This is my first-ever fic ladies and gentlemen! Starts after HBP, will be completely AU as time goes on.

Favorite if you like it and be sure to leave reviews. If you hate it, let me know (seriously, fiendfyre welcome, come at me). I'm an American so you'll have to excuse my absolute rubbish understanding of UK English. I'll try to do it proper justice as much as I can. This story is going to largely be centered on a multiple-POV style around several characters. Apologies if any particular character isn't quite fleshed out as much in this chapter (*cough cough* Hermione) but background is important. Later chapters will have much longer parts for each person.

I should point out that I only have some idea where this fic is going, but not really. I have no definitive pairings and only the bare bones of a plot, but keep in mind I'm not intent on modifying a whole bunch of pre-HBP canon. This is more of a "we'll see where we land" kind of writing journey. I am open to suggestions if you want to give them.

EDIT: I'm updating this chapter again. I created a couple spells for this fic and have a little dictionary of spells I invented that might be put to use as time goes on. At the end of each chapter, if there are any unfamiliar or new spells I've used, I'll list them and add a quick description. Just thought it might be something cool to add in. Also have just gone through to fix typo's and word choice mistakes.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. I'm poor, for God's sake don't sue me it's a waste of time.

CH 1 - Birth of a Family (or the Crucible of Pain)

July 14th, 1997, 1927 hours

Harry Potter was dusting in the basement when he heard the scream.

Aunt Petunia had been preparing supper. That had been his chore, years ago. He assumed that a combination of his affinity for magic (aka 'freakishness'), and repeated threats from the Order of the Phoenix had made the Dursley family a bit more meek. In any case, that hadn't stopped them from giving their 'freaky relative,' Harry Potter, bucketloads of chores. He bent over dusty shelves, sorting through various items in the basement, cleaning off trinkets that long ago should have been consigned to rubbish bins.

He shouldn't have heard it - he knew that from the way Aunt Petunia's shrill yelp had been suddenly cut off, forcefully silenced. He felt Anti-Apparition wards rise around Number 4 Privet Drive, a humming cold like the metallic bars of a cage. He froze, and waited, listening very carefully. There was no noise.

Then the silence broke. "Mum?" Dudley's usual petulant tone sounded apprehensive, yelling from the top floor. The sound carried itself through the air vents in the house, echoing artificially throughout the basement. "Are you alright?"

No answer.

Harry glanced at the dull, old watch around his wrist, a gift from Molly Weasley. Vernon was supposed to have been home an hour and a half ago. He moved behind the stairs, fumbling, looking through the other cupboard, for the item he knew to be there. His mind whirred.

Who was in the house? There was no real way to tell if they were wizards or not, but it was safe to assume they were magical. How well-trained was debatable, but he really had no clue. He needed to keep himself alive. The only way to obtain his address was the Ministry, or the Order, meaning that one of the two had been compromised. It was more likely the Ministry records were the culprit, in his own unfortunate experience. Blood wards were not impenetrable, and the Improper Use of Magic Office did have his address on file.

Meaning that he probably couldn't do magic without being caught, traced, and killed.

He found what he was looking for a moment later. Vernon's Walther PPK, fully loaded. How the whale of a man managed to buy a pistol in the UK was beyond Harry's limited understanding. He knew what he was doing only because he had read the instruction manual last year, after Sirius died, wondering if he could cut the prophecy short. Not like it would help him anyway.

...either must die at the hand of the other...for neither can live while the other survives…

He pulled out his father's invisibility cloak and threw it over himself with a flourish, cold metal tight against his hands, gun barrel peeking from underneath the curtain of silvery fabric. He didn't need to wait long.

The door of the basement opened with a creak. There was no noise of footsteps, even as the assassin slid off the last step and onto the unfinished floor.

The man was, surprisingly, dressed in muggle clothing. Jeans, T-shirt, and a leather-like jacket. Harry supposed in retrospect that Petunia would have never let any unfamiliar wizard into her house, so that made sense. He did not see Harry, and instead was peering around carefully, wand outstretched, trying to avoid casting a lumos charm in the dimly lit basement.

