The Beginning
Potter Manor
The house was silent except for the soft padding of small feet on the worn wooden floor. Harry, a wide-eyed five-year-old with a mess of black hair, tiptoed through the dimly lit hallway, his tiny hand gripping a wand that was nearly as long as his arm.
Peering around the corner, Harry saw his parents, Lily and James Potter, sitting on a plush couch in the living room. They were huddled close together, their voices hushed. Harry strained to listen.
Lily's voice quivered with emotion. "James, he's almost six now, and still, he hasn't displayed a spark of accidental magic."
James sighed heavily; his face etched with concern. "What happened, Lily? Tell me everything."
Tears welled up in Lily's emerald eyes as she recounted the events of that fateful day. "Harry and Charles were playing in the garden. A rabid raccoon approached them. Harry panicked and got scratched, but Charles… Charles levitated the raccoon in a panic response. Winky, the elf, got there just in time. She told me, and I banished the raccoon."
James furrowed his brow. "Maybe it's just that Harry was too stressed at the moment, couldn't focus on his magic, while Charles—"
"STOP DREAMING AND WAKE UP JAMES!", Lily cut him off, her voice tinged with desperation. "James, you don't understand. Life-threatening moments are when accidental magic manifests itself most potentently. Harry didn't display a drop of magic."
Tears streamed down Lily's cheeks as she continued, her voice choked with sorrow. "He might be a squib, James."
James pulled his wife closer, wrapping his arms around her trembling form. "Lily, let's not jump to conclusions. We should wait for the healer's diagnosis."
Lily buried her face in James's shoulder, her sobs muffled by his embrace. "I can't bear the thought of Harry growing up without magic. He's our son, James. What if he's truly a squib?"
James held her tighter, his own eyes misty with unshed tears. "We'll face whatever comes our way, Lily. We love him no matter what."
As Harry eavesdropped on his parents' conversation, he clutched his tiny wand with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He didn't fully understand the weight of their words, but he sensed the sadness in the room. He didn't want to be a disappointment to his parents.
A creaking sound alerted Harry to his surroundings, and he quickly ducked behind a nearby armchair, hiding from his parents' view. He tried to make sense of what he had heard. Squib? He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded serious.
After a few moments, James and Lily's hushed conversation subsided. Harry remained hidden, his heart heavy with worry. He didn't want to be different from his brother Charles, who seemed so talented with magic. He wanted to make his parents proud.
Meanwhile, James and Lily sat on the couch, their arms wrapped around each other, lost in their thoughts. The tension in the room lingered, but so did the love they felt for their children.
Potter Manor
Charles | Lily | Harry
The vast backyard of the Potter Manor sprawled out before them, a playground of endless possibilities. Ten-year-old Harry and his twin brother, Charles, raced through the green expanse, their laughter filling the air. Baby Alice, their cherubic sister, lay in her pram, cooing with delight at the sight of her older brother's antics.
"Tag, you're it!" Charles called out, tapping Harry on the shoulder before darting away with lightning speed.
Harry's nimble feet pounded the grass as he chased after his brother. He was quick, but Charles seemed to have inherited their father James's athleticism. Charles ran faster, was better, and he had already grown taller than Harry, casting a long shadow over their playful competition. The only imperfection he had was a lightning bolt scar on the left side of his forehead.
Harry's pale face was flushed with effort as he struggled to keep up. Envy gnawed at him, a constant companion in moments like these. Charles excelled where Harry felt weak and scrawny. It wasn't just their physical differences; it was the magic too. Charles's magical prowess was already evident, while Harry's talents remained elusive. It seemed as if Charles had started levitating from the ground.
As they circled a blooming rosebush, Harry glanced over at Alice in her pram. "Baby sissy will save me!" he shouted, trying to tease Charles.
Charles grinned and followed Harry towards Alice. "Ha ha! Harry hiding behind a girl!"
Alice squealed with delight as her brothers surrounded her. Her big green eyes sparkled at the attention.
Suddenly, an unexpected surge of magic surged through the air. Charles gasped as he was lifted off the ground, levitating several feet in the air. Panic flashed across his face as he tried to regain control. Charles immediately closed his eyes and focused, in an instant he was down on the ground.
Harry, too, felt the magic's pull. But it wasn't like Charles's effortless levitation. It was wild, uncontrollable. He shot upwards at an alarming speed, leaving Charles behind. Fear twisted in his stomach as he soared higher and higher, the ground shrinking below him.
"Charles!" Harry cried out, his voice trembling.
Charles, his levitation now under control, shouted at Alice in desperation. "Alice, please, put Harry down!"
Alice, still cooing and giggling, had somehow become the center of this magical upheaval. Her tiny hands stretched out, and Harry began to descend, but it was too fast, too abrupt. The ground rushed up to meet him, and before he could react, he collided with it, pain radiating through his body.
His vision blurred, and he felt consciousness slipping away. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was Alice's confused cries and Charles's frantic pleas.
When Harry finally stirred, he was in the soft confines of his bed, the room bathed in the gentle glow of evening light. His head throbbed with pain, and he groaned, reaching a hand to his forehead.
"Harry! You're awake!" Charles's voice came from the side of the bed, and Harry turned to see his brother's worried face.
"What... what happened?" Harry mumbled, trying to make sense of the swirling memories in his head.
"Uh, Alice's accidental magic triggered when she got into an accident and pushed you." Charles's expression darkened. "You fainted, Harry. You fell from quite a height, but Dad managed to slow you down enough that you didn't get seriously hurt."
Harry winced in pain and Charles's eyes teared up and seeing the state of his brother.
First, Harry couldn't cast magic, but now their baby sister had ended up injuring him. When will it be right for poor Harry?
Potter Hideout
Lily | James | Sirius
The charred remains of what had once been a cozy cottage safehouse loomed before James, Lily, and Sirius, the twisted, blackened timbers standing as grim sentinels to a nightmarish event. The air still held a faint scent of burning wood and the acrid aftermath of a battle.
Sirius, his face pale, turned to James with a mixture of confusion and concern. "What in Merlin's name happened here, James?"
James's jaw clenched as he recounted the horrifying events. "We were having dinner when we heard the wolves howling. Lily, she—she guessed they were werewolves. She grabbed Harry and bolted with the kids to the portkey room."
Sirius listened intently, a shiver running down his spine at the mention of werewolves.
James continued his voice tight with anger. "The Prewetts and I tried to hold them off, but there was a problem." He spat out the words. "It was the beast, Fenrir Greyback, leading the assault."
Sirius's eyes widened in shock. "Greyback? That bloody monster?"
James nodded grimly. "Yes, him. He's bigger and more ferocious than any of the others. We were quickly overwhelmed."
The memory of that nightmarish battle still haunted him. The enormous wolf, Greyback, had torn through their defenses like a wrecking ball. He shuddered as he recalled the carnage.
"Then, we heard Lily screaming from inside," James continued, his voice quivering with emotion. "We ran back in and found her struggling with Harry."
Sirius's eyes searched James's face, his heart heavy with dread. "What happened, James?"
James swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. "The portkey didn't work on Harry. The other children managed to escape, but Lily refused to leave him behind. And the Prewetts, they couldn't leave Lily alone either."
Sirius placed a comforting hand on James's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, James."
James clenched his fists, his voice trembling with grief and anger. "Greyback's pack killed them both. They would've killed us too, but Dumbledore and Mad-Eye got here just in time to chase them off."
"Leaving the protection of the Potter manor was a mistake," Sirius remarked as he took in the wreckage. "I can't believe we thought Peter's idea was a good one. Last time we ever follow him."
"Yeah," James said.
The grandeur of Dumbledore's office, with its ornate furnishings and the soft strains of Fawkes's haunting melody, seemed out of place against the somber atmosphere that enveloped the room. Lily and James Potter sat before the venerable wizard, their faces etched with worry and sorrow.
Dumbledore began with a solemn tone, his eyes filled with regret. "I must offer my deepest apologies, Lily and James, for the attack on your home by Fenrir Greyback. Voldemort's followers grow more desperate with each passing day, their thirst for revenge against young Charles Potter escalating."
