So, this is an odd one, following so soon after I've posted Love and War as a full story. However, I've been meaning to do a Fate/Extella crossover for some time, and I was struggling with how I wanted to do it, as I'm only familiar with the one game in that particular neck of the Nasuverse woods. And even then, as of writing, I've only just started the Altera arc. But it was that very arc that inspired this story.

My original idea was to have either Harry/Nero (which is still on the cards, so fans of "Umu!" need not despair) or Harry/Nero/Altera as the pairing (having used Tamamo for my Fate/Apocrypha crossover), but this idea came to me in an odd moment, and I thought, why not?

For those not familiar with Fate/Extella: The Umbral Star...well, spoiler warning, first and foremost. One of the main antagonists, albeit a somewhat ambiguous one, is Altera, the chosen name of an entity once known as Attila the Hun. Yes, Attila the Hun was a woman in the Nasuverse, this seems to happen a lot. But she's also an eldritch abomination created by a destructive force, the 'Umbral Star' of the game's subtitle, Velber. Without giving away too much, while her villainy is shown to be reluctant in the first two arcs, in the third arc...well, Altera is just bloody adorable. She has basically two forms (well, more than that...spoilers, but only two are immediately relevant): a human-sized, extremely stoic 'Hero' avatar, the one seen in the previous arcs, and a massive form, known as the Titaness Altera, who is basically adorable and just a nice and somewhat sheltered person who is unfortunately an embodiment of destruction. And keeping you captive in the cave that acts as her home, but still...given how much Tamamo acted like a bitch in the second arc, Altera was a refreshing change.

Anyway, I've adapted her backstory for this story, whereupon she is sealed on Earth, under Azkaban, in a prison that she herself cannot escape, although she can project her avatar at times outside her prison. The Moon Cell doesn't exist in this story, and I've probably screwed up her backstory, but still, I want to distill the essence of Altera for this story, making her recognisably Altera, but allowing her to fit into the Potterverse.

Whether this gets made into a full story remains to be seen, especially so soon after I have started Love and War, and it may be a long time before this is published, if it is at all. But I think this is a nice concept that could be developed into a full story. In fact, the whole oubliette thing was that, if I wanted to, I could write a story with a flawed but good Dumbledore, rather than a bashable one. I'm probably going for the former in the full story, if it gets written.

Anyway, hope you enjoy...

BEAUTIFUL DESTRUCTION

CHAPTER 1:

THE TITANESS

To say a place was Hell on Earth was a cliché so often used, people often forgot what it meant. Appellations of this kind were appended to places ranging from the harshest deserts to the coldest tundra. Prisons were popularly given this sort of name. But one that was perhaps one of the closest to emulating Hell on Earth was Azkaban.

To most people, the word Azkaban would mean little. But to the magical community of the United Kingdom, it was a name spoken of in awe, fear, and dread. A pimple of an island in the frigid seas off Britain's coast, isolated and cold. There were worse prisons in the world of magic (Nurmengard, the legendary prison of Grindlewald, for example), and even some in the mundane world, but Azkaban was close to the top.

Even before it became a prison for Magical Britain, it had been the lair of one of the darkest of wizards, Ekrizdis. His name isn't known to many modern wizards, but in his time, he was feared, using Azkaban as a fortress to lure Muggle sailors to the concealed island to torture and experiment on. Only with his death did the charms concealing the island fall, and the Ministry investigated. To this day, it's not known exactly what happened.

The thing that made Azkaban truly awful was not the cold or the isolation, or its dark and obscure history. It was the guards. Dementors, hideous wraith-like beings who were said to grow from dark and decaying places, creatures who existed to suck good feelings from anyone near their influence. The Ministry of Magic trusted them enough to remain as guards, but truth be told, the Dementors had no loyalties, save to themselves. They stayed as guards and wardens of Azkaban only because it meant they could feed off the feelings of prisoners.

And, occasionally, feed off their souls. For the Wizarding World, the ultimate penalty was the Dementor's Kiss, whereby the Dementor would consume the soul of the malcontent. The condemned would still be alive, but they would be in a condition where they would envy a vegetable. A vessel, even emptier than the Dementors themselves, capable of breathing, and virtually nothing else.

The Ministry of Magic was keen to stamp out any rumours that Dementors had fed on souls without permission. The truth was, however, that having the Dementors as guards of Azkaban was a Mephistophelean deal. If they ever received a better offer, they'd be gone in a trice.

