Harry Potter and the Path of the Phoenix: A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in/throughout the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Plot: Adopted from ArlyssTolero: The Death Eaters weren't the only ones at the World Cup. Someone else was there to put Harry through Hell with one goal: to make him a Knight of Walpurgis. Instead, they make him someone else: they make him something else!
Author's Note: So, once upon a time, on a site we all know and love, I once accepted the right to adopt an abandoned idea by a dear friend of mine, but something went wrong and, as a result, the idea was lost to the Inspirational Graveyard.
(Boy, do I hate that place!)
But now, thanks to new inspirations, old ideas and a stroke of sheer dumb luck, the idea is reborn, new and improved, and with some fun and games that, I hope, you will all be able to enjoy, especially the aforementioned friend, whom I know has the same struggles I do with negative feedback and ideas being lost.
Hopefully this helps both of us, eh, pal?
Anyway, as always, if you don't like it, don't read it.
Recommended Reads: Knight Errant by ArlyssTolero, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, Aspirations by megamatt09, Saviour of Magic by Colt01, The Last of the Peverells by Arcturus Peverell, Harry Potter The Protector of Magic and The Protector and the Four Guardians by TigerSwarm9122, Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos by ACI100, Can't Have It Both Ways, Proud Parents and Who Will Fill a Coward's Grave? By RobSt, Apex and Damaged Raven by JustBored21 and Harry Potter and the Return of Heritage, Harry Potter and the Peverell Legacy and Harry Potter and the Serpent Conquest by Jayan phoenix
Key Pairing: Dark Harry/Hermione
Other Pairings: Dark Ron/Luna; Dark Neville/Ginny; Others TBD
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
/Parseltongue/
Chapter 1: Face the Raven-Wood
Amidst the celebrations of the Quidditch World Cup, as unsuspecting wizards from all corners of the globe partied and frolicked with merriment, none of them noticed a lone figure, by the name of Magnus Ravenwood, or how he stood as still as a statue, his cold, eerie, ice-blue eyes looking out over the festive atmosphere of the campsite.
He didn't move, he didn't speak and, while nobody really seemed to notice him, neither did he do anything to make them take notice of his presence: instead, he just stood there, arms folded, eyes fixed on the campgrounds, musing silently to himself.
Nobody knew how he had avoided this day, this moment and this particular instance for far too long.
Nobody knew how he, Magnus Ravenwood, was the true leader of a legion of warriors whose name had been bastardised, mocked and belittled at the hands of the cowardly, psychotic man-child of a fool that was Tom Marvolo Riddle – or Lord Voldemort, as he tried to dub himself – and the simple-minded, purist zealots who followed, served and committed acts of severe atrocity and fear in his name.
No, as far as Magnus was concerned, his legions, the Knights of Walpurgis, deserved better than to be lumped in with the likes of the xenophobic, genocidal Line Thieves, Rapists, Murderers and Blood Traitors, who called themselves the Death Eaters, much less their borderline-insane child of a so-called Dark Lord of a master.
The real Knights had a long, rich history of purifying the wizarding world of corruption, of ensuring that Darkness and Light did not consume one another in their eternal, deadlocked war between two factions, two ways of life and two sides of the same coin.
A coin that, according to the Code, would always need to remain in balance.
Too much of either could lead to corruption, or overcompensating leaders who believed themselves God.
Phoenix
Unfortunately, the piss-poor excuse of a sea of rumours and hearsay surrounding their false, non-existent associations with the Death Eaters had made finding suitable candidates in Wizarding Britain nearly-impossible. Over time, as these pretenders had carved a path of death, damnation and desolation across the British Isles, Ravenwood had realised that the only way to even attempt to do so would be to cultivate a relationship with someone younger; someone who could be moulded to the ways of the Knights as they were needed to be.
To that end, Magnus had enlisted the help of his Magic-Blind associates – known in the British wizarding world, disgustingly, as Squibs because of how the so-called Powers failed to acknowledge their worth or capabilities – to sift through the candidates, each one given a rundown of the sort of person he was looking for.