The man did, however, begin to raise his wand, turning away from Harry. The boy-who-lived silently dropped the cloak, and squeezed the trigger.

andagainandagainandAGAIN

Harry blinked at the ringing in his ears, at the clicking gun that shivered in his hands, refusing to fire any more. With shaking hands he ejected the magazine and peeked at it.

Empty.

He looked down at the obviously dying wizard, the scent of blood ripe and sickening through the air. The assassin was aching to breathe, unseeing eyes gazing up to the unfinished ceiling of the basement, throat rattling and gurgling on his final gasps, blood dripping from his lips. Harry skittishly walked forward and kicked the wizard's wand free of his hands, waiting a few seconds, trying not to vomit as he picked it up. He dry-heaved as its magic violently sparked against his palm, the reek of copper and gore swirling in a headily disgusting smell. He hesitated for a moment before snapping it in two, dropping the pieces to the floor.

The dying man didn't seem to notice.

Harry did not bother to stick around. He ran upstairs into the kitchen. His eyes widened and he promptly vomited into the nearest bin, his already fragile composure shattered.

His heart pounded, and he whirled away from the grisly splatter that had once been Aunt Petunia. He took the stairs up to his room two at a time, not bothering to look into Dudley's room where he was sure he would see something equally horrifying. Moving in earnest, he began to throw his things together into the trunk. Given that Voldemort had returned, Harry had left his things relatively organized and ready to go at a moment's notice. He packed in less than ten minutes, tore open his window and flicked open Hedwig's cage. The owl gave an indignant squawk and a flutter of her wings, but Harry wasn't paying any attention as she landed atop his dresser.

He dragged his trunk down the stairs and to the front door. About to make a run for it, he paused, and ran to the bathroom. He grabbed the nearest towel and ran back downstairs.

Harry knelt over the body, moving carefully to not step in the growing puddle of blood. With shaky hands, he began to reach into the pockets of the wizard's jacket. Soon enough, he found a piece of paper.

It wasn't completely stained, thankfully. He looked at the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet. His own scowling face stared back at him, 15 years old.

HARRY POTTER: UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE. Wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Had he been more level-headed, he would have felt the rage boiling up inside him, his fury bubbling at the thought of being 'connected' to the murder of the manipulative but kindly man that had been his Headmaster. As it was, he only thought about getting away - to somewhere safe.

Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it…

He crinkled it up, shoved it in his pocket. Back up the stairs he went, and he hauled his trunk from the room. "FLY TO HOGWARTS, HEDWIG!" he roared throughout the house. He didn't wait for a hoot in reply.

He dragged his trunk outside, carrying with him everything he had ever thought he would need. He pulled out his wand as he dragged the trunk behind the house. He began to think hard about the apparition lessons he had gotten at school last year. He hadn't had time to take the test and get his license of course, but he didn't have time to worry about that now.

What were the three D's again? Destination, determination...deliberation? No that didn't quite sound right.

Bugger this, I'm out.

With a crack, Harry Potter disappeared from Number Four Privet Drive forever.

July 14th, 1997, 2124 hours

Hermione Granger told herself that she would not break down, no matter the horrible nature of the crime she was about to commit.

She had turned seventeen during the school year, much to the delight of her parents, who had immediately wanted to see Hermione do magic for them at home. It was a beautiful thing, to see the expressions of pride on their faces as she performed miracles and explained concepts that were literally beyond their capacity to replicate. Their daughter was special, a young woman with the brilliance to do great things for the Wizarding World.

They would never expect her to turn her magic against them.

Hermione had reasoned with herself over and over again, convinced that this was the safest way. Her parents were quite identifiable people, and many wizards and witches had seen them in trips to Diagon Alley. If they were ever tracked down, they would be tortured mercilessly by Voldemort and his lackeys. They were just muggles, and couldn't protect themselves against Mind Arts that could be used to tear away their unwilling thoughts. They could never afford to even think of her. Wiping herself from their memory, and giving them a new identity, was the easiest way to keep them alive, safe, and happy.

