I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

Unholy Purity

Part One: Demon Blood

Chapter Two: Words of Shadows, Words of Strife

My Last Breath
Singer
Evanescence

Hold on to me love

You know I can't stay long

All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid

Can you hear me?

Can you feel me in your arms?

Holding my last breath

Safe inside myself

Are all my thoughts of you

Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight

I'll miss the winter

A world of fragile things

Look for me in the white forest

Hiding in a hollow tree (come find me)

I know you hear me

I can taste it in your tears

Holding my last breath

Safe inside myself

Are all my thoughts of you

Sweet raptured light it ends here tonight

Closing your eyes to disappear

You pray your dreams will leave you here

But still you wake and know the truth

No one's there

Say goodnight

Don't be afraid

Calling me calling me as you fade to black

Dreamscape

There was pitiless hatred dwelling within the eyes of the man who had been both a father and brother to him for two years. The face of Sirius Black was sunken worse then ever, his stringy and unwashed hair falling across his skull-like face, his blue eyes dead and devoid of the warmth he had come to cherish. The room was empty, save for the convicted convict and himself. Sirius was clutching his wand, while he had no defense.

'You killed me, Potter,' snarled Sirius, his eyes mad with a demonic hatred, 'You brought me to my death, you arrogant bastard!'

'No,' gasped Harry, trying to back away from Sirius, his own eyes wide in horror, salty tears threatening to escape, 'I-I di-didn't mean to . . .'

'Didn't mean to?' said Sirius calmly and threw back his head, giving his trademark bark-like laughter, 'You murdered me! You killed your godfather Potter! You're the reason why Lily and James are dead, you're the reason Cedric is dead! You might as well have been the one who fired the curse.' Sirius pulled back his lips to reveal his teeth in a mockery of a smile. 'You are no better then Voldemort.'

Harry backed away as Sirius advanced, his wand raised like a sword. 'You wanted to play the hero, didn't you? You wanted the praises of your friends.' He put on a high, false female voice, his hands clasped over his heart. 'Ohh, you saved Sirius! Let me worship the ground you walk on Harry! You're a god, a hero, our savior!' He threw back his head and laughed a high cold laugh. Voldemort's laugh.

Harry fell to his knees, clutching his head as tears spilled from his eyes. Sirius was right, he was a murderer. The form of his godfather was changing, assuming the form of the monstrous Grim with flaming red eyes and teeth that could have torn his body to shreds. 'Die, Potter, pay for your sins with your blood,' he whispered in a voice that was not his own, 'Redeem the honor to your fallen victims.' A sword appeared in Harry's hand, the blade stained with blood. Blood from his parents, Cedric and Sirius. The blood of the innocence was what stained the once bright, holy metal.

Harry looked at the demonic weapon for a long time before getting to his feet with the sword clutched tightly in his hands. The Grim bared its teeth in a malicious smile. 'Yes, kill yourself.' Harry's emerald gaze fell to the ground as he raised the blade over his chest, ready to pierce through his heart. He plunged it down and -

'NO!' It was a voice Harry did not know, a female voice filled with horrified sadness. Through his pain, the wizard saw a figure with long red hair dart from the shadows and slam into the Grim. The woman was not tall, nor was she short, but her build was slim and curvy. Long, dark red hair, the color of blood, fell to her waist and in her heart-shaped face, almond shaped green eyes burned in hatred.

'Beast of the shadows, be gone,' hissed the woman, her eyes burning daggers into the shaggy specter dog. The Grim smirked in its horrid way. 'Your too late, Evans, your son dies even as you watch.' Harry looked down and felt his lungs empty from oxygen. Blood was staining his shirt and the floor, from the wound caused by the sword protruding from his chest. With dying eyes, Harry turned his gaze back upon that of the massive Grim. The shadows of the room began to eat at the flesh of the dog, stripping it to bare bones that crumbled to dust. The woman turned to him, her eyes filled with tears.

'Good Lord, please live Harry,' she breathed, dropping down to him. He could make out her clothing, a gown on white and silver silk with platinum embroidered into the hem, neck and sleeves, and her scared, pale face, but the rest of the world was fading fast.