Since it was Magical Britain he was dealing with, it went without saying that Magnus knew that his Champion of Balance would need to be a Hogwarts student, since only Hogwarts serviced the influential members of British society.
The less-known, less-potentially-ideal schools were aimed more at the Muggle-borns who lacked promise and the half-bloods who, as far as the Brits were concerned, had sullied the blood and name of influential families: damn pureblood dogma!
If these people had any idea of the threat and potential in being born of both worlds, they'd shit themselves stupid!
Phoenix
Of course, there was one name had come up again and again over the past few years, but when he heard it, Ravenwood had initially balked at the possibility that this particular soul could ever be considered a member of the Knights, much less the Champion he sought.
Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was the scion of a very Light-oriented family, whose lineage could be traced back to the dawn of the new millennia and before then – not that the pure-blood bigots realised this, since they claimed Harry was naught, but a feeble half-blood and the spawn of a Mudblood who'd soiled an Ancient Family: seriously, was it any wonder they were so easy to conquer?
And besides, according to Magnus' researchers, had been under the personal guardianship of yet another usurper to the Grand Design, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, since he was a little over a year old.
However, as the Knights looked more into Potter's life and background, they'd learned some rather interesting truths.
For one, the boy didn't live with Dumbledore, despite Dumbledore supposedly being his guardian, both legal and magically-speaking.
Instead, he lived with No-Maj relatives who were negatively predisposed towards magic, right up to the point where Magnus wouldn't have been surprised to learn that they caused an infestation of sickness to anything magical that had the misfortune of getting too close to them. At the same time, this revelation was enough of a reason to force Magnus' hand since he'd always hated the idea of a magical child being used, abused and forced to ignore their heritage.
Such things usually led to the creation of an Obscurial and, in the case of this particular orphan, that was an outcome Magnus couldn't afford to let happen, let alone because of someone like Dumbledore!
On top of that, there was also the steady stream of information coming out of Hogwarts concerning the prospective new recruit.
According to the reports, Harry had gone through quite an eventful, taxing and, physically, mentally, emotionally and, yes, even magically-testing three years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, primarily down to how he seemed to miraculously, if not stubbornly survive numerous life-or-death situations.
Like many others, Ravenwood wasn't sure he actually believed the rumours about Riddle somehow cheating death, enduring in spirit form, but he'd sent his agents out into the world, with the task of uncovering the truth…just in case.
After all, it was no secret that proof and the eventuality of the so-called Dark Lord Voldemort's return would spur the upstarts in Britain and lead to some of the Knights' younger members being swayed to walk that path.
With the knowledge that the boy was a Quidditch fan and on his school's team, Magnus had also worked fast to ensure that Harry James Potter was going to be at the Quidditch World Cup. It had involved some under-the-table work, as well as more time than he would have preferred to set things up for his potential protégé, but, in the end, Magnus agreed with himself that the cost far outweighed itself when compared to the rewards that awaited the young Knight's Squire when he accepted his destiny.
However, even when his quarry had come to the Cup Final, Magnus had been loathed to confess, if only to himself, of how he'd yet to find a way to meet up with the boy since Harry Potter always seemed to be surrounded by his two closest friends, but he'd heard rumours from the pureblood circles that something was stirring.
If what he suspected was true, then the upstarts would cause problems tonight and, if all went according to plan then, in the ensuing chaos, he and Harry Potter could have a nice little chat.
It was only a matter of time
Phoenix
As if Fate herself was listening in, Magnus allowed himself a thin, almost-unnoticeable smile when, all of a sudden, the once-festive atmosphere of the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup suddenly turned into one of terror as witches and wizards from all over the globe scattered in the path of the infamous band of Dark wizards who had terrorized the British wizarding world almost fourteen years ago.
Now, it appeared that they had made a comeback.
Like a plague of locusts out of the Bible, they made their return as public as possible, marching through the campsite, setting fire to tents, firing a wide array of curses, including one in particular that was well-known by many of the witches and wizards in attendance – known and reviled to the point where they declared it Unforgivable, even though, like all Magic, even this curse had the potential for good…once again, damn dogma!
