So, a lot of people were looking forward to Beautiful Destruction. Unfortunately, it wasn't really going anywhere in terms of plot, beyond Harry and Altera kicking arse. And I was dissatisfied with that. I wanted something a little more character driven with a bit more plot rather than just a curbstomp power trip. So I went back to the drawing board, and after going over the original idea, I decided to try something new. It is stated in Fate/Extella that Sephyr/Altera wasn't the only one of her kind. So, I thought, just as Altera's fragment was found and became Attila the Hun, why not a fragment of another Titan of Velber was found...and became a certain boy wizard?

I'm hoping that this has more potential as a story. Hopefully, you guys like it too. I was a bit leery of doing yet another Book 4 story, but it's been a while since I've started one of those, and Book 4 is one of the better ones for crossovers, as it is probably the book that marks a turning point for Harry, as well as giving potential for crossovers to happen.

Anyway, enjoy...

LAST OF THE TITANS

CHAPTER 1:

DREAMS OF THE TITANS

There is a legend known to those who study the arcane lore of prehistory. The legend of the Umbral Star, Velber, and its heralds. The White Titan, and the Gold Titan. It's a legend surprisingly supported by science, if only because there was evidence for the mass extinctions that occurred about 14 millennia ago, albeit one of many such mass extinctions happening during the end of the Pleistocene Era. This extinction was chalked down by the scientific community (albeit not without reason: they were right about the reasons for other extinctions in the geological ballpark) to climate change caused by the end of the Ice Age, as well as other factors.

In truth, like more than a few harbingers of extinction, the cause came from space. But not in the form of a meteorite that struck with apocalyptic force. Rather, something landed, and then began spreading death and destruction in its wake.

When people speak of the fall of Atlantis, they usually think it was due to the hubris of its natives. However, Atlantis was but one of the ancient civilisations that was decimated by the White Titan. Mu, Hyperborea, Lemuria, all fell to the White Titan's rampage…though in truth, the White Titan was an entity bound to do its job. In truth, even as its body destroyed, its mind was asking of itself, Why? Why? Why?

Of course, this meant little to its victims. All they saw was a monster whose very presence corrupted man and beast alike into monsters. And then, a second such monster appeared, its skin shining gold like the Sun, just as the White Titan's shone a pale bluish-white, like the Moon. With a grand weapon, struck down the pair of them. Parts of their bodies, struck by the blast of the weapon fired at them, flew into the distance. One landed elsewhere in the land that would one day become the island of Britain, where it would be found eventually by the Unspeakables. The other eventually landed in a part of Western Europe that, one day, would be taken over by the Huns. About twelve and a half thousand years later, said Huns would stumble across it…and find a baby girl, whom their elders would name Attila. A name she would come to detest, but that's getting ahead of ourselves.

The gathered people who had managed to fell the two Titans knew that killing them might not be possible in the limited time they had, so, using arcane magic that was soon forgotten to the world, they imprisoned them, deep within an island. To maintain this other dimension, a power source of sorts was created, but in order to try and prevent any attempt at a breakout, the power source was taken as far away from Britain as the bearers could.

They arrived in what is now called Egypt, where a culture was arising. There, a small group were recruited, to guard a tomb of sorts, a tomb that would later be the inspiration for the tombs of the pharaohs many thousands of years later. From generation to generation, these tomb-keepers kept the power source, which had been tastelessly dubbed the Heart of the Titans, secret and safe. And so it would be for thousands of years, until the Black Death swept the country in the 1300s, and took with it the tomb-keepers. The tomb itself remained secret and safe, even from archaeologists and tomb-raiders…

Until now.

The woman who strode across the barren desert sands cut a most striking figure. She was rather slender, and yet, her body held an unmistakeable sense of strength to it. Her skin was dark, not the black of a sub-Saharan African, but closer to the Middle East. Her face was beautiful, but oddly impassive, though if one cared to look, one might spot a certain mournful nature to her expression.

Oddly enough, despite her apparent youth, perhaps being in her late teens or twenties, she had shoulder length white hair, with crimson eyes peering at the desert. Her outfit was surprisingly skimpy too. A shawl or veil hung from her head, her only true concessions to modesty being a breast band covering her relatively small bust, and what could have been called a G-string by modern standards. In her hand was something that was like a sword, and yet not one. The blade looked like a crystallised rainbow.

She soon found what she was looking for, a hillock from which she could sense power. With a slash of her sword, the woman blasted sand off a crude stone structure, buried for centuries.

