you would. The mission was far tougher than I let on. I'd been sure you would die. But still, you won out and returned with the head of one of my greatest enemies. It angered me greatly and I began to send you off on mission after mission, each more dangerous than the last."

"I don't quite see where the whole friendship part comes in yet," Alastor muttered, eyes narrow. Baal nodded in understanding.

"It would seem that way at first, I'm sure. Just let me continue." Alastor nodded. "Before long, you'd achieved a wealth that few in the galaxy could match. I could not believe it; you were still not dead! I'd started to run out of missions to give, and wealth with which to pay. So, I told you to leave before I lost my patience. Just as I gave that order, an assassin struck at me. One of my enemies, Sokar, sent him. The assassin burst through my feeble defenses and almost struck me down. But you were there to stop him. You fought off the first assassin gallantly, showing skill that even I did not know you possessed. However, a second and third assailant appeared and attacked you. We were the only ones still alive in the room and you were off-balance at the time. So, I lashed out with my own weapons and protected you. I don't know why, but I did. We fought back to back against the assassins, saving each other more than once. After a long and arduous battle, we defeated them.

"My hospitality would not be welcome to you, that much I knew. There was nothing I could do to thank you and we both knew that. So I assumed that you would simply leave. However, you remained. You stayed as a bodyguard to me for no reason that you cared to share. It was what I'd wanted in the first place, so I allowed it to happen. Day after day, assassins struck at me. And you fended them off. Though it seems sick and twisted, it was through this that we became friends. You would later tell me that no one had ever saved your life before, and that no one ever had to. Despite the fact that you saved me more than I saved you, you felt obligated to stay and protect me. I didn't understand it at the time and I don't think you did either. As my guard, you stood beside me but never judged a decision I made. You offered counsel which I gratefully received. We became friends through that unspoken contract and, even after you repaid your debt, you stayed. I gave you command of my personal guard with authority to do whatever you wished. You transformed them from a simple Jaffa guard into the most powerful fighting force the galaxy had ever seen. However, you always told me that you were not done yet, and wouldn't be until they could match even the soldiers of ancient times. It continued this way for years until six months ago.

"Sokar, the one who sent the assassins before, grew bitter of us. He lured you and a squad of my soldiers out into the open on one of our warring planets. He subsequently grabbed you and slaughtered your men with overwhelming force. He took you to that fortress world. He did unimaginable things to you there for no reason that I can think of. We spent months searching for you, but only recently did we get the information we needed. However, the damage had already been done and you'd lost your memories. I brought you back here to rest and recuperate. You know the story from there."

"I wish I knew the story from before," Alastor replied immediately, his voice hoarse. "I don't remember any of this. I don't remember anything! Shouldn't there be something left over from all of that? This doesn't make any sense." Alastor sighed deeply. "I don't know what to do."

"I don't either," Baal replied, patting his friend on the back. "But I assure you, you won't be alone in this. I'll right by your side, guiding you along." Alastor looked up into Baal's eyes. It felt like he wanted to see deception there. But for the life of him, Alastor couldn't find any. There was nothing he could say to something like that, such a statement of loyalty. He settled for a nod.

Einherjar, Cancri System

Marcus sat behind his desk, hands interlocked before his face. He looked down at the papers on it with unseeing eyes. Larry was leaning right beside him, arms crossed, stoic expression on his face. Neither of them could get past one, incomprehensible fact. Harry was missing. It made no sense; Harry didn't go missing. It just didn't happen. The man could walk into a room filled with armed gunmen without a weapon, slaughter them all bloodlessly and return without even a scratch; they'd both seen him do it. The idea that he'd been captured didn't seem possible to either of the two ex-Spec Ops. A search of the planet had turned up nothing. The strange teeth-like fighter had disappeared as Harry's Shrouded Silhouette had. Reports from the other battlefields in the surrounding systems didn't bear any reference to a new fighter. Cancri was Baal's territory, but he didn't own any of the other systems near Earth. As far as Marcus could tell, the new fighter belonged to Baal himself. If that was so, he could have similar technology in other aspects of war.

Thoughts passed right through Marcus's head. He didn't even see them, really, nor comprehend them. The situation just kept nagging on him. Of course, neither of them mentioned another possibility; perhaps Harry was dead. Neither of them mentioned it because they knew it was impossible. Harry couldn't die.

"Harry can't die, you know," Larry pointed out.

"I know," Marcus replied, not looking at him.

"Seriously, I'm sure he's fine."

"I know."

"You know, man, it gets lonely out here in space. I don't have Sarah like I do back home so you're just gonna have to keep me company at night."

"I kn… wait, what the hell?!" Marcus whirled on the pilot.

"Seriously, man, our conversations have to be more than I point things out and you say I know."

"I know that already."

"… It's a start…"

Kinnahi, Imperial Palace, Training Room

After his conversation with Baal, Alastor had proceeded to search the palace, albeit after changing into more suitable clothes. Now wearing simple, but durable clothing, he found himself in one of the palace's training rooms. There, a group of Baal's royal guardsmen were grouped, fighting against each other in two-v-two matches. They all wore the body armor that Alastor's saviors had worn, but these men did not seem to have the same skill or comfort in said apparel. Alastor's trained mind, despite his lack of memory on the subject, instantly recognized them as novices in the style. What he didn't know was that he was the one that created it.