"In hindsight, hiding away from the Potter Manor might not have been the wiser choice. No ward is entirely foolproof, but neither is the Potter Manor." Dumbledore said.
"Easier for you lot to say. We all nearly died." Lily acidly said.
Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "I apologize. But please try to understand, this is a very fluid -"
Lily clenched her fists, her voice trembling with emotion. "Why did the portkey work for our other children but not for Harry?"
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the Potters. "I fear your hypothesis, Lily, was correct. Harry is not a wizard; he is a squib. He couldn't activate the portkey because he possesses no magic to interact with it."
James and Lily cried out in anguish; their hopes shattered by Dumbledore's revelation. It took a while for their emotions to stabilize.
James finally spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Without magic to defend himself, there's no way we can protect Harry from the Death Eaters indefinitely. One day, they will find him."
Lily nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "I've seen what it's like, James, growing up with a magical sibling while being a squib. The envy eats away at you, consumes you."
James agreed, his determination unwavering. "It would be best if Harry had a different living environment, one where we don't have to hide magic from him while we train Charles. The attack was a wake-up call. We can't afford to take Harry's feelings into account. Charles needs to be prepared to face his future."
Dumbledore watched them with a mixture of sympathy and respect. "Your pragmatism is commendable. In that case, may I suggest we stage Harry's death during Fenrir's attack on the cottage? It would deter the Death Eaters from searching for him, and nobody truly knows about Lily's muggle family."
Lily and James exchanged glances; their hearts heavy with the weight of their decision. Lily's voice was barely a whisper. "Harry will be better off living amongst his people."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "I will assist in arranging a suitable situation for Harry."
As the Potters and Dumbledore discussed the difficult choices they had to make, the gravity of their decisions weighed heavily on them. It was a painful acknowledgment that their family would be forever divided, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make to protect their children.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hint of sadness as he spoke again. "In addition to Harry's new life, I will place subtle memory charms on him to alter his memories. This will ensure that, in case he decides to escape from Petunia and search for you, Lily, and James, his journey will be cut short."
Lily and James nodded, accepting the necessity of such measures. They knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and sacrifices, but they were willing to do whatever it took to keep their family safe.
Harry Potter
Privet Drive
He was dreaming. Harry didn't like it when he dreamt. Lately, his dreams had dwelt into nightmares that seemed all too real. Real but strangely out of touch.
In the depths of Harry Potter's tortured slumber, his consciousness was dragged into a nightmarish realm, a place devoid of light and hope. He found himself standing amidst a fiery hellscape, a nightmarish realm of lava, brass, steel, and unrelenting fire. The heat seared his skin, and the acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted his senses.
The smell of phosphorous invasively filled his nose and polluted his lungs. As Harry's terrified gaze swept over the landscape, he witnessed a reckless abandon for violence that shook him to his core.
Legions of red-skinned demons, grotesque and monstrous, clashed against each other in gruesome encounters of violent mayhem. Their battle cries were deafening, filled with madness and bloodlust.
Limbs were torn off in a brutal fury, skulls were mounted on twisted pikes, and skin was flayed from bone. The cacophony of screams and agonized roars echoed in the hellish void, creating a symphony of suffering that filled the air.
In the midst of it all stood a brass citadel with moats of lava and boiling blood. Iron gargoyles, grotesque and snarling, adorned every parapet of the citadel. Hatred burned in their eyes, and molten metal seethed in their bellies, ready to be unleashed upon the damned souls below.
In the distance, between the outer walls and the towering keep, monstrous Flesh Hounds prowled with predatory hunger. Their bared teeth dripped with blood as they gnawed at ancient bones and longed for the taste of fresh meat.
The gruesome scene continued to unfold as Harry's nightmare spiraled deeper into madness. Champions who had been slain in the many fighting pits of this infernal realm hung from gibbets, their lifeless bodies skinned and bleeding. Thick rivulets of gore cascaded down the walls, collecting in the moat of boiling blood, a gruesome tribute to a God's insatiable appetite for violence.
Harry awoke with a gasp under his cupboard beneath the stairs. Ever since he had just one day awoken, he had been having this strange dream at night. He shivered as he got up and prepared to cook breakfast for his lard of a "family".
Family.
Harry's lip curdled at that world. He had read books. Hell, he had devoured books. Not like that he had anything else to do in this dump. None of them mentioned anything about families treating young members like this.
For sure he had read about abusive families in his classic English novels at school. The thing is all of those people weren't real family of the people. Sooner or later, the hero's real family swooped in to save the day. Harry hoped that it was only a matter of time before his real family swooped in to save the day. Aunt Petunia had told him that they had all died in a car crash.
Harry suspected that was most likely a load of bollocks. He had caught Aunty Petunia lying multiple times while talking to the neighbors or the school staff. He knew in his heart of hearts, that his loved ones were somewhere desperately searching for him.
It was only a matter of time before they rescued him.
He often daydreamed about what his real family would look like. He had vague memories of what they looked like. Two tall boys. A green-eyed woman.
A sharp headache struck him and Harry winced and forcibly stopped his dreaming. Whenever, he thought too deeply about his family, a strange darkness seemed to descend on his brain.
Weird, Harry thought to himself and got to work on breakfast.
Privet Drive | Elementary School
Harry Potter
His eleventh birthday had come and gone. Nothing had happened. His instincts told him something significant must have happened. Perhaps his real family is returning.
Nothing did. Thus, he was tired. Tired of running, hiding, or hoping somebody else would save him. It was time he took matters into his own hands.
Harry toothily smiled as he felt another sharp pang of pain. The pain was good. The pain made him feel alive and kicking. It let him know that he was still in the fight. Dursley the lard was all fat and no meat.
He swung a mighty fist at Harry but was too slow. It was a shame; all that bulk would have ensured Dudley was a great fighter if only he focused. Anyhow, one man's loss was another's gain.
Harry ducked below his fist and furiously kicked in his groin. Dudley howled in pain as the kids around him jeered. With adrenaline running through him from the only source of positive accomplishment he got, Harry raised his arms in triumph and launched himself at a prone Dudley and beat him to a pulp.
As the blood flowed from Dudley's wrecked face, Harry felt a presence of paternal pride after a very long time. He reveled in that sensation.
Harry genuinely winced in pain as he tried to lay on his back.
Whatever pain he had inflicted on Dudley was nothing compared to what the elephant of a man, aka Vernon Dursley, had done to him. His belt had struck him harder than his punches struck Dudley.
One day, Harry thought. One day when I am big and strong, I will make him pay. I will make them all pay.
He closed his eyes with dark intentions clouding his subconscious.
Harry heard the sound of steel clanging on steel and opened his eyes with a smile. Where once he was scared of this revelry, now he intended to embrace it. He was still scared of it all, but fears needed to be conquered.
He ventured forth from his place in the cracked ground and stumbled into a tall man of rippling muscle and red armor. His blazing eyes pierced into Harry's own and with a voice like rock grating rock, he roared, "I am Vorgaroth, young devotee! You are weak and puny. An error to be rectified. Prepare yourself!"
The man, Vorgaroth, gave Harry no quarter. He didn't care for his age or experience. Although he was weaponless, Harry stood no chance against him. Time after time, dream after dream, he clashed with Harry and always left him eating dirt.
Strike, dodge, parry, attack, jump, and stomp – he pushed Harry to the limit. They didn't discuss katas or pattern memorization. This was learning on the job.
A baptism by fire, if you will.
He kept on breaking Harry's bones until Harry got it right and countered perfectly. And got it right Harry did. He slowly developed muscle mass and gained height. He now stood on par with Dudley who was already the largest kid in the school district.
The two had gotten into plenty of scraps during their rivalry. Harry had always been the victor regardless of Vernon's straps and belts. Soon Vernon had given up on trying to discipline the boy when one day Harry had tired of the beatings. He gripped Vernon's wrist in a proper python-like grip and looked him straight in the eye.
Vernon gulped as he properly received the message, "This shit won't fly anymore."
Harry grinned as from that day onwards, Vernon had withdrawn further into his alcoholism and left Dudley to the wolves. Harry made sure to properly relieve Dudley of his lunch money. Evil, fat lards like him shouldn't be stressed with such menial tasks.
