Disclaimer- See prologue for this and all following chapter's disclaimers.
"When the sky is rent asunder, when the stars scatter and the oceans roll together, when the graves are hurled about, each soul shall know what it has done and what it has failed to do."
-The Koran, 82:1
Chapter 1 Invasion
He was standing at the Crossroads. A place where all things come and go, meet and end.
It was dark... endlessly, abyssal darkness. A place where Time meant nothing, where an Age could pass in a blink, where Everything was born and would return.
An Angel stood at the gates of the Crossroads, wielding a divine spear. The massive wings loosed a gust of wind, and it charged.
In a burst of light, the angel disappeared, and his surroundings were changed.
Shining gold, luminous, filling the blank abyss, accentuated by the shadows around it. In the shape of a square, with an oversized, even more phosphorescent outline of a keyhole.
Like a siren's song, it beckoned him, drew him, haunting and alluring, a mesmerizing sight that filled him with apprehension.
The image only lasted for a moment, but it was burned into his mind, deep into his psyche.
With a flash of light, everything became white, empty nothingness...
Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, jolted awake, gasping deeply for precious atmosphere as he felt cold sweat trickle down his back. The sheets fell away, like the last vestiges of sleep.
"Just a dream..." He assured himself breathlessly, "Just a dream..."
But the images of that Door were so real, so vivid... it was as if he had known of that place his entire life, merely forgotten it at one point or another. Once more, the ache in his heart grew, as if he would die if he did not open the Door.
It had been like this for a whole week... ever since he had that first dream with that Voice... he'd been having this same dream, nay, vision. It was too much like the experience, if not the feeling of Voldemort induced visions to be anything else.
"Harry? You awake mate?" Ron asked concernedly through the wood of the door.
Immediately, the dream faded away like a morning mist, and reality awakened.
He was at Grimmauld Place-
Sirius, eyes wide with shock as he fell into the veil-
Blinking back the pain of memory, Harry responded tonelessly, "Yeah."
With a small sigh, Ron left, shaking his head.
"You've got to stop Harry." He whispered softly.
As Ron crossed the hallway, he was intercepted by another redhead.
"He's still out of it?" Ginny Weasley asked quietly, concernedly. The two Weasleys glanced at the door, then back to each other. Harry had gone straight up to the room last night after being brought, literally kicking and screaming to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
"Yeah." Ron replied hoarsely.
"Maybe you should-" his sister began, but the other redhead shook his head.
"Never works." Ron replied sadly, turning away. "Never works."
"So you're just going to give up?" Ginny challenged, eyes flaring with anger.
Her brother whirled on her, an inferno of his own anger, frustration, and self loathing in his eyes. "What would you like me to do! He yells at us, he screams from nightmares he never tells us about, and I can't do a damn thing but watch him do it!" Ron's voice, which began as a fierce whisper, broke down as it reached the final words. "What can I do Ginny?"
"I don't know Ron." But at least you have the courage to try. Ginny replied, feeling a slight jealousy at her brother's closeness to the Boy-Who-Lived that was absolutely abhorrent to her. "I really don't."
Hermione Granger rounded the corner, and saw Ron, leaning, body shaking with unreleased frustration, and saw Ginny, standing helpless and downcast. She felt despair and misery rise like a tide within her, as her lip quivered and tears came to life in her eyes. Pulling Ron into an embrace, she looked at Ginny and asked with a wry, tearful voice, "That bad?"
Ginny gave her a sad, quiet smile.
The other girl felt tears spring from her eyes and she pressed her face into her best friend's shirt. "Ron... why won't he let us help him?" She asked quietly, her voice muffled by the cloth but still, the redhead heard her.
"I don't know Mione." He replied sadly, a feeling of repugnance at his own helplessness and frustration at... everything.
The sight of her brother and his best friend holding each other, in tears about their best friend, set a spark of indignation coursing through Ginny. Feeling all the anger and frustration build within herself, it exploded into an inferno with that spark, lighting up into the courage she needed.
Without a word, she stormed into Harry's room, not heeding the calls of Ron and Hermione. The door met the wall with a loud crack, but neither of the two occupants noticed.
"What?" Harry asked rudely, his voice toneless.
"Harry Potter, I feel sorry for you." Ginny said quietly, her eyes blazing.
The Boy-Who-Lived's eyes sparked with fury and raw, relentless pain. "Oh, so at last someone says it! Look at the Boy-Who-lived, he's lost his parents, his relatives hate him, and his godfather is dead! Let's all have a bloody pity party!" He spat venomously, his tone full of acidic mockery.
"That's not why." The redhead replied, her tone still low and her eyes still furious.
