Dead Alive, a harry potter fanfic

Some people would never know what it was like, to endure pain for most of their lives. Something to put broken bones and deep lacerations to shame, pain beyond their imagination. Children and adults alike winced at the thought of a scraped knee, or cowered at the thought of their next doctor's appointment, but in all reality, that was nothing. Nothing compared to the excruciating feel of tentacles of fire wrapping around your bones, crushing and jabbing. Acid burning its way through your veins, leaving black masses of dead.

Sprawled on the floor, hair matted with sweat and blood, he thought of pain. Months of the sensation almost made it fitting, the first-hand experience enough to drive the belief to overflow. Summers were never a pleasant occasion, unlike the ones of his friends, but he was glad for it as well. It had been worse before, the pain, pulling his consciousness away every moment, never leaving. It was manageable now, enough to want to live.

Hogwarts.

The one place he found solace, bearer of friends, and a reason to live. Along with his eleventh birthday, came a blessing, one he would forever treasure, it made things matter. [By that time] will had long evaded, putting him on deaths door more than once. Times came when he was far beyond help, and motivation to eat the scraps given during the worst, was no more. Yet he escaped the inevitable, staying long enough to find his destiny.

Friends encased his heart, wrapping and protecting. Staying by his side, they gave him their love, sent their souls to repair his, leaving a new person, not the empty shell. The need to go on and return the protection they granted, he strived.

Suffering through the torture over and over again was worth it, worth enough to bear the lashes. Weeks would pass, and time would fade into [nothing] but a shadow, and living in the moment was not an option. Hope overcame all, the wish to return, to be welcomed with open arms. Sick of the anger, and repulsed by the hate, he was refreshed.

Home was waiting, as were the smiling souls of friends, his family.

Like the aging of a rose the beauty would not last, though, and the terror grew. Dread would creep upon him again, and he would be reintroduced to his personal hell once again.

Startled from his thoughts, the boy herd the sound of a door slamming below, signaling the return of the house's occupants. Abhorrence took over, claiming a place in his mind, festering. Why? Answers for such questions were simple: because he could. It may have been [that] while he was in the house, he was not allowed to have free reign of anything physical, but his emotions were his own.

Pounding footfalls could be heard on the carpeted steps, moving quickly as they could to the top; it was then that he put up his walls. They were built strong in his mind, to protect the one thing he had and could control. No matter what, Harry would always cherish and cling to his feelings.

Curled up on the window seat of the Hogwarts Express, Harry Potter relished in the peace silence brought. Ron and Hermione had undoubtedly arrived before he, and sat in another compartment with Neville, Dean and Seamus. On any other occasion Harry would have felt left out, but this time it was his own doing to be left alone.

Switching positions once again, Harry groaned as a scab on his back caught on the material of his shirt. It mattered not what position he settled in, or how little he moved, it hurt. Well aware of the many gashes and bruises littering his pale skin, the raven-haired wizard tried his best to ignore it.

Vernon generally lightened up on his beatings the closer September came, and this time was no different. Every other year, the obese man was careful not to mar his nephews face, but fate had it that a well place back hand left a great red and blue blemish. Smuggling on of his Aunts lesser-used foundations from the vanity mirror in the bathroom, Harry was forced to cover the mark. Being on of her darker tones used for summer purposes proved to be a problem. Working to cover the bruise wasn't terribly hard, it was the differentiating colors. Wearing makeup on his neck, and all over his face was awkward to say the least.

Startled out of his thinking, Harry jumped as the compartment door slammed open, revealing a quite devilish Remus Lupin. Biting back a yell of pain, Harry jolted forward in surprise. Stiffening, he hoped his ex-professor didn't notice.

He hadn't.

Looking over at the small, bespectacled boy sitting straight-backed on the edge of his seat, he smiled, taking place across from the boy. "Hello there, Harry. How was your summer? Refreshing, I hope," he greeted.

Forcing a smile to grace his lips, Harry nodded. "Yes, it was. Thank you for asking, Professor," he said, "How was yours, Sir?"