Harry sneered as he lifted his legs and brought down his foot in a proper stomp in Dudley's groin. His pained howls filled the yard as cheers raged on. Harry lifted his arms in a victory pose as the cheer got louder.
THUCK! A pained sensation grew in his skull and Harry glared towards the back as he fell on his knees.
It was a scared-looking Piers nervously holding a skateboard as he prepared for another assault.
Fucking coward you….. Harry slurred off as he fell into the mud face first.
His world went dark once again.
It was as if a light had gone on inside the darkness.
He could see again! He could remember them again!
Lily, James, Charles, Alice, Sirius, Moony, and more….
Whatever Piers had done seemed to have lifted some sort of a veil from his head. This was not all, it was as if he had a portal to his brother's brains.
He saw Charles yelling around happily and waving his letter happily. His beaming father hugged and carried him on his shoulders. A flustered Lily desperately tried to take photographs and not shed happy tears at the same time. His baby sister clapped happily in the distance.
An angry Petunia threw cold water in his face when he had asked for money for a permission slip for a trip to the zoo.
He saw Charles perform magic and wonders that Harry could scarcely dream of. He saw him conjure thunder and fire from nowhere. Watched him turn porcupines into needles. Charles turned the very forces of nature into his puppy. Beckoning them to his will whenever he desired.
Harry scrubbed dishes and wiped excrement from the floor to earn a living since the Dursleys gave him no pocket money.
Charles feasted like a king on exotic foods from all corners of the Earth.
Dursley and Harry's gang collided daily to fight for each other's pocket money.
A determined-looking Albus Dumbledore fought a Basilisk while Charles dashed to save a young red-headed girl. Charles and another red-headed boy drove a flying car to catch a train. Semester after semester, Charles tied for first place in class alongside a bushy-haired girl.
Many such vistas of Charles's life passed by. The Potter family gathered as Alice received her own Hogwarts letter. The Potter duo wreaked havoc on Hogwarts through hilarious pranks.
Harry bathed in cold showers and learned to box at night to escape the neighborhood.
The Perfect Potter family congratulated Charles on his engagement to Gabrielle Delacour and throwing a party. The same night the Dark Lord's followers came back with a vengeance to wreak havoc on the world that spurred him.
Harry wept hot tears at the prospect of a life denied to him. How could fates be so cruel to deny him such joy and wonder? It would have been far better had he not been born in this miserable life than to be so close to Eden and not taste the fruit.
Worst of all, he knew he could do nothing to them. They lived as Gods in a realm far beyond his reach. Filthy mortals reject, scum, and squibs like him had no place in Olympus. Their lot in life was to clean up filth and gaze downwards.
And so, Harry wept for the first time in a very long while.
Privet Drive
Harry Potter
The gasoline permeated the air, thick and choking, as Harry continued to liberally pour it onto the pristine living room rug. His hands trembled with a mix of determination and frustration, a silent rebellion against the world that had held him captive for so long.
Then, a voice, sharp and biting, cut through the tense silence. "So you know?"
Harry paused, his heart skipping a beat, as he turned to see Petunia standing there in a bathrobe, a glass of wine in hand. Her eyes were filled with a strange mix of bitterness and curiosity.
"Know what, Petunia?" Harry acidly spat, his voice laced with anger.
"You know what, boy," Petunia retorted, her tone matching Harry's intensity. "The truth. The Potters. Magic. Everything."
Harry remained silent; his eyes locked on his aunt. He felt a strange mixture of relief and apprehension that she had finally confronted him about the world he had hidden from her for so long.
"I can see it in your eyes," Petunia continued, taking a sip of her wine with a bitter smile. "You have seen magic."
Harry didn't deny it; he couldn't. The truth was etched in his very being, and there was no use pretending otherwise.
Petunia's laughter was harsh and hollow. "Of course, you have," she muttered to herself. "Don't deny it, you have seen magic, boy. That hurt look in your eye, I have seen it before. I wore it myself for a long time. Almost a lifetime."
Harry listened in silence as Petunia ranted, her words fueled by the wine she was drowning in rapid succession. She spoke of never being good enough, of never being as beautiful as her sister Lily, or having the magic that had set her apart. Her bitterness poured forth like a torrent, drowning any semblance of restraint.
"The infinite cruelty of God," Petunia continued, her voice growing slurred as the alcohol took hold. "He took one and elevated her so high that the rest of us could only stare at her like half-jawed morons."
Harry's stoic silence only seemed to fuel Petunia's tirade. She raged on about the unfairness of it all, the arbitrary whims of fate that had given Lily everything and left her with nothing.
"This is typical of God, you know, Harry?" she slurred, her words growing more erratic. "He did the same, accepting sacrifice from one brother and condemning the other without any justification."
Harry's gaze remained fixed on Petunia, his eyes unreadable. He had no words to offer, no comfort to provide to a woman who had lived a lifetime of bitterness and resentment.
Petunia took another long sip from her glass, the wine spilling onto her robe and staining it, but she seemed not to care. The room was filled with the acrid scent of gasoline and the bitter taste of regret, a heavy silence hanging between them.
"I am about to burn this place down, Petunia," Harry said. "You should leave while you can."
Petunia snorted. "Burn away boy. I am 35 years old with no job, money, looks, or good tits – my husband is a drunk, and my son is useless. My genetic legacy is worthless. Does it look like I care anymore about any of this? The bank's taking the house anyway. Vernon's been having an affair with his accountant anyhow." She swung her wine arm around the house space as if a realtor showing off a good piece to a client.
Petunia pouted and continued, "Burn away boy. Burn away."
Harry didn't say anything and exited the house. The flames would soon engulf the house but no one called the police until it was too late.
No proof would be found. No arrests would be made. Nobody cared.
The Court House
Harry Potter
Piers lay bloodied and moaning in the car park. The sirens wail and a Taser shocks Harry's body as he is subdued by two police officers.
In a dimly lit courtroom, the proceedings for Harry's juvenile criminal trial were underway. Seventeen-year-old Harry, sporting a defiant expression and a mop of unruly hair, stood before the judge, his arms crossed.
Judge Anderson, a stern and no-nonsense figure, peered over his glasses at the young defendant. "Mr. Potter," he began, his voice laced with authority, "I've reviewed your case, and I must say it's quite extensive."
Harry leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, I've been around, Your Honor."
The judge's expression remained unyielding. "Assault, theft, vandalism, and grand theft auto," he listed, his gaze piercing through Harry's nonchalant demeanor. "Your rap sheet is far from commendable."
Harry shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "Just doing my thing."
Judge Anderson leaned forward, his tone stern. "You need to understand something, Mr. Potter. You're on a dangerous path, and you're turning eighteen in just a few months. At that point, you will no longer be protected from prison."
Harry's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he masked it with bravado. "What's it to you, old man?"
The judge's voice grew even more resolute. "It's everything, young man. I'm here to offer you a chance, a chance to turn your life around."
Harry raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "What kind of chance?"
Judge Anderson leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. "You can either choose to enlist in the military, serve your country, and use it as an opportunity to straighten up or spend the rest of the year in juvenile hall."
Harry's eyes narrowed as he considered the options laid out before him. Military service seemed like a far cry from his current life of rebellion and chaos. Juvenile Hall, on the other hand, held its share of bleak prospects.
Finally, Harry let out a grudging sigh. "Fine, military service, whatever."
The judge's expression softened slightly as if he had been hoping for this outcome all along. "I hope you understand the gravity of this decision, Mr. Harry. The military can offer you discipline and structure, a chance to become a better version of yourself."
Harry's response was curt. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."
The Barracks.
Harry Potter
Military life was great. Harry had to begrudgingly admit that for once in his life, an adult had done him solid. Getting paid to fight? Hell yea! Sign him up!
During the first day, he impressed his superior officers. While most recruits were soft boys addicted to porn, sugar, and video games- Harry was built differently. The boy could do the most push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups. He actively ran his crew, ordered by the drill staff to "motivate" the youngsters. Harry made life hell for the recruits.
Many cadets whimpered at the words Harry spoke, "Bring a water source". Those words were followed by the most intense 3 hours of anyone's life. Muscle groups that they didn't even know existed were worked over, leaving whimpering wrecks behind when Harry was done with them.