"Then why? Is it the fact that I've got a murderous Dark Lord on my trail, or a horde of his sycophants who want my head on a platter?" Harry retorted poisonously.
"It's because you have two good, decent people who love you and care about you, and you're driving them away." At his gaping, uncomprehending expression, Ginny continued. "Its because that anyone with eyes can see that Ron and Hermione would die for you, because anyone can see that my mother sees you as one of her own, because of the fact that the twins, for all their pranks and jokes, are loyal to you. There are so many people whose lives you have touched, and you're driving them away. Face the facts Harry. There are people who love you, who want to help you."
"Loving me is like asking Voldemort to kill you." Harry said quietly, his voice hollow. "My mum and dad did it. Look how they turned out. Sirius cared..." He broke off, swallowing down the sob.
"He cared, and he wanted you to be safe and happy." Ginny replied. "Do you think you can be happy, do you think Sirius would have wanted you to give up the people who care about you?"
Rage built upon rage within the Boy-Who-Lived. "WE'LL NEVER KNOW THAT, BECAUSE HE'S DEAD!" he screamed in fury and self loathing, before stumbling backwards, tears falling from his eyes. "And I killed him." He added hoarsely, brokenly.
Ginny stepped closer, eyes softening, the inferno becoming a warmth. "You didn't, Harry. Bellatrix did. Tom did. Not you." She replied quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"I know that... but why can't I believe it?" The Boy-Who-Lived asked softly, voice barely a whisper.
"Because you're a good person Harry. Because you would feel guilty even if a Death Eater was killed, because you loved Sirius, and he loved you." And with that, she embraced him comfortingly. "Just like Ron and Hermione love you."
Without a single word of protest, Harry let himself be comforted, allowing himself the small feeling of repose that he had been denied for so long. "I wish I had told him that." He rasped softly. "I... wish I'd had more time..."
Ginny pulled back and gave him a small, understanding smile. "He already knew Harry."
Silently, Harry laid against the embrace, crying and trying to quell the ache that still stirred in his heart.
"Thank you." Harry whispered softly, truthfully.
Hermione and Ron crowded into the room, and laid themselves next to him, one on each side, placing their hands on his shoulders.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked quietly, meaningfully.
Swallowing, the Boy-Who-Lived nodded. "I... I'm sorry. Sorry for everything." Ginny slowly stepped backwards, sensing this was a moment for the trio. It hurt, a little, but she knew that this was a bond beyond time, something that could never be broken.
Hermione gave him a slight scowl that was softened by her kind eyes. "Don't be, Harry. We're your friends."
"Mione's right, Harry." Ron added. "If we can't be the people you let loose on, who will? We've been friends for almost six years. We're like a family."
Looking quite impressed with the redhead's speech, Hermione chipped in. "We'll always be there for you, Harry. We'll always be with you, just like Sirius."
Glancing at her, the Boy-Who-lived rasped wryly, "I don't deserve you guys..."
"Nonsense." The brown haired girl dismissed with a wave of her hand, pulling Harry into an embrace. "You're the bravest and kindest person I've ever known. You've changed all our lives, Harry, made us better than we are. And that's why we love you." Her voice had changed to a bare whisper, but it still held strength.
"Listen to her, mate. She's always right." Ron said quietly, a slight wry tone in his voice.
Unable to speak, the Boy-Who-Lived smiled and nodded.
Sheltered in care and love, Harry Potter found some semblance of solace in his friends.
He wasn't over Sirius' death, not by a long shot, and still blamed himself for at least part of it, but in this small moment, something had changed for him.
And maybe that was enough.
Though no one within Number Twelve Grimmauld Place noticed, a peculiar, unnatural, wrong phenomena occurred.
Nothing heralded its arrival.
No sudden trumpet blaring the End of the World.
No prophets predicting destruction.
No warning, none at all.
The sky turned black.
First in small sparks, like shadows flickering from a dying flame.
Then large patches, where clouds were devoured by pockets of midnight.
And then, like a cancer, it spread, obscuring the sun and sky, or perhaps enveloping the world. Soon, the world became dark, and light no longer shined on the Earth.
Man, woman, child, all looked up and saw the black sky, and were afraid.
And when the Darkness had fully spread, fully gorged itself upon the Sun and Sky, the manifest Darkness appeared in the streets of London.
Kingsley Shacklebolt burst into the Headmaster's office, where Albus Dumbledore had been overlooking a few Order reports. As the professor glanced at him cautiously and questioningly, he managed a breathless, "Death Eaters in London!"
Immediately, the elder's face went grave and he stood up, drawing himself to his full, intimidating height, the very picture of the defeater of Grindelwald. "The Aurors should be on their way shortly. I'll go to Grimmauld Place and bring the Order."
