Title: Chaos on the Hellmouth
Author name: Kunglou
Author email: AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry Potter had fielded and led vast armies, manipulated intergalactic wars and raised mankind to the heights of first ones but he had not actually existed until a chaos mage had sabotaged a Halloween on the hell mouth.
Disclaimer: I do not own either BTVS or Harry Potter and claim no rights to the copyrighted material. I am making no money off this story.
Author notes: AU, OC, HP: A matter or Perception/BtVS/Bab5
If you are unfamiliar with the perception series I really recommend that you read the fist two pieces for this piece to make sense. Keep in mind that Xander was possessed, his memories merged with the more dominant personality of Harry's.
Ch3 – Consequences of action
Buffy dreamed
Not since she had first arrived at Sunnydale had her dreams been filled with such vivid and scattered images of bloodshed, death and destruction. The sounds and smell's she was experiencing fully immersed her into the dream and filled her with a deep feeling of foreboding.
Her dreams when she had first arrived in Sunnydale had been about the master, and her prophesised death. It had led her to some very dark days and she dreaded finding out what these dreams would lead to. They were far darker than those of the master had been.
In her dreams, she stood in an amazingly beautiful city of crystal, seemingly dug from a single rock. The beauty from the lush gardens and water features that scattered the city only deepened the horrific dichotomy of what she was witnessing. She listened helplessly to screams of terror, pain and pleas of mercy as darkly clad figures swept through the city killing its citizens mercilessly. Only the dead remained where the death squads passed, no exceptions to age, sex or station seemed to be made.
Large bony protrusions from the victim's skulls told her that the inhabitants of the city were not human but then, even with what she had seen and done in her role as a vampire slayer and killer of all things demonic, she could not condone such…slaughter. Not when the people seemed so non-violent, their city so beautiful.
She shivered as a young female stood before her in fear and hope. Her long black hair glistened in the sun and her eyes bore into Buffy's own, almost as if she could see her. Despite it only being a dream. And then the light was extinguished from the little girl's eyes, the hope passing with her executioners as they cleared the streets of the living.
Buffy felt her heart wrench and felt an enormous affinity for the girl, swallowed by events far outside her control, helpless to a destiny that she did not choose. Her soul filled with emotional turmoil even as she was thrust into another scattered sound bite of death and destruction in a bewildering display of colours and symbols. In typical supernatural fashion, most of the artefacts she saw where sculptured gold.
Her stomach churned sickeningly as she stalked a bloody battlefield. Fighting seemed to have recently died out leaving the dead haphazardly piled into stacks as far as she could see into the horizon with little care or thought paid to the gruesome mutilation of bodies that often accompanied viscous closely fought skirmishes. Swords and axes mixed with more modern weaponry and strangely shaped body armour, the dead were both human and demonic in appearance. She choked on the smell of blood and tried to empty her stomach as she tried to comprehend what she was being shown. Death on such a large scale seemed inexplicable to her young mind.
Above her flashes of light lit up the sky, multicoloured bursts that out shone the two suns that lit the violet sky and then she was floating in space, weightless. She bore silent witness to a battle that only belonged in science fiction. The stars illuminated the blacked hulls of two enormous fleets of spacecraft as they spun and danced and spat multicoloured beam's at each other, constantly seeking the destruction of the other. Below them the world they seemed keen on defending burned.
Of all the images that flooded her senses and immersed her into frightening and often heart wrenching places, a large image of a multi-headed dog dominated, burning her eyes with its green intensity. When she could no longer ignore the pain or the increasingly sickening feeling that seemed to work it's way from her stomach into the back of her throat she wretched herself out of the slayer dream with a desolate urgency and threw up messily to the side. She may be a slayer but she was also a teenage girl that was not use to the harsh realities or savage violence of war.
Her conflicts with the vampires and demons of her life had been kept relatively clean, emotionally distinct and relatively restricted to assorted duels. Vampires and demons could be clearly differentiated from humans by action and appearance and when slain they disappeared; leaving little trace they had ever existed. When she felt out of her depth, her watcher was always there with both information and advice. Centuries of information seemed to give him and the watchers council moral authority in her mind.
That combined with the slayer essence which made her good at her job seemed to absolve her of any guilt at the snuffing out of life, demonic and undead as it were. Such an immersive vision of emotional ambiguity unsettled her greatly. She was not prepared for it.
Gagging slightly on the acidic taste at the back of her throat she rolled slightly on the barely cushioned surface she found herself on. 'What,' she thought distractedly, trying to form some coherent thoughts to distract her from her slayer dreams, 'what happened.'
"Angel," she called weakly over the pounding of her head and aching of her bones and muscles. She felt like she had bruises on her bruises. What happened and where was she? A fog seemed to cloud her thoughts, making it almost impossible to even form a lucid sentence much less focus on the slayer dream.
