Chapter 1
Agony! There can be no love without pain.
Harry Potter had always known he was different, but he had no idea just how different. From the moment he had received his Hogwarts letter and stepped into the magical world, he had encountered wonders and perils that set him apart from others. His first encounter with magic was an unfortunate one. It happened at so early age that he couldn't even remember. The things he would experience at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts would still defy even his wildest dreams, or nightmares. As he grabbed onto the Triwizard Cup alongside Cedric Diggory, he sealed his fate. Things set into motion so long ago, even in ancient times, now clicked into gear and were to be set into stone alongside the former adventures of the 'Boy Who Lived'. The fork of fate had passed, and the consequences of the day's events would inevitably change history once more, along with a great many other things. Would it be for the better? Who can say, really? Only time will tell. These were the musings of one lonely green haired young woman perched upon one of the Hogwarts castle spires, looking over this year's festivities. She hated her job. She hated how despicable it made her feel and how helpless she felt, even when wielding power some could only dream of. Power that could corrupt king and queens, fold nations and destroy whole armies.
Harry Potter had always known he was different, but he had no idea just how different. From the moment he had received his Hogwarts letter and stepped into the magical world, he had encountered wonders and perils that set him apart from others. His first encounter with magic was an unfortunate one. It happened at so early age that he couldn't even remember. The things he would experience at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts would still defy even his wildest dreams, or nightmares. As he grabbed onto the Triwizard Cup alongside Cedric Diggory, he sealed his fate. Things set into motion so long ago, even in ancient times, now clicked into gear and were to be set into stone alongside the former adventures of the 'Boy Who Lived'. The fork of fate had passed, and the consequences of the day's events would inevitably change history once more, along with a great many other things. Would it be for the better? Who can say, really? Only time will tell. These were the musings of one lonely green haired young woman perched upon one of the Hogwarts castle spires, looking over this year's festivities. She hated her job. She hated how despicable it made her feel and how helpless she felt, even when wielding power some could only dream of. Power that could corrupt king and queens, fold nations and destroy whole armies.
The cold grip of the Portkey yanked the two contestants through the night, a sensation of weightlessness that left Harry disoriented. When the world solidified around him, he found himself in a chillingly desolate graveyard. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow that painted the gravestones and twisted trees with a ghostly light, making their shadows a frightening exercise in the art of shadow play. Harry looked around, his heart pounding, as the reality of their situation sank in. The place felt evil. He could hear the ramblings of Cedric, who marveled at the Portkey as if he were miles away. Only the moonlight managed to light this evil place and helped Harry not to jump out of his crawling skin. The moment Harry read the name upon the tombstone, it was already too late. His scar flared up in ungodly pain, sending him to his knees. He could see a flash of green as Wormtail sent out a killing curse upon Cedric, who tried to help Harry.
"Cedric, are you okay?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper as the realization dawned on him, his throat tight with fear, anger, and regret. He turned to his friend, only to find Cedric sprawled on the ground, lifeless. The sight of Cedric's pale face, the once-vibrant eyes now closed in eternal sleep, struck Harry with a shattering force. Cedric was dead—he couldn't believe it. He could only stare and think about the pain that would soon be upon him.
Wormtail picked Harry up and imprisoned him in the grasp of the tombstone statue nearby. Solid, unyielding gray hands of the angel of death gripped him like he was its child. He could only watch as Wormtail dropped a grotesque, small figure into a boiling cauldron. The pain of his scar intensified. Harry knew he had to do something, but he didn't know what. He watched helplessly as Wormtail performed a bizarre ritual that reminded Harry of a twisted Hell's Kitchen episode. Half frightened to death and half consumed by watching the bizarre spectacle, he almost failed to register the cold blade that cut his hand, extracting the precious red fluid of life from his flesh. Some say that when you are scared, you have no blood to give. What a lie. The moment his blood fell into the cauldron, his scar burned like never before. He almost passed out from the pain. Only the moonlight kept him lucid. He felt something in him stir. It felt different from when his scar burned. Quite the opposite, in fact.