And there they were, sitting on the couch, watching the latest episode of their favorite show on the telly. It wasn't so bad, really. They would absolutely love it in Australia, they'd always wanted to go. They talked of Sydney and the Gold Coast and the Barrier Reef and all the different places they'd want to see with their own eyes. So why was her wand shaking in her hand, trying to tell her otherwise? Why were there tears streaming down her face, trying to convince her to stop?

For the first time she could remember, Hermione forced herself to stop thinking. Or she tried to. She recalled the wand movement in textbook clarity, focusing on the intent to remove herself from their minds. She raised her hand, her wand gripped so tightly within it that her knuckles were white.

Obliviate

The spell was absorbed harmlessly by a brilliant blue protego. Hermione whirled around, wand outstretched. There was no one there. She turned to see a startling sight; her father stood up from the couch, a wand held loosely in his hand. Her mother was sitting quietly on the couch, looking at her forlornly.

Hermione felt her mouth open in a slight "O" of shock, her mind stuttering to a crashing halt. She looked closely at her father, and shakily raised her wand at the figure that had taken his place. He looked younger, free of wrinkles. His skin was smooth, too smooth, almost artificially carved. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips, and his eyes were a sickly, shifting yellowish color. He seemed taller, larger than she remembered, and the sight of him seemed to radiate the aura of a stalking predator.

"I think we need to have a talk," he said quietly. "I'm not an impostor, this is my true form. I remember the first time you found your Hogwarts letter, you fell off your chair and spilled your porridge on the floor. When you were six, you did maths on the wall of your room in finger paint because you were bored and grounded. Shall I go on?"

Her father stood calmly, unmoving. Hermione stepped closer, her feet seemingly dragging themselves forward against her will. She perused his features, disturbed, hands shaking as she robotically catalogued the new sights before her. His eyes were practically glowing, filled with magical lustre. His pupils were slitted, like cat's eyes. His hair looked like silk. As he spoke, she noticed slight flashes of sharp razor-like teeth.

All her reading about soul magic at the end of last year kicked in, after she'd nicked books from the Restricted Section and Dumbledore's secret collection without telling Harry or Ron. She remembered how one book had described an ancient race of elves, with magic-like glowing eyes and catlike pupils. She remembered shivering, looking at the graphic depictions of ancient battles, scores of creatures slaughtered by superhuman strength and incredibly powerful wild and esoteric magic. Their race was reclusive, and there supposedly had not been a recorded encounter with an elf in centuries. It was said that they retreated from the world after the fall of the mythical Atlantis, living in a pocket dimension outside of Earth's. Another world, created by themselves, for themselves. But her father seemed one of them. The truth was looking her in the face.

...but then...

Her mind rapidly reached a final, batshit-insane conclusion. She conjured a mirror and shrieked.

Brilliant, glowing purple eyes and slitted black pupils stared back at her in growing horror.

July 14th, 1997, 0324 hours

Ginny Weasley was absolutely silent in the shadows of the Burrow. Casually glancing at herself in the bathroom, she looked at her new reflection in the charmed mirror. Blood-red hair fell in waves that drifted softly over her shoulders. Her arms were just slightly thicker than the weak tone they'd attained from Quidditch practice, a perfect curvature of defined muscle. Still beautiful, her face was thinner, sharp, regal and pale, rather than the warm heart shape and flushed cheeks it had once been. She pursed her lips and peered carefully at her own shining eyes, licked her sharp teeth, and moved on.

She glided in the darkness of the house, gracefully moving down the stairs until she reached the front door, not once creaking the old floorboards of the Burrow. No point in looking at the clock on the wall; these days, it read "Mortal Peril" for everyone in the house except her. Her family just assumed that it was broken. They were wrong. Ginny was stronger, now, and wouldn't die easily in a fight. The only positive side effect, she supposed, in a sea of negatives. After all, she had no mortality for peril to threaten anymore.

She absently fingered the small scars on the left side of her throat, underneath the glamour charm hiding them from view. She had cried for days when she had awoken in a demolished corner of Hogwarts, her skin cold like ice, her heart beating slowly forevermore. Her family had been horrified when Bill was attacked by a werewolf, but he was ok now, simply a bit of a carnivore. What would they say upon discovering that she had been turned into a vampire? What would Harry say, if he knew his love was a monster? (even though he'd pretended that he would have to leave her after Dumbledore's untimely death, the sodding git. She'd been too absorbed in her guilt to care about his affront, then.)

