A/N: Why, hello there readers! Welcome to the first story of The Synthesis Trilogy. Written by these seven wonderful people below. The next two stories in our trilogy will be Serendipity and Synergy. We hope that you plan to stick around for them, it is going to be a really wild ride for all of us. We also recommend that you listen to the song as you read, it will heighten the experience. All chapters will have songs attached to them, picked out by Diadem.

The premise behind writing this story was to take a sub genre of the Harry Potter fandom that we thought held particularly cliche or overused ideas, and inject a few original ideas of our own. Each story in the trilogy will deal with a different cliche, and hopefully breathe new life into it. It was Diadem who came up with the idea for the collaboration- she posted a topic on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum, and we responded. After a frantic day or so of organising, we finally found ourselves on Google Docs with a blank page in front of us. That was when the fun began. Our outline (currently at 14,052 words) was the birthplace of everything: we discussed themes, ideas and more. We even had a couple of arguments, although they never progressed beyond fervently defending our ideas, and never fell into negativity.

We have introductions on our profile from most of the members.

Thanks for coming! We hope that you enjoy reading this as much as we did writing it. - The Seventh Horcrux, Scar.

Disclaimer: We, The Seven Horcruxes, hold no ownership over the Harry Potter series, any song that my be found connected to our chapters, and anything else that you may recognize having come from another source. We only claim ownership of our ideas and creations.

The Synthesis Trilogy

Book One: Salvific

-A Collaboration by The Seven Horcruxes-

Diadem- The Royal Scribe

Goblet- Spiralling-Down

Ring- A Phoenix From The Ashes

Scar- Lady Phoenix Fire Rose

Snake- Potterheadx10

Locket- Yellowtail555

Diary- Owluvr

Prologue- Symmachy

- fighting jointly against a common enemy -

Metric- Speed the Collapse

Pushed away, I'm pulled toward

A comedown of revolving doors

Every warning we ignored

Drifting in from distant shores

The wind presents a change of course

A second reckoning of sorts

We were wasted waiting for

A comedown over revolving doors

Fate don't fail me now...

There was a clinking of glass as Harry's fist slammed down on the table.

"I can't just stand by and do nothing!"

"I know, and I'm sorry, Harry, but-"

"They're my parents! He's on his way right now, and we're sitting in a pub doing nothing!"

"It's so dangerous to meddle with time; there's a reason why it's illegal... I understand why you want to save them, but-"

"No, you don't understand!"

Harry felt instantly guilty for shouting as he saw Hermione's eyes fill with tears, but he pressed on regardless. He suddenly was filled by an all-consuming purpose he'd rarely felt since his hunt for the Deathly Hallows. Images of the childhood that he could have had flashed through his mind, and his resolve hardened further. Why couldn't Hermione see how important this was to him?

"They're my parents, Hermione," he repeated, more quietly.

He stared down fixedly at his lap, his mouth set hard and his shoulders tensed. He felt his eyes prickle as his vision blurred, but he blinked back the tears, his stomach twisting in a combination of fear and shame. He felt a slight pressure as Ginny placed a comforting hand on his arm, but Harry just shrugged her off.

Harry gripped his glass tightly within his hand, nestled between his sweaty palm and his prominent, white knuckles. His fingers clutched the ridged glass, like a spider attached to its web. Although, he didn't feel like the spider: he was the fly, caught in an intricate web of shadows and uncertainty. Indeed, he felt the spider drawing ever closer, the strands that had drawn the four of them to the pub in Godric's Hollow becoming ever tighter and more meaningful. He felt that his entire life had led to this moment, even defeating Voldemort in the Final Battle had been a mere stepping stone towards the final confrontation that lay ahead. He couldn't allow his friends to stop him, but he desperately hoped that they would join him.

It was almost as if Ginny had read his mind. Placing her thinner, half-pint glass down upon the mahogany table, she approached him with confidence. Harry noticed that she wore the same fiery expression she wore back when she first kissed him in the Gryffindor common room all that time ago. It was uniquely her, and Harry felt his stomach flip with nerves. She was filled with fiery conviction, and as Ron had once told him, she would never change her mind when she got "that bloody scary look". Harry hoped that she was going to side with him, but he wouldn't allow her to stop him from rescuing his parents either way. Their gazes met, and for a second, he stared into the chocolatey brown depths of her eyes. And then Ginny reached out her hands, her slender fingers wrapping themselves around Harry's.

"I once told you that if you've got enough nerve, anything's possible," she said softly.

Harry's heart began to pound harder: was Ginny saying she was on his side? His throat constricted and he nodded mutely.

"I'm not going to let you leave me behind again. Whatever you decide to do, I'm coming with you," finished Ginny.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it upon seeing the look in Ginny's eyes. His thoughts turned to the last time he had left her behind and the consequences of that. He wondered if it really would be so bad to take her along with him; she had proved time and time again that she could handle herself: besides, he had a feeling that he would need her support in the long run.

He turned to the redhead, having looked down at his hands as he was thinking, and stared into her eyes. "Yes, you can come!" With that, he placed his head in his hands. He felt Ginny place her hand on his shoulder. She didn't say anything, which he was grateful for.