No one noticed as he entered the room. He stood in the doorway, watching as a group fought. Each of the four men had a similar build, toned, not bulky or wiry. There was obvious muscle behind the body armor, but not an excessive amount. Perhaps Baal only accepted the most physically fit into his personal guard? Alastor watched as they threw punches and kicks at each other. The defenders would move gracefully, avoiding each attack with only the minimal amount of space between them and the dodged attack. This saved energy and put the defender in a better position to counter-attack. Blocks came idly, more pushing the attack out of the way rather than reinforcing against it. Attacks moved quickly, striking at optimal areas, pressure points and such, but emphasized not over-extending. Each attack was followed by an equally fast retreat which was followed by an equally fast attack, a get in and get out fast mandate. Alastor wasn't impressed by these men; they didn't move with the flow of combat, not yet ready to read the tide of battle. They'd need further training before being allowed into combat.

He didn't know how he knew that, it just came to him. Maybe his memories were returning, he didn't know. However, he could see the glaring flaws in their abilities. But even as he mentally scoffed at them, he innately knew that they would outmatch any of other Goa'uld's Jaffa, hands down. It wouldn't be a contest.

One of the novices caught a lucky break as his opponent shifted his foot a few centimeters to the right. These mistakes allowed the other to angle swiftly inside the man's guard and send a forceful jab at the man's solar plexus. The victim grimaced for a moment before slumping down, unconscious. He reveled in his victory for all of two seconds before moving to aid his partner. Alastor's eyes narrowed; the fool had stood unmoving for two seconds. Such a mistake would result in his death and the death of his teammate on the battlefield. Alastor wanted to march forward and discipline the trainee himself. However, the man's instructor moved faster, stopping the fight with a shout. He promptly yelled at the trainee, making sure that the man knew exactly what the problem was. Alastor had to smirk as the vaguely funny situation struck an amusement center in his brain he didn't know he had. His mild chuckles drew the attention of the room. As soon as the Instructor noticed him, he straightened into a picture-perfect salute, legs straight and locked, heels clicked together, left arm hanging taut at his side with the right arm crossed across the chest, fist placed firmly on the heart. The entire motion took barely a second.

"Commander Alastor, I didn't know that you were awake and well," the Instructor said quickly, his head bowed. "We'd heard that you were rescued from Sokar's fortress, but haven't had the chance to pay you a proper visit yet."

"Think nothing of it," Alastor ordered, entering the room. "There are always more pressing matters that you could be attending to than visiting me." Alastor was really just groping here; he had no idea who this man was or how he seemed to know him.

"Of course, Sir," the Instructor nodded. "Would like to see the men, Sir? I can have them assembled in the courtyard in only a few moments." Alastor regarded him for a moment before giving a curt nod. The Instructor quickly moved off to one of the walls, pressing a button on the wall. "Proeliator Corps, assemble in the main courtyard immediately." The Instructor approached Alastor once again. "Sir, if you'd follow me, I'll escort you to the courtyard." Alastor nodded and the left the room, leaving the trainees in the room with stunned eyes.

"Baal had told me quite a few stories about your Proeliator Corps," Alastor said as he walked side by side with the Instructor. "He said that you men were the best in the Universe. What I saw back in that room disheartens me."

"My apologies, Sir," the Instructor replied, bowing his head slightly. "Those were the newest trainees that we've taken on out of the standard Army. They only began training last week. As you well know, sir, it can take years to fully master the art. You did design it, after all." The duo left the palace behind, coming out in the outdoors. A stone walkway lay before them, leading towards a gate and the courtyard beyond.

(End Chapter)

I decided to end it here. The reason this is getting out two days late is because I decided to outdo myself. Four thousand words, thank you very much. Please, give me some nice reviews as payment. The first reviewer gets a special omake! Of course, that's mostly because that'll be my 600th review!

Now then, for those that don't quite understand it, Alastor is Harry!!! I don't want to have to say that a dozen times in my replies. Because I don't quite know how to explain it in a chapter, I'll just say it here. Baal tortured Harry into submission. He then subsequently brainwashed him into amnesia, then created a new empire that Harry/Alastor could fit into as his right hand man. This is mostly an ego boost for Baal, having your worst enemy as your right hand man.

Alastor is a funny name that I found. In Scottish/Gaelic, the name means Defender of Humanity, or Protector of Humanity, one of the two. In Greek, however, Alastor is an epithet of Zeus, one that goes and kills those who commit fratricide as punishment. It loosely translates into Avenger. I found this to be a rather amusing representation of the irony here.

Lastly, guys, I know I'm reusing the 'lost memories' gag. But really, it's a much different scenario than the first one. I've wanted to make Harry and Ashrak for a while now, and this WORKS! Hah, the next story arc will deal with Harry as he fights with Baal against the Terran Coalition that he created! I am so going to enjoy this. Please review!

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