The prisoners of Azkaban counted as their number the infamous. Many of them were Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort's fanatical supporters. A few had gone to Azkaban cheerfully holding onto their loyalty for the Dark Lord. But one had gone to Azkaban in a fall that was spectacular.

Of course, neither he nor those who imprisoned it knew it, but Azkaban held a secret, a secret he would stumble upon. A secret that had been hidden for millennia. A secret that ensured that the fate of Britain, if not the world, lay in the hands of a teenager who had just been betrayed by the government who supposedly governed over him…

Consciousness came back to him slowly, and with it, memory came back, perhaps a trifle faster than consciousness. In a way, Harry Potter would have preferred the reverse. It meant that, instead of waking from a nightmare, he knew he would be waking into one.

His fourth year at Hogwarts. The fifteenth year of his life had been one of his most arduous yet, thanks to that bastard Barty Crouch Junior entering him into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Alienated by many students at Hogwarts, even one of his oldest friends for a time, he also had to find ways to complete the Tasks, and survive.

And then, during the Third Task, he and Cedric took the trophy, knowing it was a Portkey…but not knowing its destination, in a graveyard. Cedric was killed, and Harry was made an unwilling spectator and, thanks to his blood, even more unwilling participant in the revival of Voldemort. This was an encounter that he barely escaped with his life.

But if that weren't bad enough, then fucking Fudge had to come along with a Dementor in tow, with said Dementor giving Crouch Junior the Kiss. And he refused to even consider the possibility that Voldemort might be back. Hermione, who had been present at the time, had made things worse. Oh, with the best of intentions, and while he was angry at her, he also knew that she was trying to get Fudge to think logically. Unfortunately, when she demanded to know who Fudge thought had killed Barty Crouch Senior and Cedric…upon which Fudge immediately arrested Harry(1).

Harry barely remembered the trip to Azkaban, spending much of it either reliving his mother's murder, or being tormented by a hideous toad woman by the name of Umbridge. But he remembered her gloating as she pretended to be nice, leading him away from the maximum security areas of Azkaban (and thus the Dementors), and to a basement…only to open a door, leading into a chamber with a hole in the middle, a hole that seemed to radiate an absolute darkness, thick and tangible. And as he was dragged to the hole, he remembered her gloating.

"Hem, hem. Do you know what this is, you lying brat? This is the Oubliette, something that has been around since Azkaban was rediscovered. Nothing that goes in ever comes out. Nothing. Indeed, the word 'oubliette', apparently, means 'to forget'. Over the years, more than a few people have been consigned to its depths, people whom it was best to forget about. And we can't have you spreading lies about our greatest benefactor, Lord Malfoy. His money is needed. You are a mentally unstable child, and even if the Dark Lord is back…well, less filthy Muggles and Muggleborns in the world is only a good thing. Fudge doesn't know this has happened…and what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

With that, he was hurled into the depths before he could utter any kind of retort. He remembered falling, falling, falling…before finally, an impact jarred him into oblivion. Not that of death, thankfully, but unconsciousness. Then again, given Umbridge's gloating, maybe he had nothing to look forward to but a long period of starvation, before he finally perished.

He was expecting to feel a pile of bones or stone under his body. Or perhaps the body of some vast beast, ready to eat him. He wasn't expecting…was he on top of coins?

His eyes opened, and he found himself, like Edmond Dantes opening up the treasure he would use to become the Count of Monte Cristo, bedazzled.

The cave was vast, filled to the brim with coins, gems, and treasures of all kinds. It seemed like a treasure cave of some pirate king, filled with loot and plunder, or perhaps the treasure house of some giant in a fairytale. And not just that, but the cave didn't just feel full of treasure. It felt, oddly, warm and welcoming. A bit bleak, but it wasn't so bad.

He then noticed the strange altar, and realised that his earlier thought of this being like a treasure house of some giant from a fairytale was not wholly inaccurate. For, sitting on this altar was a giant figure. Something unreal, surreal…and yet, surprisingly, he was not as afraid as he could have been.

For this giant appeared to be a woman of some kind.