Outside in the cold air of the night, there was not a single noise. Ginny had felt the stillness before the storm that day, while her brothers joked and laughed on their old Cleansweep 7's above sprawling fields. The Burrow was surrounded by a sea of deadly calm.

The tempest would begin tonight, she knew. It felt like Fate. Slowly, her tongue licked the sharp fangs that still felt rather strange in her mouth. That had taken getting used to, but she'd practiced on the chickens in her father's shed while he wasn't paying attention. It was hard for him, nowadays, with so many other things to worry about. He never noticed a few missing birds. She casually fingered her wand within the folds of her Muggle sweatpants and scanned the quiet night outside. Unknown to even herself, she was actually using a common form of vampiric telepathy to also probe her immediate surroundings, to notify her of a threat if one arose.

Ginny sensed the Dark Magic before any of it was even used. She watched the Death Eaters pop into existence and gather out in the field silently, only thirty-or-so feet away. In her pocket her hand clenched slightly against her wand, but she made no movement. They were currently outside of the wards, so it would do her no good.

Hopefully they would be unable to breach.

Unfortunately she had no such luck. One Death Eater reached into his robes and pulled out a rather large rock covered in runes. She vaguely recognized it from one of her conversations with Bill, while Aurors had been putting up wards.

Some wardstones have very specific carvings. Ministry ones are said to have a unique set of rules that can be controlled by a very rare and very powerful external runestone held in a vault within the Minister's office. He'd said, in full lecture mode.

She only watched in both slight dismay and growing excitement as their leader pressed the rock flat against the wards, and they rippled visibly through the air with a sharp dong. No doubt the rest of her family would have just woken up, she mused, watching the now visible bubble of the warding magic begin to hum and resonate as it collapsed under the strain. They would be too late to arrive before the Death Eaters attacked. They would have died without her, if she hadn't stood on the lawn on this night.

Yet, the young vampire did nothing to draw her wand.

The wards groaned like an earthquake and screamed like resonating glass. Ginny flinched as the harsh ringing grated on her preternaturally sensitive ears, but still made no move. As they fell, the Burrow was revealed to the Death Eaters, and so was she.

"My, my, what is this?" the lead Death Eater laughed. "The youngest Weasley, out to defend her family? Pray tell, child, what do you hope to accomplish here?"

Ginny could also play that game.

"Augustus Rookwood." she said, cleanly. She curled her lips into a half-grin as he looked startled, giving a slight jerk of the head under the hooded robes. "Yeah, I remember you. We met on quite a different battlefield, don't you remember? You followed me and tried to torture me in the Department of Mysteries, but Harry hit you in the eye with a Conjunctivitis Curse."

"It was quite painful, and well aimed." admitted Rookwood. She imagined that he was smiling sardonically under the mask. "But there is no Potter here to save you now. I'm quite sorry to say that I won't spare you even if I could."

Ginny giggled, throwing her head back, and her hair splayed in the moonlight like hellfire. The gathered Death Eaters shivered. It was high and cold, a cackle eerily similar to the laugh of their master or Bellatrix, but there was only freezing certainty in her smile. Her wand was out now, twirling in her fingers like a baton, reddish-black sparks spitting in an afterimage of its path. Her face was drawn tight into a wicked grin that did not quite reach her eyes, spread too wide on her pale visage to seem alive at all.

Rookwood visibly tightened his grip on his wand. The man had once been a trained Unspeakable, an incredible duelist. He would attack at any instant. Ginny still did nothing but twirl her wand silently in the air.

The Death Eater raised his wand and yelled. "FULGUR!"

Ginny didn't even think. She leapt aside, sliding smoothly out of the way.

An enormous, sparking purple bolt of lightning flew harmlessly past her by inches, cracking forward with the tremendous BOOM of a howl of thunder.

The fanned-out semicircle of Death Eaters seemed to gawk, their bodies tensed, clearly expecting that a bolt of lightning would have killed her. It was, Ginny admitted, an excellent tactical choice. It was much faster than normal spells, so fast and powerful that it would have hit dead center and killed nearly any other average witch or wizard in the world, regardless of their shielding.