Without any hesitation, she made her way through the entrance. There were traps placed throughout, but she avoided or dodged them in a way that seemed almost like a graceful dance. Occasionally, she used her sword to destroy traps, the blade sometimes lashing out like a whip.

And then, she came to a chamber. Mounted on a plinth was a beautiful thing. A crystalline structure, resembling a Fabergé Egg, glowing softly with blue light. The height of Atlantean thaumatology, created with the last of their resources, everything else having been shattered with the island nation. It drew upon the local leylines, and transmitted the power elsewhere. It would be a genuine shame to destroy it.

But, as the cliché went, you couldn't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

The expression the woman made as she held her sword upwards, the blade suddenly flaring into a pillar of crimson light, was surprisingly rueful. She then slashed at the Heart of the Titans. A brief ripple of space passed through the jewel-like construct, and then, space itself seemed to open up, revealing alien stars, glittering like gems in the darkness. The Heart of the Titans seemed to hold briefly, before it shattered. The only noise it emitted as it finally died was a faint, mournful warble.

She let her body fade and ripple into nothingness, knowing that now, her search could truly begin. Ypyrion, she thought, even as she faded. I am coming for you…and then, we can begin anew where we were interrupted…

Ever since the Dementor attack at the end of his third year, Harry had been plagued by dreams. Strange surreal dreams. Of alien landscapes, and alien people. Of a White Titan, a thing of beautiful destruction…and the love of his life, so he seemed to think of these dreams. Of the obscene plan his conquerors concocted, of Velber, the Umbral Star, of he and the White Titan being forced to do their bidding…

And at times, he saw, striding towards him across a grassy plain, a woman with white hair, crimson eyes, skimpy dress, and a sword with a blade like a crystallised rainbow. She seemed to flicker and alternate with the image of the White Titan. And in a language that no human had spoken, and yet, he understood it, she said, We will meet soon, Ypyrion…

To tell the truth, they felt better than the ones he had of Voldemort lately. But they still left him ill at ease, especially as they didn't quite feel like dreams. Well, neither did the ones with Voldemort, but these other ones felt more comforting, perversely enough.

He couldn't remember what happened with the Dementors, and what he saw later, during his trip with Hermione back in time, only added to his confusion. He saw himself suddenly surrounded by a golden glow that seemed to transform him into…well, an adult. A young adult, true, but an adult all the same, clad in red robes that seemed to burn like fire, his hair a wild, untamed mane of darkness. He had then pointed the hilt of a sword up at the sky, called out something in a language he didn't understand, and a beam of energy fired out of the sword's hilt, hitting a series of sigils and causing a rain of light to annihilate the Dementors.

Unfortunately, since then, he'd had a malady that caused him to black out at inopportune times. It happened a few times over summer. It was during those times that he had a few of those dreams. Hell, Petunia even brought him to a doctor, probably in one of the nicest things that horse-faced bitch ever did for him.

It also happened during Moody's class, when he demonstrated the Unforgivables. When Moody used the Imperius, the next thing Harry knew, he was waking up in the Hospital Wing, having apparently attacked Moody in a rage. Moody had waived any detentions, claiming that it was impressive how he threw off the Imperius, but already gossip was starting that Harry was unstable. It was like that fiasco of the Chamber of Secrets all over again.

Not that he could blame them. In a way, when he looked at all the things he did, he got an urge to destroy it. It wasn't strong, but it was persistent. That had certainly been happening since the Dementor attack.

Of course, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived last night. Harry hadn't really paid much attention to those who arrived, save for that rather haughty French part-Veela, and Ron gushing over Viktor Krum. But apparently the older students were going to be putting in their entries into the Tournament. Harry was tempted, true, but quite frankly, every year, he'd had to deal with something bad happening. He hoped that what happened at the Quidditch World Cup was all that would happen, though something told him otherwise.

It was shortly after witnessing the Weasley Twin's abortive attempt backfire, and the discussion afterwards, that Harry suddenly saw her. She was dressed in the heavy robes of Durmstrang, but it was undeniably her. The same tanned skin, standing out amongst the more pale skin tones of the other Durmstrang students. The same shoulder length white hair. The same crimson eyes. The same eyes that now met his across the Great Hall. She was near the Goblet of Fire, placing a parchment into the blue flames after Viktor Krum, before she strode over. "You…" she said. Then, she said, "May I speak with you?" Her voice was surprisingly soft and gentle, and yet had a stern nature to it, her accent indefinable.