He smiled and reached out a shaking hand that the woman grasped. 'Mum,' he managed to gasp, 'I'll be . . . with you . . . and Dad . . .'

Her bottom lip trembled and the tears poured from her eyes. 'No, Harry please, you have to live. Don't let yourself die.'

He frowned. Didn't she want him to be with her? Wouldn't any mother want to be with their child again, to hold them in her arms and say they will never leave? He closed his eyes, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. He felt another hand grip his shoulder and shake it, as one would shake someone to try and get sense into them. A man's voice, sounding hysterical, cried out.

'No! Lily, he can't die, can he? The queen promised he wouldn't, he'd be safe . . .'

'Harry, please live.'

Harry's smile was a horrid mockery of the usually happy expression. 'Mum . . . Dad . . .' Another woman, her voice as smooth as glass, spoke. 'Do you truly wish to die?'

The pain was lessening. Harry grit his teeth. 'Yes, I wish to die. Let me die!'

The woman's voice was full of sorrowful sympathy and regret. 'Child, why? Why do you want to throw away your life?'

'I have no life,' he snapped, 'I am just a weapon for the light. Darkness wants me dead. I belong to neither.'

'Darkness, you know not true darkness,' said the woman smoothly, still sounding enviously calm, 'What you call darkness is a man wanting to be a demon. I will not let him achieve this, and none of my children will acknowledge him as an enemy or ally. I am true darkness, the Queen of Oblivion, and true darkness is everything you see.'

He swallowed hard, blood flowing freely into his mouth. The woman continued to speak, her voice growing colder. 'You have friends who love you like a family and will support you no matter what your decision. Whither you leave the light to become darkness or remain as a mindless tool by all you know, so be it. I have watched you for a long time, child, and I thought you were wiser then this.' Here her voice was a bizarre mixture of anger and sorrow, eyes narrowing. 'I didn't think you were a coward.'

Anger bubbled inside his chest and he snapped at the unseen woman through teeth clenched in fury. 'I am not a coward!' he gasped, chest burning in pain from the sword still lodged in his abdomen.

'Oh really? Prove yourself worthy of my blessing.' Her voice was bemused, and taunting. His eyelids were heavy when he tried to pry them apart and he was horribly weak when he moved. His body screamed as the white-hot fires of agony tore at his flesh and insides when he tried to get himself to sit up. He made out the blurry outlines of four people, three of which yelling soundless words. The woman in the front had a shrewd expression of curiosity on her face as she watched him. Her red lips curled into a smile.

'Yes, you are a stubborn one child, much like your father,' she said with a thin lipped smile, 'Little boy, I am Khalida of Oblivion. I am darkness, which you have been told to hate for their evil ways. Darkness is not all evil, light is not all good. In fact, those who honor themselves to the light are more quixotic then good. I know you have sly, manipulative blood within you, blood that is called shameful to the light. Yet you are just and honorable, traits insulting to the darkness. You are neither, but you are both. What side do you truly wish to be upon? Light, the holy savior, has deceived you. Darkness, the impure dictator, offers you aid.' She waved her hand and stepped aside, revealing the three people at her side.

They were his parents, and Sirius.

Lily Potter, clad in a gown of white and silver silk, wore the finest jewelry at her wrists and ears, a necklace bearing a lily flower made from the finest of jewels, hung on a platinum chain around her neck. The pendent rested between her breasts. She was every bit as beautiful as people described her, but her face held no laughter lines, only lines of sadness creased the skin around her eyes. Her emerald eyes, eyes that mirrored his eerily perfect, were flicked with sorrow. A tall man with untidy black hair and a face Harry saw in the mirror each morning held her gently. His hazel eyes were likewise sad and were behind glasses that had a platinum edge. He wore armor colored deep crimson with silver mail between the plates, a red, gold trimmed cape fashioned to his shoulders. A rapier was at his side, the hilt finest of gold with ruby shards mingled into the mold. Both were barely into their twenties, not even, just the tender age of eighteen, too young to be parents and certainly too young to be dead.

