Prologue II - This Is Your Story, It All Begins Here

Nineteen Years Ago

Following the Battle of Hogwarts Harry Potter walked alone across the castle grounds and returned the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb, gazing hard at the remains of the old headmaster for several minutes in silent respect. With no short amount of spell work he resealed the white marble with his own wand and hopefully lay to rest the Deathly Hallows forever.

Weary with grief and honest fatigue, he stood and looked out over the sparkling lake, one hand resting lightly on the warm marble of the tomb. A lot of things had ended today - for Harry, the world had ended, and he had survived it to begin again. And really, for the first time, he realised just how young he truly was... seventeen, and the world was free for him now. He had made it so.

But these thoughts were far too heavy and sluggish to be moving through his mind just now. He was so damn tired, and too many people had died today, the good and the bad, for him to be thinking more than five minutes ahead. That would come; the future would happen, but for now the present needed attending to...

The castle was so silent, and an air of shock and grief, mingled with feared hope, hung over everything. Most people were still seated in the Great Hall as Harry entered, and all eyes swivelled to him and the muttered chatter died away. He saw the house elves had provided a few small dishes, yet no one seemed to have much appetite.

Ron and Hermione sat with the rest of the Weasleys at the Gryffindor table, and Ginny's pale face flushed with relief as Harry walked into the hall. The professors sat at the head table, with a few officials who looked like they belonged to the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there, with Percy Weasley at his side. They all turned to look at him, nodding and smiling. No doubt they were planning for the future whilst the present still demanded Harry's attention.

He knew what needed to be done. For his own peace of mind, if for no other reason.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hall as he headed toward the one room that no one was sitting too close to. One of the small chambers running off from the main hall, and the chamber where one of the bodies had been taken after it was all over. There was a small gasp throughout the hall as Harry entered the room alone.

The body of Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had been placed carefully on a simple wooden table in the heart of the cold chamber. There was a small dead fireplace and a few Hogwarts' tapestries on the walls. A single stained glass window looked out over the distant mountains towards Hogsmeade.

Voldemort's pale, skull-like face was bruised purple with burst capillaries, the slits of his eyes hung open and the dull red orbs gazed at Harry sightlessly, almost mockingly. His thin body seemed non-existent beneath his heavy dark robes, and his unnaturally long fingers rested on nothing but old wood. The Dark Lord's wand, the brother of Harry's own, lay next to his dead hand.

With little preamble, Harry tore one of the tapestries off the wall and covered the body of his nemesis from head to toe. Both master and wand wrapped tightly within the folds of the tapestry. Levitating the corpse was little work, as was moving it out through the Great Hall. A path was cleared, with many hurrying out of his way, anxious to be no nearer the fallen Dark Lord than necessary.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood up as Harry made for the Entrance Hall, his wand pointed resolutely before him at the bound tapestry. He shook his head at them, and then at the head table.

“No one follows me,” he said, and with such authority that it brooked no argument at all.

Back out on the castle grounds Harry walked with no sense of purpose, only with a tired determination to see it all said and done. He headed for the Forbidden Forest, and was soon submerged beneath its dark branches, winding a path as best he could with Voldemort's remains hovering always just ahead.

Wraith-like voices seemed to be swimming across his mind, whispering words and worries that would follow Harry for years yet.

It can't be over, Potter...

“Yes it can,” Harry replied, directing his words at the floating corpse before him.

How could you possibly defeat me? Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of the age! Possessed of more power than you could possibly imagine.

“You're dead!” Harry snarled. “You're dead and about to burn.”

His mind was deceptively quiet after that, and then a stray thought... It will never be over, not for you, Harry Potter.

And that would follow him for years, as well, yet the worst of our demons often do...

A mile or so into the forest and Harry came upon a small overgrown clearing with a thick, heavy canopy of trees overhead. It was as good a place as any - nothing special about it and in the middle of nowhere. It would do.

