Once again DGD has forfieted his section ;-;. It's a bit short this time, sorry.

Guess what...WE don't OWN harry POTTER.

Chapter 5-1 Written by: xxThornxx

Sometime later...

Harry stood several paces away staring at the sedated but still daunting creature before him.

A Hungarian Horntail.

The most brutal and powerful dragon known to all the world. The beasts skin was virtually impenterable and it's flames could turn solid rock into molten lava. It was extremely cunning when it came to hunting it's prey and offenders on it's territory. Harry remembered all too well what it was like to be chased by one. Luckily, this one was held by reinforced goblin chains. Unbreakable.

Around the magnificent creature was a huge circle detailed in runes of a myriad of languages, each one devoting it's magical properties to Harry and Crispus. Opposing circles and runes enveloped the Theastral and Harry.

Harry took a deep sigh before he took a small shot of the Phoenix tears. He was going to need all the power he could get for this. Slowly, but surely began his long chant.

Some hours later Harry was nearing the end of his ritual, an absolutly crucial step in the ritual. Things were going perfectly though. The Horntail hadn't budged and he hadn't stuttered or slurred a single word.

However, throughout the process there had been an "itch", one might say, in Harry's mind. He had merely dismissed it as a side effect of the ritual and continued on. Now however it was a roaring pain and was developing into something else entirely.

In other words, one Lord Voldemort had sensed a huge power spike on the other end of the connection between him and Harry and had initiated a quickly thought up and clever scheme to put an end to the Potter brat once and for all.

Harry faltered in his chant, if only for a moment, as green light erupted in his minds eye. His ears were filled with the screams and agonized wails of Voldemorts victims. He struggled to keep up his invocation of power even as he witnessed the gruesome rapes, tortures, and deaths of the victims of the Death Eaters.

Right before he finished however, the dragon stirred. It's massive eyes opened and glared as it roared at the indignation of having it's power drained. Rising as high as the enchanted Goblin chains would allow it and searched for it's prey...and found Harry. Letting out another raging bellow, it let out a long firey ember directed at the young wizard as he finished the incantation.

Harry's eyes grew wide as the roaring flame came closer. He couldn't move, if he moved the ritual would be cancelled and he would be enveloped by flame anyway. If he did finish however, he had a chance to survive that raging fire. Harry raised his voice as he finished the last few words of the ritual and he was swallowed by the Dragons breath, even as it fell to the floor, powerless.

After the smoke cleared there was only a Theastral and a half charred body that laid smoking on the ground. However, said half charred body stirred and let out a long, painful moan as it struggled to it's feet. Harry was alive.

He examined his body in a newly conjured mirror. Pitch black scars twisted around his body like twisted tatoo's. Not all of his skin was burnt though, and the combination of the unburnt and charred flesh left the image of a malevolent sorcerer in it's wake. His eyes were sharp, like the alert reptile they had been fashioned from.

He touched the midnight black scarred skin and expected to feel pain when he did so. What he encountered was skin that was harder than the most reinforced metal. He grinned as he made that discovery and went on with his exploration. The skin around his hands and feet had a scaled feel to them as well, he found.

At that point, the strength given to him by the Phoenix Tears left his body and he promptly fainted next to the strengthend Crispus, who took time to nuzzle his master and sleep against him.

Chapter 5-2 Writen by: Chuck Da Truck

Harry walked briskly down the street, his wand held tightly in gloved fist. Somewhere above him he knew Crispus was flying. Crispus could now stay in his alternate form for as long as he wanted. Harry meanwhile found that his new rush of power had given him only that. Power. He still lacked knowledge, but at this point, Harry figured there wasn't enough time. He knew from Dumbledore that he had to find Tom's horcruxes. But Harry was tired. And he needed to eat.

He pulled off into a sleazy muggle inn. It didn't especially matter. He just didn't want to sleep in his single room trunk again. Apparently a sorcerer's trunk, like Moody's was as advanced as the things got, and while useful, that small room had REALLY begun to stink after two weeks with Harry and Crispus spending nights in there. Harry sighed and pulled out Salazar Slytherin's memoir. Now, Slytherin's journal was far from rare. In fact, any two-bit criminal worth his salt knew where to get a copy. And it wasn't written in Parsel Tongue either. In fact, Slytherin had published it himself for common Wizard consumption. What it did outline was Slytherin's world views, and belief system. Slytherin wanted to install a system where muggleborns were immediately kidnapped at birth and raised in communities created by the Purebloods. They would be indoctrinated into the Wizard way of thinking and be underlings to Purebloods.

Slytherin believed that Muggles were inferior. And rightly, as Harry would soon learn. Slytherin didn't want to destroy muggles though; he wanted them to exist solely to serve Wizards. They would be controlled through a combination of Inferi, Imperios, and Muggle-born wizards who would also have slaves of Muggles. Afterall, a Mudblood is still better than a muggle. And that was the incentive. Muggleborns would answer to the purebloods as a lord answers to a king. But they would have their own servants and live a fulfilling life. The Enchanted Quill, which was used at Hogwarts, was originally created not to record muggle-born births so that they could later be contacted to attend Hogwarts, but so that those Muggleborns could be kidnapped. Harry was beginning to see the logic of Salazar's arguements. Afterall, why else would Wizards be so much more powerful than muggles UNLESS wizards were meant to have muggles as servants? They were cattle to be used to serve greater Wizardry.