Next to the couple was the man Harry had grown to love as a father figurehead, Sirius. The older wizard looked very odd standing next to his friends, who were some fifteen years younger then him. His long, dark hair (now washed) was tied back in a ponytail, his face fuller then Harry had seen it in a long while. His blue eyes still held the empty look Azkaban prison had left there, but they looked happier, though a sad happiness. Like James, he to was clad in armor, though it was black with platinum edging. His sword had an old-fashioner look to it, the wire-wrapped hilt deep brandy red with a fat black diamond set into it. He was looking at Harry with a sad smile.

'Those you love never truly leave you,' quoted Lily, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder, 'We've been watching you Harry, and we couldn't be prouder of you.' James seemed at a loss for words and simply smiled his pleasure at his son.

The woman calling herself Khalida looked at Lily, who began to unfasten her pendent. His mother walked towards him and placed the pendent in his palm, curling his fingers around its smooth exterior. 'The lily represents peace and sincerity, virtues that are alien to you,' her words sagged in sorrow as she held his fist, 'We want you to have a good life, Harry, one not controlled by others. Chose your own path, we will help.'

'Hold Lily's pendent and speak one of our names and we'll talk to you,' said Sirius, 'And tell Snape to wash his hair for once.' James snorted in laughter and jammed his elbow into his friend's gut.

'Harry, remember there are those who love you in both this world and the next,' said his father for the first time, his voice similar to Harry's but older and with more of a childish playfulness, 'Try and enjoy life as best you can.' Lily lightly kissed his cheek and said, before releasing his hand, 'Demons are not evil, nor are they good. They act upon their best interests and nothing more.'

Khailda strode forward, similar sorrow and happiness deep within her black gaze. 'Your choice, Harry? Light or darkness.'

He did not answer for a moment, thinking over what each side had done to him. The light had helped him, yes, but they were the reason why he was so miserable. They lied, kept secrets and tricked him, all to keep him 'safe'. The darkness had stolen his parents, but were Khalida's words true? Was Voldemort actually dark? As if the woman had read his thoughts, she spoke in her soft, mysterious voice.

'You see Voldemort as the darkness, but he sees himself acting upon the light. Two sides of a coin, when you flip it, you have no idea what you will land on.' He didn't understand her words and his voice was slow when he answered.

'Can there be a limbo? The gray shade of white and black?' It seemed he had spoken the magic words. Their faces all split into truly happy grins and Khalida nodded to Lily who stood and rejoined her husband. The dark-clad woman then knelt by Harry and her black eyes peered deep into his own. Her thin, bony fingers took Lily's necklace and attached it around his neck.

'The wolf is a brave and valiant fighter. It protects its innocent young and kills only to survive. Tales of the wolf-man go back as far as history is archived, bringing together two of the worlds most dangerous beings.' Similar to Lily's behavior, she clutched her hands over his palm and when she lifted them up, a pearl-colored canine fang lay there. James shot a dark look at Khalida, who's own look silenced the words he was about to say. Sirius gripped his friend's shoulder.

'The wolf is tricky and stubborn. Once in a fight, it will not back down. Similar to bravery you display in all your activities, young child,' spoke Khailda as she picked up the fang and made two long dashes across both of his palms. It wasn't very painful, at least by his standards. Khailda did similar to one of her palms, where he noted there were several other white scars. Her blood was black and it dribbled slowly down her palm and wrist. She pressed her hand in between both of his, the fang still held in her hand. It was left in his hand when she let go.

'Bravery is a trait merited to the house of Godric Gryffindor, and a trait strong in the wolf. Yet also in the wolf you see a need to defend ones self. The wolf will abandon its own pups if the danger is too great for themselves. This to is bravery, but in a darker way, a way prized amongst Salazar Slytherin. Those two forms of bravery show both animals and humans have both a light and dark side in their build,' spoke the dark woman as her body melted into the darkness of the small room.

James turned to his son. 'Stay strong. We'll help you as best we can, Harry.'