He lowered Voldemort's corpse to the ground and set about digging a deep grave in the earth. He used magic to clear away the heavy undergrowth, the vines and shrubs which gave way reluctantly, and exposed the hard soil beneath. Magic again, and it was a real effort now, running at the edge of his reserves. Harry couldn't recall the last time he slept. After some time, half an hour or so, he had dug a deep enough pit to put the first of his nightmares to rest.

Harry used his own hands to push the body into the grave. It hit the bottom six feet down with a dull, final thud. It was the only sound in the large, darkened forest. Sniffing, Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and pointed his wand for the last time at the Dark Lord Voldemort.

“Incendio,” he said, swift and true. And that was that.

Flames a lot stronger than expected, fuelled by silent anger, engulfed the dull maroon tapestry and the thin corpse within. The fire filled the whole pit and roared as high as the grave's edge. Harry was mindful enough not to set the rest of the forest alight, yet all he really felt at that moment was bitter satisfaction.

Time passed, maybe an hour, and all that was left of Voldemort was ash and dust coating a wiry thin and scorched skeleton. Harry nodded, done was done, and levitated the mounds of dirt back into the hole, sealing away the remains forever. It wouldn't take the forest long to reclaim the ground he had cut away.

He left no marker, no headstone... Voldemort would lie here until the ending of the world.

After that, Harry returned to the castle and slept.

*~*~*~*

The summer following the defeat of Voldemort was the most hectic of Harry's life. He spent most of his time between Grimmauld Place and The Burrow, with one brief trip to see the Dursleys back in to Privet Drive and collect his few belongings and such left in the back bedroom. They had survived the year in a safe house living in relative comfort supported by the Order, and were only too happy to be home and finally free of all the 'freakish' behaviour Harry had brought down on them.

Harry was more than happy to see the back of his relatives as well, and vowed never to set foot at Number Four Privet Drive again.

In the chaos following the first few days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt solidified his position in the Ministry and by emergency vote of the Wizengamot, along with Harry Potter's support, he was voted in as the permanent Minister for Magic. His first act as Minister was to ferret out all ex-Death Eaters and their supporters within Ministry ranks, a job that would take many months to complete. One notable early act was the removal and imprisonment of Dolores Jane Umbridge, who would later be convicted of crimes against Muggle-borns and imprisoned for twenty years without parole.

Harry acquiesced, at Kingsley's behest, to tell his story to the world. He gave one and only one interview to The Daily Prophet on the promise that what he said would not be altered or changed in any way. His interview was published worldwide in every magical country, and the world saw just how close it had come to being overwhelmed by a madman with a grasp at immortality. The only thing Harry left out of his story was the horcruxes, and the finer points regarding the Deathly Hallows. The less people knew about that particular branch of magic the better.

His interview was also used as testimony in the Death Eater trials - for those that had been captured at least. A lot of Death Eaters were still on the run, and some would evade capture for many decades. Most were imprisoned, however, in Azkaban. The island itself was no longer home to the Dementors. The creatures themselves were being kept under careful Ministry control until someone could decide just what to do with them.

Under Minister Shacklebolt, Harry, Ron, and Hermione helped reform the Ministry and made sure that no one slipped back into the old ways that created Voldemort's powerbase in the first place. Every Death Eater was given a fair trial, and although most ended up in Azkaban, not a soul who was innocent ended up in the dank prison.

Arthur and Percy Weasley were both promoted in to the higher ranks of Ministry officials, reporting directly to Kingsley, and in years to come would work side by side with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on many issues regarding the governing of the wizarding world.

One thing about that summer that Harry would carry with him to his grave was the sheer number of funerals and memorials he attended. He owed it to the dead, and to their grieving friends and family - many of which he knew - to be there. He understood his position, the effect of his deeds and the mantle of leadership that that duty placed on his shoulders.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were buried in Godric's Hollow alongside James and Lily Potter. A headstone was also raised for Sirius Black, and Harry gave a few words to the small crowd of close friends that had come to pay their respects.

