Chapter 1: The Calling of Ra

He looked out at the sprawling forest, the lake, the castle that was his home for almost as long as he had been alive. The people beyond his borders were crowding in, pushing on his borders. No one lived or ventured inside, that much had stayed consistent in his lifetime. But that was it.

As the last true magic user in the world he commanded respect and immense power over the British Isles, matched only by the monarchy that respected his opinion and listened to his wishes anyway. The only thing he had asked for himself was diplomatic immunity and that his home was his and his alone.

Many countries had attempted to take over his homeland; and the moment they stepped foot on British soil, they were met by a single man, him. Well, him and his pets. It paid off to be a friend of Death. He acted as the reaper for escaped souls and those avoiding Death; hence the need for diplomatic immunity. But his little army consisted of one of every type of basilisk there was (16,) hellhounds, a Hell Dragon, Phoenixes, Dementors, lethifolds, nundus and the thunderbird. Needless to say it was a one-sided massacre whenever they showed up. He still remembered when and how the world found out about magic.

It was May, 2046. The government had granted him diplomatic immunity despite being confused on how a supposedly 65 year old lord looked, for all intents and purposes, in his early twenties. But they had, and it was an extremely smug Dark Lord that stood on Britain's beaches that day for his first assignment. The attacking navy were all possessed somehow by escaped demons of Hell.

He asked no questions; just did what he was bid.

There were three armadas; the first ships were decimated by the 'Kraken' or rather, the Giant Squid's saltwater cousin. It hadn't had a good meal for ages and was starving. The water was pink for days, blood crabs crawled thickly over the shores.

The next ships were besieged by vengeful Dementors that left nothing of the so called 'elite' but cannon fodder as their ship hit a large reef of sorts and capsized. It was reduced to scrap metal.

The final wave still sailed on; the men were shaking in relief at reaching land over the nightmare that was the slaughter at sea. They were the first to meet his thunderbird animagus form, discovered only a month before. The sand was black for years following his attack, the ashes washing up to shore as the ships of three thousand was decimated.

He was a black, translucent cloud, a shadow of flames and the boom of thunder. The other bird was his reflection, to hold corporal form took energy reserves he didn't have at the time. It was all lightning and power, feathers the deep blue of the night sky, electricity leaping over its form.

Phoenixes were the physical embodiment of magic, Light, Dark or pure, shown by flames that ate their bodies and killed them slowly, bringing the firebirds back in a show of beauty; they lived long lives and embodied pure emotion with their song. Thunderbirds were the opposite, bodies of energy, not magic that kept them alive at all costs, they were, literally, thunderbirds. They were made of lightning and storms, living for the wind and keepers of the balance between serenity and chaos.

An hour later a plane flew over, the passengers all landed shaking with outlandish stories of how they saw the ocean below was red and bits of metal were floating everywhere, the beaches were black and there was a giant THING in the water below. The most unbelievable thing was that in a flash of cold, black fire a man appeared, looking tired but happy, who explained cockily to the shocked passengers that he was a wizard, one of the old societies that vanished during the Salem Witch Trials, hiding in plain sight.

Those men with the odd cloaks wandering around town: Wizards.

The weird coins of bronze and gold and silver that popped up out of nowhere: their currency.

Vampires, werewolves, bogeymen, ghosts, demons, dragons, phoenixes, trolls, all those thing you were scared of as a kid: real, alive and kicking.

He proceeded to change into a beautiful black bird and back again and once more while being taped. They each got a demonstration of magic themselves, be it being turned into animals, having their things charmed to be nigh impossible to fill and very light, to having their looks permanently changed to having him erased traumatising memories from their heads. Then he flashed away once more in cold fire while bowing, his last words to 'pass it on.' The world was in an uproar.

A few weeks after, the prime ministers, presidents and monarchy of the world came out and said that they had known ever since coming into power that magic existed in the world.

When everyone had ceased to reel around whenever magic was mentioned he reappeared, did some press conferences, and negotiated being left alone. 'In exchange for services to his country and information, of course' he sneered mentally.