Many recruits celebrated when they saw their training rosters citing, they didn't have CQC practice with Harry. Many whimpered in phantom pain when they were paired with him.
Soon, they had moved to weapons training and Harry had excelled in that as well. From Glocks to SA80s, Harry was a crack shot.
Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Harry found his home. The deafening roar of explosions, the wails of injured soldiers, and the haunting echoes of screams all called to him like sirens' hypnotic singing luring sailors to their doom. He lived for war, and he was, without a doubt, an excellent soldier.
From the very first moment he had set foot on the battlefield, Harry had known that this was where he belonged. It wasn't just the thrill of combat that drove him, though that was a part of it. It was the very essence of war itself, the raw, unrelenting energy that surged through the air like electricity.
While others crouched nervously in the face of incoming fire, seeking shelter from the storm of bullets and shrapnel, Harry took the battle to the enemy head-on. He thrived in the heart of the storm, where the chaos was at its peak.
The rush of sneaking behind enemy lines, gathering vital information, and slipping back into the safety of friendly territory was a high like no other. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses and quickening his reflexes.
But Harry wasn't just a ghost in the shadows. He was equally adept at building and logistics. He could construct a makeshift fortification under enemy fire with the precision of a master craftsman. His logistical skills ensured that supplies reached the front lines, even in the most dire of circumstances. And when it came to firefights, Harry was Ares reborn. His marksmanship was impeccable, and his ability to read the battlefield and adapt to changing situations was uncanny. He moved with a ferocity of a dragon. Amid the firefight, Harry felt alive in a way that he never did in the quiet moments of camp. The rush of combat, the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers, and the sheer intensity of the battle were like a drug that he couldn't get enough of.
He had seen horrors that would haunt most men's dreams, and yet, he welcomed each new day on the battlefield with open arms. The scars on his body were a testament to the countless battles he had fought, each one a reminder of the price he was willing to pay for the thrill of war.
For Harry, war was more than just a duty; it was a calling. It was the place where he felt most alive, where he truly belonged. The chaos and violence of the battlefield were his muse, his inspiration, and his purpose.
As he charged forward, rifle in hand, bullets whizzing past him, Harry couldn't help but smile. This was where he was meant to be, in the heart of the storm, where the sirens of war sang their haunting song, and he answered their call with unwavering resolve.
And yet when all was said and done, the dreams came back to haunt him again. Even the battlefield was not enough to make him forget what he had lost. What he had never had in the first place.
Hogwarts, magic, power, glory.
He tried his hardest to forget it all. But when the heat of the battlefield cooled, the adrenaline wore off, and fatigue crept on him, Harry saw glimpses of the other Potter's life. He was being trained by the wizard Dumbledore. From what Harry gathered he was a pretty important wizard. Charles had now moved into a small apartment near Diagon Alley to spend more time with Gabrielle.
Harry grits his teeth in impotent fury. Jealously viciously ate at his soul. He hated magic with a vengeance he didn't know he had. He hated it for rejecting him. He hated it for ruining his life. He hated it because it was so beautiful, and it would never be his.
There was nothing he could do. He needed a distraction before he did something stupid. Some man with an insufferable walrus mustache, Price or something, had forcibly shoved a pamphlet in his jacket when he was out in the "Red-Light District". Harry gave it a cursory glance.
JOIN THE S.A.S. HOME OF THE BRAVE!
Afghanistan
Harry Potter
The stars blinked in the heavens in their infinite number.
The society here was still not fully industrialized and comprised of a vast rural section. Thus, light pollution was negligible.
Afghanistan was truly a land of ancients, Harry mused. He had walked the legendary battlefields where Alexander the Great had fought. He had seen ancient caverns, mountains, and rock formations that stood the test of time when still stalked the land with bows and arrows.
They were part of a recon team deployed to Afghanistan to assess the damage done post-Soviet withdrawal. Every crackhead militia group around here had anti-air rockets that could bring down commercial airliners. The governments of the NATO alliance had collectively shit bricks when they realized what was at stake here. Thus, the MOD had authorized this little sojourn in this part of the town.
A whistling sound echoed through the air.
Contact left!
A gruff voice barked, and all operators fell into combat positions. Immediately facing left, Harry identified the targets. He pulled out his rifle and saw an enemy pull out an RPG. Before he could fire Harry double-taped him. The man's head burst open, and hell fell from his position, firing his RPG into his team. The enemy retaliated with their own explosions.
They rocked the battlefield, sending shockwaves through the air. Debris and shrapnel scattered, and the enemy combatants who had been clustered nearby were torn apart. Chaos erupted as cries of pain and shock filled the air.
Bullets whizzed past, snapping and crackling, as Harry moved with purpose. He found cover behind a crumbling wall, his heart pounding in his chest. The operators around him fought with grim determination, their faces etched with the weight of the battle. The enemy, undeterred by their losses, fanatically pressed forward. Their shouts and curses blended with the deafening roar of gunfire. Harry exchanged fire with one of them, his bullets striking true as he watched his adversary crumple to the ground.
Whereas the SAS fired with controlled, precise bursts, the enemy retaliated with overwhelming & indiscriminate .50 caliber & AK-47 fire and rocket launchers.
Amidst the chaos, a grenade exploded nearby, sending a shockwave of dirt and debris into the air. The blast knocked Harry off his feet, his ears ringing, and his vision blurred. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed through the disorientation, determined to keep fighting.
Potter! Get to the sniper on the left and put on some suppressive fire on the .50s
The captain's voice roared over the din of the gunfire. A red haze descended on Harry as his vision went red and bloodlust overwhelmed him.
Whistling crack shots! Echoed on the battlefield with quick succession. The dull thud of .50s began to quiet down. Harry grinned as he admired his handiwork. The enemy had begun to run off in an undisciplined retreat.
Harry let out a guttural roar and began to chase. None will survive his onslaught.
There will be blood tonight!
Tora Bora | Afghanistan
The prisoner moaned in pain as Harry savagely stabbed him with his bowie knife. A few of the insurgents had been left behind, too paralyzed by fear to run away.
Captain Price had ordered them tied up and taken into custody. He needed to know where the militia group was hiding their rockets. This had made Harry pout and Price looked at him with a strange look.
The militia had attacked them. That in Harry's eyes was a death sentence in itself. With the rest of the team busy securing the mountain hideout. Harry had gone to work on the prisoners, if Captain Price denied him his blood, Harry would gladly take matters into his hands. There was no soldier present to guard the prisoners.
"POTTER! What in God's name are you doing?!" Captain Price roared and hit him with the butt of his rifle. A large man in the ghost mask followed him and pointed a rifle at him. Harry glanced around in shock as his bloodlust faded away at the rifle pointed at him.
"Answer me, damn it!" Price yelled again.
Harry didn't respond, he discreetly pulled out a flash grenade and lobbed it on the side. Price and Ghosts' eyes widened but Harry had already bailed from the room. A loud flash bang echoed in the room as Price and Ghost cursed out.
Harry fled deeper into the mountain.
Tora Bora | Afghanistan
Harry Potter
Tora Bora was an incredibly large mountain.
Price had sent Ghost and his boys to chase after him and apprehend him. But Harry had moved deeper into the mountains, and they had called off the search.
Harry's heart raced as he fled deeper into the labyrinthine Tora Bora Mountain and mine system. Behind him, the echoes of heavy footsteps reverberated through the narrow passages. He could hear the relentless pursuit of the elite S.A.S team that was hot on his trail. His breaths came in ragged gasps and sweat trickled down his brow.
Harry had always been good at evading capture, but this time, the stakes were higher than ever. He had stumbled upon something he shouldn't have, something that had made him a target.
The tunnels seemed to stretch on endlessly, their walls lined with jagged rock formations and the occasional glimmer of mineral deposits. Harry's training kicked in, guiding him through the labyrinthine twists and turns, his senses attuned to every sound and shadow.
He heard the shouts and commands of the S.A.S team growing fainter as he put distance between them. His heart soared with a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could make it out of this alive.