Most of the other dead from the Battle of Hogwarts, where previous family arrangements were not made, were buried alongside Dumbledore's tomb on the castle grounds. Harry saw it as only fitting, after all. Hagrid himself fenced off the boundary of the cemetery, and a stone war memorial was raised facing the lake listing the names of those lost in both the First and Second Dark War.

Most of the names engraved in the smooth marble were under twenty-one years of age.

Near the end of the summer, as the long days crept towards September 1st, Minerva McGonagall was appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Later the same day she announced that the school would open as always at the start of the school year. This news was met with tremendous support, and seen as a sign that the world was recovering and moving on, that peace was well and truly under way.

Headmistress McGonagall also announced that every seventh year student from the previous year who had failed to take their exams because of the Battle and the sheer level of incompetent teaching from the Death Eater staff, would be invited back to do the year over again and pass their NEWTs. Nearly every student in the graduating class returned for this 'eighth' year at Hogwarts.

McGonagall wrote personally to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, asking them to return for their final year which they had missed entirely. All three of them agreed with enthusiasm, and Harry saw it as a vacation compared to the previous year, which he had spent as the most wanted man in the wizarding world.

That year was his best at Hogwarts by far. There were no murderous plots, no slithering monsters or resurrected Dark Lords, no Dementors or mysterious deaths. There was Quidditch, and good times with good friends, there was healing and learning - and there was Ginny Weasley.

He and Ginny, having had little chance to see each other during the hectic summer after the end of the war, spent a lot of time together during the school year. Their relationship practically exploded off the mark once the year at Hogwarts was underway.

Headmistress McGonagall had asked Harry to deliver a small speech before the entire school at the start of term feast, just to reassure the student body with his presence, as many were still shaken from the torturous discipline and murderous resolve of Voldemort and his Death Eaters over the last school year.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny accompanied him up on the podium before the head table, and with a smile of honest happiness and carrying himself taller than he ever had before, Harry welcomed everyone back to Hogwarts, wished them well with their studies and told them he looked forward to the first Quidditch match of the season.

He then turned to Ginny, took her hand and pulled her close and kissed her firmly on the lips in front of everybody. The hall erupted in applause and cat-calls, wolf whistles and laughter.

Harry walked back to the Gryffindor table with Ginny on his arm, his emerald eyes alight with something very rarely seen there - honest happiness, and a hint of mischief. The weight of the world no longer rested on his shoulders - and his eyes blazed with the awesome potential of a life worth living.

*~*~*~*

Eighteen Years Ago

After Hogwarts finished Harry moved into Grimmauld Place for the summer on his own, but never for long. The house was a waypoint for him and his friends, as well as the entire Weasley clan. It would not become his permanent home though, as there were too many memories within the walls. It would later be auctioned and sold to a private bidder for a tidy sum.

Over the summer, Harry was bombarded with owls from half the wizarding world containing letters of congratulations on his outstanding NEWT results, which were published in the Prophet and several international newspapers, as well as letters full of job offers from every aspect of the magical world, most of them from the Ministry of Magic. He was also scouted by several Quidditch teams, as was Ron, and offered sponsorships from broomstick manufacturers' right through to Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Ron turned down his offer to join the Chudley Cannons as reserve keeper, instead opting to keep George company at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ron's older brother would never truly learn to live with the loss of his twin.

Harry discarded most of the letters after reading only a few lines. Yet there was one he did keep, however, and spent many days deciding whether or not to reply. He kept the parchment in his back pocket, and after a week of indecision showed it to Ginny and asked her opinion.

“You should do it,” she said, after reading the letter. There was no hesitation, no indecision from her. “You won't be happy doing anything else, Harry. This is who you are. Anything else and you'll be bored.”