Harry's eyes opened from his nightmare-turned-dream, wishing it could have gone on forever. His parents, and Sirius, together . . . He felt something smooth in his right fist and opened it. His vision was blurred by his lack of glasses, but when he pulled them on he felt his jaw drop and eyes widen. Upon his blood stained palm lay the small fang the dark woman had given him. His fingers then moved to his neck, where he felt a smooth chain and looking down, he saw his mother's pendent. The lily flower, crafted from delicate ivory and emerald, was innocently pressed against his chest. Tears burned in the inner corner of his eyes and he hastily wiped them on his sleeve before they escaped across his cheeks. If the necklace and fang were real, then his unconscious stabbing . . .

It was true. Across his stomach lay a half-healed scar, dark red in color and raw to the touch. A smile spread across his face for the first time since his godfather's death as he hooked the chain around his neck, touching the flower pendent. He had met his parents, in his dreams, yes, but Harry had learned the hard way that his dreams were anything but normal. He jumped when he heard his cousin snore in the next room. Dudley was snoring louder then before.

Dawn was coming, judging from the hues of pink and orange in the sky that proceeded sunrise. He dressed quickly and looked at his reflection. He bit down on his tongue to hold back a scream, stumbling backwards.

He looked bizarrely different, taller by an inch or two, his dark hair now chin length with two locks of white hair on either side of his face. His face had become more angular, the skin tanner then it should have been. His build was slimmer, his fingers thinner, the nails longer and more finely shaped (why hadn't he noticed that earlier?) but there was an inhuman quality to his already slanted eyes. The pupils had become slits and the irises were larger then they had been. What really got him were the distinctly animalistic qualities to his new body. His canine teeth had extended, resembling vampire fangs, and his ears had become longer, conical like a wolf's, and covered in jet-black fur. The main horror was the bushy yet elegant tail that curled around his thighs. The fur was black, streaked with white. He swallowed hard, examining his hands and running the fingers across his ears and tail. They were as real as the mirror depicted them.

Remembering his mother's words in his dream, he clutched the flower pendent with both hands. He ran his tongue across his teeth, feeling their unnaturalness and spoke in the softest voice he could muster.

"Sirius?" his voice sounded slightly different with his new fangs, his tongue not used to touching them.

Yes, you called? Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his godfather's voice speak in his mind. He breathed one sigh of relief before his words tumbled from his mouth.

"Sirius, something's wrong, very wrong. I've got a tail."

. . . You do realize you're underage.

"I'm not drunk!" he snapped, eyes glued to the mirror. "I'm like some half-dog thing."

Write to Dumbledore. The thought of telling the aged wizard made his stomach twist in a knot of anger.

"He wouldn't tell me anything," he snapped, "Isn't there anything else I could do?"

Harry, Dumbledore would know best.

"You've got to know something else! Anyone else I could tell?"

Remus, maybe, or even Hermione.

"Do, would my parents know anything?" he asked. The words felt extremely odd to say.

I don't think so.

"Thanks Sirius." He let go of the pendent, noticing how some of the ivory had been stained with his fresh blood. He didn't care but ran to the desk, nearly tripping over his new tail. He gave it a dark glare and grabbed the quill. He'd write to Hermione first, she must have memorized the whole library at Hogwarts. His handwriting was sloppy and barely readable, but he was sure if the witch could read Hagrid's scrawl, then his handwriting would be fine.

(Hermione,

Something's really strange. I had this bizarre dream and I woke up as some sort of canine hybrid. Tell me EVERYTHING you know about this sort of thing ASAP!

Harry.)

Hedwig was out hunting, he'd have to wait. He ground his teeth, his canine teeth cutting into his lip and a coppery taste filled his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind going over every Transfiguration lesson he had ever had. His frantic thinking was interrupted, however, by the arrival of a scared looking Pigwidgeon, the gray owl's feathers on end and a note hastily attached to his leg. His eyes grew wide when Harry reached a hand towards the small bird.

"Hush, Pig, it's me!" he snapped and the bird instantly quieted. He undid the note and read Ginny's neat handwriting. Her words had little effect on him, knowing he could still talk with Sirius in his mind, but his eyes caught the words in the middle of the letter.

. . .Speaking of Ron, something really strange is going on with him. He looks different, and not in a good way . . .

He turned over Ginny's letter and scribbled a reply.