"Well. That was definitely not the reaction that I was hoping for after last night. I would have to class that as not of the good." A deep voice announced somewhere from above her, forcing her to squint in the glaring light of midmorning. 'I've sooo got a concussion,' she thought distractedly over her cloudy thoughts as she tried to place the voice. As unpleasant as the feeling was she had experienced concussions before and knew what to expect. Not that it helped much during a concussion.
"Xander?" she asked questioningly. 'A couch, she was on a couch,' she thought 'now I just have to figure out how I got here and what the hell is Xander doing here?"
"I mean, the first time you stay the night and you don't remember?" Buffy could barely concentrate her thoughts on the here and now over her concussion and the flashes off her slayer dreams to hear or even comprehend Xander's amused smirk or sarcastically delivered innuendo.
"What, why am I here?" Buffy murmured as she tried to push herself of the couch before collapsing back into the cushion with a small yelp as threads of pain burned down her still healing arms.
"Here Buff," Xander murmured with a disappointed sigh "swallow these pills. It will help with pain and help you sleep. I've already modified the dose for your enhanced metabolism."
Buffy nodded in confusion but still trustingly took the pills from Xander as he helped her swallow them. Even had she remembered her recent suspicions about Xanders behaviour, she was simply in no condition to refuse him. Still, the pills acted as promised and she collapsed back into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. Free from more hauntingly disturbing slayer dreams.
When she reawoke, her thoughts where far clearer and the smell of bacon hit her nose and seemed to drive a painful spike of hunger through her stomach. Her enhanced slayer healing had healed her concussion but she barely remembered her last moments of consciousness and the slayer dreams no longer haunted her immediate memory. Buffy had instinctually suppressed those until after she came to grips with the consequences of the events of the previous night and her near death.
The patrol, subsequent ambush by six ugly demons of some unknowable kind and the cruel pain of broken bones dominated her thoughts as she awkwardly sat up from her position on a tattered and threadbare green double seater. Buffy could clearly remember the deep cold that invaded her body as she lay slumped on the gravely ground of the graveyard, waiting for the death she knew was inevitable. Only with the master had she been so thoroughly defeated and her slayer powers so easily stripped away.
Even then, the master had been insanely powerful and really old. He was also a foe she had faced alone. As far as she could remember, there was nothing special or especially powerful about the demons from last night, and she had been patrolling with Angel. There should have been little chance of encountering something that could not be dealt with as easily as she had dealt with the other denizens of the Sunnydale nightlife.
It both scared and confused her when she was easily overwhelmed and separated from Angel, her slayer gifts had barely helped at all. They had taken her down as easily as she could have a normal human. All the importance that she had placed on her Slayer strength and speed was just torn asunder. She could not imagine how she had survived that her latest encounter with the denizens of the Hellmouth and her close shave with death scared her more than she would like to admit and she found herself desperately trying not to panic.
She had faced death twice in less than a year and that brought the life expectancy of a slayer crashing home to her with devastating effectiveness. Statistically she should already be dead. Buffy shivered as the coldness of last night seeped further into her bones and she couldn't help but wonder how Angel was. If she survived, had he?
Only the professionally bandaged splints, dressed wounds and smell of bacon prevented her from hysterically leaping from the couch, diving through the open window and charging back to the sanctuary of either her home or the school library. She needed answers and she couldn't help but worry about the outcome of the fight or how she had come to rest on this couch.
The sunlight that shone from the open windows clearly told her that her rescuer was not Angel and that only increased her worry. Where was her Vampiric boyfriend? If she was here and patched up where was he? Had he even survived the fight that she almost had not?
Whoever had rescued her would not have gone to the effort of patching her up if they were just going to kill her either so she felt momentarily safe staying where she was. 'Besides,' she thought shivering uncontrollably 'I am in even less of a position to defend myself than I was last night and they defeated my so easily.'
While the splints and bandages restricted her movents, they did not stop her from examining her surroundings with increased scrutiny. The room she found herself in was scarcely furnished and the walls, though freshly painted, lacked any sort of adornments that would have made the room homey. It reminded her of her house before she had finished unpacking, but she did not know anyone who had just moved to Sunnydale. At least no-one that would have been in a position to stumble across her and treat her as professionally as she apparently had been while affording a place like this.
She doubted that the normal inhabitants of Sunnydale had been taking an evening stroll through the local graveyard either.
Buffy suddenly paled as she glanced out of the window again. It was easily midafternoon and she had not been home since last night or even called. 'Her mother would be soooo panicking right now,' she thought with a hysterical edge to her thoughts. 'Forget mum,' she thought, her panic increasing, 'principle Snyder would almost certainly expel her for skipping school and that was just as bad.'
Her mom would really freak if she was expelled again.