She had to be at least five storeys tall, her frame both surprisingly slender, and yet having a strange air of athletic strength, as if all the flesh beneath her skin was muscle. Her skin was dark, not as dark as, say, an African's, but a tanned tone that put him in mind of the East, with elaborate geometrical lines picked out in white along parts of her body. Oddly, her hair, reaching down to her waist, was a pure snow white, framing surprisingly beautiful features. Blood red eyes peered at him not with hostility, but with curiosity, even worry…for himself. Her outfit was ridiculously skimpy: aside from a shawl that put him in mind of a wedding veil, a breast band that covered fairly small breasts, and something that could have been called a G-string, she wore very little, and he found himself blushing. She looked like she could have been in her early twenties, perhaps her late teens.

The thing he got from her, though, was not hostility, but curiosity, concern, perhaps a little wariness. Which seemed odd, considering that she was a giant. He may still have his magic, even if it'd be trickier to use it sans wand, but he knew, with a strange instinct, that it would do little good. It wasn't that she was frightened of him per se, he knew. Rather, she was worried about his reaction.

And then, she spoke. Oddly enough, her voice didn't boom or roar around the cavern. It was surprisingly soft and quiet, a gentle tone, as if she was a normal person standing right next to him, only the echoes betraying the true size of the speaker. "Ah…you're awake. While I have done my best to ensure a soft landing, I'm afraid that a few new arrivals land rather awkwardly. It has been some time since I shared my prison with another."

"…Your prison?" Harry asked.

"Yes. This domain is my prison. It has been for many thousands of years, and while I can, at times, bring a part of myself into existence in the world outside, I myself am imprisoned here. Hmm…you seem to be fairly comfortable with talking with me." A faint smile, a tentative smile, a genuine smile touched her lips. "I am glad. Most of those who come attack, out of fear or anger, or perhaps just a desire for oblivion. It gets lonely down here."

"…Am I still dreaming?"

"No. You are, admittedly, only perceiving a certain type of reality, to prevent your mind from tearing itself apart if it perceived the truth. I…made something of an impact on this world many thousands of years ago in more ways than one, and even if perceiving my true form does not stir up a race memory of what happened, it would most certainly repulse you, or at least frighten you. This is my preferred form."

"…An almost naked woman?" Harry asked, probably unwisely.

"It was the form I had in one of the lives I had outside my prison," the giantess said. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I haven't even introduced myself. Then again, I don't know your name, either."

"…It's Harry. Harry Potter."

"…Harry…Potter…hmm…" She seemed to contemplate the name for a time, before she looked to him once more. "Then you may call me…Altera. It is the name I prefer."

"…Altera," Harry said, rolling the name around his own tongue. It seemed…fitting, even beautiful. He then looked up at Altera. "Altera…are you a giant?"

"No. Not the ones you are thinking of. Many of those who dropped in here made a similar mistake," Altera said, looking oddly self-conscious about her size. She seemed even embarrassed by it, and Harry chided himself for his tactlessness. "Many called me, at the time, the White Titan, so I believe you can call me a Titaness."

"Ah. And that is…what?"

"A long story. One I know that will have you hate me. Few looked upon me with any favour when I revealed what I was."

Harry nodded. But he didn't feel the urge to escape, or at least not from her, oddly enough. Rather, he felt the urge to escape, to try and stop Voldemort, because without him, what would happen to his friends? "…And you can't escape?"

"At best, I can project an avatar of myself, to act amongst the living, but I can only do that under certain circumstances," Altera said. "However, I cannot move beyond the event horizon of this domain. And neither can anyone who is thrown in. Perhaps it is just as well. I am destruction embodied. I am Altera, the Destroyer. Where I tread, I leave nothing but dust and darkness. And I find that…disagreeable(2)."

Harry stared up at her. This Titaness, this rather demure, even slightly shy woman (he found her shyness odd, given her rather skimpy dress), called herself a destroyer. And he wondered, what exactly had he gotten himself into? And could he get out of it?

He didn't know it, but ironically, it was the start of a beautiful friendship, one that would destroy one threat to the world entirely, and change another…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, there you have it. In the Nasuverse, Altera's prison is in the Moon Cell. Here, it's a physical prison on Earth. And Harry's been thrown into it. Oh dear…

1. I admittedly took a cue from robst, particularly his fic Don't Look Back in Anger, so assume it starts off in a similar manner.

2. Altera is quoting, to a degree, Sutekh's little monologue in the classic Doctor Who story Pyramids of Mars. Sutekh, however, finds his own destruction 'good', and even says before the monologue, in response to the Doctor calling him 'evil', retorts that the Doctor's evil is his good. There'll be a few other bits I lift from that particular story, as you'll see in the next chapter…