But just when he thought he had shaken his pursuers, he turned a corner and stumbled into a cavern unlike any he had seen before. The air was thick with the metallic smell of blood, and a chilling feeling of unease settled in the pit of his stomach.
The cavern was vast, its dimensions impossible to gauge. Its walls were adorned with angry, violent runes that seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy. The intricate symbols covered the entirety of the room, their patterns incomprehensible to the untrained eye. Among them, the number 8 frequently dotted the lines, a symbol that held a mysterious significance.
In the center of the cavern stood an ancient stone altar, weathered and worn by the passage of time. It was covered in dried blood, stains that had seeped into the very stone itself. The altar exuded an aura of malevolence, and Harry couldn't tear his gaze away from it.
His curiosity got the better of him, and he approached the altar cautiously. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had stumbled upon something ancient and powerful, something that had been hidden deep within the Tora Bora mountains for centuries.
As Harry's trembling fingers made contact with the ancient stone altar, a searing pain erupted within his mind, and visions surged forth like a torrent, overwhelming his senses.
In the first vision, he found himself transported to a distant past of the galaxy. Pointy-eared beings, their faces contorted in rage and violence, violently clashed among the stars and planets with mechanical beings of silvery starlight. The sheer brutality of their emotions scarred the once-pure white empyrean of the warp, leaving a trail of corruption in their wake. Emotions of bloodlust, anger, and savagery mutilated the pristine fabric of the warp itself.
A name echoed through the chaos, a name that resonated with power and malevolence – Khorne. Harry could feel the palpable anger and hatred coursing through these beings as they waged war, their violent emotions feeding into the birth of a new concept – violence and savagery. It was a vision of a god of war and bloodshed taking shape, an entity that reveled in the slaughter of countless souls. The alien entity tasted the first drops of blood. It was the sweetest nectar from all the realities it manifested in.
It wanted more of it.
It wanted oceans worth of it!
The second vision gripped him with a different intensity. Two brothers stood before him, one offering a sacrifice of magical art, weaving intricate spells and incantations to please the gods of his forefathers. The gods, pleased with his offering, showered blessings upon him. The second brother, consumed by jealousy and malice, presented a year's worth of harvest to the same gods.
However, the gods were not pleased with this offering and rebuked the second brother's attempt. Fueled by hatred and resentment, the second brother took a rock in hand, a cruel intent in his heart. He approached his unsuspecting sibling, and with a vicious strike, he ended his brother's life. The warp shuddered as the first murder in the human race was committed, giving birth to a malevolent presence within the ethereal realm.
The blood God cares not whence the blood flows from. As long as it flows. A feminine voice whispered inside Harry's mind.
Harry nervously shuddered at the implication of those words. A vision swelled with mountains of alien skulls lining up.
All went black once again. Till Harry smelt Sulphur once again. A violent shudder ran through him.
Not now. Not now. Notnow Notnownotnow! Harry whispered to himself as the hellish visions of his past engulfed him. He stood before the brass citadel again. The hellish eternal war in the realm played out just like it did the last time he was here. This time around, there was no warrior to train or test his skill. Harry was levitated against his will and transported for the first time inside the brass citadel.
His mind began to shatter upon watching the cruel and alien visages. A massive throne made purely of skulls greeted him.
In the realm beyond reality, Harry found himself standing in a place that defied his imagination. The very fabric of this dimension seemed to pulse with malevolence, and as he gazed upon it, his sanity began to fracture under the immense stress of witnessing the neverborn daemons that roamed freely.
Before him lay a vast, nightmarish expanse, and at its center, atop a towering mountain of skulls, sat the Blood God himself. The throne upon which Khorne rested was a monolithic structure of brass, a twisted and grotesque homage to the concept of war and death. The skulls that composed it were of every conceivable species, some the size of entire buildings and others no larger than a human hand.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and the cacophony of battle cries and screams that echoed through the ether. The skulls themselves seemed to writhe and moan; their agonized faces eternally frozen in torment. This was a monument to suffering, a testament to the unending violence that had given birth to the Blood God. And there, atop the throne of skulls, clad in crimson armor forged from brass and metal, sat a figure that defied comprehension. It was less a figure and more an amalgamation of dark and twisted concepts, a grotesque embodiment of the darkest deeds of sentient beings.
Harry's gaze was drawn inexorably upward, like an ant gazing up at a towering titan. A pair of malevolent red eyes shone from the helm of the monstrous being, their intensity burning into Harry's very soul.
When the voice spoke, it echoed from all corners of the great hall. It was not as much as speech but emotions, symbols, and memories all laced in visions.
A lady of bloody armor carrying a spear appeared before him. She was almost 7 feet tall and had a savage warrior's expression.
"Kneel!" she commanded. "You stand in the hall of the Blood God."
Harry automatically sank to his knees, not wanting to risk further damage during this fever trip. The lady smiled in approval, revealing her fangs to Harry.
"My name is Valkia the Bloody. The Dread-consort of Khorne, mortal." She spoke. "Be glad you are before me in one piece."
A guttural roar sounded from behind her, and she lovingly glanced behind before speaking again in a different voice and tongue,
"Thou hast been a warrior without peer. Thou dost battle with honor and void of remorse. Thou hast tallied a mighty toll by waging wars across the world."
Images of his time with the SAS in Cambodia, Lebanon, Afghanistan, Yugoslavia, and Ukraine flashed in his eyes.
Valkia continued, unperturbed by his visions, "But for all thy prowess, thou hast been betrayed by the sorcerers, and dost hold them and thy kin in contempt for all they hath wrought upon thee. Yet, despite such grievance, thou dost endure."
The Potters. Harry's blood boiled hearing of those sorcerers.
"The Blood God doth comprehend thy anguish. He also had a favored son, Skarbrand, wrested from him by the ethereal weavers" Valkia said. "The Blood God perceives thy souls and senses the primeval violence within thee. He desireth to bestow his blessings upon thee and bid thee into his ranks. Join us, forsake the Potters, and thou shalt possess a true family whose bonds are forged in iron and flame."
An explosion occurred in the distance that sent shockwaves throughout the hall but Valkia merely grinned further in delight at the violent display. She looked at him again,
"Abhor magic as we do, and together we shall exact vengeance in blood. Such is the pledge of the Blood God unto thee." Valkia said. "Think on my words. Contemplate them. Let the Blood God's creed engulf you. When you are ready, summon us."
The Daily Prophet
Mass Breakout from Azkaban Shakes Ministry to its Core
By Rita Skeeter
London, July 15 – In an unprecedented and audacious act, a mass breakout from Azkaban, the most notorious wizarding prison, has sent shockwaves through the Ministry of Magic. Overnight, a horde of Death Eaters and common criminals alike have made their daring escape, leaving Aurors and law enforcement officers baffled and concerned for the safety of the wizarding world.
The escape, which occurred late last night, included notorious Death Eaters who had been captured during the First Wizarding War, a conflict that ended over a decade ago. The Ministry of Magic had assured the public that Azkaban was secure and impenetrable, but yesterday's events have proven otherwise.
Among the escapees are several high-ranking Death Eaters, including Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto Carrow, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov, all of whom were serving life sentences for their heinous crimes during the war. In addition to the Death Eaters, a significant number of common criminals managed to break free during the chaos, further complicating the situation.
Aurors and law enforcement agencies are working tirelessly to recapture the escaped convicts, but the sheer scale of the breakout has posed significant challenges. The Ministry of Magic has urged a heightened level of alert among wizards and witches, advising caution and vigilance.
The timing of this escape is raising eyebrows and causing unease among the wizarding community. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, was defeated by Charles Potter over a decade ago, and many believed that the threat of his followers had been eradicated. The sudden reappearance of these dangerous individuals has sparked fears that they may seek to revive their dark agenda.
Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, addressed the media earlier today in a press conference held at the Ministry of Magic. "We are treating this breakout with the utmost seriousness," Fudge stated. "Our priority is the safety and security of our citizens. We will spare no effort to recapture these fugitives and bring them to justice."
Azkaban has long been regarded as a symbol of the wizarding world's ability to contain its most dangerous and volatile criminals. However, the events of last night have revealed a shocking vulnerability within the system, leaving many to question the efficacy of the Ministry's security measures.