On top of that, they also made fear the leading emotion of the night by using the Muggle manager of the campsite and his family as hostages to keep the Ministry of Magic from interfering with their fun.
Amidst the chaos, fear and terror of the devastation, Magnus' thin smile widened when he saw there was Harry Potter, who had, apparently, found himself being separated from his friends in the chaos.
Whatever the reason was, this was the chance that Magnus had been waiting for.
Now, to begin the next step of the true Knights' re-emergence…
Phoenix
After hearing the feared cries and witnessing the destruction that had come to the World Cup, the fourteen-year-old young man, who was the source of much talk and gossip in the wizarding world, especially at Hogwarts, had the funniest feeling when he saw the people in dark cloaks and silver masks.
However, before he'd gotten a chance to even show a glimmer of curiosity, Harry had been stopped when Mr. Weasley ordered him, Hermione and his children to flee to the woods and wait for him to find them, but in the chaos of the unexpected violence at the Cup, Harry had been separated from the Weasleys and Hermione.
Now, he was alone, doing what he could to duck and weave his way between the tents as he raced for the woods, trying not to look at the horrific sight of the Muggles being tortured or these demons in black making their presence felt.
Suddenly, as he made his way towards salvation, Harry's eyes widened with shock and alarm when a magical blast suddenly struck a tent near him, causing the campground to ignite, whilst sending a concussive force outward. The sheer force behind the shockwave lifted Harry, along with several others around him, up into the air.
Some were lucky enough to land on tents that had not yet been destroyed, while others landed on tents that had caught fire.
However, Harry – thanks in part due to his own special brand of luck – had the misfortune of landing on the ground between two tents where, all of a sudden, he let out a strangled cry of pain as he felt a bone in his right leg snap.
Calling on the instinctive tolerance for pain that he'd seemed to have gained over the years, all thanks to his loving relatives and all the insanity he'd had to contend with at Hogwarts, Harry rose to his feet and began making his way to the woods, limping as he did so. With each shaky step, he winced and grunted in pain again as each movement of his broken leg sent shocks of agonising pain shooting through his body; indeed, his teeth were clenched so tightly, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear them crack under the strain of trying to work through the pain as he moved out of the encampment and into the woods.
In fact, he didn't say it aloud, but, due to his injuries, Harry was amazed he even managed to make it a dozen or so yards into the woods before he collapsed to the ground again. Puffing and gasping through the strain that seemed to have flooded his body, Harry lifted his sleeve-covered right arm to dab at his forehead, but, as he did so, he gasped again as he found a cold sweat had formed on his face as he pulled himself into a sitting position, using his hands to shift his body towards a nearby, upturned tree trunk so he could rest.
Finally, he looked down at the leg that had been injured: blood soaked his pant leg, turning the grey colouring a murky, almost-blackish tint while Harry could also feel his blood trickling down over his kneecap and along his leg, where it slowly pooled on the bottom/back of his pant leg.
As he reached down, Harry tried to carefully roll the pant cuff up his leg, wincing as it snagged on something; carefully manoeuvring the cuff over whatever it had caught on, Harry felt his stomach lurch as he spotted the jagged bone sticking out of his leg.
"Merlin's beard…" rasped the fourteen-year-old Gryffindor, as he leaned back against the tree again, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that he could hold out until the campsite calmed down and someone came and found him. It looked like the Death Eaters – whatever they were, as he told himself – hadn't noticed him hiding there and, since he didn't know any healing spells, save one, but he suspected that even the spell that former-Professor Lupin had used last year had been on Ron's broken leg, which was not as bad as Harry's; there'd been no bone sticking out of flesh, blood soaked pants, or anything like Harry's.
Still, the point was there: he was trapped, vulnerable and, mercifully, safe…for now, at least.
Suddenly, as he tried to figure out an option to help him, Harry's eyes opened again as he heard the snap of a twig.
Glancing around with a level of alertness and fear that had come from pretty much all his crazy adventures, Harry spotted a man standing nearby, hunched over as he caught his breath.