Nodding, the Auror activated his Portkey, headed for the Auror Headquarters.
Dumbledore cast a glance at the sky, which he had been monitoring for some time. "So it begins then, Tom." With a final, almost memorizing glance around his office, he waved at all the portraits. There was something absolute, a tone of finality in that small gesture.
And then, without another word, he crossed over to the fireplace, and was on his way.
And then the Headmaster appeared in a flash of flame within the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Almost immediately, Remus Lupin met with him. "We got the Floo call from Tonks." He explained, and then looked critical. "What do we do?"
Albus refused to let out a sigh. Always, they look to me, he noted sadly. What will they do if I am gone?
Or rather, when?
"Albus?" Remus asked, concerned over the unusually taciturn Headmaster.
Blinking, surprised at his distraction, Dumbledore said quickly, "Gather the rest of the Order, and prepare yourselves. When you are ready, meet the Death Eaters."
And God knows what else, a cynical part of his mind remarked.
The werewolf looked at him piercingly. "Us? You mean to say that you won't be joining the attack?" he questioned archly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I have other business. Where is Harry?"
Glancing upstairs, with a small hint of amusement, Remus replied, "From the yelling, I'd say the second floor."
At this, the professor gave a slight smile and a nod, and then departed wordlessly up the stairs.
As Dumbledore reached the top, he encountered a slightly aggravated Boy-Who-Lived and partially panicked friends.
"Professor!" Harry exclaimed in surprise, then his gaze became piercing. "It's him, isn't it?" he questioned, knowing the answer.
Nodding, the Headmaster took Harry aside as he said, "I need to talk with Mister Potter alone."
Though both Weasleys looked reluctant, Hermione pulled them away, but gave Dumbledore her own gaze that reminded him amusedly of Minerva's. When they were out of sight and hearing, the professor turned himself back towards the now irritated Harry Potter.
"Harry, listen to me. You must not face Voldemort." He said sternly, looking over his half moon spectacles at the defiant teen.
The Boy-Who-Lived gave him an arctic glare. "Why not? I'm supposed to kill him anyway." He retorted testily.
Wincing inwardly, Dumbledore replied adamantly, "You cannot defeat him. Not as he is now, not as you are now."
Although neither wizard noticed it at the time, the lights dimmed, and the air became significantly cooler, despite it being a hot summer day.
"I need you to place this advice close to your heart, Harry." Dumbledore continued, amused by his choice of words. "I need you to remember what I told you when you asked me how you could defeat Voldemort."
Nodding, Harry's eyes flashed with pain nonetheless. "You told me my heart was my power." His eyes went from pained with remembrance to angry and glaring. "Why can't you just give me a straight answer!" He demanded angrily, fists shaking at his sides. He looked almost like he would strike the old man.
The air chilled considerably now, turning from comfortable warmth to unpleasantly frosty.
Sighing sadly, the taller Headmaster bent down to look Harry straight in the eyes, angry and addled emerald meeting penitent sapphire. "Because I don't know the answer Harry." He admitted quietly, shocking the Boy-Who-Lived. "I don't dare claim I understand what sort of power your heart wields... only that it will change all our fates."
Harry swallowed down his fear and doubt, the words ringing within his own heart. For a moment, the two looked each other in the eye.
And then abruptly, an acerbic, merciless agony cleaved his cognizance apart as the Boy-Who-Lived fell to the floor, clutching his scar that ached and burned.
Whirling about, Albus felt the coldness, like the very breath of the abyss, on him. "Oh no..."
Outside of Number Twelve, in the streets of London, a demon banished onto the Earth from the depths of Hell, known by the title Lord Voldemort, smiled. The very air seemed unnaturally warped and corrupted by his presence, and often, shadows not cast by light flickered around him. Imposingly tall, with an emaciated figure, skin like marble and yet dancing with umbra, and most curiously of all, a mark on his chest. .
It was in the shape of the imagined but false image of a heart, curved and defined, a deep jet black or perhaps darkened amethyst. Angry crimson lines slashed it in an X shape, giving it an ominous, unreal feeling.
Standing or perhaps floating next to him, as if shadows of this avatar of Darkness, were creatures of Nightmare, who fed on despair and misery, on the souls of men. Dementors.
But they were changed, subtly but irrevocably.
At the torso area of that writhing mass of mercurial cloak, there was that same but significantly smaller mark that the Dark Lord bore, a crossed out heart.
Around him, like a cacophonous, unholy symphony, screams erupted about the streets, terrors from the darkness of the soul devouring the minds of man, woman, child.