A deep rumble shook the ground, and from the shadows emerged a grotesque humanoid figure cloaked in darkness. Harry would recognize this presence anywhere. Voldemort, with his snake-like features and eyes glowing with malevolent red, the lord of evil, stood before him. The very air seemed to recoil from his presence as he called upon his Death Eaters, who assembled all around the graveyard. The serpentine figure mocked Cedric's dead body, and Harry couldn't bear it any longer. Through the pain, his righteous anger flared. "Leave him!" he shouted toward the lord of Evil.
"Harry Potter, I almost forgot about you." Voldemort's voice was a serpentine hiss, cold and cruel. "At last, we meet face, to face." He grinned. "So to speak." The Dark Lord closed in on the young wizard.
The teen was suddenly unable to utter a word, so the Dark Lord continued. "Do you know what brings us here today, Harry? The secret that binds us together like grotesque mirrors endlessly reflecting off each other?" He got into his face. "Love, Harry. Love was what saved you from me. I finally understand what happened." His face twisted. "The love of your mother saved your life that day." Voldemort smiled. "That is why I enjoyed killing her so much." He looked harry to the eyes. "Sloooowly!"
Harry's heart raced with a primal terror and rage. He spat in the Dark Lord's face.
"So defiant, so like her." Voldemort said, wiping his face with the cloak. "Your father was weak, timid." Voldemort poked Harry's scar, which flared up. "He was a disgrace to the wizarding world. Tell me, Harry. Did you take after her or him?" The Dark Lord stepped back and released Harry to the ground. As the teen gasped for air, he threw him his wand. "Or did you take upon her?"
Harry had faced many dangers, but nothing compared to the sheer, unadulterated evil that was Voldemort. The Dark Lord raised his wand, and Harry instinctively took up his as he stepped back, preparing for the worst. The curse Voldemort cast was a swirling mass of dark magic, a writhing shadow that surged towards him, highlighted in green with lethal intent. It was too quick for Harry to react.
In a moment of sheer panic and desperation, something extraordinary happened. As the curse closed in, a brilliant silver light burst forth from Harry like a shield. The light was dazzling, almost celestial in its purity, casting long, silver rays that cut through the darkness. Harry's eyes widened in shock as an upturned crescent moon appeared on his forehead, glowing softly but unmistakably. It was as though the very essence of the moon had manifested itself on his forehead and gathered into this mundane shape. He felt no pain anymore. In fact, he could feel strength he had no measure for.
The dark curse was repelled by the radiance, dissipating into harmless sparks that scattered into the night. Voldemort and his Death Eaters gasped in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief. The dark magic that had threatened to consume Harry was shattered by the brilliance of the light. Voldemort's face twisted with rage and confusion, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to comprehend the source of this unexpected power.
"What is this power!?" Voldemort's voice trembled with a mixture of fury and fear. His eyes flared with unspoken terror as he gazed at the crescent moon glowing on Harry's forehead. This magic was something to be feared to the creatures of darkness. Voldemort couldn't help but feel the irrational fear it instilled in him.
Harry, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of energy and the unexplainable warmth spreading through his body, felt a dizzying rush of sensations. It was as if he were being enveloped by a comforting, yet alien presence. Memories that were not his own flickered at the edge of his consciousness—vivid images of a moonlit kingdom, a presence that felt like his mother. Well, something that he could instinctively describe that way, anyway. The feeling of warmth and love aimed at him enveloped him. These memories were disorienting, like fragments of a dream slipping through his fingers. Friends, warmth, family and love.
In the midst of this chaos, the Portkey and Cedric's dead body came into focus. Knowing that no light can shine forever. Harry jumped into action, calling on the glowing Portkey and grabbing onto Cedric's. He flashed away. The world spun and twisted, and Harry felt himself being wrenched from the graveyard. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Voldemort's enraged face and the flickering lights of the graveyard fading into obscurity.
When Harry's senses returned, he found himself back on the grounds of Hogwarts. The familiar, comforting sight of the castle's turrets in the moonlit evening seemed surreal after the horror he had just experienced. The stadium and spectators, along with teachers and his friends, came into focus. Cedric's body lay beside him, and the gravity of the situation pressed down on him like a physical weight rather than the emotion he felt. He couldn't breathe. The events of the night had left him emotionally and physically drained.
As Harry tried to rise, he heard hurried footsteps and voices approaching. Panic surged through him—he wasn't ready for anyone to see him like this, not in the state he was in broken down, pitiful, useless. Especially after what happened to Cedric. Not with Cedric's body lying beside him. His vision blurred, and his legs felt weak when trying to stand, as if they might give way at any moment.