"Better then most, I assure you, considering the hardships we have all gone through." Silence elapsed, and Harry found himself under the careful scrutiny of his father's friend. Uncomfortable with the gaze, Harry shifted, and as slight as it was, he still felt the penetrating stare catch. "Excited about your first day back?"

"Yeah, I can't wait," Harry trailed off, eyes going unfocused as he turned to the window.

It was nearly an hour later when the witch with the trolley came by, asking if they'd like anything, that Harry realized he had no idea why Lupin was on the Hogwarts Express. After the witch left, shutting the compartment door with a 'click', Harry turned his attention to the now eating Ex-Professor.

"Professor," Remus looked up, "I was just wondering what you were doing on the train, not that it's a bad thing! But I was just curious," Harry blushed at his unintended, and almost rude wording.

Lupin chuckled, "I was questioning myself when you were going to ask. Albus was in need of a Defense against the dark arts teacher, so I decided to take up the offer."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, a quizzical expression over coming his face, "But, what about the parents? I thought they didn't like the fact that a werewolf was teaching their children?" Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Albus had some things arranged. One of them being a promise to all the concerned parents that I would be trust worthy, and the little fact that your 'dear' potions Professor created a new, better wolfs bane potion that will keep me from transforming completely," Harry looked at him, confused, "It basically means I will have full control of my transformation, though it will be difficult for the first few times, I will be able to teach with out worries."

Harry cocked an eyebrow, "Didn't the other, original, Wolfs bane potion do the same thing?"

Lupin gave a slight smile, "This one's almost the same, just with a few . . . advantages." The brown-haired man laughed lightly at the younger wizards confused expression. "If in dire need, I will be able to actually come out of the transformation completely, even if it is only for a short amount of time. It, according to Severus' theory, should be quite tiring, meaning I will not be able to completely stop the transformation forever, that's something that will probably won't be found how to do in this time and day."

Feeling truly happy for the first time in weeks, Harry smiled a true, bright, happy smile. "That's great Professor!" Remus smiled and nodded.

"And I get a certain privilege to have a quite large, black, dog stay with me in my quarters . . ." Harry's head snapped up in surprise.

"Really?"

Lupin nodded, the smile adoring his face widening at the look of absolute delight on the younger wizard, "What do you think of visiting once in a while?"

Remus really didn't have to ask the question, he already knew the answer. If Harry could have he would have jumped out of his seat and hugged the Professor! This was turning out to be a great day! First, he was going back to Hogwarts, his favorite Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher was back, and his godfather was, though in disguise, staying.

"Is Snuffles here, right now?" Lupin laughed at Harry's enthusiasm.

"He's already at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore thought it best to let him stay for the past few months. You know, with the Ministry and Voldemort after him, he's not safe anywhere else, if truth be told. He will be waiting for the appearance of the train, he'll be sure to see you when we arrive."

Professor Lupin looked down at the watch on his wrist, and then opened his mouth to speak again, "It's about time to get changed into your robes." He watched as Harry nodded, a small smile still gracing his full lips. That's when he noticed something different, "Did you go to the tropics or something? You got quite the tan there."

Harry blushed, looking down, "Err . . . ya, sure." Harry was uncomfortable, he never was a very efficient liar, and probably never would be. Carefully standing up, Harry let out a small breath, trying to hold in a scream as a scab caught on the material of his ratty old shirt. A small trickle of blood began to make its way down the skinny boys back as he moved around to his trunk, retrieving a robe. Shutting and locking the trunk again he stood, thinking about where he should change.

'The bathroom.' He decided, as he knew it wouldn't do any good for Remus to see the many cuts, scratches, bruises, and what not. Looking over to the professor, Harry spoke, "I'm just going to the loo, kay?"

Remus gave the boy an odd look, then shrugged it off as nothing and nodded.

Harry slid out of the compartment, and walked down the train to a single door, unlike the others with hinges that were attached like a normal, un-sliding door. The room had nothing but a simple toilet, sink and mirror, and of course cleaning accessories. Sighing, Harry shut the door, turned the lock and reached for the hem of his over sized shirt. The same annoying scab that had been caught on the shirt beforehand was still stubbornly there, slightly peeled from the original cut, oozing blood at a slowing rate.

