PROLOGUE

Broken and defeated on the fields of blood and sand, there once lived a man who wielded the power to change the realm forever more. Now re-incarnated from the ashes, the lone figure emerges from the depths of the nether, stronger, even more determined, eyes ablaze with a fervour no mere mortal could dare challenge.

The powers that be have cast judgement on the one who was heralded as the Strongest.

Little did the Gods know that this being bowed to no Heavenly host, neither cowered before the Devils of Hell.

After his restless slumber, the Legendary Dark Lord rises again.

Chapter 1: The Awakening.

The drive home from platform nine and three quarters was engulfed in a tense silence. Uncle Vernon was in caught between wanting to throttle the boy, and fearing the consequences.

"Petunia, how dare that, that, freak insult me and threaten my family?"

"Now, now," she tried to soothe him. "Let's not get upset, the doctor said your pressure-"

"Blast the doctor - he's totally incompetent! First he says Dudders is overweight, and now he's harping about my blood pressure! I'm fine!" he grumbled, sweat beading down his face. "Isn't that so Dudders? That so-called doctor doesn't know what he's doing."

"Er- yeah...dad," Dudley said.

As the car drove on and Harry felt the uncomfortable silence eating at him, his mind once again drifted to the past recent events. Was it only a few days ago he had seen him die? It felt as if a part of him had disappeared along with Sirius through the veil. He sighed and leant back in the seat; his head lolling against the window and cushion.

"Potter, who the hell was that, that er- person?" Vernon blurted out.

Harry saw his uncle's eyes looking at him in the rear-view mirror, the indignant expression evident on his face. He ignored him, and slowly turned his gaze back on the window. Dudley watched him out of the corner of his eye when he refused to answer. Petunia shot a look at Harry, opened her mouth to say something, and then changed her mind. Vernon did not notice his wife's hesitation, and looked again in the mirror.

"Boy! Did you not hear me? I said 'who was that man?" he repeated in a threatening tone.

Harry sighed and slowly turned his gaze onto the mirror, making eye contact with his uncle.

"That was Professor Moody."

He didn't think that his uncle would understand what Aurors were - neither Death Eaters - so he left that as it was. Once again, that disjointed white line on the highway captured his attention. It was odd, how after all the things he had gone through, going to the place he called home seemed more terrible than everything else.

Vernon was astonished that someone so menacing could ever be a teacher, and immediately dismissed the idea. He wasn't a Professor. Couldn't be.

"Teacher? Don't you go telling lies boy! He surely was one of y-your criminal friends!"

Harry didn't even contradict him. Just having a conversation with his uncle was an exercise in futility. When he thought about it, he hardly knew Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. The Moody he knew was actually not Moody at all, it was an impersonator: Bartemus Crouch Jr. Once again he felt like kicking himself because of his gullibility and recklessness. If every wizard he encountered could fool him so thoroughly, how was he supposed to defeat the master of the Deceptive arts? Harry couldn't believe he had gotten so close to Voldemort yet still managed to escape death. Barty Crouch turned out to be a very determined, intelligent, and aggressive, lunatic. Luckily his master plan had failed, his composure lost and Harry was glad that the ranting of a madman gave Dumbledore the chance to come to the rescue. One thing he did inadvertently learn from Crouch (yet still needed to implement more efficiently) was Moody's credo: Constant Vigilance. After fighting with the Dark Lord, you would think he would have more common sense than to fall immediately into the hands of another Dark Wizard.

Well, he was Harry Potter, and when matters concerned him; nothing ever was as it seemed.

Another year had passed since then, and this year, he met face to face once again with Lord Voldemort. He was so ashamed of himself. After all of his bravado to resuce Sirius, the mere sound of his voice froze him to the spot.

What in the world was I thinking?

If there was anything to gain from that night, was that he was powerless to do anything. To make matters that much more serious: he learned of the prophecy that bound him- the so called Boy Who Lived, and the Dark Lord Voldemort -together. Adversaries since birth, no one has ever held the responsibility that he now had to carry. Right now his thoughts were completely in turmoil; his head was throbbing with the gravity of his newfound predicament.

Harry; you are going to die. Plain and simple...

He is destined to duel against the most dangerous Dark wizard in over a century, or be murdered by him. He's seen fairer odds at a rigged slot machine. But looking on the bright side, at least he had another blasted bonus to having this stupid scar: target practice for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He smiled grimly to himself, the dark side of his humour the only escape from his brooding. The why me? philosophy he has carried around for the past five years all seemed so frivolous now. So far, he really didn't have anything to worry about, seeing as Dumbledore was always there to pick up the slack. Now, he knew that his life was predetermined and that others have pulled his strings and knew more about him, his circumstances and his scar more than he even thought possible.

How could he have kept this from me for so long? Why does everyone keep all of these secrets - and why do I have to find out only when it is too late?

"Can't this car go any faster?' he said into the silence. Dudley looked at him as if he had gone mad. His aunt turned to scold him, but he didn't care. He wanted to go up to his room. And wanted to do so NOW. Harry's hair rustled as his eyes closed involuntarily, the air getting heavy with a strange tingling. Images of the flash of fires of a thousands hells burned into his eyelids within a hearbeat. The doors of the car felt as if they were contracting on them, and Uncle Vernon began to hyperventilate, his breathing becoming laboured as his face turned a blotchy red- The next moment, the entire vehicle constricted on them, and Harry felt a sever tug from behind his navel.

SCCCrreeeeeeeCCCCCCHHHHH!

Uncle Vernon mashed the brakes hard. Harry was jerked forward, bracing against the driver's seat with his arms and then they stopped suddenly, in a strangely familiar place…

Wait... this couldn't be. This is their...

Aunt Petunia let out a hysteric scream, which, Harry thought, sounded frighteningly similar to those old black and white horror flicks she always used to watch. Vernon was desperately gasping for air and Dudley looked around in astonishment, his jaw dropping in stupor. Harry peered out of the window: he couldn't care less. He opened his door and stepped out, slamming it behind him. He could still hear his aunt screaming like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, he didn't know how he got here, but he was. He looked at the perfectly manicured lawn of number four, Privet Drive, Little Winging; and sighed in frustration.

"Home."