Author's Note: Warhammer 40k and the Harry Potter universe belong to Games Workshop and J.K Rowling respectively. This is my first fanfic, so comments and criticism are appreciated. Please check out Imanoldfart's "A Priest of Machine and Magic" and Littlewhitecat's wonderful Inquisitor Carrow series, as they were the inspiration for my work.

Chaos claims the unwary or the incomplete. A true man may flinch away its embrace, if he is stalwart, and he girds his soul with the armour of contempt.

-from The Spheres of Longing, by Inquisitor Gideon Ravenor

They are beyond comprehension, beyond mortal flesh, beyond even time and mortality. They are beyond many things, but never my hate!

-Inquisitor Lias du Ortise

IMPERIAL STANDARD DATE: 435.M42
GREGORIAN CALENDAR DATE: 41435

Like a swarm of flies to a corpse, the dropships of the Chaos fleet descended upon the world of Arvelia Secundus. The system's defence fleet had been broken by the Archenemy's cruisers, the planet's anti-orbital batteries disabled by traitors within, and finished off with a summary lance strike. Now, as Archon Rek'zvar, Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided, ordered the first wave of cultists to assault the Imperial battlements defending the central hive, a Chaos victory seemed inevitable.

The Archon smiled as a salvo of cannon-fire blew open the gates to the massive city, although this heretical triumph was short-lived as the Leman Russ tanks of the Imperial Guard launched a counteroffensive through the ruins, engaging the Chos tanks. "The corpse-worshippers fight hard." commented the Archon's trusted lieutenant, an astartes of the Black Legion. "Aye, but their efforts will only delay our triumph. The battlefield runs red with the blood of both our host and the enemies', but we can replenish our numbers. They cannot. This hive will fall within a day." replied Rek'zvar, as the imperial armor thrust was destroyed by an overwhelming force of the Archenemy's tanks.

The astartes nodded "Indeed, lord. But it is not the hive you are after, is it?" The Archon was surprised at the marine's observation, but, on second thought, he shouldn't have been- for while Rek'zvar had not bothered to inform the marine of his machinations, the astartes had access to the plan of assault, and was perfectly capable of making the deduction himself. "You are correct. The item that has drawn me to this world is present in the out-habs of the city. The city itself is merely an additional prize for the Dark Gods." "If I may ask, Lord, what is this item?" The Archon laughed at his lieutenant's curiosity. Such things frequently led to an unpleasant death, but he trusted the man. As much as it was possible for a Daemon Prince to trust, anyway. "One of two artefacts- a door, and its key. The key is kept within the vaults of the Inquisition, while the door lies concealed, here." The lieutenant, Arek by name, decided to press on. "But is a door not useless without its key?" The Archon, surprisingly enough, decided to humour Arek's curiosity. "Not if the door is a psychic one. Blinded by their faith and arrogance, the savants of the Corpse-Emperor fail to realise the powers service to the Gods give you. Powers that can bypass even the most ancient of artefacts. Now, Arek, my loyal lieutenant. You are apprised of the situation, so you will return to our flagship's teleportarium and lead a strike-team of Astartes to secure this door. While this hive will fall, I am wont to do this as fast as possible. Go forth, and do not fail me!" The hulking marine nodded, and disappeared in a flash of warp-light as the Chaos Flagship's teleportarium operator beamed him up.

…...

The teleportarium deposited Arek and his strike-team at the entrance to what looked like a fairly nondescript industrial compound- an ugly, squat and boxy concrete building ringed by a barbed-wire perimeter fence. Gantries and catwalks protruded from entrances on the building's roof, connecting to storage tanks. All in all, the area was completely normal, and did not stand out from its surroundings. Physically, at least. For Arek's sorcerer could feel a massive warp signature around that compound- even with the containment wards he noticed were etched on the walls.

