13 YEARS AFTER THE REBELLION; HEAVEN

Michael eyed Earth through a wispy gap in the floor with faint curiosity, eyes narrow. No, he couldn't- wouldn't dare even attempt such travesty. His duty was to Heaven, and an absent Father he had an inkling would not care much for his choice - let alone condone such a thing. He turned away, busying himself instead with the large stack of paper settled on his desk, trying to ignore the niggling thought in the back of his mind; jump, jump and be free.

Far above, a hidden entity sighed and retreated, deigning to wait another few millennia.

4530 YEARS AFTER THE REBELLION; HEAVEN

Feet dangling off of the edge sat Michael. Eyes closed and thoughts racing. He'd been patient all these years, watching his life play out like a film, barely conscious in his own world. It was only now, heart racing at the thought of falling, freedom, repentance that he felt truly alive, like he existed. He was grounded, safe. Everything had went to hell, his closest brother was locked away, and Michael could still hear his screams reverberating in his mind. His Father and Gabriel gone, having left years ago for a better life, Raphael was cold, reserved and barely spoke to anyone. Everyone else? Those little fledglings he'd raised? Dead inside, little more than soldiers, their laughter having faded centuries ago. And Michael? Michael was nothing, not anymore. He was a shell, barely even present.

"Brother, may I enter?" A familiar voice echoed through the closed door, snapping Michael from his reverie. He withdrew, smoothing his shirt absently and opening the door to reveal Raphael.

Once more, Michael chose Heaven over himself.

7590 YEARS AFTER THE REBELLION; HEAVEN

The third time was rushed and panic-filled, he stood over the gap in a moment of desperation, prepared to jump. Things were going so wrong so fast, everything had changed in the blink of an eye, and he had no time at all to fix it. He'd just learned about his Father's expectations in full, he finally understood the full extent- he was to kill his own brother. Was this some sort of sick joke? Could it really be true? The Father he looked up to so much had left instructions on how he was to slaughter his own kin, the brother he'd raised from birth - the brother he thought more of as a son. He was hyperventilating, despite not even requiring breath, his mind blurred together until he could hardly even think. He needed to get it together before he acted hastily and did something he regretted.

Michael forced himself to breathe, and focussed on the consequences of what he was going to do.

Pro's: he'd be free, he wouldn't need to kill Lucifer, he could just live peacefully and he wouldn't have an entire army of his siblings acting on his orders like mindless robots. Cons: he'd lose his grace, he'd be human, he'd Fall, Raphael might find him and drag him home, he could disappoint his Father. Michael frowned, did he really care that much about any of the cons? Losing his grace and becoming human - it didn't really seem all that bad… unfortunately, being an Archangel, he'd never truly forget who he was, but that could work in his favour. He mentally crossed them off the list, leaving only his Fall, Raphael finding him and disappointing his Father. Falling would mean his interdiction from Heaven, he'd never be allowed back unless he repented for the sin of knowingly and willingly removing his grace. It could prove problematic, but if he left he never planned on returning in the first place, and thus another con was crossed off his list. He figured he'd save the most problematic for last, and moved on to disappointing his Father - did he honestly care anymore? No. The answer was no. He couldn't bring himself to care anymore if the same Father forcing him to kill his brother was disappointed in him- Michael was done. Finally, there came the most problematic, Raphael. If he left now there was nowhere to hide, he'd be caught and dragged home with no remorse, which could not happen. He would not be allowed to run a second time, he only had one chance, and he could not be hasty.

So, Michael would wait, and when there was no way he'd be found, he would slip away unnoticed while the others prepared for the apocalypse, and he'd be gone for good.

FOUR HOURS BEFORE THE COMMANDERS FALL; HEAVEN

Michael released a fluttery breath as he stood over the familiar gap in his office, eyes shut in a futile attempt to slow his racing heart. It was finally time, he was going to leave, to hide away on Earth to wait out the apocalypse - or to stop it. One could not have a battle if the other half refused to participate.

It would be hours before his betrayal was discovered, Raphael was trapped in a meeting, and none else dared to even approach his office without a direct appointment scheduled. The apocalypse was set to begin in only a few years with his vessel already born and Lucifer's on the way, it was time.

Michael spread his arms like wings in an almost comical fashion, and took a step, sending him plunging through the clouds, hurtling for Earth at the speed of light. It was then that everything went black.

OCTOBER 31, 1981; THE BEGINNING

Harry James Potter was a quiet child, crying was a rare occurrence in their simple home located deep within a small community known as Godric's Hollow, a relief to his young parents, barely out of school themselves. However, this Halloween somethings was off, and anyone could tell such. His parents shuffled uncomfortably downstairs, sharing a meaningful glance as he began again, cries sounding desperate, fearful.