"Harry! Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, filled with a mix of concern and desperation. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with worry. Ron and other students, their faces etched with shock and fear, followed closely behind her. Several teachers, led by Professor McGonagall, also arrived, their expressions reflecting a mix of horror and urgency.
Professor McGonagall's eyes fell on the crescent moon glowing faintly on Harry's forehead. Her expression shifted from concern to a deeper, puzzled intensity. "What—?"
"Professor…" Harry's voice was barely audible, his strength failing him. He tried to speak, to explain what had happened, but his words came out in a weak, incoherent murmur. The effort to form coherent thoughts was too much; he could barely keep his eyes open.
Before he could react, the strength left him entirely. He collapsed onto the ground, his grip on his want failing as it slipped from his hand. The cold, sinking sensation of darkness closed in on him. His last conscious thought was of his parents and his failure. He watched the pained agony upon Cedric's father's face, and then everything went black.
The cold grip of the Portkey yanked the two contestants through the night, a sensation of weightlessness that left Harry disoriented. When the world solidified around him, he found himself in a chillingly desolate graveyard. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow that painted the gravestones and twisted trees with a ghostly light, making their shadows a frightening exercise in the art of shadow play. Harry looked around, his heart pounding, as the reality of their situation sank in. The place felt evil. He could hear the ramblings of Cedric, who marveled at the Portkey as if he were miles away. Only the moonlight managed to light this evil place and helped Harry not to jump out of his crawling skin. The moment Harry read the name upon the tombstone, it was already too late. His scar flared up in ungodly pain, sending him to his knees. He could see a flash of green as Wormtail sent out a killing curse upon Cedric, who tried to help Harry.
"Cedric, are you okay?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper as the realization dawned on him, his throat tight with fear, anger, and regret. He turned to his friend, only to find Cedric sprawled on the ground, lifeless. The sight of Cedric's pale face, the once-vibrant eyes now closed in eternal sleep, struck Harry with a shattering force. Cedric was dead—he couldn't believe it. He could only stare and think about the pain that would soon be upon him.
Wormtail picked Harry up and imprisoned him in the grasp of the tombstone statue nearby. Solid, unyielding gray hands of the angel of death gripped him like he was its child. He could only watch as Wormtail dropped a grotesque, small figure into a boiling cauldron. The pain of his scar intensified. Harry knew he had to do something, but he didn't know what. He watched helplessly as Wormtail performed a bizarre ritual that reminded Harry of a twisted Hell's Kitchen episode. Half frightened to death and half consumed by watching the bizarre spectacle, he almost failed to register the cold blade that cut his hand, extracting the precious red fluid of life from his flesh. Some say that when you are scared, you have no blood to give. What a lie. The moment his blood fell into the cauldron, his scar burned like never before. He almost passed out from the pain. Only the moonlight kept him lucid. He felt something in him stir. It felt different from when his scar burned. Quite the opposite, in fact.
A deep rumble shook the ground, and from the shadows emerged a grotesque humanoid figure cloaked in darkness. Harry would recognize this presence anywhere. Voldemort, with his snake-like features and eyes glowing with malevolent red, the lord of evil, stood before him. The very air seemed to recoil from his presence as he called upon his Death Eaters, who assembled all around the graveyard. The serpentine figure mocked Cedric's dead body, and Harry couldn't bear it any longer. Through the pain, his righteous anger flared. "Leave him!" he shouted toward the lord of Evil.
"Harry Potter, I almost forgot about you." Voldemort's voice was a serpentine hiss, cold and cruel. "At last, we meet face, to face." He grinned. "So to speak." The Dark Lord closed in on the young wizard.
The teen was suddenly unable to utter a word, so the Dark Lord continued. "Do you know what brings us here today, Harry? The secret that binds us together like grotesque mirrors endlessly reflecting off each other?" He got into his face. "Love, Harry. Love was what saved you from me. I finally understand what happened." His face twisted. "The love of your mother saved your life that day." Voldemort smiled. "That is why I enjoyed killing her so much." He looked harry to the eyes. "Sloooowly!"
Harry's heart raced with a primal terror and rage. He spat in the Dark Lord's face.