Clearly, the man had made his way here to escape the rioters, just as Harry had, but he looked a lot different to Harry: the man was impeccably dressed and well-groomed, which meant he was either a pureblood or simply came from a well-to-do family that had, in the words of Harry's aunt and uncle, raised him right proper.
The man, having caught his breath, took in his surroundings and spotted Harry resting against the tree.
For a moment, he examined him briefly before focusing not on Harry's forehead but on Harry's blood-covered right leg, which allowed Harry to make a mental note of the man's wintry-white-coloured hair and ice-blue eyes, which, when coupled with his proud attire, suddenly gave Harry a bad, if not sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Ouch…that's a bad break you've got there, kid," said the man, while Harry took note of the American accent as well as the roguish looks in the man's features.
A twitch of his hand saw a wand drop into his right palm, earning a curious look from Harry as he saw the man keep his attention on him. "May I?" I happen to have some proficiency in healing."
'That's lucky,' thought Harry before, after a moment of hesitation, he gave a nod, but not before he winced again when the man began flicking his wand in his direction, silently casting what Harry assumed were diagnostic spells, all the while speaking with Harry, as though they'd just met by chance and not when Harry needed medical attention.
"My name is Magnus Ravenwood," the man said as he knelt next to Harry, at which point he looked at the boy expectantly.
It took Harry a moment to realize what Ravenwood was waiting for, which only made him laugh as he drawled, "Sorry; guess I've just grown used to people already knowing who I am thanks to this bloody thing."
He tapped the lightning bolt scar on his forehead with a slight scowl before he added, "Anyway, my name is Harry Potter."
"Is it? My, that's interesting…or just sheer dumb luck," replied Ravenwood, apparently-finished with his assessment, though, to Harry's unease, he didn't appear to have actually done anything to the boy's leg. Instead, he leaned back with a sigh before pulling himself to his feet as he looked back in the direction of the camp with a contemplative expression.
For a moment, Harry wondered what the man found so interesting, while he also wondered what, if anything, his mysterious companion may be about to do next, but before he could inquire further, he was cut off when Mister Ravenwood continued, "Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you know exactly who it is that those people out there are?"
The sound of the riot could still be heard: raucous laughter, screams of terror, explosions, fear, terror and unknown destructive limits.
In a word: death accompanied the riots.
As Harry shook his head in response to Ravenwood's question, he frowned when he saw the man was disappointed in his answer before he cleared his throat as he explained the point to Harry.
"Well, I see someone's a bit behind in his classes, but no matter…you see, Harry: may I call you Harry? Okay, then; you see, Harry, to many of your world, those ingrates over there are mislabelled as members of the hallowed legions of the Knights of Walpurgis: a distinguished organization with a rich history. In truth, they are known as the Death Eaters, due to their master's obsession with defeating Death itself, such a child and…hey: I'm sure I don't need to name the Master for you, do I, Harry?"
When Harry shook his head, Ravenwood gave another thin, almost-unnoticed smile before he drew in a slow breath as he continued, "Now, the reason you probably haven't noticed these pretenders before now, is because of how many of their numbers are currently locked away in Azkaban Prison, or the bowels of Nurmengard Island, depending on where they were caught and the severity of their crimes. Others, with names I'm sure you can probably guess, if the rumours of your experiences are, indeed, true, have managed to wiggle out of their punishments. Of course, with the corruption of the Ministry of Magic being what it is, we both know they're unlikely to ever see true justice done."
Harry's mind, despite being flooded with pain from his still-wounded leg, put together the pieces Ravenwood had put together.
The master whom Ravenwood spoke of.
He knew of only one man who was afraid of death to the point of trying to defeat it.
Only one person – if he could actually be called such a thing anymore – who had followers who were either imprisoned or walking free because they were paid up with the right people.
"Voldemort."
"The very same," Ravenwood replied, turning to look at the boy with interest as he added. "I must confess; I am surprised to hear you say his name, when most witches and wizards in Britain are too frightened of him."
"I've never been afraid to say his name," Harry said with a shrug, though he also sounded truly-strong about that fact as he went on, "Most of my friends do, even the one who's Muggle-born, but I refuse to live in fear of the man, especially since I've seen the wreck he's become!"