So later that same summer Harry enrolled in the Auror Training Introductory Course at the Ministry of Magic, again making headline news worldwide. It was a bolster to the already inflated feeling of hope that Harry Potter, who had defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, had chosen to pursue a career as an Auror and continue to protect the world from the worst that was out there.

As was expected from all camps, he excelled through the training course in record time, having already faced and overcome most of the challenges presented there before. His knowledge of counter-curses was the best in the class, as was his understanding of the Dark Arts and the incantations of several of the nastier dark curses. He attended the graduation six months after completing the course before his classmates, and was awarded full marks with honours and apprenticed to a full-time Auror for the second stage of the training program less than eight months after receiving his invitation to join.

After two years of hard work and training, Harry was a fully-fledged Auror; having set the record for all of the Department's training simulations. It would be a full twenty years before anyone would match him...

In the same time that Harry was training, Ginny joined the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Team as a chaser and fast-moved up the ranks of the league board to the number four most sought after player in the league. Harry was fiercely proud of her, as were Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys.

Hermione herself applied for a job at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and began what would become many years of tireless effort to improve the lives of house elves and their ilk.

The lives of everyone, all of the wizarding world, were off to a brighter start.

*~*~*~*

Fifteen Years Ago

Harry James Potter was married to Ginevra Molly Weasley in the spring of the year 2002. Hundreds of people were in attendance, as were half the world's population of delivery owls and wizarding press.

Harry only had eyes for his bride, however, and as he stood at the altar beneath a clear blue sky on that warm spring day, he hadn't felt as nervous as he did just then since a sixty-foot snake had tried to snap him in two.

Outwardly calm though, Ron was his best man and Hermione the maid of honour.

The wedding went off without a hitch, so to speak, and, taking a career break, Harry and Ginny Potter travelled the world together for six months, seeing all there was to see.

Upon their return they bought a house together away from the world in the English countryside, a house made unplottable by Harry and warded with the strongest defences the Auror department had at their disposal. The large country house became a home fast, yet neither Harry nor Ginny had any mind for children just yet, both returning to work to concentrate on their careers.

Harry returned to active duty in the Auror Department, and Ginny retired from professional Quidditch and accepted the role as lead Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

There was never a moment they were not happy together.

*~*~*~*

Twelve Years Ago

The year Harry was promoted to Deputy Head of the Auror Department was the same year Ron and Hermione were married, and also the same year Ginny became pregnant with their first child.

James Potter was born at midnight nine months later on June the 15th at St. Mungo's Hospital. His birth was celebrated across the wizarding world and the owls poured in yet again for Harry and Ginny, although due to the unplottable nature of the wards on their home many hundreds of them were redirected to Harry at work.

*~*~*~*

Eleven Years Ago

A year after James Potter was born Ginny gave birth again to a second baby boy. Albus Severus Potter was born on July 31st, like Harry, and also like Harry with the same sparkling emerald eyes. It wasn't long before Al Potter grew into the same unruly black hair.

Rose Weasley was born only two weeks later to Ron and Hermione on August 12th.

*~*~*~*

Ten Years Ago

At the Annual Ministry Christmas Party 2007, Harry was promoted to the Head of the Auror Department and no one who knew him thought it a bad choice. His record as an Auror was impeccable, and a lot of the cells in Azkaban were in full-use because of him.

Only the worst of the worst ended up in that prison these days - murderers, rapists, would-be dark wizards and those deemed criminally insane. A lot of Harry's captures were ex-Death Eaters who had been on the run for years. Harry harboured a personal hatred of these men and women, and he pursued them with a fierce determination that his fellow Aurors respected and admired. It was frightening to a lot of them, however, to witness Harry Potter unleash his power to bring down one of his old enemies. His emerald eyes became hard and unforgiving, and in those brief moments they could glimpse the teenager who had faced down and defeated the Dark Lord not only once, but several times...