Harry nodded. "Go ahead."

"…Alone."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to this, but Hermione said, "Well, I need to go and get my stuff relating to SPEW. Ron, can you help me?"

"What? But why?"

Hermione managed to drag Ron away, leaving Harry alone with the girl, who gestured for him to come with her, heading to one of the corridors leading there, and then standing in the corner, a hand on her hip. He was a little wary, given Durmstrang's reputation, but he also had the sense that, while the girl was dangerous, she was no danger to him personally. "…So it really is you," she said softly. "I thought I sensed you somewhere in this castle."

Harry frowned, trying to discern what she meant by this. "…Who are you? Why do I keep seeing dreams with…an older you?"

"…As I feared, you do not remember. Perhaps that is for the best. If you want a name, you may call me Altera Etzelson(1)." She shook her head, much of her sternness going away, and she gave a rather soft, even shy smile. "Sorry, this must be utterly confusing for you. I shouldn't have approached you so boldly, Harry Potter, and rudely asked for your attention alone. Forgive me for my rudeness. You must have to deal with so many approaching you because of your fame, even though it was your mother who doubtlessly saved you from Voldemort. However, you should be wary. The man who is my headmaster is a former Death Eater, a follower of Voldemort who turned on his comrades to save his own hide. While it is doubtful that he would harm you, given his base cowardice, watch your back around him. Xenophobia is Bad Civilisation."

"…What?"

"Sorry, it's a habit of mine. Civilisation…it is a mass of contradictions, filled with good and bad things. And the follies of civilisation are magnified within the magicals. At least this place feels more like a home than Durmstrang. More welcoming. Less cold. And yet…the older an institution is, the more it calcifies, hardens, restricts." She shook her head. "Never mind. Perhaps we may speak later, Harry Potter."

"Wait a minute," he said, as she made to walk away. "…Why do I see you in my dreams?"

"…You wouldn't believe me even if I told you. Know, then, that we are linked." She looked over her shoulder, and gave him a gentle smile. "Treasure your ignorance, Harry. This is one of the few times when it can truly be considered bliss…"

Her words, odd and enigmatic, echoed in his mind throughout the afternoon and evening. Hermione and Ron were curious, but Harry waved it off as Altera being curious about his fame. He wasn't sure they'd understand what was going on. Especially with Hermione so fixated on SPEW.

And then, the choosing of the Champions came around. That part-Veela was chosen for Beauxbatons, and was named as Fleur Delacour. Altera Etzelson was chosen for Durmstrang, and their eyes met across the Great Hall briefly. Ron seemed sour that Viktor Krum wasn't chosen. So too did Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, though he still applauded loudly. Then, Cedric Diggory was chosen as the Champion of Hogwarts. But even as it seemed all over, the Goblet flared into life once more, and disgorged Harry's name.

What followed was shocking enough. Recriminations and accusations, mostly directed at each other, were made, though Harry felt their sting too many times. But as Cedric left with Harry numbly, he heard Altera's voice from behind. "A moment, please."

Cedric and Harry looked back at the approaching Altera. "What do you want?" Cedric asked.

"I wish to speak to Harry alone."

Cedric seemed about to object, before Harry said, "It's okay. I'll find my own way back."

Cedric, after a moment, nodded, and left. Harry sighed. "Are you going to accuse me of entering?"

"Of course not. I could see the dazed expression on your face. You weren't expecting it. And you looked scared. I don't know who did this, or why, but you don't have the air of one who cheated into the system and got caught. Then again, the Age Line would have been no barrier to you had you tried anyway," Altera said. "No…you are going to need everything at your disposal to survive when you go through this. That is why I intend to teach you."

"…Teach me?" Harry asked blankly. "…But why? As a Champion, I am your opponent!"

Altera gave a small smile. "You will understand, in time. I believe Moody was right. I believe someone put your name in as a form of assassination by proxy. And even if they don't succeed in killing your body, they can damage your reputation by making you out to be a cheat. Tomorrow, I will wait for you in the atrium to the Great Hall after breakfast. However, I can tell you one reason why. Because we are the same, Harry Potter. We are more alike than you know." And with that, she moved off, leaving Harry with more questions than answers…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Altera's a Durmstrang student, Harry's having dreams of her, and has powers of his own, suspiciously similar to hers. What the hell is going on here?

1. 'Etzel' was the name given to Attila the Hun in the Nibelungenlied, which also features the inspiration for Nasuverse Servants Siegfried and Brynhild.