He shook himself forcefully out of his reverie and sighed. His life had gone downhill from year one; literally. Sighing once more, he bound upon the turrets of the Astronomy Tower and gracefully leapt off.

The black cloak whipped around his lithe body with the wind, the ground getting closer and closer every second; the rush of adrenaline sharpening the senses.

Halfway to the ground he flashed into the Chamber of Secrets, landing on steady feet with a small crackle of lightning, and strode purposefully into the center of the cavern.

His pets had left the year before; beginning in a new world created for them and them alone as a gift for working with the Lord Samael, but not until he had been gifted with extracts of their blood and assorted feathers, fangs, claws, fur, and other parts of that nature. It all went towards paying for this night, the one he would go home, to fix things and just perhaps keep the magical population alive for at least a few centuries longer, hopefully millennia. He had to make things right.

There was only one thing to suit his needs, the Calling of Ra. It was a ritual performed by the Dark Lord, and only when all is lost. To him, his soulmate was dead, magic was gone, the sky was toxic with pollution, and Shini had closed off the ley lines in preparation for the apocalypse.

He had spent so long preparing this ritual, creating it from nothing but love for those he knew and pain for the loss of them. His soul sang along with his voice as he began the ritualistic chant. Slowly, he activated each set of bloodmagic runes etched among his skin until he was glowing blue, gold, silver, black, white, red and green. He belonged to Hogwarts through and through. He still felt grief over the passing of the old castle. The portraits were muggle forever more, the stairwells no longer shifted, the ghosts were gone, and illusions were lifted from the grounds as the last magical creatures but him and Death's Menagerie, as they were called, died quietly, snuffed from existence.

His animagus and elemental forms cried out in pain along with his human soul. As memories of his parents surfaced followed swiftly of their deaths, his old Hogwarts friends and their demise, the Weasleys as Ron, Ginny and Molly turned Dark; it was fifty years after Voldemort fell and he had still not grasped his new status to its full potential. He could've stopped that. They tortured Hermione into insanity and then killed her slowly at the age of 68. She looked twenty. Memories of the wars, the deaths, learning he was a black necromancer who could bring the dead back to life through his own pain, using the losses he'd sustained to do so.

Life Magiks were what kept wizards alive for as long as they did, the stronger the wizard the longer the life. Once 17 they ceased to age any longer but at the rate the magic allows them to. Most wizards aged one and a half years for every two a muggle has and many only died as a result of sickness or 'unnatural causes.' He still only looked to be in his late forties as his aging slowed down over time. He shuddered to think of how long his natural life would be if left alone. Twelve hours had passed since the beginning, and all of the elements had been called on. His voice became hoarse but still he chanted on. Memories of the 'Final Battle' assaulted him next.

Bodies fell as blood drenched the floor, Snape had been killed by Nagini, and his memories of hearing that his death was needed to defeat Voldemort tore into Harry's being. He was only raised for slaughter. Like a good little lamb, he went to the Forest to face his demise.

Walking up to the clearing, he heard a twig snap in the background. He spun around, a growl of defiance building in his throat, as he froze it died to a whimper. He was met by a tall figure, easily six feet tall and surrounded by people in white masks: Voldemort.

He stood, taking the taunts indifferently and he just listened as the dreaded curse was thrown towards him. A glaring green light hit his unresisting body and he fell limply to the dirt.

He awoke in a white room, and as he watched it slowly grew definition. Harry discovered that it acted like the Room of Requirement, and got a robe to cover himself with.

'Odd,' he said calmly to himself, glancing about, 'it looks like King's Cross, is this where I'm judged or something?'

Harry walked about the empty train station, now a perfect replica of the real thing, minus the trash and people. It was eerie enough to make him shudder.

Harry started at the footfalls behind him, he whirled around, looking about wildly and finally, he spotted a figure in the distance.

He waited tensely as it got closer; eventually it stopped in front of him and stood there calmly.

Harry did a quick sizing up of the creature standing calmly before him, the black cloak obscured the face within the hood as the air to its right flickered, and all his doubts about it being Death were crushed at the sight of the rune covered scythe with the burning blade.