In the new year Ginny gave birth a third and final time to Lily Potter, on March the 14th. And Ron and Hermione also had a second child in May of that year. They named him Hugo, and like all of Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione's children, Hugo was welcomed into an extended and loving - huge - family.

*~*~*~*

Five Years Ago

This Old Dance, Part II

It was almost cliché to have a meeting such as this shrouded in cloaks and darkness, the young man thought.

Standing just under the eaves of the Forbidden Forest, he gazed with hard eyes at the dark silhouette of Hogwarts castle. There were few lights on up at the school, yet he had been sneaking out since his first year and knew the secret tunnels and unseen passages better than anyone alive. No one could have seen him leave, and no one would see him return.

Over in the distance smoke rose from the chimney of the gamekeeper's hut. Rubeus Hagrid may have been a giant oaf with minimal intelligence, but he knew the forest well. It would not do to be seen by him tonight. Small chance of that, however, at this hour of the morning, yet arrogance was a weakness and caution a virtue.

The man remained buried in shadow. His contact would be emerging from behind him in the forest anyway.

It was not long before dawn, yet the moon still hung low in the sky. Darkness would last a while longer yet. The man was only kept waiting another handful of minutes regardless. He knew the emissary had arrived when a slow, soft mist began to leak over the borders of the forest and onto the clear-cut castle grounds.

The mist sparkled in the starlight, a slow-moving silver river, and it was quite beautiful, yet the young man felt nothing but a rising numbness in his legs as the mist clawed and bit at his ankles. Whatever the mist truly was and wherever it truly came from, it was not natural in this world - it offended the set law and order of reality.

“You've come to the right choice, I see,” the young man whispered to the mist. Although it moved with an aching slowness, the mist seemed to have spread all at once right up to the walls of the castle and along the edge of the lake.

As he spoke a figure swirled up and out of the sparkling fog, a figure that solidified into a roughly human-shaped creature. Featureless, the man guessed this was as close to human these beings of the mist could ever be.

“We accept your offer, wand-wizard,” the mist-creature said.

“As I knew you would,” the young man replied, and deep within the folds of his hooded cloak he smiled and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His voice remained hard and emotionless. “My plans still require many years of preparation. That gives you time to fulfil your end of our bargain... still, our time is limited, nonetheless.”

“It will be done,” the voice of the mist whispered, an arrogant and hard edge to its tone. “Do not presume to command us, wand-wizard, we are not so easily ruled.”

“Idle threats,” the young man scoffed. “Do not waste my time. We have very little of it between now and then.” He laughed, that was a fine joke, considering the ramifications of his plans.

The featureless figure shivered and turned in on itself. The mist seemed to fold and bend out of reality, through some invisible doorway beyond the senses of mortal minds to comprehend. The young man realised it was turning to look at Hogwarts castle, and its existence in this reality was very, very limited in terms of movement. That presented a problem that would have to be overcome.

“There is much raw power here,” it said, and the young man couldn't quite judge the tone in its voice. It was deadpan, flat, and yet there was something beneath that... something that felt like quivering anticipation. “Generations of your kind have been bleeding energy into this earth for centuries. By the light of the Eternals, can't you feel it, wand-wizard?”

The man could, and was thankful the hood hid the surprise on his face. He had felt it ever since he first laid eyes on the castle, during his first year as he travelled across the lake on a boat in the early evening of September 1st. All of his classmates had been wide-eyed and even scared at their first sight of the magical castle. The young man had been awe-inspired, and had felt the beating heart of Hogwarts clearly in his veins. He had felt the sleeping potential.

The sheer amount of raw magic had nearly overwhelmed all of his senses. It had been painful, he had almost passed out and fallen into the lake, and it had also been pure bliss. All the world's pleasure and joy as the forces that governed the universe pulsed through his very soul. And what's more he soon discovered that no one else in the castle could feel such a thing. After five years he had become as used to the agonizing euphoria of the raw power as he could, yet it still struck him at times when he let his emotions get the better of him.

