Stars Above, Ice Below

Chapter 1 - Prologue

Voldemort staggered into a side room of the Potter residence, barely missing a zig-zagging stray spell that screamed past his head with a wicked-looking red-orange glow. 'A bone entombing spell. Nasty stuff,' he thought absentmindedly as the house was put under siege by the Order of the Phoenix, windows shattering and walls beginning to buckle under the brutal assault of spellcasters. 'If I recall, it causes one's own bones to grow and solidify together, eventually turning the target into a sort of bone statue. Just typical of them to use those types of spells when they see fit to look past their own laws and morals.'

Everything was going wrong. Pettigrew had revealed the location of the Potters to him, and the way was laid bare for him to eliminate the child and in the process, the prophecy. Prophecies were incredibly fickle things, capable of being true and fulfilled as predicted or being complete malarkey at around the same rate. It didn't help that actions one took could easily lead to a prophecy being fulfilled, even if that wasn't the original intent.

'Somehow I believe I'm in that category at the moment,' Voldemort thought, casting a silent healing spell that spit out a piece of glass that had lodged itself into his shoulder only a minute before, wincing as his flesh stitched itself back together.

Lilly Potter and James Potter were ferocious fighters, putting every decoration, foundation, and speck of dust to use in order to kill him, in order to stop him from getting their child, Harry Potter. Their efforts, while respectable, were in vain. James was cut down with a modified diffindo spell, changed to create a gravitational shear instead of a basic magical cut. Much more magically demanding and dangerous, but it went straight through normal protego barriers. Voldemort recalled James was torn asunder nearly limb from limb, with his wife screaming in righteous anger and anguish just as the spell failed and blew the hallway to pieces from space unfolding itself.

Just one year old, Harry watched with tear-stricken eyes as his mother then took a killing curse that was meant for him, even if he did not know it. Her screams echoed through the night.

###

Voldemort looked down at the child that was swaddled in a warm blanket, currently held in his free arm, innocent green eyes staring up into his own. The dark lord absentmindedly shielded a piercing spell that would have gored the baby's head had he not intervened. Voldemort was running on autopilot, mind elsewhere as he struggled with what to do now that he had Harry Potter in his grasp.

The prophecy that was reported to him told of the child having power that, 'the dark lord knows not.' Whatever that meant.

'Could be anything from moving the heavens to having a mean right hook, as far as fate is concerned,' Voldemort thought to himself, animating a shattered vase into a swarm of vicious giant hornets that flew outside through the holes in the walls to confront the attackers. Shouts of panic could be heard as Voldemort continued to animate various objects into differing animals, ranging from the large to the very small, all with unnatural bloodlust for his enemy's flesh.

Ignoring screams that were beginning to sound from the outside, he focused on the magic of the child. Lilly had done something to her boy, some sort of ancient magic that he couldn't identify. The mere thought of harming this child brought dread to his heart, magically-enhanced nerves alight with instinctual fear that he did not quite comprehend. Whatever had been done, seemed to spell certain doom for the dark wizard if he harmed the boy, he was somehow quite sure of it.

He pointed his wand at the baby's head, feeling the anger and rage bubble to the surface for the killing curse. It was anger from this child being able to supposedly best him, and it was rage from his own failings as a powerful wizard, from still feeling sick to his stomach when forced to kill someone so innocent as this child. The tip of his wand glowed sickly green, his soul growing distant as the spell built in his very being- death made manifest.

Harry's eyes caught the green of the wand, drifting to look at the pointed light that was mere centimeters from his face. The green of his eyes was set afire from the glow of the killing curse, life and death mingling all too uncomfortably close. Voldemort held the curse ready, but eventually let it fail a moment later. He couldn't do it.

No matter how many times Voldemort had thought to split his soul once more, to deaden his connection to his emotions and make execution of his plans easier, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Having performed the ritual once out of necessity was horrible enough, he could not bear to imagine it happening once again. 'Though,' he thought, 'It would have made this much easier.'

He personally did not approve of killing non-combatants, of murdering children especially. Casualties of war were dreadful, and he died a little every time he heard of his more…fanatical followers' actions. Bellatrix was one of the most insidious repeat offenders. It gave him nightmares, but what other choice did he have? Very few influential figures aside from his death eaters believed in his goal of pursuing the highest levels of magical power for all magical citizens. No, instead it was, 'Forbidden this- dark that- illegal magic- affronts to good sense,' and every other excuse. The wizarding world was driven by fear in his eyes and refused to move a step forward unless they first took two steps back.