'Harry James Potter,' it murmured in a soft voice that belonged to a middle-aged man talking to him in a street, completely out of place with the shape it had at the moment, 'you know what I am, yes?'

'I do,' Harry murmured carefully as he stood strong, 'you are Death… are you here to take me on to the afterlife, then?' He asked the cloaked figure hesitantly only to be shocked as Death chuckled gently, not at all cruel like he would've suspected. It was comforting, somehow.

'No,' Death said kindly as Harry jerked in shock, 'you won't die here unless you truly wish it, but you are a survivor, Harry Potter and I do not think you could just give up with your goal so very close. And as for calling me Death… it is true, but I am rather partial to my Japanese name, Shinigami.'

'Er, you can call me Harry, I suppose,' he said cautiously, 'and Shinigami is a mouthful… can't I just say Shi or Shini?' The newly christened Shi had the air of one blinking in mild surprise.

'Shi, I rather like that one.' He nodded, 'right then, let's drop the bombshells shall I?' he seemed to be smirking.

'Er, if that is as ominous as it sounds,' Harry interrupted, 'I noticed that your voice sounds rather out of place, perhaps you could either assume the… form… that fits it or just use a voice that appears more…' Here he paused, grasping for words before mumbling an indistinct, 'you know,' with a shrug.

Shi laughed outright, and Harry watched in fascination as he pulled down the hood of his cloak to show a smiling man with tanned skin, raven hair and bright green eyes, identical to his own. Shi raised an eyebrow as if to say: "well, what do you think?"

'Uh,' Harry muttered in shock, 'why do you look so much like… wait, stupid question, you're older than me, why do I look so much like you?'

'Smart boy, aren't you? Most people are either trembling in fear, bellowing at me or begging for more time, and you just wonder why we look alike!'

'Well, it's not every day I meet Death himself, now do I?' Harry said defensively, 'It's more of an annual thing, and closer to brushes than meeting. And if I'm dead, or not so dead, as you say I am… aren't, whatever, I think I can afford to speculate how and why I'm your weak little clone.'

Shi just chuckled again, 'I don't know why either, but it's time for the bombshells now. One, the "Dark Lord" is more than just a title and Tom Riddle is not it. The Dark Lord is the one who commands the loyalty of dark creatures and those leaning towards the Dark, their magical cores are pure dark magic, and their minds are untainted by the influence, they are one with the magic, which makes them stronger and nigh immortal. Before you get all worried, Tom Marvolo Riddle is branded body, mind, magic and soul; this weakens him, as does his fear of me.' Harry was nodding along, glad that Voldemort wasn't as strong as he believed, 'there can only be one at a time and the title is passed on when the Lord or Lady retires. The last Dark Lady was one Pernelle Flamel. Her soul mate the Light Lord was Nickolas Flamel.' Harry blinked in shock as his brain tried to comprehend that statement as Shi plowed happily on.

'Two, the only soul mates are always Light and Dark Lords and Ladies.' Alright, there's one question answered, Harry thought as he resumed nodding.

'Three, you are the Dark Lord.'Wait a minute, WHAT?

'Four, you are a black necromancer who raises the dead using your own pain instead of that of others, an admirable art, by the way.' His jaw was still on the ground from "three," I'mthe bloodyDARK LORD?

'Five, each ruler of Life Magiks such as yourself can and will absorb the soul of those you kill directly. You gain their memories and magical cores, anything not dark or cores completely black will be altered into compatible magic. The stronger you become the longer you shall live.' He was frozen now as his poor abused mind attempted to take in the information.

'Six, you have one true servant who has been unknowingly awaiting the one that would awaken the dormant magic within him and allow his loyalties to rest and give him some peace, Severus Snape is this man. You will bring him back shortly with yourself. I'll be sure to stop time and stick him in the Chamber of Secrets for a while to chill out a bit. Now I'll just wait for you to process the speech and ask me how to do so.' Shi sat with an amused air as he conjured a chair to watch the boy's face whirl through emotions.