(DIFFERENT HOW! SOMETHING SCREWED UP HAPPENED TO ME, I LOOK LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A MUGGLE SCI-FI MOVIE. He knew they probably didn't know what a sci-fi movie was, but he didn't give a damn currently)

Tying the letter back to Pig, he turned to his letter for Hermione. "Can you bring this to Hermione too?" he asked softly and the bird gave a hoot he took for a yes. The scrap of parchment fit on nicely and soon the small owl was off. With a deep sigh, Harry went to hide in his wardrobe. Certainly Aunt Petunia would not approve of his current . . . situation.

Unknown Location

The large mansion was old, very old, and the estate surrounding the almost palace-like structure was untamed forestland. The building was made of marble, both white and black, emerald ivy growing on the sides and on the roof was an ivory angel, the wings chipped and broken, and the statue's hands were folded over her heart. You could not call the statue-monstrosity an angel, especially since what remained of its wings were chiseled ebony marble. The inside of the manor was filled with an assortment of bizarre artifacts, collected from civilizations long since dead and buried beneath the Earth. One Aiden Shamshir wandered these halls, his hat positioned so that his right eye caught very little of his surrounding world. The green and black halls were dark; the little light that entered the room was from the moon in the sky outside.

Shamshir sighed and pushed his top hat back, taking the time to look at an Aztec idol, though not really seeing it. He had many thoughts running through his brain, and though the questions were all different, they all had their origins in one man: Lord Voldemort. His offer had little effect on the demon lord in truth, though many of his kinsmen would jump on the opportunity to do casual genocide to the people who had stripped the demons of so much. If he joined with the Dark Lord, he would gain revenge for the long millenniums his people spent dwelling in shadows. Yet, the con would be bringing more unneeded prejudice to the demon race and perhaps another war would erupt. A war that would certainly be more destructive then the last one.

Though he certainly did not look it, Shamshir had been alive when the last Demon-Human war had taken place over five hundred years ago. Humans still remember them as the Crusades, the Holy Wars. A smile stretched his flawless face at the memories still buried in the deep recesses of his mind. He had been a soldier, young and talented, quickly promoted to general. When his commanding officer, the last dragoon king, had fallen to the sword of a human leader, the dying demon's final words had declared Aiden Shamshir the new king.

There was silence that echoed through the wide halls of the mansion, broken only when Shamshir heaved a heavy sigh and paused in his walk to examine a case full of well crafted demon weapons. Demons used similar weapons to humans, swords, lances, axes and (more recently) guns. Shamshir himself preferred a good rifle to a spear and flexed his long fingers, looking at a highly polished pearl-handled pistol lying on a velvet cushion inside the case. The only difference between the weapons of the two races was that demons added more magic into the metal and wood. They would never break and could be used in a similar state as a wizard's wand if times called for the desperate.

A female voice cut through his musing, a voice with an Osaka dialect he knew only too well. Turning his head, his ice colored orbs bore into the navy eyes of a woman dressed in clothing that had died out with Queen Victoria. Her full-length dress curled around her legs, the gray shawl drapped around her shoulders held there by a circular ivory brooch. Her black hair was pulled into a tight braid with sharply cut locks surrounding her sly face. He jerked his head in a small nod, acknowledging the queen of the kitsune foxes.

The demoness calling herself Makai Mitsukai gave her trademark grin, more of a feral smile then actual mirth. "Aiden Shamshir, it's been too long, too long indeed. Your loyalties waver; I see it in your build." Her dark eyes narrowed. "Torn between the unruly nature of the people you command and the reason you have in your blood. Will you disgrace your mother – ?"

Shamshir flung his cane towards Mitsukai, who simply dodged the flying object. It had been thrown with such force that when it hit the Greek vase behind her, it shattered into a thousand pieces instantly. His blue eyes had turned a fierce shade of yellow, his hands to clawed talons and teeth to fangs.

"Don't ever mention my mother again Makai!" he snarled, "Her name is already smeared upon the filth of this planet!"

The kitsune queen simply smiled her dark grin, eyes twinkling in vicious merriment. "Such the fiery temperament, Aiden, so similar red fire that colors your wings. I came to offer you small assistance."

"It is not often the manipulative and all-knowing kitsune intervene with the other breeds," he said with the same cold and animalistic tone, "What is it you wish of me?"