James reached over to squeeze his wife's hand reassuringly, flashing a brief smile, "don't worry, I've got him," but even she could see his uneasiness as he stood and made his way up the stairs and into a familiar, brightly painted nursery. The sight of his father had Harry's cries ceasing, and he quieted nearly instantly, watching with bright, emerald green eyes.

"Hey buddy," he leaned over the edge of the crib, gaze softening at the sight of his own face staring up at him, baring a familiar pair of eyes he knew belonged only to his wife, Lily. He reached in to pick up the stuffed dog beside him, a familiar black grim - the animagus form of his godfather Padfoot, otherwise known as Sirius Black. He grinned and used the toy to tickle at his son, making a few odd noises to hear him giggle and laugh. Harry squealed and grabbed careful hold of the toy, before stuffing the muzzle straight in his mouth.

"Pa'foo!" Harry cooed around the thing in his mouth. He'd always been quite an intelligent child, having picked up words quite early, and he could now even speak in sentences, though they were a bit jumbled. James grinned and tickled his cheek before straightening up and turning to Lily, who'd entered the doorway only a moment earlier. She too was smiling, apprehension having faded at the sight of her husband with her child.

He stepped up to kiss her briefly, smiling, before he gestured back down the stairs. "Come on, I think he'll be alright, he was just a bit lonely."

"Then shouldn't we stay?" She asked with a grin, though her eyes sparkled with a faint hint of nerves.

"It's fine, Lil, we can turn on some music downstairs and relax, he'll be fine with the stuffed Padfoot - you know how much he loves that thing.

Behind them a happy voice gurgled at the name, "Pa'foo! Pa'foo!"

"Okay," she smiled softly, and turned to head back into the living room, James following after her quietly.

It was then that everything went to hell, that the night's uneasiness came to a conclusion, that it became clear why everything was so off, so wrong. Down below, an explosion rattled the entire house, and the world flew into chaos. Harry began to scream and cry, his wails punctuated starkly by the waft of smoke drifting through the halls, the world alit with colour. "Go!" James cried, pushing his wife back towards the nursery, "go, protect Harry! I''l hold him off!" He took of down the stairs with incredible speed, wand out.

Lily burst into the nursery and turned back to bar the door, trying to push aside the fear growing in her chest. She lifted Harry into her arms for what could be the final time, and whispered her goodbye, even as the door behind them exploded. She set him down and turned to block his way.

"Please… Please not Harry! Take me, don't hurt my Harry!"

"Quiet girl! Step aside!"

"No! Not Harry, please!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A scream cut short, leaving nothing but the child with eyes like emerald fire, filled with rage, and his parents murder with a sick, twisted grin. Around them, the world began to shake.

What Voldemort didn't know that night, was that he had not just killed the loving family of an infant, but rather, a disguised Archangel, the former commander of Heaven. And he didn't not appreciate the only kind people he'd known in ages being killed.

The serpentine man's grin fell as the world turned to light, and Lord Voldemort was no more, leaving nothing behind but the bodies of a man and woman, and a single, spanning scar of lightning etched across the child's face, red and fiery as it spread outwards from the centre of his forehead in thin, spidery lines.

AUGUST 15, 1985; AN OBSESSIONS COLD START

Michael clenched his fists, ignoring the sharp slice of pain as the rocks ground further into his palms and knuckles. He spit the blood that gathered in his mouth, watching as it hit the asphalt with a splatter. The hot sun beat down along his back, soaking through his thin t-shirt. He knew fighting back would only bring him worse pain, but being beat down like this was degrating - He was The Commander for Heaven's sake, an Archangel. These measly beasts were nothing compared to him, he could crush them with a thumb! He needn't even lift a finger!

No you can't, a sneering voice reminded him coldly. You aren't an angel anymore. You kept your wings, but they aren't even functional at this point! He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to cry out as another kick landed on his ribs. All he had now was magic, that of a young - but thankfully powerful wizard he had come to inhabit. Unfortunately, however, he still had the control of a child, no matter how much he practiced. He would get there eventually, but he was only five. "Freak!" Dudley cried. He wanted to punch that spoiled little brat. Ge ho de manin. His new favourite insult in his home tongue, not sound of the mind. That, and of course his most common phrase: Ol iaid lap en napea, or 'I long for my sword.' He wondered if Dudley would smell like burned bacon if set on fire, or how fast he could push himself if he saw Michael wielding a flaming sword.

Another kick, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on what he needed most right now, a projection. He would be out of commission for another day or two, but he didn't think Dudley would stop anytime soon, and Michael thought he'd heard a rib crack when he'd hit the ground the second time. "Duddie-kins, come here, dearest!" He mouthed the words, listening as the came from somewhere towards the direction of the house in his aunts shrill voice. Dudley spit, though he missed and the liquid splashed onto the ground next to him. "You're lucky, freak." He hissed, before turning to walk away with nothing more than a second cold look.