Good thing she wasn't a witch anymore.

She breathed in deeply as she straightened, smelling the sharp scent of ozone and ionized air around her as she let her anger and hate snap to the fore of her mind.

KILL.

Her yew wand snapped into her palm and slashed a spell before the Death Eaters could say a word. Magic streamed from her core, and she smiled wickedly as huge gashes tore through the random poor man's robes. Blood gushed from numerous cuts, and there was only a screech of agony before he fell.

Sectumsempra is quite the useful spell, even if that fucking greasy bat invented it.

The Death Eaters looked utterly shocked for a moment before they all began firing right at her.

Her magic sang around her, and it was invigorating. Her curses were efficient, fast, and pinpoint accurate. Her shields were ephemeral but potent, flashing and twisting around her like flowing water, flickering back and forth. Bone white masks spread out. Some of them cast lights with their wands, to see their environment but also making them easier targets. Ginny cackled at their stupidity. On the other hand she supposed it didn't matter, she could see perfectly in the dark.

As her magic swelled, she felt other members of the Order of the Phoenix begin to arrive. Spellfire flickered across the night sky, and Ginny paused for a moment behind a conjured piece of wooden cover. The Death Eaters had tried to flank and cut her off, but at the sight of the Order behind her they began to fall back and regroup. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hestia Jones fall with a scream, a crucio tossed over the shoulder of a Death Eater hitting its mark. He cut the spell off a moment later and continued throwing curses, only to find his green avada kedavra blocked by Arthur Weasley as he ran.

"I'm not done with you!" The howl tore from Ginny's throat. Amidst a blur of motion, she could hear her mother scream in anguish, her father yell at her to come back. She ignored them as her legs pumped, hunter's instincts burning through undead flesh, her body tearing across the tall grass far faster than any human, kicking clouds of dirt into the air.

The nearest Death Eater slung a low incarcerous as he ran, clearly trying to tie up her legs. The ropes lunged forward, green vines slicing across the grasses like a scythe. Ginny smiled, her legs pumping even faster, and leapt nearly 6 feet straight into the air.

The bone-mask seemed to glow an eerie yellow for just an instant, and Ginny's nocturnal sight caught her opponent's eyes widening before her spell slammed into his chest. He froze mid stride as Ginny's powerful immobulus took full effect.

"You missed." She landed on the balls of her feet with a quip. His body may have been immobilized, but his mouth wasn't.

"Fuck you Weasley," he spat. Ginny smiled and bared her teeth in a sharp grin. Without looking, she put up a clean protego as a purplish spell she couldn't identify hurtled towards her from behind. Even behind the mask, she could see the man's eyes fill with tears of horror and comprehension as they took in her sharp, pearly fangs.

"You wouldn't last a minute, love." she said sweetly. She grabbed his hair, exposed his neck, and ripped sharply into his veins.

Despite popular belief, Ginny had found in books that being bitten by a vampire did not automatically mean that the person would become a vampire. She had no intention of letting this man survive. Furthermore, vampire bites weren't painful, in fact, quite the opposite - unless the wound wasn't closed by the vampire themself. She smiled into the Death Eater's neck as he moaned aloud in pure ecstasy. Beautiful, sweet, delicious blood poured into her mouth, and she drank greedily. Something stirred low in her stomach. Her first human feast. She was conflicted about how that made her feel.

Smoothly, she began to rub her hands in circles around his chest and abdomen as he gasped and moaned. She reached down and gave his little companion a squeeze, and smirked into his bloody throat, sticky warmth dripping down her chin. It truly was little - clearly, pureblood inbreeding hadn't done this one much good.

She wondered if her family was watching. Whoops. Her eyes closed slightly as she realized that she truly didn't care at the moment.

Almost reluctantly, she pulled from his throat sharply. The ecstasy in his eyes bled away, and slowly it was replaced by excruciating pain.

The man grasped for his neck instinctively and let out an animalistic, wretched scream.