Ignoring Hermione's small hiss of indignation, Harry turned to the window, peering out anxiously. The street outside was sprinkled with a dusting of snow, the street lamps throwing out a corona of light that made the pure snow glitter with unfamiliar shades. The snow accumulated heaviest against the street lamps themselves, or upon the branches of trees, causing them to creak dangerously in the light wind. All was silent save for the whistling wind and Harry's breath, which formed a light condensation against the window, even in the relative heat of the pub.

He leaned forward and rubbed irritably at the misty film which gave the outside world a strange, ethereal quality. Through the fog clouding the view, the street lights seemed brighter, harsher- the snow not quite as pure. When it was swept away, clarity returned, in the form of a muggle vehicle. The spell was broken: sound returned, the squeal of the engine and the muffled conversation of the muggles frequenting the pub hammering against his senses. Harry shook himself from his stupor, returning to an alert tension. Indeed, all his senses were heightened in preparation for the moment when everything he had fought for, both in this time and his own, would come to a conclusion.

He sighed, worried about his lapse of concentration: he realised that the division between his friends was taking its toll upon him. He needed to resolve it, one way or another. If they stood in his way, he would not hesitate to do what was necessary to get by them, even if he would not enjoy a second of it. 'At least' he thought, smiling at Ginny, 'he had one ally he could count on.'

He took a deep breath and turned to face Ron and Hermione. Hermione wore a frown that reminded him of Professor McGonagall's expression whenever a particularly daring student broke the rules. For McGonagall, there was no greater crime, short of casting the unforgivables, and it seemed that Hermione had carried their former transfiguration teacher's pedantic obsession with the rules to a new level. She had nearly always abided by the rules, but Harry thought that she would always break them if it would secure her friends' happiness or wellbeing. She certainly seemed conflicted- Harry was sure that her conscience was battling her very nature- but Harry could see that she would struggle to allow him to change history. Even though it gave Harry his parents back, Hermione's very nature screamed that the rules were there for a reason and that messing with time was dangerous: one could not possibly predict all of the ramifications a change could cause.

"Are you two coming or not?" Harry said, slightly more aggressively than he had intended.

Hermione bit her lip. "Please, think about it rationally, Harry... The risks would be unbelievable." She turned to Ron, a faint look of desperation etched over her features. "Ron, you see what I'm talking about, don't you?"

With a flicker of hope, Harry noticed that Ron didn't quite manage to meet her eye as he mumbled something unintelligible in reply.

"Ron?" he said, trying to communicate in his gaze just how much he was relying on his best mate.

Ron promptly stood up without warning, his large frame causing the glasses upon the table to rock dangerously, their contents threatening to spill out across the table. Several Muggles turned to look at the commotion, before turning back to their drinks.

"Listen, Hermione," Ron said, clapping his hand on Harry's one remaining shoulder- the other having been claimed by Ginny- and meeting her eyes with his own, "I realised something, here in the past, that I should have realised long ago. I didn't even understand it during our Horcrux hunt, because I always knew they were there: I could go back to them. Dealing with Fred's death was hard, but getting through that made me realise what I had that Harry doesn't. No, it's not money, fame, or the best skills on a broomstick I've ever seen. Because to Harry, I had something far more precious than any of that, and it was something I took for granted most of the time. I had a family: a bloody brilliant family! I wouldn't trade them for the world. I want Harry to know what it's like, I want him to have the chance to have a Mum and a Dad of his own, even though he's practically a Weasley in Mum's eyes." He turned to Harry, filled with far too many emotions to put into words, but he knew that their friendship had truly reached new heights. Gone was the petty jealousy and resentment of his youth, replaced with what Ron could only describe as love. "Harry, mate: I'm with you until the end."

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry. A rush of affection for his friend swept over him, and a smile spread gradually over his face. He let out a short laugh. "Honestly, mate, this is what I've been trying to tell you for years! Seriously, though: thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you..."

Ron grinned back at Harry, his cheeks and ears rapidly flushing their characteristic Weasley red- in fact, his face had acquired a colour surprisingly similar to that of his maroon jumper- and he clapped Harry on the back. At that point, he seemed to notice that he was still standing, and he abruptly dropped back into his seat, folding his long limbs awkwardly into the chair.

Hermione sighed. She knew that this was not something that she would normally do, who knew what would happen, but with everything put against the happiness of one of her friends: a friend that deserved it more than anything in the world, it was that right choice for her to make. "Alright then, I'll go with you."

Harry stared at Hermione, shocked, and he had no doubt that Ginny and Ron were doing just the same, staring at her, eyes wide. Had he heard her right? Was Hermione really agreeing with them?

"You're serious?" Harry asked, and Hermione just nodded. "You're coming with us, then?" Hermione nodded again.

"What made you change your mind?" Harry asked out of curiosity. He didn't want to push his luck: with something this big, he needed all the help he could get. But even so, he was curious, this kind of thing didn't sound at all like Hermione.