The wizarding community now watches with bated breath as Aurors launch a manhunt for the escaped convicts, hoping for their swift recapture. As the Ministry of Magic grapples with this unprecedented crisis, it remains to be seen whether the dark specter of Voldemort's reign may once again cast its shadow over the wizarding world.
Stay tuned to The Daily Prophet for updates on this developing story.
Afghanistan | OKB Base
Skullface
Skullface grimaced as he stared at the reports below.
Throughout his long-storied career in the XOF, he had to deal with all types of personalities. Cold-blooded killers, hot-shot top-guns, war criminals, torturers, and invisible commandos. Hell, he had even begun to tap into humanity's latent psychic ability. Not even DARPA with its billions of dollars had done something like that.
All in all, he had been a patron to all sorts of freaks and mutants. As far as he was concerned, XOF was a regular jungle safari relentlessly aiming to hunt down Big Boss. But amidst all the misfits and killers, there was one regret that gnawed at Skullface's conscience. It was the decision to provide patronage to a young SAS deserter named Harry. This man had split from his unit and had been wandering the unforgiving terrain of Afghanistan ever since.
XOF's Ghost Unit had picked him up, bringing him back to their OKB Zero Base. At the time, XOF was desperate for recruits, and after some background checks, they had taken in just about anyone who could wield a weapon. The young man, Harry, had been rough around the edges but had blended in seamlessly with the Ghost Squad.
However, as time went on, Skullface couldn't help but notice the unsettling aspects of Harry's personality. His sheer lust for battle and bloodshed began to raise eyebrows within XOF's high command. Recruits refused to train with him, finding his intensity too much to handle. Harry displayed no mercy on the battlefield, bringing back grisly trophies of his kills.
While he remained generally aloof, Skullface knew that Harry was barely holding his battle lust in check. It was as if a gentle nudge would shatter the fragile restraint he held over himself, unleashing the rabid dog within. Hatred danced in Harry's eyes, a simmering anger that seemed to consume him.
To keep him away from OKB Zero Base as much as possible, Skullface had dispatched Harry on missions, and to his dismay, every one of them had been a resounding success. Harry's uncanny ability to adapt and thrive in the chaos of war had become a valuable asset to XOF. The organization had been greatly affected by the Soviet withdrawal, but Harry had single-handedly carried out dark and dangerous missions to keep their war economy afloat.
But what had finally pushed Skullface to the brink of tolerance was when, during Sahelanthropus testing, Harry had walked into the testing bay and unknowingly taken control away from Skullface himself. It was a brazen act that had undermined Skullface's authority and left him seething with anger and frustration.
Such magnificent hatred, Skullface wondered. He had effortlessly made the robot kneel before him.
As Skullface sat in his command center, the weight of his regret and the danger Harry posed to XOF weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew that he had created a monster, one who was now a loose cannon with a taste for blood and violence. The decision to bring Harry into XOF had consequences that Skullface could no longer ignore.
He picked up a phone and planted some tactical info leaks. Let the Major take care of his British ilk. Harry would soon return to Britain after almost a decade on a one-way mission.
Skullface had a lot riding on hunting Big Boss, he couldn't afford any distractions.
Albania | Death Eater Hideout
Antonin Dolohov | Bellatrix Lestrange
In the dimly lit room of a long-abandoned safehouse, Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange huddled together, their faces etched with a mixture of annoyance and excitement. The stench of their years-long incarceration in Azkaban still clung to them, but the taste of freedom was sweet, thanks to Pettigrew's timely intervention.
Antonin leaned in, his voice a low hiss. "It took a decade for that rat to get his act together and free us. A decade, Bellatrix! I can't believe we spent all that time rotting in that wretched prison."
Bellatrix's dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous fervor. "It matters not, Antonin. What's important is what we do next. We must seize this opportunity and serve our Lord once more."
Antonin nodded, his gaunt features betraying his eagerness for action. "Indeed, but we need to know why Peter was in there in the first place. He was supposed to be our link to the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix's expression darkened as she recalled the details. "James Potter, that insufferable fool, somehow discovered that it was Peter who orchestrated Greyback's attack on their cottage. He accused him of being a traitor and handed him over to the Ministry."
Antonin's eyes narrowed in thought. "So, Potter figured out Peter's betrayal. That complicates matters."
Bellatrix's lips curled into a sneer. "Indeed, it does. But we still have our connections and our cunning. We can find another way to serve our Lord."
Antonin leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought. "Peter has been acting as a liaison between us and the Dark Lord for years. He proposed a ritual for our Master's return, but I found it lacking."
Bellatrix arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Lacking? How so?"
Antonin's voice dripped with disdain. "His proposed ritual is too base, too violent. The blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, is too crude a method for our Master's rebirth. We need something more... subtle."
Bellatrix nodded in agreement, her mind racing with possibilities. "I still have access to the Black Library in ways that Sirius never knew about. I will find something more suitable, a ritual that befits our Lord's return."
Antonin's thin lips curved into a cruel smile. "Excellent. And in the meantime, we must consider our options for acquiring the necessary blood. Charles Potter is too well protected by Dumbledore to be kidnapped directly."
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with a wicked glint. "True, but there is another option. Alice Potter, the younger sister. She is not as well-guarded, and she may serve our purpose."
Antonin's smile widened. "Precisely. And there is an ideal opportunity on the horizon—the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
Bellatrix's eyes sparkled with excitement as she grasped Antonin's plan. "Yes, the tournament will draw attention and distract the authorities. We can use it as the perfect bait-and-switch to acquire the blood we need."
Antonin nodded in agreement. "Our path forward is clear. We must prepare for the tournament and ensure that our plans remain hidden from the prying eyes of the Ministry and Dumbledore."
"That's not all," Bellatrix said and Antonin raised an eyebrow.
"My sister Narcissa got in touch with me earlier. Lucius's informants in the ministry picked up a communique regarding an interesting person." Bellatrix said. "Apparently, Harry Potter is alive and kicking. Living as a squib in the Muggle world. He has caused some trouble in the Muggle world and the British government is hoping for his arrest."
"If we could locate him, the ritual would proceed all the better. The younger Potter was Charles's twin after all. Regardless of his squib status, the blood combined with Alice Potter's would work marvelously." Antonin said.
"I will have Rabastan pay him a visit then," Bellatrix remarked, and Antonin nodded in agreement.
They were the only two who had any semblance of strategy and magical theory amongst the Death Eaters. All the rest had lost their minds to Dementors and dark arts long ago. It was imperative that their Lord returned to whip them all in shape. If they delayed any further, all the death eaters would cannibalize themselves.
With their dark plans in motion and their determination renewed, the two Death Eaters began to strategize and plot their path to serving their master once more. Their fates hung in the balance.
Alice Potter
Tri-Wizard Tournament | Hogwarts
Alice Potter gritted her teeth against the stinging pain in her thigh as she sprinted through the treacherous maze, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it—the final round of the Tri-wizard Tournament—her one chance to escape the overwhelming shadow of her famous older brother, Charles, and her esteemed Auror parents.
Victor Krum's earlier cutting curse had left her wounded, but Alice was fueled by determination and excitement. She knew that she had to keep moving forward, no matter the obstacles in her path.
As she darted through the twisting labyrinth, the echoes of the crowd's roars filled her ears. They watched with bated breath, witnessing the fierce competition unfold. The demented fool that was Krum had thrown dark curses her way, but Alice's extra credit training under the watchful eye of Professor Lupin had saved her. She had stunned Krum and left him behind, his curses whizzing harmlessly through the air.
The maze was a labyrinth of traps and dark creatures designed to challenge the champions to their limits. Alice had to duck and weave through obstacles, her quick thinking and agility were her greatest assets. She couldn't afford to falter, not now.
Suddenly, an acromantula lunged at her, its venom-dripping fangs bared. But Alice was faster on the draw, her wand raised and ready. With a quick incantation, she sent a burst of flames at the monstrous arachnid, setting it ablaze. She didn't pause to watch it writhing in agony; instead, she dashed forward, her determination unwavering.