All around the battlefield, both sides stopped and stared in mild horror. Ginny drew back her hand and thrust it sharply into the man's neck. With a sick crunch, the scream was crushed by the broken hyoid bone that now blocked his trachea. In layman's terms, he would either asphyxiate without air or drown in his own blood. She wasn't picky.

She let go of his hair and allowed him to fall limply to the ground.

"Kill the Weasley girl!" screamed Rookwood from the other side of the battlefield. She heard several Death Eaters cry out "Avada Kedavra." Almost on autopilot, she conjured a perfectly thin wall of obsidian in front of the green curses that aimed for her life. She scanned her head for a good spell, and grinned at a duo similar to those which Hermione had used on her brother last year. Yes, this'll work.

The obsidian wall shattered with a wave of her wand, glittering volcanic glass floating around her under the light of the moon as she once again began to run.

Curses flew near her but the aim of Voldemort's lackeys was rather poor. Most spells impacted far behind: it was clear they had not expected her to be running faster than they could track.

"Corvi! Oppugno!"

On command the obsidian fragments, still suspended in the air, transfigured. Dozens and dozens of ravens began to flood forward, flying alongside and in front of her, nearly obscuring her vision, a murder of crows cawing their hatred and indignance as they charged. They twirled, and with a twist of her wand they flew forward like bullets, tearing at the masks and robes of the Death Eaters. Their panicked yells and howls should probably not have been nearly as satisfying as she found them.

One Death Eater near her managed to cast a full body revulsion jinx and the birds fell off him, dead. Ginny sprinted towards him, her arm flashed and smacked his wand arm away. A high-powered reducto flew harmlessly into the sky.

An instant later, her foot found his solar plexus, allowing her a brief moment of joy as she felt his bones grinding to powder under the force of her kick. The man did not have time to gasp as he was thrown back and hit the ground several feet away, wheezing for air through collapsing lungs.

More pops rang through the night. Reinforcements had come, including Bill and Fleur, the latter of whom immediately took on a distinctive avian look, slinging fireballs in her left arm and magic in her right. She saw Remus simultaneously engaging with three Death Eaters, though his curses mostly bounced off shields as he held his own. Upon seeing more Order members, a pissed werewolf, an enraged Veela, and a bloodthirsty vampire, Rookwood made the right call.

"You're a monster Weasley!" he howled over the noise of the battle. "A monster!" Ginny rolled her eyes, and her voice was sickly sweet.

"Oh, don't be so cliché." she smiled. " What does that make you?"

Rookwood stared, and said nothing else before yelling out. "Retreat!"

Ginny grinned savagely when the Death Eaters disapparated away, wondering what their master's reaction would be to the bad news, and whether Rookwood was more on the mark than he'd realized.

July 14th, 1997, 0017 hours

Neville Longbottom was quite ironically practicing his duelling when the alarm wards began to go off, a caterwauling screech echoing through the mansion.

He yelled the command to stop the automatons in the pit and ran upstairs to wake his grandmother. Surprisingly, she was already in the main hall when he arrived. On the other hand, maybe his surprise was misled. She had always been quite the formidable witch, after all.

"If they can get through the outer wards quickly, then the Ministry has already fallen." she said directly to Neville. "If that happens, then you must grab the brooms and escape, do you understand?"

Neville nodded and said nothing, not trusting himself to be able to lie through his teeth. He would agree to nearly any of his Gran's commands, but not that one. He wouldn't run and leave her.

Suddenly, the wailing alarm died and another one began to start. Augusta Longbottom's eyes widened with shock at the speed of the intrusion.

"Well, that answers that question." muttered Neville. He tightened his grip on his wand, and was about to say something brave, like "I'm not going anywhere," when the whole manor shook with an earth shattering BOOM.

"I think we have other problems." said his grandmother, a grave expression crossing her lips. "Tilly!" The family's house-elf popped in front of them, looking angry and vengeful, ears flapping as her eyes burned.

"Mistress Longbottom?"

"Defend the house." she said, shortly. The little elf nodded, and disappeared with a loud pop. The elder woman turned on him, looking every bit the severe and stubborn politician that her reputation spoke of. Neville steeled himself.