Raising his hand, the Dark Lord focused on a single shadow in the midst of the street. The dark came to life, taking the form of a small, less than a foot tall buggy creature with large, feral yellow eyes, jagged feelers, and tiny, dagger like claws. Smiling, Voldemort silently ordered it to attack.
The living shadow struck out at a nearby man, and immediately, he toppled, and a bright light lazily drifted out of his chest. The Dementors shifted slightly, hungering for the light, but nonetheless stood their ground. Instead, the light was absorbed by Lord Voldemort, drifting into where the crest stood.
Power like nothing the Dark Lord had known before pulsed within him, and he almost moaned with its seductive energy. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, lost into the void inside of him.
And Voldemort wanted more.
To do his bidding, more and more shadows vivified themselves from the now tainted earth, all of them in the shape of the first shadow. Like a swarm of evil locusts, they deluged the crowd in a tide of Darkness.
Turning from this wonderful but distracting spectacle, the Dark Lord turned towards what was not there. Ancient magicks new and old, even the Fidelius Charm was placed over this hidden building. No one could possibly see, much less enter Grimmauld Place without the knowledge of the Secret Keeper.
But even magic must bow to a greater, older, and far more terrible force. Even magic cannot hide from and for greater Powers.
A glaring second sun shone from behind the wards, not even the ancient and formidable protections of the arcane able to conceal what was hidden within. It was a luminous beacon, all but beckoning to be destroyed. The aura of Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.
A wistful though came into Voldemort's head, that if only he had been able to use this power before, to track Potter. With that sort of aura, the boy would have had no place to run.
Thoughts and wishes were banished as the Darkness began its attack.
The Fidelius Charm, unrivaled in the ability to protect, could not stand up to such force.
Nothing can hide from the Darkness, which hides all. No one can escape the inevitability of Death.
Albus Dumbledore, long renowned as the most powerful sorceror of the age, felt his wards shatter like brittle glass, and his eyes widened and he stiffened just in time for the feedback of the power.
Harry's eyes widened as the professor was blown backwards into a wall with a loud crack, and then fell to the floor.
As a small drop of blood slithered down his ancient forehead, Dumbledore rasped softly, "He has broken the wards... remember Harry, your power is within your heart." He closed his eyes and slumped.
You hold the mightiest weapon of all... your heart.
Harry blinked slightly, disbelievingly, utterly rooted to the spot. What did that dream mean?
Before he could figure it out, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny came tearing down the corridor. The girls let out a scream as they saw the unconscious Dumbledore, and Ron gaped, managing a quiet, "Bloody hell..."
Hermione stood over Dumbledore's bleeding and comatose body, fear and tears in her eyes. "What happened Harry?" she asked, a small choke in her voice from terror.
Ginny turned towards Harry, understanding in her eyes. "It was Tom." She said. It was not a question.
Nodding, Harry placed himself wearily against the wall, the ache in his head now a dull throb. "Yeah." Dumbledore's words suddenly came back to him, and the weariness faded, panic entering his mind now. "He said the wards were broken! We have to get out of-"
He froze mid sentence.
"What?" Ron asked.
Harry didn't answer. He probably couldn't. For within the depths of his mind, an image of a demon, of Lord Voldemort himself, had sprung to life.
I can see you Potter, he hissed victoriously, Nothing can hide you from my gaze.
The teen fell back a step, fear clamoring at the edges of his psyche. His friends looked at him warily.
I won't kill you just yet... I will first take what is now so obvious... let us see if this "Power the Dark Lord knows not" is so powerful.
Blinking, Harry asked hoarsely. "How did you know?"
Glancing around edgily, Hermione said quietly, "How did who know?"
A deep, cold laugh- like a blade on his cheek- resonated in his mind. Nothing can hide from me now Potter... the Darkness knows all!
"Then you know I can destroy you!" The Boy-Who-Lived shouted angrily, defiantly, not believing a word he said. "I can stop you!"
"Harry mate, who are you-" Ron's words faded away.
The Dark Lord seemed amused, a malevolent chuckle bursting in his mind. Stop me Potter? You can't...
"I've done it before!" Harry raged furiously.
True, Lord Voldemort conceded with a slight bitterness, But that was the old Lord Voldemort. I am beyond a Dark Lord now... I am a Dark god!
A surge of pain struck at the young man, and he fell to one knee, wincing but still looking at his own mental image of the self proclaimed Dark god.
You, and all inhabitants of this world will perish soon enough, Harry. For now, I will take the pleasure of annihilating you, the pathetic savior, by taking away your power... I will take your heart.
The image disappeared, fading away like it was never there.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron yelled desperately, shaking his best friend roughly.
As if he hadn't felt the violent movements inflicted on his body, as if he could not hear the desperate and frightened screams of his friends, Harry Potter whispered quietly, "They're coming."