While the place seemed uninhabited, Arek was still expecting some sort of defence- which is why he was only mildly surprised when an Inquisitorial sharp-shooter perched on one of the gantries put a lasbolt through the lead marine's helmet eyepiece. Arek and his comrades dove for cover as more stormtroopers popped up and began firing from windows and catwalks; for while astartes powered armor would shrug off most small arms fire, the stormtroopers wielded high-powered hotshot lasguns which could penetrate the joints, and plasma guns which could vaporise the armor, and its wearer, entirely with a couple shots.

Arek's Devastator marine stood up from where he was crouched and engaged with his heavy bolter, the warp-touched weapon releasing an unearthly wail as the shells it fired turned inquisitorial troops to paste. A plasma-gun operator opened fire on the traitor astartes, blowing off an arm and preventing him from using the weapon. Undeterred, the marine let out a war cry, and charged into the courtyard with his bolt pistol blazing.

Seeing as the Devastator had drawn the enemy's attention, Arek ordered the rest of his troops to attack, the chatter of their bolters and the foul chanting of their sorcerer joining the Devastator's cries and pistol-fire. The stormtroops of the Inquisition answered with more precise weapons fire, bringing down the Devastator and another marine. But astartes might, and the will of the Dark Gods won out, as the defenders were cut down to the last man.

Reloading his bolter, Arek sighed, satisfied with the slaughter. He activated his helmet comm and sent a vox-message to his master. "Lord, the site is secure." Rek'zvar teleported in a second later, a spine-chilling grin on his face. "Good, my servants." The marine fireteam and their Archon advanced to the center of the compound's principal building- which turned out to be a warehouse. Within was the source of the psychic signature the sorcerer had felt- an ancient, dormant-looking portal gateway surrounded by hexagrammic wards and an energy shield.

With one sweep of his hand, the Archon brought the psychic defence down, while a bolt round to the generator disposed of the more physical shield. Rek'zvar then began murmuring some eldritch incantation, his hands glowing with warp-fyre. He touched the frame of the ancient portal with one magic-wreathed hand, causing it to activate. A distinct smell of ozone hit the augmented senses of the traitor marines as realspace ripped open within the portal's confines, opening a gateway to a location unknown. "Is this a webway portal, milord?" asked Arek, showing a reckless curiosity befitting a follower of Tzeentch more than one of Chaos Undivided. "Correct, my Inquisitive lieutenant. But this portal leads both through time and space. In fact, if I am correct, it leads to Terra, millenia before the Imperium's rise." With his psyker powers, Rek'zvar reanimated a dead raven nearby, imbuing it with the taint of Chaos, before releasing it. "Bring the word of the Dark Gods to this ancient time, bring us victory against the false emperor once and for all!" With his cry, the bird flew through the portal.

…

IMPERIAL STANDARD DATE: 940.M02

GREGORIAN CALENDAR DATE: 1940

It was a cold night in wartime England. A sense of gloom pervaded the nation, brought forth by wartime rationing and the constant threat of the Luftwaffe. Even Hogwarts, that magically-warded, comfortable bastion of wizarding education, was affected. The feasts were smaller, and the Christmas celebration was a muted one in respect for the muggles and wizards who had been called out to serve or been adversely affected by wartime rationing and as such were unable to celebrate. Tom Marvolo Riddle stalked the halls of this quiet school, grumbling about the lack of festivity. "At least it's better than my orphanage" he thought to himself, as he headed back to his dorm. En route, he noticed a strangely decayed raven perched on a window-sill, seemingly staring at him. Tom tried to shoo it away, but the raven remained adamant. It flew over to Riddle and landed on his shoulder before he could react. And then, it spoke, or rather whispered, into his mind. And what words those were! Promises of beauty, strength, knowledge, power beyond compare, all delivered with a seductive charm surpassing even Tom's considerable charisma. At the end of its spiel, the raven, or whatever inhabited it- for it was clearly no normal bird- asked him a simple question. "Will you join us?" "Yes", came the unspoken reply.