He found himself out of options when the public ostracized him and his ideas, but was approached in secret by the traditionally 'dark' families, along with some individuals from what many would consider 'light' families. Those that approached him in support of his ideas were the only choice he had, lest he decide to take on the system alone- and he knew that was a death wish.

Many of his followers were sadistic, and many had beliefs of genuine superiority over the muggleborn and half-bloods. He did not dissuade them or encourage them in this regard and tried to be as vague as possible when he was pressured on his political stances. He could not lose his followers, no matter how daft or bigoted they may be. He promised himself that he would do something about it when his plans came to fruition. When the wizarding world could finally see what each and every witch and wizard were capable of.

When they realized that their magic could shape reality, and that their magic could make possible the impossible.

The commotion died down outside, and the connection to his transfigurations was all but severed. It went painfully quiet. Voldemort glanced at Harry, who was still staring up at him, and stealthily glided across the main floor of the cottage, levitating just enough to not make a sound on the floor but not enough to give his position away through a magical signature. The house was all but destroyed, holes and scorch marks marking every part of the interior, with very little providing cover for him to move against.

He quietly cast a silencing spell and disillusion spell in quick succession over himself and Harry, pressing himself against one of the trashed walls and waiting for the attackers to advance into the home. He cursed himself and he cursed this child in his arm- if it wasn't for a damned seer and his own weakness, this could have been over by now.

Voldemort suddenly felt a magical presence wash over him, nearly crushing in its enormity. It felt like an unstoppable river that tore everything that dare resist from its path, absolutely undeniable in its power.

Albus Dumbledore was here, and that was not ideal for Voldemort. 'One of two members of the Order that could potentially best me,' he thought, sighing. 'I knew he'd be here.'

The nearly obliterated remains of a front door was blown from its hinges, clearing the way for disorienting and detection spells that filled the bottom floor from nearly all angles. Voldemort damned his dallying of what had to be done and held his breath, minimizing his presence as much as possible while trying to do the same for the baby in his arms.

"He's still in there!" someone shouted.

In a flash, Voldemort moved up the remains of the stairs with supernatural speed and strength gifted to him through rituals and harsh training amplified by magic. He was just in time as well, as seemingly from every window and hole in the wall a member of the Order appeared, wands drawn and pointed straight at the disillusioned blur that occupied the stairwell, backed against a shattered and splintered wall. Voldemort counted six individuals.

"Don't any of you dare cast a spell!" A gruff voice yelled out, unmistakably belonging to the infamous and lethal Mad-Eye Moody, "He has the boy with him."

'The other threat. That magical eye is unbelievable.' Voldemort remarked to himself. He had often thought about a kill squad of hit wizards armed with replicas of Moody's magical eye, and just how much more deadly they would be made because of it. Why the Aurors did not pursue this line of thought was beyond him.

"Tom."

The voice of Dumbledore, unmistakable with its grandfatherly tones and edge of power. "Tom, let's talk this through. This is not like you."

Voldemort took a deep breath and wandlessly cast finite on himself, dispelling the illusion. He let go of his aura and allowed his power to flow freely.

Gasps and growls were heard as Voldemort appeared to the Order of the Phoenix, standing tall and radiating power. In his mid 50's, he was a handsome man built of solid frame and striking eyes. Eyes, that appeared red- a product of immense power and deliberate choice on Voldemort's part, to intimidate those who considered him an enemy.

In his grasp was the child of the Potters, with his wand pointed straight at the boy's head.

"You should have brought more members of your Order, Dumbledore." Voldemort stated evenly, though doubting his words as he spoke them. These men before him were enough.

"Your Death Eaters have seen to that being impossible." Albus Dumbledore replied, voice relatively calm given the circumstances. "This plan of yours went off nearly without a hitch." His eyes darted from Voldemort's face to the bundle in the wizard's arm. "It nearly did. It was just a prophecy Tom, not something that was set in stone. There have been numerous prophecies through history, the majority of which are still waiting to be fulfilled. This…' He gestured with a nod of his head, "…is something that you could have safely ignored."