"Ahhhh Buffy, you're up. I hope your hungry, I cooked a lot. That Slayer healing needs to be fed." Buffy whipped her head from the open window in disbelief. Out of everyone she had thought might have found her, patched her up, Xander was the last on her list. Sure he occasionally helped out with her slaying but he didn't have the experience of Giles, the Vampiric enhancements of Angel or the dabbling magic use Willow had.
Even then he had been hanging around with her group less and less. What the hell was going on? And where had he learnt and gained such skill at first aid. In fact, she cut of that thought viscously. What ever he had, he had saved her life again and she was grateful and it wasn't like she could boast about any super slayer skills after last night she thought sullenly.
Buffy couldn't help but stare at Xander from where she huddled in his couch with uncertainty. He stood tall, both relaxed and confident. It was not a look she usually associated with the teen. He was usually slumped, but his amused smirk she was all too familiar with and it did not fill her with confidence for her safety.
"Oh and don't worry, your mum knows you spent the night and Principle Snyder has given you the day off."
Buffy's self pity at her near death, uncertainty of Xander's intentions and increasing paranoid study of her teenage friend came to a screaming halt when she heard Xander tell her that her mom knew about her spending the night and she paled further. 'Her mom knew!' She so did not want to think about that or the conclusions her mum might have come to. At least she was in no danger of getting expelled.
As long as she wasn't in danger of being expelled, she could handle her mother. She hoped. 'Show no weakness, show no weakness,' she mentally chanted glancing at Xander unsure which was worse - A teenage boy or a supernatural possession.
Shaking herself slightly she stood and walked stiffly towards the breakfast that Xander had promised her, following the smell of cooked bacon. She really was hungry and she intended to eat her fill and grill Xander for some answers. The smell of bacon and that amused smirk brought too many wiggy memories of his hyena possession. Something she definitely did not want to deal with right now.
What the hell was she doing here? Not that she was complaining much since the alternative was being dead but she was reminded of her previous suspicions of her best friends change in attitude since Halloween. Saving her life aside she doubted it was a good thing.
Change on the Hell Mouth rarely was.
Fingering her bandages she waited until Xander dug in before she joined him. It was good she had to admit and she wondered where his parents were or if cooked the meal himself. Her Hell mouth paranoia was running rampant and the near death experience was just starting to overwhelm her, she needed answers now. She COULD NOT afford to breakdown right now.
"Alright Xander spill," she announced over her second serve of bacon and eggs. "What the hell happened? Why am I here, where is here? And where is Angel?"
Buffy almost missed the flash of annoyance that briefly crossed Xander's face from across the table before it was masked by an eerily serious expression. His green eyes flashed as he dished himself some extra sausages.
'Green? I thought his eyes were brown.' She shook her head as residual images from her slayer dreams tried to protrude into her thoughts.
"You almost died Buffy, ambushed by six Skilosh demons. You wake up in a strange place and the first question you ask is about you undead companion?"
Buffy almost shied from the distaste and disappointment that filled his voice before she rallied and glared at him. She was the slayer, and she didn't feel like being judged by anyone, not even a close friend that had been helping her out on the Hell mouth for a year and a half.
She might be questioning the value and purpose of being a slayer at the moment but he didn't need to know that and she was sure that a quick chat with Giles would clear up any uncertainty she had. Right now she wanted answers.
"Xander!"
"Overbite was fine when I dropped him in his lair," Xander quipped around some baked potato. The goofy grin that she was used to back in full force and she had to wonder what had just happened. In fact, she wondered what had been happening with Xander for weeks. "Bit banged up but you where my priority Buff, I cannot tell you how close to dying you were."
Buffy shivered again, despite the direct sunlight warming the room and the hot food. The chill of death seemed to settle in her still healing wounds. Hearing Xander talk about her injuries, even as broadly as he had done terrified her. She had no interest in learning how badly she had really been injured in detail. The splints and bindings where enough to paint her a broad enough picture.
"Once I had dragged you back here, I patched you up and waited for you slayer healing to do its thing."
Buffy stared at his pleased grin and glanced around the dinning room even as she fingered the bandages curiously. She could not understand how he was being so flippant about her near death or Angel's injuries. Sure she would have had to be blind to have noticed his crush but his callous treatment of Angel seemed plain vindictive and it did not reassure her one bit.
He still had not explained what he was even doing at one of Sunnydale's graveyards at that hour or even how he managed to get them both back to safety. Xander should have known better and she couldn't think of any reason other than patrolling that would have brought him out there and as injured as they were carting them back to his place would not have been easy.
"Where is here exactly Xander?" she asked pushing her plate away after having finished her third helping and eyeing the doorway and open window just in case she needed a quick exit.