"Neville, now is not the time to argue. Grab the brooms and go!" she barked. Neville looked at his grandmother coolly, remembering another time he'd run headfirst into battle and refused to leave his friends behind. "I will not turn tail and run without you." he said, disgustedly, wand drawn. "You come with me, Gran, or we stay here together."

Augusta looked like she was about to argue, but stalled at the fierce expression on his face. Her lips quirked into a slight smile.

"You are so much like your parents. I was a fool to have not seen it before." Neville almost blushed and said something stupid to his Gran, when the door blew open with a sharp boom.

Black robed figures with silver-and-bone etched masks flooded into the main hall. The two Longbottoms immediately prepared to cast their shields, but the Death Eaters didn't move. All of a sudden, the black-robed attackers parted like the Red sea.

The air was sucked from the room, as a figure slid onto the carpet like the whisper of the wind. Cold blood-red eyes regarded them with malice, with a lipless smile twisted in sadistic glee. "Your home is formidable, Dowager Longbottom." Voldemort's rich tones slid through the silent manor like the snake he was. "It seemed rude to neglect a visit."

"Oh please, you and I both know it would have been equally kind to have never showed up at all, old friend." she said coolly, drawing to her full height. Voldemort genuinely chuckled, his teeth showing for just a moment.

"Enough chit-chat," he said, spreading his arms wide in an overly dramatic gesture, Acromantula silk robes swaying loosely under his grey form. "Down to business, shall we?"

As the Dark Lord dropped his arms, Augusta Longbottom barely managed to conjure an enormous block of marble that slid out of the floor with a shink noise, before more than a dozen jets of green killed them both.

Neville had thrown himself to the ground as he saw the curses, and called Tilly, but to no avail. He frowned, understanding that she would either be unconscious or dead to not respond to the command. With a quick "Evanesco!" he vanished the top of the marble wall and began to fire explosive curses over the top. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandmother's begin to fire spells in earnest.

The Death Eaters seemed rather surprised that they were actually being fired upon. Some of them took shrapnel damage from pieces of stone as they hid behind Greek-style columns, falling down screaming. Voldemort's lips curled into a slight smile as the two sides began to exchange fire in earnest, flicking his wand with practiced ease to deflect a curse here and there. He stood there in the center of the fray, simply watching the fight laid out before him as it waxed and waned on all sides. Neville threw a bombarda maxima at the Dark Lord, and the orange-white charm was batted to the side without even a shield. Voldemort flashed him a mocking grin. With a snarl, Neville grudgingly threw a cutting curse at a closer Death Eater, spraying the white marble with clean line of blood, his expression practically daring the monster, come at me.

The dark grin grew wider as Lord Voldemort's red eyes watched his soldiers drop.

The lackeys Voldemort had brought with him must have been very young recruits with literally no common sense. None even thought about blasting down the marble, or vanishing it. Voldemort, clearly tired of their stupidity, raised his wand and almost lazily flicked it.

"Excindo"

The two defenders managed to put up overlapping shields as the marble exploded around them, the wall ground to stone and swirling white dust. The first shield broke cleanly, while the second bent and warped under the stress.

A green jet of light flew through the dust and shattered the remaining shield charm like glass. For a moment, there was only the dust of the explosion, and silence.

"Neville, what was I telling you earlier?" said Augusta, slowly raising her wand again. Neville shook his head.

"I…"

He didn't have a chance to say more.

An enormous gust of wind tore through the dust and slammed directly into his grandmother. He could only cry out in fear as she slammed into the back wall of the room, and slid heavily to the floor.

"Are you resigned to your fate?" asked the Lord Voldemort, his magic humming around him in a sickening aura as he stepped through the dust. The remnants of the cloud writhed around him, giving him an incredibly eerie look. He looked almost sadly at Neville and his grandmother, crimson eyes glittering.

"You have known this was coming, Augusta, for so many years." The lipless mouth curled, and Neville's heart pounded in fear as he stared at the face that had given him nightmares two years ago. "And you, Heir Longbottom, I regret now allowing the Lestrange family enough free rein to have wounded you and your family so. Truly, you are a flourishing young wizard of our time, a gem of your generation."

Neville said nothing in response but raised his wand. Augusta let out a rattled sigh from the floor, and looked to the last of her family.