"We both know that prophecies are something we cannot ignore Albus," Voldemort coolly replied to the older man. "I cannot take a chance on a prophecy that states, 'neither can live while the other survives.' And don't you dare start accusing me of needlessly investigating and eliminating a prophecy when it pertains to myself, when you are just as guilty of such."

Dumbledore lowered his wand slightly, knowing that Voldemort was correct in that regard, "He is only a baby Tom, what threat could he possibly be to you? He cannot even cast a spell." He gave a small sympathetic smile, "You don't want to kill him, do you? Infanticide is not what constitutes your character, and you know that."

Voldemort grimaced, "He's not a threat yet. But one day he will be, and if I don't do anything in the meantime he could easily grow just as powerful as myself." He glared at Dumbledore, "Of course I don't want to kill him! I don't want to be here at all!"

His hand holding Harry, who was deathly quiet, shook with frustration, "Which is why I have to do this now. I don't want to kill children, but what choice do I have!?" he shouted to the congregation downstairs. "I will be killed if I don't!"

He stomped his foot on the landing for emphasis, unexpectedly hearing a wet squelch beneath his dragonhide boots. Those below let their gazes fall to what the dark wizard was standing on.

Voldemort himself realized he was standing on the remains of what was previously James Potter.

For a brief moment, one could hear a pin drop.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" A voice bellowed. A rugged, black haired man charged forward, wand already spitting every manner of spell possible, hitting the ceilings and walls with strings and bolts of color as he whipped his wand forward towards Voldemort.

Voldemort quickly brought up a shield, of which he found himself struggling to keep up under the rampaging assault of none other than Sirius Black, the original choice for secret keeper of the Potter's location. A choice that, honestly, would have been the wiser one in Voldemort's opinion.

"Sirius, stop!" a man, Remus Lupin, shouted at Sirius as he rushed to the inconsolable member of the Black family.

Sirius was losing control, his eyes glowing with power and tears pouring down his face as he screamed at the man, no, the monster that had taken his best friends away from him, and soon his godson. He screamed every spell he knew, many dark and many outright illegal, as fast as he could. His aura was expanding and crackling with raw emotion, pushing the surrounding wizards away from him as he laid his anguish out to the world.

Voldemort let go of the rapidly failing shield and ducked an unblockable curse that barely missed his chest, and Harry along with him. He stole a glance at the child, who had clenched his eyes shut with silent sobs racking his body.

'…Please forgive me.' Voldemort thought, as he held the child up in front of himself. 'I can't do it myself.'

Dumbledore spotted this and quickly turned to subdue Sirius, who was failing to be controlled by Lupin- werewolf strength and all.

"You're going to kill Harry!" Dumbledore shouted as he brought up his wand to banish Sirius's from his hand, "Expelliarmus!"

Sirius, mid-cast, held onto his wand with all his strength as he slashed down with a lightning bolt pattern, eyes glowing fiery green and his wand radiating the deathly glow of the killing curse. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" His wand was ripped from his hand just as he finished the incantation, sending it high into the air- but with the killing curse still inside of it.

A bolt of green emerged from the tip of the wand- streaking across the ruined interior of the house directly into where Voldemort and Harry were standing. Voldemort watched it approach them in seemingly slow motion, the curse flying across the air and heading right towards the boy. In somber satisfaction, the dark lord declared it a victory- the boy needing to not be killed by his hand. In doing so, he almost missed how it altered its path and began to curve around Harry instead.

Acting instinctually out of sudden surprise and fear, Voldemort rapidly contorted his body and let the curse barely miss his wand arm, exploding against the wooden wall behind him. Voldemort fired a shotgun blast of stunners straight at Sirius in retaliation- who was proving more dangerous than was acceptable. Sirius, now wandless, was hit with most of them and was flung to the ground unconscious, body sliding across the floor until it hit a ruined wall.

It was extraordinarily rare, but under the most extreme circumstances, especially under emotional stress, spells from powerful casters could begin to take on aspects of the caster- ranging from physical appearance to actual behavior of the spell. From Voldemort's best guess, it seemed that Sirius had hated him so much that his killing curse was seeking him out personally. 'That has potential,' he thought. 'Though experimenting with the death spell is not to be taken lightly.'