Such a slip in his demeanour did not happen often. Yet when it did Hogwarts could overwhelm his senses and knock him out cold. That problem would be overcome as well. It had already been partially conquered. One day, one day soon, he would control the untapped strength that burnt through the layers of reality around the castle and within the Forbidden Forest.

He would take command of the power that spun the wheels of the universe and improve this world, make it better for mankind by purging those who would harm this planet and its inhabitants.

And of those that stole magic from the deserving, pure descendants of the Old People.

“Your thoughts are pulsing.” The young man hadn't seen the mist-creature turn back to look at him. He got the feeling it was smiling. The mist was quivering, it was eager. “Such dark thoughts, such fierce strings of cause and effect, determination and defiance run through your soul. We have allied ourselves with such... ambition.”

The young man closed his mind with lightning-fast brutality. He was a master Occlumens - just one of his many talents. The mist recoiled with a sharp hiss that gave way to reluctant laughter.

“Very well...” the creature said.

“Five years from this date, we will speak again,” the young man said, and there was a horrifying coldness in his voice that would shake the world to its core. It was power. A power that transcended words and explanation... a power that had never been seen before.

For the first time the mist-creature caught a glimpse of what this human, this wand-wizard, was truly capable of doing to achieve his goals. The creature shuddered. It had been a long time since its kind had felt fear and doubt. Yet an unfamiliar tendril of just that was creeping up and over the creature's 'spine' under the young man's gaze.

“As you wish,” the mist replied. And then again, softly and uncertain, “As you wish...”

From within the folds of his robe the young man withdrew his wand, a wand that had not been purchased at any wandmakers, but in a place much darker and... unexpected. And at a much higher price. It was an old wand, almost a century now, and powerful. The fierce, bitter warmth that flowed up and through the man's arm every time he touched this wand was infinitely more fitting than the feeling he received from the stick he had purchased at Ollivander's before his first year.

“The gate of tomorrow is not the light of heaven, but the darkness in the depths of the earth,” the young man whispered, spinning his wand in slow circles.

A thin stream of emerald and crimson light intertwined with thick, acrid smoke burned from the tip of his wand. This was an incantation of his own making - unique in the world - and steeped in the more vicious aspects of the dark arts than any other branch of magic in the world...

The young man's genius knew no bounds.

The thick cord of magic whispered almost silently in the night, it was a high-pitching whining... a scream.

“I hear the cry of a terrible power,” the mist-creature said. And there was no doubt it was afraid now. It would take this feeling back to the others of its kind, this fear, and see what could be made of it.

“Our promise,” the young man chuckled. “Here.”

The jet of fierce light cracked like a whip and pierced the silvery form of the mist-creature. All at once the mist that had spread over the entire grounds flashed crimson-red and emerald-green and began to fade away into the ground.

“Five of your years,” the mist said, sounding very far away as it disappeared beneath the depths of time and space. “Our bargain is set.”

“Indeed.”

In a heartbeat of instants the mist vanished entirely, and there was no sign at all that it had ever been there. The young man remained under the eaves of the forest, caught in thought and seeing future aspects of his plans falling steadily into place. The smile on his face never reached his eyes, and never would.

Our bargain is more than set, he thought. And in the years to come it will change this world forever.

That thought was a satisfying one, but it was interrupted by a sharp bolt of pain that rippled across the young man's forehead. He raised his hand and touched his pale face, a tiny frown creasing his brow in the darkness of his hood.

That pain happened sometimes, and with increasing frequency these last few years. Sometimes stray thoughts and strange images accompanied the pain, things that made no sense at all. Was it something to be concerned about? Perhaps it was becoming so...

No matter. Tonight had gone as planned, and the creatures of the mist had become his servants whether they realised it or not.

His forehead twitched again, just above his right eye. It was nothing.

All was well.

*~*~*~*