She furrowed her brows in concentration, as if she honestly didn't know why she did it herself, but then, finally, she answered. "Oh, Harry, what Ron said, well, it made me think twice about it. Sure, what we're doing is wrong. And dangerous, really dangerous. But you deserve a family just as much as we do, if not more. We're your friends, aren't we? Friends are supposed to help each other out, and well, we're with you, Harry."

"Well... Thanks, all of you. I really appreciate it," he started, looking from Hermione, to Ron, and then to Ginny, before starting all over again, pausing to think for a moment. Then, at last, he continued. "Shall we get going, then?"

Their first steps onto the virgin snow - the pure white covering crunching underneath their feet - felt strangely as if they were striding into a new destiny. Indeed, the four friends were rebelling against fate itself, it finally seemed as if they were throwing away the chains of prophecy that had bound them to a singular purpose for so many years. They were going to disturb history itself as surely as they were disturbing the frozen ice crystals around them, and the muggle residents; the rambunctious drunks, the unfortunate beggars, all the hellish denizens of the night scattered away from the group of wizards, inexplicably terrified by their purposeful progress.

Godric's Hollow was a sleepy town, full of sleepy people. They plodded along through their lives, ignorant of events outside their village and the surrounding area. Occasionally big news filtered in from surrounding villages, but it was infrequent and treated with contempt by traditionalists, who believed that they should maintain an insular community, separated away from the world's ills. The system of ignorance worked well, but when four strangers invaded their pub, drank their beer, and left with purpose as opposed to the dreamy stumbling most pub crawlers left with, the residents felt that they had the right to be suspicious. Yet the strangers easily incited their fury when they began to head towards the centre of town.

Not even the traditional isolationists could have hidden the reports of terrorist attacks, and the fear sweeping England, Scotland and Wales' news. In June, eight IRA prisoners had escaped a prison in Belfast, and earlier that very month, eleven days before in fact, an explosive attack in Belgium had resulted in three deaths and more than one hundred people wounded. Despite the incredibly unlikely occurrence of terrorists deciding to attack Godric's Hollow, the residents remained loyal and vigilant against the foreign threat.

When the strangers entered the town, without any means of transport, the villagers simply carried on with their lives, although they couldn't shake off the tension permeating the air. It wasn't odd to see four young adults walking around together in the city, but in Godric's Hollow it was a foreign sight. They looked like city dwellers, wearing clothes that pointed to their inexperience with the countryside. Fashion was usually exchanged for practicality in Godric's Hollow. That was only the start of the strangers oddities, however.

The tall, some would say lanky, redhead was the one to order the drinks, and he started to pay with strange bronze and silver coins that the barkeep had never seen before, until the brunette, bookish girl corrected him with a sharp whisper. He then smiled sheepishly as she pulled out a five pound note to purchase their drinks with. The bartender glared at them suspiciously before handing over their change, the seeds of suspicion already planted within his mind.

The idea that the strangers were foreign terrorists caught on throughout the town like wildfire. The town, at its core, was built upon the foundations of gossiping housewives and rumours spread by ignorant and cruel children. Terrorists, a word that was hardly ever used by the villagers, was terrifying, but it carried a romanticised excitement: the thrill of a reward from the authorities.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin of the foreigners came when they started to argue amongst themselves. The inhabitants of the pub substituted their argument, barely audible, with what they expected to hear. When they did catch words, it only affirmed their suspicions. Words like "illegal", "death" and "risks" reached their dumbfounded ears, and what respectable, decent parents called their child Hermione? It was clearly a foreign name. When the strangers left the pub and headed towards the centre of town, a strange, dignified purpose in their stride, the villagers knew that they had to stop them or face losing their beloved town. A strange fury gripped them that few had ever felt before.

Harry checked his watch again, wary of the approaching attack. They were cutting it too close for his liking: Voldemort would arrive within the hour. The tension was palpable. He looked around the town square, confused that it was deserted; he knew that Godric's Hollow was a traditional village, but he expected to see some signs of life, especially on Halloween. He supposed that they had tasted the unease in the air, and had fled inside. As he approached his parents' house, he felt the same desire: he wanted to hide from the dread that gripped him. He wondered if Hermione was right, that it was a mistake to mess with time.

Harry shook himself, realising that he couldn't flee. He couldn't allow fear to consume his convictions. He had the opportunity to save his family and start his life anew. He strode forward once again, his friends following in his wake. It was then, of course, that Harry's luck ran out. The cloud cover shifted, bathing the town centre in the harsh, somewhat clinical moonlight. In the middle of the square stood a group of muggles: the moonlight highlighted their angry snarls and threw their weapons into sharp relief.

"Harry!" Hermione whispered, eyeing the weapons warily, "We can't use magic against them, it could give us away!"

"Alright, we do this the muggle way, then."

Harry readied his fists as the muggles charged, his stance firm, his expression grim and determined. Even though he couldn't see them, he knew that his friends had also readied themselves for the attack, just moments before it started. As he ducked, weaved, punched and kicked his way through the onslaught, he wondered, not for the first time, how the hell he had ended up in such an insane situation.