He poked the end of the wand into Harry's cheek, who was now crying loudly for all to hear and see. "Let me go Albus!"

Albus swallowed, "I can't let you kill him Tom. Please, just put him down, I won't pursue you if you do."

Voldemort scoffed, "But you will, old man. You will stop at nothing to bring me to 'justice,' especially after what's happened here tonight." He smirked, "But you should know that if you try to kill me, that will have some very dire consequences like I have warned you of before."

Dumbledore blinked, filing the word 'dire' away in his mind, "Tom, lad, no one is going to kill you. The actions of Black do not speak for the majority of us here."

A few members of the Order shot Albus an incredulous look.

"Oh yes I'm sure, considering many of these ones were just a slip of the tongue away from killing me in rather creative ways not a minute ago." Voldemort motioned with his head towards the members in question. "I don't buy it. So now, I'm leaving."

'Wait,' Voldemort thought, 'Where is Moody?' The Auror in question was suddenly gone, Voldemort having not noticed his disappearance.

Without warning, he was banished into the wall beside him and had Harry ripped from his arms all in the same motion. As the air was knocked out of him, he realized that damned Mad-Eye had come at him from the upstairs and completely blindsided him. The wooden planks that surrounded Voldemort wrapped around him, transfiguring into steel chains that were putting him into a full-body bind.

"Argh, NO! Get back here!" He shouted as he undid the chains with an overpowered stiffening charm, making the metal extend straight out and leaving him unbound. He could see two things at once, Harry was being summoned to Albus and a disillusioned Moody was moving down the stairs right towards him- if the large blurry figure was any indication.

He knew that if Harry got away, that would likely be the last time Voldemort would be able to get to him before Albus would hide him away. He also knew that if he ignored Moody, that could easily prove fatal. Why did he ever think that he could have performed this entire operation on his own? His ego apparently thought so.

Reaching out with his magic, Voldemort ripped the foundations of the stairs apart, collapsing them beneath Moody. With a roaring woosh of air and magic, cursed fire shot forth from Voldemort's wand into the cavity where Moody had fallen, singing the dark wizard's robes as he did so.

Dumbledore had summoned the child towards him just as Moody had blindsided his former student, hand outstretched to take him when the boy suddenly stopped midair. Voldemort had recovered seemingly in a flash, and was pulling back on the boy with all of his might, doing it with his free hand while his wand spewed forth flame. At once, the order cast every spell they could think of towards the dark lord. A hail of orange, red, sickly brown and pitch black, neon pink and everything in-between.

Voldemort, much to their surprise, managed to conjure a protego spell in front of himself without wand or free hand. It was enough to absorb the initial hail of spellfire, but it quickly gave out and sent the wizard to his knees. From the wall next to the staircase an explosion rang out, shaking the floorboards of the home. Moody was flung out of it, body charred black with his left arm and leg missing- only black stumps left. Not far behind him was a sight that made the blood of those in the room run cold. Fiendfyre, taking on the aspects of snakes, birds, dragons, and other beasts while threatening to quickly engulf the house, roared and chased after Moody- their flammable prey.

"Do not let Harry get back to Voldemort!" Dumbledore yelled, "Summon him so I can contain this!" Dumbledore was the only one who could dispatch the cursed fire effectively out of the present members of the Order.

Immediately and wordlessly, Remus Lupin, Edgar Bones, and Aberforth Dumbledore switched their spellcasting from the offense to simultaneously summoning the baby Potter. Harry was still held in midair, being pulled from both directions, bawling under the pain of being summoned and pulled back and forth.

Voldemort felt his window of opportunity shrinking, or perhaps it was already gone? The fiendfyre had managed to take Moody out of the fight, perhaps actually killing him, but had drained Voldemort of power. Now that Dumbledore was casting charms to dispel the aspect of fire, Voldemort had no distraction and nowhere to go. His knees were beginning to buckle under the exhaustion building within him.

The members of the Order were in the same boat, as sweat beaded their brows from the heat of the rapidly diminishing fiendfyre and the exertion of spellcasting combined with a sort of magical tug-of-war with Voldemort.