For a moment, Harry looked up, half-expecting Ravenwood to utter a denial at what he had said, but, instead, Ravenwood simply nodded before turning back to the spectacle in the camp as he continued. "The Death Eaters, what's left of them anyway, have become even more of a mockery of the true purpose for which the Knights of Walpurgis, whose identity they attempted to usurp, were intended."
As Harry listened, he thought he heard a scoff from Ravenwood before the man went on with a slightly-amused tone of voice, "It is not unusual, of course; if there's one thing that any holder of any level of power should know about that, which they call theirs, it is that power can and, often-times, does corrupt those who wield it. They've fallen to the belief that power is to be flaunted from behind masks, making use of such tools as theatricality and deception."
An eerie coldness seemed to accompany his next words as Ravenwood nodded, as though he was thinking out loud, before he went on. "While those tools are useful, they cannot make changes on their own. The notion that might makes right has infested the noble ideals they attempted to claim for their own, twisting and corrupting them until they are but shadows of what was intended."
Suddenly, Harry felt a chill go down his spine as he began to wonder exactly what kind of wizard he was speaking with: he'd thought since the man was an American, he might not be the type of person to follow the ideals of Voldemort and others like him.
But the way the man spoke, it seemed like he was only disgusted with what the so-called Knights, otherwise known as Death Eaters, had done to themselves, becoming servants to Voldemort.
"What exactly was the purpose of the Knights of Walpurgis?" he asked before he could stop himself.
While he talked, Harry tried to hide his search for his wand to scoot further up against the tree, and felt a tingle of fear shoot through him.
His wand was missing?
He quickly concluded that it must've fallen out when he was launched into the air by that explosion.
While he tried to figure out his next move, Harry heard Ravenwood speak again, his voice calm, as though he was giving a lecture in class and not some dark-edged explanation.
"The purpose of the Knights of Walpurgis is twofold: First, it is our sworn duty to act as an organisation of balance between the Light and the Dark. There is no Light without the Darkness, just as there is no Darkness without the Light. That is one of our core tenets, and it is something I strongly believe in. The second purpose is to ensure the purity and strength of wizarding society, to weed out corruptive influences who've managed to gain places within the halls of power. This includes ensuring that wizarding traditions remain an important part of our world. We are not the non-magical people, Harry, regardless of how much certain overconfident, overcompensating elements within our world would want us to be. We have so much they cannot and do not understand: from different customs, beliefs and an entirely different culture to the power that courses through the veins of the worthy. Should we be asked to ignore our own holidays? Ignore our beliefs? Ignore the very essence of what makes us unique to make our society more palatable for those who are coming from the Muggle world?"
Again, he nodded as though enjoying a more-private conversation with himself before he went on, "Sometimes, yes, the Knights of Walpurgis had to take extreme actions, but only when simple manipulations such as blackmail or inserting our own people into positions of power didn't work. But Voldemort and his followers took what was a powerful ideal and twisted it to suit their own designs. In turn, a powerful wizard in the Light Factions took those who might have been the best hope in turning the tide and helping to restore the balance and they wound up being used to suit his own ends…such as your parents."
Harry stiffened at hearing this, but before he could say anything, he was cut off as Ravenwood pressed on. "The Knights of Walpurgis, the true Knights, have been unable to breach British wizarding society due to its insular nature and the stranglehold, the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore have on the political landscape. We realized that, in order to truly step out of the shadows and make ourselves known again, we would need to find someone who could become our agent within the British wizarding world, someone who would be above reproach."
Here, Ravenwood turned from the spectacle in the camp to look at the young man.
Although he didn't admit it out loud, now that the time was here, he almost pitied what the young man would have to go through, but the only other option was to completely purge British wizarding society, and Ravenwood was not yet willing to commit genocide on that scale.
"Perhaps, given all I have heard of you, Harry, I wonder: perhaps you are strong enough to do what must be done," he mused quietly as he stared at the young man. "But there is only one way to be sure."