Mitsukai's grin remained unchanged as she tossed back her long black hair. Where the faint moonlight caught it, he saw a flicker of indigo highlights in the ebony. "Why would I need anything of yours, King Aiden? I tell you to simply look for those connected with the Realms. You can sense their auras as well as I. Acheron is in one all know of, Celestia in the one so obscure in shadows."

"You speak in riddles, as per your norm," he snapped with a bite of impatience.

"Do I really? Do I speak in riddles when it is you who speaks to Riddle?" He turned his head in shame from the woman, his clawed hands curling and uncurling from fists.

"I know you've spoken with the semi-human lord, Aiden, and I see the conflict in your being. Play the part of an actor. As the curtain rises and the first act begins, the world is your audience to except and believe the words that flow from your red lips." Her cruel smile was in place, a metallic hue to her navy eyes. "None can see your true intentions, for we demons are manipulative and horrid bastards and bitches, spawn of the devil-king Satan."

"You took that from the archives, didn't you?" he said with a bitter laugh, returning to his human guise. His top hat had fallen to the floor and he picked it up, dusting it before setting it back on his head at its jaunty angle.

"We are all inferior to something, Aiden, even gods tremble at the might of the universe, the universe at the reality we kitsune bend. Thus the circle of fear and superiority continues." Her tricky words rivaled even the dark queen's. "Despite our inferior stature, we make the most of our power. Play the puppet master to the Dark Lord; make sure you hold the strings. Give him what he wishes, though at the most basic degree. Remember that our race depends on what you tell him. Though . . ." Her voice trailed off as she went deep into thought.

"Though what?" he snapped, examining her pleasurable expression that curled her lips and made her eyes twinkle in crude merriment. He had never liked Mitsukai, the legendary ten-tailed kitsune queen. Her fellow kinsmen called her but 'the Lady', for her awesome power was said to rival that of a goddess. He had seen the illusions she summoned, great powers not to be taken lightly, and the worlds that dwelt within the confines of her mind were . . . there was not enough words in all the languages combined to describe those worlds. Her insanity was infamous as well, insanity that had been in state for over three thousand years.

She turned from him and walked towards the weapons case he had previously examined, her eyes lingering on a wickedly curved falchion. Her voice was low and casual, something that spelled trouble for most. "Aiden, you remember the fall of the utopia that existed before human writing? A world, with just demons?" It sounded like a sort of nightmarish dream.

He did not remember, having not lived until the fifteenth century when the last great demon-human war had been fought. Mitsukai continued in the same soft voice. "I remember it. There was no war, no sickness, and the Dark Queen and the Light King lived on the land with us, as one. Khalida and Athar, the perfect yin-yang. Then, Athar made the humans as Khalida made the demons. Oh how humans hated us. They call us barbarians when it was they who hunted us for no reason. I remember my mother sobbing to the great monarchs to destroy the humans. She had come back to me and said that there was a plan that would involve all of us when the time came."

She sighed and her fingertips brushed the glass. "The queen and king eventually left Earth and settled in their respective lands. I doubt they even remember each other. For a long time I thought our gods had abandoned us to dwell in the darkness of our birth. Then I remembered my mother's words and realized the painting that was just beginning to be colored."

Her navy gaze returned to a befuddled Shamshir. He was grinding his teeth and she simply flashed him a smile. "The Dark Lord begins to search for Necromancy literature. Tell him to find gene splicing as well." Her voice was growing hysterical now, hysterically mad, her eyes widening with an emotion he did not know.

"That is a muggle term, he will never take it," he said darkly.

Her voice was high pitched and cracking now, unable to hold on to her last remaining vestiges of sanity. "Then say it to him differently. Blood fusion should have the same effect. Give him demon blood and tell him to mix it with his followers, those who hide behind masks of skulls. Then, then they will have the right to call themselves Death Eaters!"

Mitsukai threw back her head and her cold, cruel laughter echoed in every nook of the old building, shaking dust from the ceiling and burning the little marrow in his bones. This was the first time Aiden Shamshir had ever heard the kitsune queen laugh and hoped it would be his only.

End Chapter Two: Words of Shadows, Words of Strife