Of course, Voldemort had betrayed Salazar's vision by trying to kill all muggles. Not to mention Harry, had a serious grudge against the guy. But Harry knew what he had to do now. He had to bring about Salazar's vision of the future. And with that thought, Harry fell asleep, the illegal text, spread across his chest.

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Chapter 5-3 Written by: Forfie

Harry woke up from a sound sleep, the illegal text slipping from his chest and hitting the floor. He jumped to attention his wand in hand as he scaned the entrances to the room. Crispus nayed and nuzzled his hand with a rough scaly nose. Harry petted his familiar and picked up the book and looked out the window.

Outside was a gloomy and drizzily day, a good reason to wear his cloak and hide his apperance. Since he walked out on Dumbledore and particapated in the ritual, Harry decided to trace Voldemort's steps. While not starting in Borgin and Burkes, Harry started at the fundamental beginnings of all the problems. He was going to investigate into where all of founders came from and what it was Voldemort could use against him.

"Seven," wishpered Harry to himself as he tucked the book away. Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Gaunt Family Ring, the Diary...There has to be three others. Two major ones, one of Gryffindor, one of Ravenclaw and the seventh. It can't be his snake because Horocruxes can't be living. It has to be something of another great wizard or of Voldemorts. What defines a great wizard? Dumbledore? Merlin? Some Eastern Civilization Emperor? Harry didn't know, but the only way he could find out would be to think like Voldemort...to become like him if need be.

Harry walked out of the motel room bundling up in his cloak to hid his black scars. Crispus was at his heel, completely unseen from from the muggle world. Harry mounted his familar and started to fly off to the orginal location of Ravenclaw's tutelage in Avalogn, France.

Chapter 5-4 Written by: Lutris Argutiae

Harry had been riding on for over six hours, as the thestral flies. And so, naturally, for all his inforced, hardened skin, and immense magical prowess, he couldn't avoid the dull ache and eventual roaring pain between his thighs. Thestrals weren't know for their comforting nature after all, and Crispus had a particularly spiny back.

"Fucking spines hurt like hell... for Merlin's sake, can't you fly smoother?"

Muttering similar comments onto his familiar, Harry barely had enough warning to grab onto Crispus' shoulder blades when said beast suddenly went into a barrel roll.

"On second thought, do as you like..."

No matter how invulnerable he was in battle, he knew that a fall from over a thousand feet in altitude would mean certain death; he wasn't going to count on being able to reach his wand at this height; the wind would interfere far too much.

On they flew, farther and farther, until they had crossed the English Channel, and well into the heart of France. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pair arrived in the outskirts of Avalogn. Or, to be precise, they were forced to land by the powerful wards encompassing the area.

Harry looked around. He could see the town palisade off in the distance; he estimated about ten minutes' worth of a brisk walk. Leading Crispus by the muzzle, he started to walk towards the town.

Avalogn was a primarily wizarding village, although it was unique in the fact that muggles lived in unison with the magic users, albeit differing with Slytherin's ideals. The people living in Avalogn and the surrounding countryside, were people who were largely unchanged since the reign of Arthur and the time of Merlin, where after the death of the King, the latter declared the sanctuary to be locked in time.

Local legend had it that the whole of the legendary isle of Avalon was transported here, to the continental mainland after devastation ravaged the original location.

In accordance to Merlin's decree, the villagers here were largely unchanged since the life and times of the Middle Ages; they had no need to adapt into modern muggle society because of the magic that supported their lifestyles. Technological advances from the muggle world were effectively unable to be transmitted to the village anyway, since the settlement and the surrounds of about 50 miles in diameter were closed off to non-magicals.

But that didn't mean that the villagers were totally ignorant of modern times; the wizards and witches of the town were held in relatively frequent contact with the French and British Ministries, and trade was often held between them. Avalogn had much to offer in the way of traditional and rare magical components that were since lost in the outside world. In return, modern trinkets were often found in the streets of Avalogn in the most unlikely of places.

Harry was suddenly assaulted by the mental image of a platoon of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products detonating at random times during important meetings.

But that was a minor point. The village had a central location: the Sanctuary of Merlin, as it was called in gossip circles amongst the purebloods of England. There was much dispute over exactly who's sanctuary it really was between many experts, and one day, in 1871, the British President of the Society Promoting Ancient and New Magicks (SPANK), Julius Wrenchworth, lost his temper during a debate and angrily decided on the simple name of the 'Sanctuary'. As a sidenote, the matter has never been contested since.

That Sanctuary was the place Rowena Ravenclaw, and several preceding generations of Ravenclaws, learnt their magics. If he was to start looking for clues as to what Ravenclaw might have possessed that could be used as a Horcrux, Harry supposed it was best to start at the beginning. The skills he would invariably pick up along were only a plus.

Harry ended his thoughts, and looked up. The wooden palisade loomed in front of him, approximately twelve to fifteen feet high, he guessed. There was a watchtower on the other side of the wall, with a guard standing in it. The lone middle-aged man sported a gruff beard and greying hair, and with a huge scowl on his face, shouted down at him. Not understanding a single syllable, Harry supposed it was Latin; it WAS the universal European language after all.

He pulled his wand, pointed it at himself, and cast a minor translator charm specializing in said language. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

"... o you even understand me, you young wretch? What are you doing just standing there? Or are you so craven that you can not point a wand at me, or even speak, you miserable welp?"

Oh. So THAT was what the fool was saying.