"Neville?" she said, quietly. Slowly, he turned his head towards her, and quirked an eyebrow in a mock questioning look, hoping the love was more than visible in his eyes, trying and failing to keep the worry out of them.

"Yeah, Gran?"

"From ashes, a phoenix is reborn." she said. Neville frowned in confusion before his eyes widened.

He could only scream in abject despair as the sharp tug of a portkey pulled from behind his navel, and he disappeared.

July 13th, 1997, 2332 hours

Luna Lovegood was uncomfortably comfortable with Death.

The two of them had met before, when she was only a young girl. Young, that is, relative to the timeless Wrackspurts that floated aimlessly in and out of people's minds, young compared to the age she was now. Young compared to how old she will feel, when the world will burn in an era of fire and brimstone and blood and pain. She remembered still the hooded figure who had solemnly stepped over her mother's bloody and burnt corpse, for a faceless face to look her straight in the eyes.

They had not spoken much, because it was obvious Death had no words for her. She had been so sad, horribly sad, that her mother could no longer smile with her, join in group hugs with her father, nor create the magical spells she did for the Department of Mysteries. She would never even see a Crumple Horned Snorkack with them both.

She had politely told Death. "I hope to only see you two more times, and I mean that in the nicest way."

Now, here she stood, in front of her own home, bathed in green light as the eerie skull of the Dark Mark hung over the ruined home like a Heliopath. Luna knew that her father was dead. A single tear escaped her eye, but her expression was frozen as she walked through the torn door.

The body of her father was mangled, broken, and bloody, but she ignored it in favor of the hooded figure that solemnly stood vigil over the body.

The world seemed to freeze. She checked the clock. 11:32:10PM. The second hand didn't move.

"Well, here we are again." Luna whispered. "Will you now take me too?"

In a slow, but unhesitant movement, the cloaked figure shook her head.

"A pity." Luna sniffed. "I'd have liked to see the Crumple-horned Snorkacks with him." She paused for a moment. "Is he with my mother?"

A nod, a small gesture, enough to make Luna send Death a beaming, but watery smile.

"I suppose, I'll just be going then." Luna whispered. "I hope I will not see you so soon. Until we meet again."

"Death." It was a whisper, almost questioning, but firm in its conviction at the same time. Luna cocked her head, eyes wide in the darkness, staring at the thing before her. There was clarity in them for once, as she stared intently at the vision of insanity that she Saw.

"Plague."

"Famine."

"War."

"They come, girl...they ride." The raspy, ethereal voice of Death, that spoke words out loud and yet didn't speak at all, was insistent. "Through the Dreaming...you found our children."

Luna was frozen, her dreamy mind suddenly focused, Seeing what had been hidden from the all-Seeing gaze her whole life. The future was no less clouded, but something seemed to fall into place.

"...Only a hallowed three of twelve..."

Silence. Luna stood, unblinking, unbelieving, as reality crumbled and rebuilt itself around her, all at the same time. She would not, could not dare to imagine the possibilities…

"...Best not suck your thumb, childe...for something wicked this way comes…."

One moment Death was there. Omnipresent, omnipotent; immovable, inevitable. The next, She had vanished.

Luna checked the partially broken clock by the mantle, which now ticked twice. 11:32:12PM, it read. No time had passed since she entered the house.

She disappeared with a sharp crack as the alarm ward triggered properly, alerting the Death Eaters that she had just arrived.

AN: This chapter's new spells in order of appearance chapter are as follows:

Fulgur(a) - Lightning Conjuration. Creates a bolt of lightning, or in plural form, multiple simultaneous bolts numbering up to 3. Highly skilled casters may be able to alter the trajectory of the lightning as it leaves the wand. Very dangerous, potentially fatal.

Corvus (pl. Corvi) - Raven Conjuration. Similar spell to Serpensortia or Avis, as it may conjure a false-living piece of magic that behaves like a raven, or may summon an actual raven from somewhere else, depending on the caster's intent.

Excindo - Disintegration Hex. Creates an explosion according to the visualization of the caster, resulting in the target area being ground into fine particulates. Tremendously difficult to cast accurately, requires intense control to wield with precision.

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