It was an agonizing and painful process to lift the shirt from his body, muscles screaming in protest not to be used. A minute later one blood splotched shirt was lying on the floor of the bathroom, soon followed by a pair of ridiculously large pants. Left only in a pair of Dudley's old boxers, strings pulled as tight as could be, Harry took a breath a looked in the mirror.

To put it plain and simple, he looked like crap. Many different sized gashes littered his chest, crossing into designs almost impossible to memorize. Where pale flesh should have been an off white color, it was now either a red, blue, black, yellow, brown, or green, depending on how long ago the bruise was made. Ribs showed enough you could use them as one of those old-fashioned cloths cleaners.

Turning Harry sighed. His back was even worse off then his front. Uncle Vernon had no compassion what so ever about where he landed his hits. It looked like a baby had tried to draw the Mona Lisa, for his back looked nothing like it should have, with all the black and blue, you'd think it was his natural skin color. But that was only the beginning. The skin of his back itself looked like it'd gone through a lawn mower, at least three times. But that paled in comparison to the main attraction, if you could call it that, for the slash that ran from his right shoulder to his left shoulder, trailed down his back, and past his waist line was disgusting to say the least.

The gash could easily have needed 40 or so stitches, but that wasn't possible for the young man to get, as others would come to a conclusion, and if that happened all the work Harry had gone through to hide it would be put to waste. Noticing the trail of blood that streamed from an open edge of the large forming scab for the first time, Harry reached back with quite a bit of difficulty and held it down long enough for the platelets to stop the bleeding.

Having enough of looking at his severed body, Harry carefully grabbed his robe and lifted it over his head, then back down over the rest of himself. After a quick check to make sure nothing suspicious was showing, and that the foundation on his face was still fully intact, Harry left back to the compartment.

Harry met up with Ron and Hermione on his way to the carriages, and was questioned about everything they could think of asking. 'Were the Dursley's civil?' 'Did you do your homework?' 'Did you go any where this year?' 'Did you burn or some thing? Your skins really dark . . .' and so on.

Once they had thoroughly questioned the raven-haired boy they them selves launched into detailed summaries of their own break. Ron went once again to Egypt to visit his brother, and Hermione with him, though, with much begging to parents, and promises not to do anything with each other . . .

Harry had laughed lightly at that part. "And did you?" He asked.

Ron blushed, and Hermione nudged him with her elbow. "Well, we were getting to that part . . . the thing is . . ." Ron looked over to the bushy brown-haired girl for help.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned to face Harry, "Ron asked me to 'Go out with him', and I said 'Yes'."

Harry just smiled, happy for his friends. "That great you two! Congratulations!"

"So your not mad or anything?" Ron asked.

"No, of course not! Why would I be?" Harry kept the smile on his face, though a bit strained.

Ron look relived, "Well, at first we-I- thought you would feel left out or something, you know . . ."

Harry just raised an eyebrow shaking his head gently, something in the back of his mind nagged, waiting for an answer. What it was, he didn't know, but was sure it had something to do with Sirius. Hopefully he'd see the man/dog soon, he was beginning to worry.

During the feast in the Great Hall, while listening to Ron's speech about the Chuddley Cannons, Harry started to feel uncomfortable.

"You okay, mate?" Inquisitive eyes looked down on the smaller boy, concern expressed clearly. Reaching over, Ron put a hand on his best friend's shoulder, asking, "Are you sick?"

Waves of nausea twisted Harry's stomach, bile rising in his throat. "Yeah, just had a little too much to eat, that's all."

Hermione raised a brow. "But you barely ate a thing!"

"I-I, I just haven't felt so well lately. I'll be fine in a few minutes." Turning back to his plate, Harry grimaced as he saw the liver. Groaning, he stood. "I'm going to take a walk to clear my head, be back in a few, okay?"

"Do you want us to come? I mean, we don't mind," stated his frizzy-haired friend.

"No, it's fine. You two stay here, I'll be back in a minute, I swear." Smiling weakly, he turned and left the hall.