If Xander noticed he didn't show it, instead he just smiled widely at her, before commenting "this is where I live Buffy. I moved out of my parents place a couple of weeks ago. Where else would I have brought you, the hospital was too far and your mum would have been worried if I had have dragged your bleeding and broken body to her doorstep."
"You're lucky I was passing through, those Skilosh demons left you for dead."
Buffy latched onto his opening to question him further on his apparent first aid, demonic classification knowledge, and his adventures into the Sunnydale graveyard, she hadn't even recognised those demons, when she felt a wave of dizziness flood over her.
"You're still healing Buffy; I'll answer any question you want tomorrow. Back to the couch with you."
She nodded as he led her back to the couch, struggling with her own body to stay awake. He had not really explained what he had been up to or even what had happened to the demons that had ambushed her and Angel. But he had saved her life again and she was feeling particularly weak and vulnerable at the moment and so she had no choice but to trust him for the moment.
She vowed that she would have answers next time she woke up though and if he really was not possessed then maybe she would have to pay a little more attention to him. They had all been marginalising him over the previous couple of weeks and she hated the thought of him drifting out of her life completely even if she had Angel.
As sleep reclaimed her she missed the amused and protective expression that graced Xander's face. Somehow, if she had seen his lopsided grin she would have known that Xander was still there somewhere despite his changing behaviour.
"So explain again why we are looking for dweeb boy?" Cordelia snarled at the red head beside her as they stalked the streets of Sunnydale. It had been a freaky couple of days for Cordelia and she could just see it leading to a major loss of social status.
'That will teach me to extend a helping hand to the socially inept,' she thought grumpily. It had all started when she had invited Buffy Summers to a frat party and it had spiralled out of control into a world of fashionless vampires, human sacrifices and gross demon thingies. Since then her status had been going into freefall and she had found herself increasingly hanging with the loser brigade.
"Because Buffy and Xander missed school today and…" 'God,' thought Cordelia 'whine much.'
So Buffy and Xander skipped, it wasn't a big deal. The whole school knew about Xander's hopeless crush on Buffy. Maybe he had finally managed to fill the majorly massive chip on the blonds shoulder. 'I mean what is the girls deal,' she thought to herself, 'She is like wonder woman with superpowers.'
"And Giles is acting all non-watchery and there is a possessing demon on the losses and…"
Cordelia shuddered and wondered again why she had agreed to accompany Willow. Oh that's right; there is a maths test coming up that she had to pass.
"Excuse me, motor mouth. I think this is it." Xander and Buffy might be able to put up with the Willow babble as they called it but it was really pissing her off.
The house really did suit the social reject she thought distastefully. While she hadn't expected anything nearly close to her own standards of high society, she at least expected the house to be clean enough to fit in with the neighbourhood. If it had been anyone else she would have thought the house abandoned.
The lawns and gardens where overgrown and spindly from lack of pruning, the house needed painting – badly, and some reglazing work on the windows would not have gone astray. It was not something she usually thought of though, she had servants for that at her place and the work was usually handed before she even noticed it needed doing.
Cordelia followed Willow up a cobbled path bordered by overgrown lawn to a weather beaten door that was desperate need of replacing. 'What a dump,' she thought as Willow knocked. 'No wonder dweeb boy has problems. Any one would living here. Seedy much.'
"Y..Yes," Cordelia was nearly staggered by the smell of stale wine and acrid cigarette smoke mixed with old beer that drifted through the open door. The elderly woman, whom she could only guess was Xanders mother, looked like she hadn't been sober in a long time as she slurred out a greeting.
'God,' she thought in disgust, 'how could anyone live like that. That's just disgusting.'
"Good afternoon Mrs Harris, we where wondering if Xander was here." The woman's unfocused eyes studied them from the door and Cordelia was very surprised that Willow seemed to be expecting such behaviour. This was unexpected. She didn't know what she expected from Xander's home life but this was not it.
She almost felt sorry for all the insults and slurs now. Almost.
And Willow knew about it? Knew that he lived in such a pigsty, 'no,' she thought, 'pigs were cleaner.'
A couple of thumps from further into the house caused the woman at the door to pale slightly as she gestured for them to go away. "You should," she started but was cut of by an angry roar as the sound of a bottle smashing filled the still air.
"If yer here about Xander," the voice roared out in drunken fury "you tell him to stay out of my way until 'is balls have dropped and he can face me like a man."
Another bottle smashed, this time spraying Willow and herself with glassy shards and foamy beer from through the doorway. 'His aim is getting better,' thought Cordelia idly from the door step.
She was not used to being used as target practice with half empty bear bottles, or anything else for that matter. Such lowly behaviour shocked her and she had never expected herself to be a target.
By now Willow was almost as pale as Xander's mother. "Kicked his pansy ass out weeks ago, and he won't be commin back if he knows what's good for him. God damn pansy ass."