Shock, fear, anger and confusion went over his features just to go through the cycle all over again. Around ten minutes later, (a new speed record,) his face slowed as he calmed, accepting the newest developments to his life quickly, it was preferable to dying, after all.

'Alright,' the brunette sighed, 'you must've apprenticed Dumbledore or something… you both have the Twinkle of Doom… (inset horrified shudder here) how do I do it?' he asked.

He raised Severus from the dead swiftly and surprisingly easily under Shi's tutelage, to the shock of the man who went into insane hysterics about Hell and how he knew that the Potter brat was a demon sent to terrorize him.

Harry left him next to a pillar with a calming shield around him to help him not go on some insane killing rampage. Something told him that that would not be fun. He left and found Tom moments later and re-entered his body, courtesy of Death, and showed that the Avada Kedarva didn't work on him at all by standing up, stretching a bit, and entering the fray.

He soon thereafter duelled with the hybrid viciously. Priori Incantatem saved his life once more as the man fell to his own Avada Kedarva. Nagini hissed and died in "unexplainable" Hellfire during the fight. Death Eaters dropped dead where they stood, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Tears rolled down Harry's face as he finished the chant, he then, without hesitation or regret, released his Hellfire upon the room. His soul and mind ripped from his body as it burned to ashes along with the corpses of Luna, Hermione and Severus.

His awareness was sucked into a vortex of magic, and he was pulled back through Time in a whirlwind of memories and lights.

FLASH!

The last magical war replayed in front of his eyes.

FLASH!

His discovery of the thunderbird, basilisk, phoenix, griffin and Minotaur forms.

FLASH!

The rediscovery of blood magic and how he slowly but surely strengthened his body into one that was faster and stronger. His internal system was altered so that he no longer needed to eat for long periods of time to keep up energy. Air was enough sustenance for weeks on end before he even got peckish. Water he was fine for indefinitely; his throat converted hydrogen and leftover oxygen when he was dehydrated. Bones were stronger, skin tougher; muscle would stay strong for years even in a coma before diminishing. His eyesight fixed to that of his thunderbird form, partial animagus transformations were allowed, the leftover energy he released at all times transferred into multiple runic stone bracelets that gave him more mundane animal forms.

FLASH!

The last muggleborns in the world died with Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Salem and Atlantis' remaining magic.

FLASH!

He careened towards his ten year old body, the soul of his younger self was banished to a happier universe with the other magical creatures and where everyone who loved him was alive, and all was well to elevate the guilt of taking over this body. His soul careened into the tiny frame and he screamed in pain as his magical core was suppressed by natural and unnatural blocks to the point of only having access to small amounts of his child form's magic. It was almost like having only a sliver of what he had before. All of his animagus forms shuddered and went still but the phoenix, though it was horrendously weak. The blood magic replaced his body and mind at once, it was worse than the cruciatus by far. But he was alive.

Harry Potter had succeeded.

He had successfully preformed the Calling of Ra.

He was back.

'Watch out world,' he murmured weakly under the pounding on his cupboard door, 'because the true Dark Lord has returned.' He laughed cruelly as the pounding ceased, he let loathing into his voice as his mirth showed at the irony of his position as his vision blurred to nothing.

All over the planet, magicals of all nature shuddered at the wave of energy that strengthened them with its power.

Muggles felt like they had drunk ten cups of coffee at once.

Pernelle and Nikolas Flamel felt the powers of a magical Lord and Lady leave them forcibly. They blinked in surprise as the magical backlash was lost in the pulse. They fell simultaneously to the floor as their magic adapted to the loss. There was only one explanation; the Calling of Ra had been performed. They mourned the need for it to be used, while rejoicing that the bleak future that triggered it would change.

Unnoticed in the office of Albus Dumbledore, the monitors for his blood wards fell still and silent. Slowly, reluctantly, they renewed the action they were meant to show for safety, signs that all was well with Harry Potter. The slow rotations and puffs of smoke a grim parody of the cheerfulness of only moments before.

Far away in the forests of Albania, a wraith screamed.