Voldemort watched the baby crying, tears falling from his cheeks to the floor below, the familiar dread filling his being as he again contemplated killing the boy. He had run out of options, consequences be damned. He might as well confront whatever killing the boy would bring, otherwise he was going to die with nothing to show for it except two dead parents and destroyed property. And, honestly, quite a shock for the world at large if his contingency plan was enacted.

Remus Lupin stopped his summoning attempts and began to cast a heavy lightning spell, one that the dark wizard recognized and knew he could not block while trying to get ahold of the child again.

###

Voldemort, formerly Tom Riddle, hated himself and what he had become. Killing children in the name of a prophecy? The muggles said that "absolute power corrupts absolutely," and there seemed to be some truth in that after tonight. If he would do this, maybe he did deserve to die. Maybe they were right about him. Maybe he was a monster.

###

Clearing his mind and ignoring the rapidly increasing feeling of dread, Voldemort focused on this self-loathing, then spoke quietly and cast his wand downward.

"Avada Kedavra."

The killing curse flew towards the child and struck true, hitting the child directly on the forehead- arcs of green lightning spreading across his small body from the point of impact.

For a brief instant, the world seemed to still. To all present parties, the last Potter had been killed. Voldemort had actually done it, he had killed the child of prophecy. The Order had failed. Not just their friends- his parents, but him as well.

Then the moment was broken as the curse quickly rebounded off of the boy, slamming straight into Voldemort and blowing him apart into nothing but ash.

The tug-of-war was broken and Harry was summoned straight into the hands of Edgar Bones, who caught him gingerly. Edgar stared in disbelief at where Voldemort had stood only a moment ago, before quickly patting the bawling young boy and rocking him to calm him down. Dumbledore, having completely dispelled the fiendfyre, rushed to Edgar's side along with Lupin and Aberforth.

"The boy, is he okay?" Dumbledore asked quickly, eyeing the floating ash that was gently settling down to the floor through the air, before turning and casting accio on what was left of Moody, summoning him towards him.

As Albus checked for life within the charred and blackened Auror, Edgar cast diagnostic charms on the young boy, frowning as results flashed in front of him. Moody was put into physical stasis once he was confirmed to still be alive, with an audible sigh of relief from both Lupin and Albus. They were unbelievably lucky to have gotten away from the Dark Lord not only alive, but with no casualties.

"He's…he's finally gone?" Lupin asked quietly, breathing heavily, "It seems impossible. We've fought him for so long, and somehow he's just…gone."

Edgar eyed the werewolf wearily before turning to Albus, "Albus, from my admittedly limited healing knowledge, he seems to be physically okay, except for where the curse hit him." He pointed towards the wound, shaped like a lightning bolt, which was bleeding lightly. "There's strange readings around this area, but I'm sure it's because he…"

Edgar looked at the ancient wizard next to him, then to each of those who were still conscious, "…He survived the killing curse. He survived death."

Albus nodded, "Yes…Yes he did." The man felt a lingering trace of magic on the boy, quickly fading. "It must have been the work of his parents, Lilly no doubt."

"How is such a thing possible?" Edgar asked, "The spell seemed to bounce off of him! How did-"

Edgar Bones stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting around the shambles of the burnt, destroyed Potter home. Albus began to do the same, along with Lupin and Aberforth. Something felt very, very wrong to all of them.

Lupin spoke up, "We need to leave, now." He summoned the still stunned form of Sirius and dashed outside the ruins of the Potter cottage along with Harry and the rest of the Order's members. As they left the building, a low rumble emanated from the interior of the house, raising in intensity until the members of the order were brought to their knees, unless they wanted to be knocked down.

And all at once a great white light shot screaming into the sky, tearing the house apart and lifting the plot of land several meters into the air before ceasing and dropping everything back to the ground. Breathlessly, the members of the order groaned as they recovered from being dropped and winded, quickly looking upwards and watching as the light travelled up into the sky, farther and farther away.

"What the hell is that!?" Lupin half-asked half-yelled aloud, as if anyone could answer now considering the air had been knocked out of them not just a moment before.

The Order stared up in awe, truly speechless as the great streak of light decreased in size as it reached higher and higher up into the heavens. It glowed red as it left the atmosphere and steadily approached the crescent moon, before suddenly disappearing behind the moon just as quickly as it had appeared.