"So defiant, so like her." Voldemort said, wiping his face with the cloak. "Your father was weak, timid." Voldemort poked Harry's scar, which flared up. "He was a disgrace to the wizarding world. Tell me, Harry. Did you take after her or him?" The Dark Lord stepped back and released Harry to the ground. As the teen gasped for air, he threw him his wand. "Or did you take upon her?"
Harry had faced many dangers, but nothing compared to the sheer, unadulterated evil that was Voldemort. The Dark Lord raised his wand, and Harry instinctively took up his as he stepped back, preparing for the worst. The curse Voldemort cast was a swirling mass of dark magic, a writhing shadow that surged towards him, highlighted in green with lethal intent. It was too quick for Harry to react.
In a moment of sheer panic and desperation, something extraordinary happened. As the curse closed in, a brilliant silver light burst forth from Harry like a shield. The light was dazzling, almost celestial in its purity, casting long, silver rays that cut through the darkness. Harry's eyes widened in shock as an upturned crescent moon appeared on his forehead, glowing softly but unmistakably. It was as though the very essence of the moon had manifested itself on his forehead and gathered into this mundane shape. He felt no pain anymore. In fact, he could feel strength he had no measure for.
The dark curse was repelled by the radiance, dissipating into harmless sparks that scattered into the night. Voldemort and his Death Eaters gasped in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief. The dark magic that had threatened to consume Harry was shattered by the brilliance of the light. Voldemort's face twisted with rage and confusion, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to comprehend the source of this unexpected power.
"What is this power!?" Voldemort's voice trembled with a mixture of fury and fear. His eyes flared with unspoken terror as he gazed at the crescent moon glowing on Harry's forehead. This magic was something to be feared to the creatures of darkness. Voldemort couldn't help but feel the irrational fear it instilled in him.
Harry, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of energy and the unexplainable warmth spreading through his body, felt a dizzying rush of sensations. It was as if he were being enveloped by a comforting, yet alien presence. Memories that were not his own flickered at the edge of his consciousness—vivid images of a moonlit kingdom, a presence that felt like his mother. Well, something that he could instinctively describe that way, anyway. The feeling of warmth and love aimed at him enveloped him. These memories were disorienting, like fragments of a dream slipping through his fingers. Friends, warmth, family and love.
In the midst of this chaos, the Portkey and Cedric's dead body came into focus. Knowing that no light can shine forever. Harry jumped into action, calling on the glowing Portkey and grabbing onto Cedric's. He flashed away. The world spun and twisted, and Harry felt himself being wrenched from the graveyard. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Voldemort's enraged face and the flickering lights of the graveyard fading into obscurity.
When Harry's senses returned, he found himself back on the grounds of Hogwarts. The familiar, comforting sight of the castle's turrets in the moonlit evening seemed surreal after the horror he had just experienced. The stadium and spectators, along with teachers and his friends, came into focus. Cedric's body lay beside him, and the gravity of the situation pressed down on him like a physical weight rather than the emotion he felt. He couldn't breathe. The events of the night had left him emotionally and physically drained.
As Harry tried to rise, he heard hurried footsteps and voices approaching. Panic surged through him—he wasn't ready for anyone to see him like this, not in the state he was in broken down, pitiful, useless. Especially after what happened to Cedric. Not with Cedric's body lying beside him. His vision blurred, and his legs felt weak when trying to stand, as if they might give way at any moment.
"Harry! Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, filled with a mix of concern and desperation. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with worry. Ron and other students, their faces etched with shock and fear, followed closely behind her. Several teachers, led by Professor McGonagall, also arrived, their expressions reflecting a mix of horror and urgency.
Professor McGonagall's eyes fell on the crescent moon glowing faintly on Harry's forehead. Her expression shifted from concern to a deeper, puzzled intensity. "What—?"
"Professor…" Harry's voice was barely audible, his strength failing him. He tried to speak, to explain what had happened, but his words came out in a weak, incoherent murmur. The effort to form coherent thoughts was too much; he could barely keep his eyes open.
Before he could react, the strength left him entirely. He collapsed onto the ground, his grip on his want failing as it slipped from his hand. The cold, sinking sensation of darkness closed in on him. His last conscious thought was of his parents and his failure. He watched the pained agony upon Cedric's father's face, and then everything went black.