Suddenly, before Harry could ask what he meant, Ravenwood's wand lashed out: when it did, Harry felt as though a thousand knives were cutting at him from the inside out, as if a fire was burning in his flesh. He tried to keep from crying out, not wanting to give this man the pleasure nor the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but even the pain tolerance he'd built up over the years could not withstand the sheer brutal torture that he didn't learn until later was the Cruciatus Curse.
A scream wretched out of Harry's throat, but Ravenwood did not stop.
He also didn't look satisfied or pleased to hear Harry scream.
Instead, his actions seemed to be more like those of a test that Harry was meant to go through, which Ravenwood was putting him through because it was the way things were and not because he got any pleasure from it. He held the curse on Harry for a total of three minutes; three excruciating minutes during which Harry wanted to give up, to die, but something deep inside him said no.
He was not going to give this madman the satisfaction of him dying.
Eventually, Harry's screams pushed his throat past its limits and blood could be seen dripping from the boy's mouth as he let loose great, hacking coughs as the curse was finally lifted.
To his horror, Ravenwood didn't relent for very long, however.
With another slash of his wand, though Harry didn't know it, a spell that one Severus Snape believed to have only been discovered by him was cast upon the most hated student of said Potions Master.
Deep lacerations cut into the torso of the Boy-Who-Lived, blood soaking his shirt and jacket before, with another slashing motion, Ravenwood cast the so-called Sectumsempra Curse on Harry once again – a curse that anyone with knowledge of said spell-craft could create so long as they had the training.
As he screamed in agony and disbelief, Harry collapsed onto his side and, despite the agony he was in, he still managed to muster up enough strength, even if only to try and crawl away, though not before another casting of the Sectumsempra left deep lacerations in his back.
Apparently done with his hazing on the unsuspecting teenager, Ravenwood walked forward as the boy lay bleeding and stepped down on the boy's right hand, crushing it beneath his foot.
He knelt and gripped the boy's hair, forcing him to look up at his attacker's face while Ravenwood let out a slow breath as he addressed Harry with a cold, but clear tone of voice that seemed to be devoid of any of the light-hearted humour or cool, emotional tones from earlier, his ice-blue eyes shining in Harry's eyes like the fires of Protego Diabolica as he addressed the bloody, broken and beaten youth.
"They call you the Boy-Who-Lived, but that is simply a title, one that traps you and holds you prisoner. However, if you break free of that prison, become the balance between Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, you can rise up, stand tall and stride across the skin of this world…or…you can go ahead and throw yourself into oblivion."
As Harry whimpered in response, Ravenwood looked to the hand he'd stepped on before, lifting his wand, he ignited the tip with a single spark that made shadows dance over his face, making him look truly-terrifying, like he'd been sent from Hell itself.
"The choice must be yours, so I leave you with this message…decide your own fate, Harry Potter! Not the hand that so-called manipulators of the Powers would want you to choose…when you do…I will return and, at that time, you, my little, emerald-eyed friend, will be…ready!"
With his last words, Ravenwood drove the lit tip of his wand deep into the centre of Harry's forehead, right where his lightning bolt scar was located.
As the boy screamed with new, bloody pains, Ravenwood removed his wand from the boy's brow before he left Harry bleeding out on the ground before, a few seconds later, he disappeared with the sharp crack of Disapparition, even as the Dark Mark rose in the air nearly a mile from where they had been, and the Death Eaters vanished in fear of the Mark of their master.
All that remained was the broken, bloody form of the Boy-Who-Lived as he descended into oblivion.
So, a VERY interesting, dramatic and surprisingly-graphic and tense beginning, but as we leave the horrors behind, we're left to wonder: what does Magnus Ravenwood hope to achieve in putting Harry through such a terrible ordeal?
Also, will Harry rise and seize control of his Fate, or will the supposed manipulators win and drive him back into oblivion?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: Harry's friends find him, but it doesn't look good: also, as our hero struggles to hold onto the life in him, he makes himself a promise that says one thing more than anything else: he's far from done with Ravenwood!
Please Read and Review
AN: Portrayal
Magnus Ravenwood: Neal McDonough