The men of the order picked themselves up on shaky legs, all of them exhausted physically, mentally, and magically. They did not know what had just transpired, but they felt secure knowing that they had rescued Harry Potter, the boy-who-survived-death-itself.

Barking dogs and confused shouts from down the road alerted the wizards to the fact that they were not the only ones who had seen that. The wards around the Potter property repelled muggles and concealed magical activity that took place there, but it couldn't conceal whatever it was that they had seen, and Dumbledore especially doubted that there would be enough mind-wiping teams available to scrub this incident from the muggle world.

And why did that appear? He knew it had something to do with Tom Riddle, but he didn't know what it was, or why it seemed to have made its way to the moon. He rubbed his tired eyes; he just needed some rest. They all did. Glancing at the incinerated ruins of the Potter home, he noted that there was nothing left. Just a smoking crater where there once stood a house, where there once lived a young family. He looked to Edgar Bones, hierarch of the Bones family, seeing that he was successfully getting the young Potter to calm down. The child seemed to fitfully fall asleep, cheeks still stained with tears as he did so.

"Albus, we have to go." Aberforth spoke to his brother urgently. Albus looked at him, quickly nodding and pulling out his portkey, an oversized copper horseshoe, that connected back to Order HQ.

"Everyone, grab on."

Making sure to grab ahold of Moody and Sirius, the members of the order all grasped the horseshoe and disappeared from Godric's Hollow, Harry Potter in tow. They had saved the boy, and with Voldemort dead, they had won the war.

Faintly, the crescent moon began to shift in the October sky.

###

Sporting a nasty headache, Dumbledore sat on an upper balcony in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the Order HQ, awaiting the first light to reach the city of London. The ministry had been thrown into chaos overnight upon the death of Voldemort, with many death eaters being revealed and turning on each other for the chance of legal amnesty. Without their master's power and influence, their entire house of cards had crumbled.

He popped a lemon drop into his mouth, savoring the taste of the sweet and sour confection. He needed to get back to Hogwarts and help confirm to the students that it was finally over, that the threat to their world was over. He could already picture the relief that muggleborns all over Britain would feel upon hearing such good news.

In the meantime, he wanted to watch the sunrise. It would be the first dawn of a new era of peace. Truthfully, only time would tell if that was true.

He could pull the strings of the nation and help guide this ship where it needed to go.

A faint light broke the horizon, the beginning of the new morning. Dumbledore stood and grasped the railing of the balcony, watching the sun begin its long journey through the sky. The sun was a source of immense power if one knew how to channel it- and was the source of almost all life on this world. Nearly every culture celebrated it, along with nearly every magical community that he knew of.

He had recently heard of the Muggles finding life in the deepest depths of the ocean, something that he found quite remarkable. They seemed to thrive off of the power of the Earth instead of the sun, as they were so far below the icy waves that no light could possibly reach them, yet they still flourished. Even in darkness, they continued on. He admired that sort of tenacity and believed that perspective would be necessary the next time the wizarding world was fractured like it had been- torn between ideologies.

Turning, he prepared to check on young harry before departing to the school. The boy would need to be placed with muggles for his safety, now that word would get out that he had been responsible for slaying the dark lord. There would be many parties that would seek Harry out for revenge or fame. Out of the corner of his eye however, he saw something that made him do a double take. His jaw fell slack as he turned and saw the sun rise above the horizon.

It was perfectly eclipsed by the moon.

He could see muggles in the streets below begin to whisper amongst themselves, pointing fearfully at the dark sun rising in the morning sky. Alarmed shouts began to ring out from downstairs, members of the Order calling for Dumbledore.

Dumbledore would remember how the warm rays of dawn never touched his skin again.

###

Harry Potter, a Ravenclaw 5th year, stood on the ramparts of the abandoned upper floors of Hogwarts Castle of Witchcraft and Wizardry, watching the unmoving, massive twinkling gems embedded in the all-encompassing ice dome that surrounded Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the surrounding lake and forests. They created fantastical lightshows of multi-colored beams, refracting and dancing across the frigid valley. It was cold, but not unbearably so. A heavy, enchanted school cloak kept him warm.

Harry smiled, leaning forward on the chilled stone of Hogwarts, taking in the beauty of the perpetual ice and vibrant colors of night.

Raising his hand as if to touch the lights twinkling in the night, he whispered,

"…Someday."