Cordelia could only guess that the ranting drunk was Xander's father and now she really did feel sorry for him. Not that she would ever tell him that, her social standing wouldn't allow it and hanging out with the loser brigade was already straining her credibility. But perhaps she could start being a little nicer as her social standing would allow. Keep her quips and rumour mongering to a minimum.
She had heard that people occasionally lost themselves in drink in Sunnydale, and she occasionally wondered whether he parents cared for her. It was a stage every teenager went through but this…. Neither she nor Willow put up a struggle when Xander's mum bundled them from the door step and shut the door firmly in their face. From Willow's expression this was far worse than normal and unexpected.
'What was going on?'
"Okay nerd girl," she snapped, quickly regaining her composure. "What the hell was that?"
"That was… That was Xander's parents," Willow stuttered despondently, even paler than usual. "I knew they were bad and had a drinking problem but that was…"
Cordelia didn't push the red head; she already looked like she was going to cry. But what she didn't understand was why Willow hadn't known. She had heard that they had known each other since kindergarten and had been inseparable since then. So what had happened and did they do now.
With a possessing demon loose she did not fancy Slayer girl missing in action. Thinking back over the last two weeks, Xander had been looking pretty good for a homeless person. His fashion sense had improved and he seemed to be working up the social ladder within the school. In fact, he seemed to be doing better now that he had been kicked out of home than he had been while living there.
Having just visited the place could she just say, 'ewwww, no wonder.' Besides Buffy's mum was under the impression that her daughter was over at his place, so obviously he had shacked up somewhere.
"Hmmph, I am sure they'll show up Willow. Now come on, we have a math test tomorrow." Willow just nodded weakly and followed the darker haired girl. Besides, there wasn't much more they could do while Giles was self –destructing himself.
Was the loser brigade finally falling apart she wondered in amazement. She never thought she would see the day although she relished the rumors that would abound as a result.
Harry glided through the overlapping and geometrically asymmetrical wards which covered his new home in Sunnydale. The constantly moving passive defences were almost undetectable and more than sufficient to defeat even the most determined enemies that may threaten his decoy base of operations.
At least, they were according to his situational analysis of the demonic dangers of the local hell mouth. That analysis was based on his spotty knowledge of the universe he had found himself in and his to date limited surveillance capability however so it did not fill him with assurances of their invulnerability. Which was why he had layered more active defences into the security screen that defended his new home in Sunnydale.
If the wards were to be breached then he knew that the active defences would come online, and unless the enemy held vastly superior firepower than he had seen, or heard of so far, then he would have an eternity to leap back and clean up anything that was left. Only his main base was more heavily fortified and no site that he had found on earth compared to his security.
He was still looking and searching the sometimes obscure and disconnected networks that earth's governments liked to use and he would not be completely certain until CSE regained her full capabilities back, but for now he was satisfied.
Even then, he was paranoid enough to assume that his defences could be breached at any time with limited warning. After all, overconfidence was what had allowed him to be attacked and stranded him here, on this primitive backwater, devoid of any familiar allies or threats, ripped from his power base and forced to rebuild all that he had taken for granted.
Harry snarled in impotent rage, there wasn't much he could do about it now but plan his revenge and rebuild all he had lost.
'But it isn't the defences of my primary and secondary bases that has me worried,' he thought darkly to himself as he watched the sun slowly disappear from the skyline of Sunnydale as night set in. Behind him his public residence and temporary med station, he didn't even want to think about the recovering slayer on his couch. She lay behind his defensive screens unconscious and more protected than she ever had been.
No, it had been his reaction time since he had arrived that really worried him. The feeling of slipping control and weakness, he felt weak, defeated. It wasn't a feeling he liked and the blood thirsty urge to kill and conquer filled him and fought the iron control he held over his actions as he raced to rebuild his power base.
"CSE, how sure are you that the memories of Alexander Harris that I integrated were free of foreign influence." Those memories were the only source he could think of that held any chance of influencing his action. He needed to understand what was happening before he could deal with it in his usual ruthlessly efficient way and move on.
Harry ignored the blond next to him, focussed instead on his whitened knuckles as he twisted the metal picket fence that boarded his knew home in irritation. "With the loss of so much of my computing power and the analytical synergies I obtained from rebuilding your previous biological systems over the course of centuries I can only confirm with 4 nines of certainty."
'99.99 percent,' Harry sighed as he let the feel of his defensive wards wash over him, both relaxing him and easing his tension. 'Normally I would have been satisfied with that. I have taken risks with and beaten far worse odds. In fact, even with the ability of my magical core to manipulate causality, four nines should have been safe enough and integrating foreign memories and experiences have not affected me to this extent in the past.'
'So what is different this time,' he muttered in frustration. 'Something is wrong and when magic is involved nine nines of certainty is not enough surety. My magical core alters causality in ways that statistically should not happen once in the lifetime of the universe every day. So predicting how my magic would have reacted with the chaotic magical convergences of the Hell Mouth and the strange signature that attacked me that night with only four nines of certainty is very short odds.'