The Tri-wizard trophy glowed tantalizingly in the distance, its golden light piercing through the dark maze. Alice's heart raced as she closed in on her goal, her thoughts consumed by the hope of victory. With one final burst of energy, she lunged forward, grabbing the gleaming trophy with a triumphant yell.
But as her fingers closed around it, something went terribly wrong. Instead of being teleported to her family, as she had expected, Alice landed in a grand white mausoleum. The shock and confusion washed over her like a cold wave.
The mausoleum was imposing, with towering marble pillars and a ceiling that seemed to stretch into tall roofs. Strange symbols and markings adorned the walls, casting eerie shadows in the dim light. At the center of the room stood an ornate pedestal, upon which the trophy now rested.
Alice's heart pounded in her chest as she looked around, her wand held tightly in her hand. She couldn't see any way out of this mysterious place, and the realization that something had gone wrong settled in her mind like a heavyweight.
"Where am I?" she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with uncertainty.
As she gazed at the trophy, its golden surface seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. She couldn't shake the feeling that this place held secrets and dangers beyond her wildest imagination. Alice knew that she had to tread carefully and unravel the mystery of the mausoleum if she had any hope of returning to her family and the world she knew.
A young boy around the age of her brother Charles lay bound on the floor. His eyes were blazing with anger as he tried and struggled in vain to be free of his bounds. She dashed towards him and with a wave of her wand banished his restraints. With a loud gasp, the man coughed and stared at her with contempt and then her wand,
"You are one of them, aren't you?" The man asked.
"Calm down, I am one of the good guys, I can help." Alice insisted, not wanting to take her chances with the crazy name. The man had other ideas though and tried to get up but yelled out in pain as his legs gave away.
"Calm down. You are going to hurt yourself!" Alice angrily whispered. She turned the grunting man on his back and used what little healing spells she knew.
"Episkey." She whispered and the man's mangled toes rejoined themselves.
"There. All better?" She said with a smile at the man's relieved expression. He didn't reply but merely grunted and Alice rolled her eyes at his macho nature. Hoping to relieve the tension Alice lit her wand and gazed at him. She couldn't hold back a gasp and how familiar he looked to the men of the family.
"Where are we?" He demanded.
"I don't know," Alice said.
The mausoleum's oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around Alice and Harry as they found themselves trapped within its eerie confines. Despite Alice's efforts, the massive doors remained sealed shut, as if mocking her futile attempts to escape. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to Apparate, but the wards around the mausoleum blocked her every attempt.
Frustration welled up inside her as she fired a series of curses at the walls and windows, but they withstood her onslaught. The realization that they were trapped in this mysterious place began to sink in, and Alice sighed in defeat.
She turned her gaze toward Harry, who sat opposite her, still nursing his injuries. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while," she remarked, trying to maintain a sense of calm despite the growing unease.
"The name's Alice, by the way," she added, offering a small semblance of conversation to break the tension that hung in the air.
"Just Alice?" He questioned.
"Just Alice for now," she replied cautiously. "I'm still finding my way in the world. Having a surname like mine tends to get in the way."
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." The man said and Alice stiffened at the name and glared at him. He appeared confused as Alice's eyes teared up and she stared at him. She opened her mouth in a shaky manner.
But before Alice could delve further into her thoughts, the grand door of the mausoleum creaked open, and her heart raced as she swiveled to face the newcomers, wand raised in defense. She managed to conjure a protective shield just in time to deflect a dark curse that shattered against it.
Laughter, mocking and malevolent, filled the air as Alice struggled to maintain her defenses. Another curse struck, tearing her wand from her grip, and leaving her vulnerable.
Harry, despite his injuries, tried to rise and rush toward their attackers, but he was instantly slammed into a wall by an unseen force.
"Know your place, squib." A voice from the darkness spat at him.
"Leave him alone!" Alice yelled at them hysterically. "He is innocent!"
As the figure responsible for their predicament stepped into the dim light of the mausoleum, Alice's eyes widened in recognition. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. She cradled what appeared to be a wrapped-up baby in her arms.
Order of The Phoenix
Grimmauld Place
Alice cried silent tears as she sat in Dumbledore's office surrounded by her family. The death eaters had captured her alongside her alleged deceased brother.
The room at Grimmauld Place was heavy with tension and the weight of a decade of silence. Alice Potter sat hunched on a dusty old sofa, her face buried in her hands, silently weeping. Charles, her older brother, knelt beside her, one arm around her trembling shoulders while his other hand ran comforting circles on her back. James and Lily Potter had tried to comfort her as well, but Alice's grief had exploded into raw anger, causing her to lash out at her parents, demanding they leave her alone.
The other members of the Order of the Phoenix, summoned urgently after years of inactivity, gathered in the room. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Arthur Weasley, along with James and Lily, were the old guard. The newer faces of Charles Potter, Nymphadora Tonks, and the Weasley twins, Charlie and Bill, joined them, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.
Dumbledore, the calm and contemplative leader, sat perched on his desk, his piercing blue eyes surveying the room.
James Potter broke the heavy silence, his voice laced with bitterness. "This has been a roller coaster of a year," he remarked. "First, the Death Eaters broke out of Azkaban, and now the Dark Lord has been resurrected from beyond the grave."
Dumbledore nodded gravely in acknowledgment. It was a truth they couldn't escape.
Charles, ever the bold one, decided to address the elephant in the room. He turned to face Lily and James, his gaze cold and unwavering. "You need to tell us what happened to Harry," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "We were told he's dead."
Lily and James exchanged glances, their lips tightly sealed. Bill Weasley, sensing the impending storm, nudged the others to give the Potters some privacy, but Charles cut him off with a cutting remark. "No, let them witness this. After all these years, our lives have been under the Order's microscope. Why change that now? They should be a part of this."
Dumbledore began to interject, but Charles silenced him with an acid tone. "Shut up," he said sternly, turning back to Lily and James.
Lily began to recount the tale, her voice heavy with emotion. "Harry became a squib due to the Dark Lord's attack all those years ago," she explained. "Living in a highly magic-saturated environment would have constantly put him in danger."
James chimed in, his tone somber. "Remember when Alice, as a baby, nearly killed Harry with accidental magic?" he added. "We couldn't protect him 24/7 from Death Eater attacks when he grew older and needed a life of his own. One can't exactly bring girlfriends or wives home when their parents are still there."
Lily continued, her eyes welling with tears. "As Harry's mother," she said, her voice quivering, "I could sense his bitterness. Tutoring Charles in magic always left Harry feeling overshadowed, much like I did under Petunia. I didn't want him to endure a lifetime of envy and resentment."
A heavy silence hung in the air as the gravity of their decision settled upon them.
Bill Weasley was the one to break it. "Where is Harry now?" he inquired, his voice tinged with concern.
Dumbledore sighed deeply; his expression troubled. "That's the most deeply troubling mystery of all," he admitted. "I've examined Alice's memories extensively. She was smart to grab Harry and activate the Portkey when Voldemort forced her into a duel. However, the Portkey only took Alice."
Dumbledore continued, "Severus tells me his contacts within the Death Eaters tell me that Harry became delirious when she disappeared, ranting about something called the 'Blood God,' and then he simply vanished in a red mist. Even the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were taken by surprise."
Nymphadora Tonks, her hair briefly turning a vivid shade of purple in her confusion, asked the question that hung on everyone's mind. "Who or what is this Blood God?"
Remus Lupin spoke up, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I've been researching Muggle religions for the past hour, and I still haven't found anything remotely close to it."
A knock on the door interrupted their discussion, and Alastor Moody entered the room. Dumbledore lifted the protective spells and allowed him in. Moody greeted Albus with a curt nod before inquiring if the Aurors had successfully obtained the files from the Muggle government.
Alastor's voice was gruff and grizzled as he replied, "It was bloody difficult, but we managed it. Potter Jr., as it turns out, joined Muggle military services and later their elite secret units."
Lily gasped in shock at the revelation, and the room seemed to grow even heavier with anticipation. Alastor Moody glanced at the Potter family and delivered a grim message, his voice heavy with foreboding. "Brace yourselves," he said.