He groaned when the baby whale left earshot, allowing his muscles to unclench so he sprawled limply over the courtyard ground, eyes screwed shut. Being a human fucking hurt, but it was better than the alternative, Michael decided as he slowly pressed himself to his feet. It was prudent that he got himself to the library before Dudley returned, as it was the only place the stupid child would never think to look for him. He didn't need to read, of course. He knew the events of the human world intimately, having been the direct cause for a select few, and the indirect one for many more- but he actually found it to be quite entertaining and educational. It was different to learn about things from a human perspective, physics, history, math. It passed the time, at the very least.

He had long since perfected the whole clumsy, friendly kid act, so he cleaned himself up as best he could, tried to smooth his hair a tad, and straightened himself through the pain. On the way to the library, whenever he noticed some unfortunate soul giving him an odd look, he'd smile, wave and then pretend to trip and stumble. It dissuaded their suspicions easily. Humans were easy to fool.

Now, one might wonder why he didn't just go to someone for help, and that was for one, specific reason. Orphanages. He had done some reading, and even some exploration into such places, and they were absolutely abhorrent. He had managed to sneak into one easily, he blended in, and looked around. The conditions were terribly dirty and unsanitary- at least in the one just outside of their town- and the children were even worse. They were cold, cruel, they stepped on each other to get higher, and no one gave a damn about anyone, not even the caretakers. He would much rather live at the Dursley's, where he could at least find places to hide away, and where everyone was dumb enough that it took nothing to trick them, and throw in a little ass-kissing he might get away with a small treat from Petunia. My, his mouth was growing foul with his time on earth. He blamed the whale jr. who had quite a colourful vocabulary for such a young child.

Just before he entered the library, he noticed something odd. A woman was watching him from the corner of her eyes, a frown marring her face. She was older, with neat black hair drawn into a bun, and a distinct pair of spectacles. She glanced up when she saw him looking. He allowed his face to spread into a wide grin and waved, before it happened. It looked like a mere accident, perhaps his feet had caught the pavement, or maybe he had stumbled on an untied shoelace, but Michael fell forward easily. He didn't go the full nine-yards, just fumbled slightly, before giving her a sheepish grin and disappearing into the library.

He felt her stare following his back the entire way.

He found himself in his usual shadowed corner, curled up with his nose buried in a large german tome. He was thankful that he retained his memories from his time as an angel, because it would be quite tedious to re-learn all the known languages, and he had never been good at them - that was Raphael's thing. He was the scholar of the family, or, at least the main branch, lot's of his younger brothers and sisters were just as educated.

He hummed softly at that thought, he loved his family, and he missed the better days, but it was harmful to dwell on them. Instead, he focused on his magic, and directing it inwards so it was easier for it to heal his injuries. It was low, as projecting took much more energy than he would like, especially to someone whose core had not yet stabilized, which would happen at eleven. Michael sighed and flipped the page, beginning the next line, when a voice interrupted him.

"Is that… German?" He heard a woman ask incredulously, and glanced up with a curious eyes, though they held a flicker of annoyance at the interjection in his thought process.

"Yes, I started learning it a few months ago, and I don't know anyone who speaks German, so the next best way to improve is to read books!" He forced a glitter to enter his eyes as he spoke, rambling slightly as any child was bound to. It was the same woman from outside, and he forced himself not to narrow his eyes with suspicion. "I'm good with languages, you see!" She still looked a little startled. Noticing she wasn't going to speak, he filled the silence, having learned long since that people sometimes needed a moment to collect themselves when they caught him doing something a child his age was not often seen doing - like read a German text about physics. "It's about physics- which I think is awesome, I've always liked it, math too!" It was true, he had always found how humans looked at the world fascinating, and while he had never been one for his schooling, he had enjoyed math quite a deal as a fledgling.

"I… see. Good luck, I suppose." Although she looked more composed, he must have seriously confused her, as she wandered off after a second, nearly forgetting to check out her own book. Humans were odd creatures, Michael mused as he continued to read.

When he next looked up from his book, it was evening, and he was forced to put the text away. He had only made it about a quarter of the way through, but he knew he could likely get another chance at reading it soon. It would be easy to find as there were only two or three German texts in the entire library, as it was most certainly not a large place. He sighed and started back for Privet drive.

The night was cool, and the air was damp, as if it would rain soon, which only served to send him into a faster walk. He would much rather not be cold and wet, thank you very much. It was easy to sneak in, he snuck around to the back and popped open a window Michael knew he had left unlocked earlier while cleaning. Petunia and Vernon were bound to have retreated to their room by now, as it was just beginning to grow late, so he made his way back to the familiar cupboard under the stairs with ease.

He drifted off easily, and fell back into a world where everything was fine, where he wasn't home, and where his family was there to greet him with warm smiles and open arms.