Over the previous weeks and particularly since last night he had found it far too easy, disturbingly easy in fact, to slip into and stay in the goofy and simperingly naïve persona in the presence of the wounded blond slayer. So much so that it was eroding the control he held over his thoughts and emotions and that was something he always held as tightly as possible. It was what had allowed him to reach the height he had and he was extremely proud of that.
Integrating what chronologically amounted to barely less than ten percent of his total memories and experiences should not have that much affect on his actions and motivations to the degree that they had.
He had integrated much more in the past without experiencing any difficulties. When compared to his relative age, when taking into account the amount of foreign memories he had absorbed over the years added to his own unique memories and experiences, what he had taken from the muggle teenagers body amounted to a mere three percent.
With CSE assurances that no hidden surprises lay in the memories he had felt confident that such an insignificant amount of common memories would have had little effect on his drive, ruthlessness and vicious cunning that he prided himself on.
It was what had allowed him to constantly prove himself superior in the constant fights and conflicts where everyone saw him as the underdog, it allowed him to be underestimated. It had allowed him to train and forge himself into a weapon. Muggles, alien races, he had fought them all and triumphed. Raising wizards to heights never imagined. Harry would never have imagined that the consequences of fully assimilating a mere muggles memories would be to undermine all that he had achieved.
The muggle boy had not had an easy childhood, something they both shared, but Alexander Harris had not experienced the centuries of betrayal, warfare and shear cunning of humanity that had shaped him into the war leader and victorious ruler he was today, or had been. His little war with vampires aside, he had not been attacked again and again by those far more powerful than he without the aid of trusted allies. His capacity to care, to trust and to optimistically see the goodness in humanity had not yet been stripped from him and that is where the problem lay.
When Harry had adsorbed those memories on his arrival, he suddenly remembered what it felt like to care and trust and not be betrayed by friends. Harry could not remember ever feeling that in his long life and he felt his edge and focus dull by having experienced such a thing through Alaxander Harris. 'Surrounded by enemies as I am I cannot afford this now,' he raged. At least CSE had fixed the hormone imbalances that had wrecked havoc on the boy's body.
Since his youth it had just been him and CSE and he had been content with that. As a symbiotic entity, he felt he could trust CSE with his life and sanity, in fact he had, and his faith had always been rewards as his faith in humanity had not. CSE personality reflected his own and their goals mirrored each others. If someone wanted to weaken his grip on wizarding society, crack open his resolve with uncertainty and test his strength with unanswered questions then they could not have done a better job.
Such weakness and blunting of his ruthlessness would have meant death for him and the rest of humanity had he let it take root in his universe and he felt the need to stamp on it firmly in this one least it do the same in the face of unknown enemies. Somehow, he felt the weakness and couldn't purge it without far more time than he had now, for good or ill it was now a part of him and he would use it, once he figured out how and who had done this too him. He was positive that he was here more by design than by accident. He had too many enemies for it not to have been.
It seemed too convenient that he was here, now, ripped from his own universe at the pinnacle of his power by an attack that shredded his mental shields as if there weren't even there. It was an attack that exiled him into the body of a muggle boy in the midst of yet another magical attack, leaving him little choice but to assimilate the knowledge of the boy he had possessed in order to survive. Forcing him to integrate memories and experiences that would introduce uncertainty and questions to slowly undermine his resolve and ruthless pursuit of power slowly and unnoticed until it was far too late.
Oh he noticed the changes now, but it was far too late to do anything about it and he was sure that was the intention of his attacker or attackers. CSE would never have picked it up, in fact only his familiarity with his own mind enabled him to see it so early. Left unchecked it would have lead to a slow decline, an eventual stagnation of his power. He would never allow such a thing, better to be dead.
The temptation to depopulate Sunndale, removing all trace and opportunity for the weakness of trust and caring that he had been burdened with to take further hold on his mind warred with the naïveté that had been introduced into his mind. Not even his past experiences eliminated it completely, his extensive knowledge of genetics and psychology wouldn't allow it.
Intellectually he knew of the genetic differences between muggles and wizards and how the neurophysiological differences impacted upon a people's moral compass. It was exactly that which created a sliver of doubt about translating his harshly learnt lessons directly to muggle society.
"Doubt enough that allowed Alexander Harris's naivety to taint his thoughts,' he growled in disgust." At least his ruthlessness and determination to succeed seemed to be intact though he suspected that was not the intention.
Someone knew exactly how and when to attack him to ensure he was at his most vulnerable, or at least as vulnerable as he ever allowed himself to be. And the fact that the attack was magically focused and executed narrowed the field of attackers if not the source of his attack.