Alastor continued with his grim report, his gravelly voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "The kid's turned out to be one very sour apple. He's been under an international red warrant by the Muggle Ministry for some years now. The charges are numerous—war crimes, torture, execution, high treason, and joining terrorist cells. Harry went AWOL in Afghanistan after his unit confronted him over excessive brutality."
Lily's anguished wail pierced the room, and James rushed to comfort her. Moody allowed her a moment to grieve before continuing. "All the Muggle military personnel we questioned—those who were still alive, that is—said they had no plans of taking Harry in alive. He was too dangerous for that." He paused, his magical eye scanning the room's somber faces.
Lily clung to James, tears streaming down her face, while Dumbledore remained silent, his gaze contemplative. An oppressive silence settled over the room as everyone absorbed the shocking news.
Charles, his expression a mix of anger and determination, seized the initiative. "First, we defeat Voldemort," he declared, his voice firm. "And then we deal with my brother and bring him back to the light." He turned to his family, his eyes ablaze with resolve. "Hopefully, somewhere beneath that monstrous exterior, there's still a part of the old Harry."
Brass Citadel
Harry Potter
Was it yesterday? Or has it been a century?
It mattered not time. Time was irrelevant to the Gods. As their devout servant, it was irrelevant to him as well. The Blood God had heard his first prayer and pulled him from that wretched mausoleum surrounded by pitiful mages.
Khorne had smashed his body on the ground of his brass citadel for daring to pray to him. The first law of Khorne was then blazed in his body. No prayers. No supplication. Only blood mattered. Khorne cared not from whence it flowed, as long as it flowed.
His pitiful mortal form was ripped and shredded to pieces by acolytes of Khorne operating cruel arcane machinery and reforged into something befitting a soldier of Khorne. He now stood at 7 feet tall and was ripped with solid muscle. With that, the acolytes had thrown him from the citadel to the very bottom of Khorne's realm with merely a blade and a gun.
Seek glory in the field of combat, for the weak deserve no mercy.
The lowest level of Khorne's realm was filled with pitiful neverborn delusions of grandeur. Harry stomped on them without remorse and flayed the flesh and skin from their bodies.
In battle, unleash your inner fury, and let it fuel your conquest.
The spells of the pitiful servants of Tzeentch, the god of magic, harmlessly fluttered away in the face of holy, murderous wrath. With a mighty roar of his hellfire gun, he shredded them into pieces before they could run.
Show no fear, for fear is the path to damnation.
A mighty alien with bug-like physiognomy screeched in defiance as Harry smashed its pitiful eggs and nest. It spat acid at Harry who dodged it in a smooth motion and brought his great sword down on its hind leg. The bug screeched in horror as Harry ruthlessly chopped it up in pieces.
Ruthlessly pursue martial skill, for it is the key to victory in the Blood God's name.
Harry roared in Pain as Valkia effortlessly dodged his blows and in return chopped his limbs off. She taunted Harry if he had enough, and Harry roared back through the pain. He would master all forms of blades. No matter what it took.
Embrace defiance in the face of all odds, for Khorne favors the bold.
A million of hideous green skin lead their assault at his keep near the citadel. Harry laughed as thermonuclear weapons wiped them all out. He feared nothing in his arsenal. No weapon was too great or too low to yield against Khorne's enemies.
Strike down your enemies without hesitation, for hesitation begets weakness!
Valkia swooped in the air above. As Harry confronted the piece of slimy soul was pulled out of him by the Blood God's priests. He felt his core come to life and magic swerved into being. The Horcrux was blocking his magic with its presence. Harry felt disgusted at the magic inside him and pulled out his nerves with his bare claws. Tom Riddle's soul stared in bizarre horror at the display. It pulled out a wand and fired curses at him. Harry licked his lips and advanced at him with murderous intent.
Khorne despised magic. So did he. There will be no negotiations. A single blow separated Tom Riddle's body from his head and Harry felt the magic from his body evaporate.
Let the skulls of your enemies be your trophies, and offer them to Khorne in endless tribute.
He roared in triumph towards Khorne holding Tom Riddle's head like a trophy.
Having finished his journey, he knelt in front of Khorne with new powers surging within him. He was now a Greater Demon of Khorne, the youngest perhaps. Perhaps one day he might even take Skarbrand's place?
Khorne awarded him with armor of red and bronze. The sinister dragon helm obscured his pale features, leaving only red eyes for his terrified victims to peer into. A mighty war axe of pure black metal with grinning skulls was with him. In his holster was a large sub-machine gun filled with high reactive explosive rounds.
A new name too was bestowed upon him, he was Morgoth the Bloody. Morgoth the Bloodthirster of Khorne.
With a black roar, Khorne took his axe the size of a planet and ripped a hole into the fabric of space and time, and commanded Harry to go forth and fulfill his destiny.
The flickering display of the Portal showed what his hazy memories of past life displayed to be a place called Diagon Alley. With a raised axe, Harry commanded his legion to venture forth. With a mighty roar, they marched forward.
Diagon Alley
The Aurors fired spells in panic as literal Armageddon struck their world. At first, they thought it was Voldemort unleashing their wrath but it was more sinister.
The red-skinned beasts didn't fire spells of power but engaged in wars like Muggles did but only so much more brutally. Their very aura in combined numbers drove people to madness. Citizens and aurors joined forces to push back the demonic invaders. All was going well until the demons chanted, "Morgoth!" repeatedly in a delusional mantra.
The bright summer sky changed into blood red night and a torrent of hot blood rain fell from the sky. A winged beast larger than any else landed with a massive explosion on the ground. A guttural roar with a high-pitched shriek went through the entire alley causing all activity to pause. Then Morgoth pounced on his enemies in a bloody feast. Aurors lost their limbs and heads by the dozens. Blood soon flooded the alley streets.
Suppressive fire was called on him and Aurors summoned thunder and ice to strike down at him. Morgoth resisted through a bloody smile as spells tore into him. With a roar he unleashed his sidearm on them, reducing them all to red mist.
Wolves the size of small cars tore open and feasted on fleeing civilians. Beast-clad berserkers were laughed savagely as they were torn under fire spells and stunners. Those that made it through the barrage tore open the Aurors with great broadswords. Demon engines fired malevolent energy, summoned straight from the warp into entrenched auror clusters and warded buildings.
"Tonks!" The voice of an Auror called out. "Get the hell out of here! The alley is being evacuated. We will hold them off. Tell Dumbledore what happened!"
"I am not leaving you, Moody!" Tonks yelled back.
"That's an order damn it," Moody said and pointed his wand at the stubborn witch. With a grim nod, Tonks relented and ran away from the battlefield to Hogwarts.
3 hours later.
They had broken through the barrier raised by the abominations 10 minutes ago and teams of aurors, British and foreign alike swarmed the place with Unspeakables discreetly trailing them. Charles, Sirius, Remus, and James accompanied them as they witnessed the sheer horror of what had been unleashed. The entire alley looked like it had never been a thriving district of wizarding commerce.
As they came to the middle of the town square, Dumbledore's blood ran cold at the grotesque sight while Sirius and James let out an uncontrolled stream of curses. A mountain skull comprised of all those slain by the demons stood in the center.
"3,000 skulls in total." An Unspeakable remarked near them. "We counted. Almost the entirety of the Alley is gone."
A giggling demon, most likely left behind as a message by the others deliriously yelled words that haunt this planet for centuries to come. The entire company paused and listened as the demon took a deep breath and roared.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!
Fin
Author Notes: Just a silly little story concept that was stuck in my head. Needed to it get out. Its done now. Read and Review.
Please don't ask for me a CH#2
Yes I know the first murder spawned Drachynern or however you spell it, not Khorne. Yes, I know Elves have their own God of War, which is irrelevant since Khaine is now Khorne's b****. In my story, "Gods" were made during the first war aka Old Ones vs Necrons. Also, no pairing for this fic. I don't think there can be any pairing for this fic. Harry's new armor is inspired from Shao Kahn's MK 11 attire with the pointy helm. Yes, Morgoth is from LOTR, I just thought the name would look cool. Also, note that Harry is a bloodthirster not a demon prince. Making him a demon prince would be too OP. Also, can you honestly compare him with the likes of Angron or Skarbrand? Lol. Read & Review.