Who? Who held the power and ability to attack him?
Was it those pathetic humanists, who believed that peace and diplomacy could protect their mighty empire and ensure their safety from alien races that constantly tried to fold them into lowly protectorates – forever destroying their potential for greatness?
No, they lacked the training and resources to execute such an attack and without serious backing from an alien nation they would not have even been able to enter the same sector of space. Still, it was not something he could discount. He could still remember the last time he had cornered a Vorlon. His last words echoed even now.
'The pattern is eternal'
'Temporal, and spatial distortions only compliment'
'The Circle remains intact'
He had wasted almost a decade trying to decipher that riddle to no effect and the Vorlon's were too occupied with their war with the shadows to take too much notice of the younger races. So he had allowed it to slip on his list of priorities. Perhaps that had been a mistake.
Was it a rogue member from his order?
They certainly had the training and the resources but he was too paranoid not to constantly ensure their loyalty and commitment to the wizarding society he had created, his order and his position and safety. Any hint of conflict between the three and he would have addressed the problem permanently.
One of the houses then?
Maybe, he had found no evidence of any plot and the war with the Minbari and subsequent scramble for resources and technology had certainly seemed to occupy both the older and younger houses and their coalitions. But as his empire expanded it had been increasingly difficult to keep the complete control over information flows as he had once done. The system he had instituted, and once though a perfect solution to stagnation had started to develop flaws. Ones that after centuries of struggle now seemed embedded into the society he had created.
'At least that was something he could address now he was forced to start again,' he thought with a wry grin.
"Institute a complete diagnostic of integrated memories and events leading up to the attack. Full priority. Focus on the attack and transition." He commanded the symbiotic AI. Perhaps CSE would pick up something she had missed last time she had scanned his memories and associated synaptic patterns. She had had three weeks to better integrate with his new body and restore some of her previous spare capacity which gave her a boost in functionality.
While who and why wasn't as important as what. He had no doubt that who ever had banished him here thought that this would have destroyed him. They seriously underestimated his drive and ambition. He would come out of this stronger than before, weakness or not and make them pay dearly for there mistake. Still, discovering who would tell him how thorough his attacker was likely to be.
"Harry, I have found some irregularities within your mind that were either not there previously or managed to evade the parameters of my initial scan. The initial attack did not bypass your mental shielding, it originated from behind them. That could only have happened if your attacker had planted his attack before your walls were erected.
Since your latest rebuild was 89 years ago, this limits the potential pool of attackers to someone who had frequent access to you person in order to reinforce his attack until the time to implement his trap.
The muggles memories that the green beta magical signature attempted to overwrite onto your personality matrix on Halloween were flooded with unexpectantly strong emotional attachment – almost primal in essence and depth. Most of your previous memory adsorptions were from wizards skilled in the art of Occlumency and far easier to assimilate and bend to an existing personality framework with a strong will, without any sacrifice to your character.
Only someone who was intimately familiar with your modi operandi and potential flaws in reasoning due to limited information, who was regularly in your presence over the last 89 years could have successfully orchestrated this attack. "
Only, someone that close to you could have expected you to make that error in judgement and foreseen the results of his attack."
Harry roared in a bloody rage at the AI's conclusion, he knew that CSE was right. He had slowly been coming to the same conclusion himself and as much as he was always expecting betrayal and ruthless treachery amongst his ranks it always cut him deeply when it occurred.
"NOOO!!!" he roared, ripping the mangled picket fence from the ground and tearing it into splinters. "No."
It was always infinitely worse when it was one of his Order. He had made every single member who they where, raised them above the Byzantinian games of the houses and gave them a role in guiding all of humanity. The power at their fingertips was unimaginable and the pain of betrayal was never made easier, when it was one of his Order it stoped being a game and became personal.
Never though. Never had he expected it to have been one of the older more vetted members. Had he been losing control for so long?
"CSE, find me a demon to kill. Make it a challenge." Only questions and a deep sense of loss of control remained. It fuelled his anger, his maddening rage and he let the firm grip on his blood thirsty ruthlessness slip. He needed to kill, to dominate and ruthlessly eliminate an enemy that was stronger than himself, more experienced, older to prove that he still held control, that he was still a big fish in a bigger pond.
He had played around for too long. Answers would come. Yes, answers would come and nothing would stop him.
"I have found a demonic entity that matches your parameters Harry. Be careful, I am feeding you technical information now."
'A possessing demon,' he thought with a feral grin. 'Perfect,'
Even as he followed the virtual map that overlayed his vision he mentally went through the information CSE was providing on the Etruscan possessing demon named Eyghon. Old powerful and when invited into his mind it would prove a mighty opponent and a hard challenge. He would prove that his mind was his own and that he still held control over it. A victory would go far in restoring his lost confidence.
"The demon is currently in possession of a Phillip Henry who according to police reports vanished from the city morgue some time last night."
Harry's feral grin widened as he drew closer to the demon possessed corpse.
"Even with a current watcher stationed at the School library, information is often missing, wrong, or conflicting on the capabilities of various demonic threats. This demon is among them."
Catching sight of Phillip Henry's stumbling corpse Harry broke into a run, backhanding the demon into a darkened alley, blood thirsty, revenge driven rage or not, he did not need any witnesses.
"Eyghon," he snarled "how long has it been since you have been feeding of the dead or unconscious. Preying on the weak, invirile, and the uneducated. Where is your pride, your thirst for battle, the rush you feel when you defeat a stronger and faster opponent."
"Who are you to talk to me about pride human? Demons fed on your people like the cattle they are until the interference of the Powers and Old Gods and they will again, it is inevitable."
Harry watched as the body flopped up and faced him. Clearly the Etruscan demon lacked the re-animation abilities that the vampiric demons did.
"You, lowly human, ask where my pride is. You dare!! I have survived for centuries and defeated beings that would use your organs for delicatessens."
Stepping closer and grabbing the corpse's dead flesh, Harry allowed his rage and madness to shine through his dark green eyes as he starred into the dead and decaying brown orbs of Pillip Henry. Dropped his mental shielding and creating a direct entry for the possession demon he growled deeply, "come then demon, step into my mind."
He ignored the rapid decomposition of Phillip Henry's body into green slime distastefully as the Etruscan possession demon slammed into his mind. It ran roughshod over his traps and slammed through the mental compartments that organised his mind.
"Strong," Harry croaked as he gripped the alley wall in pain and for support, completely focussed on the battle within his mind. The demon was powerful and angry, a dangerous combination as it wrecked as much havoc in his mind as it could.
Eyghon he found, favoured mental pain and destruction to control and it was the demons lack of focus that saved him from a quick and humiliating defeat. He had seriously underestimated the demons strength and thought fleetingly to redefine 'challenge' to his symbiotic AI. Then again, if he won, it would prove his superiority in ways that a weaker opponent could never do.
Throwing off the fear of loss and uncertainty from the more powerful demonic mind, Harry counterattacked. This is what he wanted, to show his superiority, his strength and control. Nothing would stop him, NOTHING.
Using every brutal and often morally corrupt technique he had, Harry harried the demon across his mind. Often leading the demon into multi-layered traps and reinforcing his external walls to prevent escape. Amongst the devastation Eyghon had quickly wrecked in his mind, Harry tore into the demon with a ferocity and self righteous fury that it could not match.
He tore the demon apart, using the knowledge he had gained from the demonic energies of vampiric demons and countered the demons cunning with his own.
It was his mind, his character and changes apart – memories and experiences aside, he was its master.
Dropping to his knees, he delegated his external safety to CSE for the second time in less than a month, everything he had was focussed in destroying the demon he had invited into his mind. He would have time enough later to repair the damage it was wrecking to his physke.
And then with a final shriek of pain and despair it was over. Despite his external mental shields Eyghon still managed to flee destruction to whatever hellish dimension he had come from. But it didn't matter.
Harry was left to survey the swathes of destruction his epic struggle had left. It was a pyrrhic victory but Harry could only smile. He had won, despite his handicaps and induced weaknesses he had WON.
It did not matter what dimension or body he was in, what enemies he faced or what allies he used. Betrayals aside, HE controlled his destiny and nothing could change that.
He, Harry Potter was back from what ever self doubt had held him back and revenge when he grasped it would be SWEET!
If anyone had been awake or around the streets in the earlier hours of the morning in Sunnydale they would have seen an extraordinary thing. Streams of insects interspersed with the occasional arachnoids emerging from the sewer entry points across the town.
Flying, crawling and sometimes hopping, they emerged in a large dark cloud and quickly disbursed into the dark streets and alleys of Sunnydale. From there they would slowly migrate as insects were wont to do - across ecosystems, crossing mapped borders and geographical boundaries.
However much these tiny creatures behaved like the biological creatures they looked like, following ecological patterns, eating and defecating – they were far from it. They were in fact CSE and Harry's primary asset in global surveillance and information control.
It was a well known fact that humans paid little attention to the mosquito's that buzzed around a balmy evening conversation, or the cloud of flies that were attracted to the sizzling meat of BBQ's held between business partners or even the small spider in the corner of alcotraves in dining rooms.
As long as they belonged in the ecology they were found in and behaved as expected they were ignored and free to transmit useful intelligence data to be analysed and processed.
The waves of insects that were released, the first of many, would take years, to fully infiltrate the globe. Anything less would risk detection or suspicion. In the meantime other, more conventional methods would be used to augment the coverage of the ever expanding spy network.
Good intelligence after all, won more wars than military might ever did.