Once out of sight and hearing, Harry started off at a run. Skidding into the privacy of the boy's lavatory, Harry started to heave. The taste of dinner and acid filled his senses, sending another bought of sickness to come upon him. Gasping as he finished, Harry spat a thin stream of yellow acid into the sink below.

Emptying all he could out of his mouth, the emerald-eyed wizard was left gripping the edge of the sink, knuckles white, and arms shaking. Trying to get his knees to work, Harry heaved himself up into an almost standing position, instead of bending over the sink sloppily. But that didn't last for long, as black dots invaded his vision, his mind going blank and fuzzy. All he could do was stand still, bracing [himself] as not to fall, and hoping the ground was still beneath his feet.

Harry knew something was wrong when his vision didn't start to clear after a minute, but instead a throbbing in his head started. Just when he thought his mind couldn't get any foggier, everything went numb. Suddenly, the sensation of falling invaded his senses, then nothing.

Waking to a headache was nothing new to Harry, and it was getting a bit out of fashion, but what could someone do in these situations? And how long had he been out? Wouldn't someone have been sent out to seek him if it was too long? Maybe it's only been a few minutes, but he couldn't be sure.

Taking a deep breath, but not deep enough to hurt his battered ribs, Harry stilled, listening for any sound of activity, or a clue to where he was. Silence was his only answer, and the undeniable feeling of not being alone. Surprises had not always gone too well for the boy, and they probably never would, and for that his friends had always been confused.

When his hand twitched, Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. There was something other then the lumpy ground of the boy's bathroom he'd last been in. No, instead a patch of grass, among other forest-related things.

Curiousness started to settle in, and Harry could no longer keep his eyes jammed shut. Opening his eyes would no doubt cause his skull to flair in pain, yet not knowing his whereabouts was just as bad . . .

Cautiously peeking open one brilliant green orb, then the other, Harry held in a gasp. Great trees loomed overhead, their boughs of browned leaves still, menacing. Knobs rose from the bark, the structures unwieldy, gray in the strained light.

Warning bells clamored in his head, sending the headache rocketing. Eyes on his back.

Groaning, Harry hauled his torso off the ground, and into a sitting position. Muscles stiff, Harry felt for any new injuries, and found none. How long had he lain there?

The numbness had left, and old grievances came back with vengeance on their minds. Blinking rapidly, Harry was able to shake off some of the tiredness treading his mind.

Crack!

A branch broke under pressure to his right. Strands of silken hair wavered, a breeze passing, gone as quick as it came.

To his right there was a small glade of browning grass, more trees surrounding it. Left was a small trail, trees growing over it, the branches reaching their limbs over and wrapping around each other in the middle, and in some sort of odd way looking enchanted. The thicket of trees off to each side of the pathway was dense, and forbidding. Straight ahead was nothing more then a dead end, dark and even more frightening then the rest. Only small parts where the trees parted slightly could he see anything beyond, which consisted of even more foliage. Shifting slightly to get a good view of behind him, Harry gasped.

The feeling of another in the area was not too far off. For there stood what looked like a human, but could not possibly be. It was a stone of some kind, with wide glassy eyes, possibly made of a gem, if so, ruby. Who ever made it was for more talented then he'd imaged was possible. The nose was chiseled to perfection, along with the full lips. Searching further, Harry could see that the statue was unmistakably wearing a dress of some sort, yet was masculine.

Struggling to stand, Harry limped towards the figure. Once within a few feet of it, he was sure at one time this thing could have possibly been alive, maybe as some faultless creature roaming the earth. Once again his forehead creased, eyes squinting at the arm of the form, there was something engraved on it.

His breath hitched, and he took pausing steps back, left hand pointed out at the letter of sorts. He'd seen it before, once, though, he wasn't sure where. Stopping roughly 20 feet away, the skinny boy froze in place, gazing in wonder at the thing. An unexpected noise off to his right startled him and his attention away for a moment, setting his mind to other, searching matters.

He didn't even notice at first when tentacles shot out from the statue like ribbons, weaving their way through the air and straight for the boy, hand still out stretched toward the rune. Harry heard the wind whip around in front of him and turned his head back to look in front of his body. Before a single word could be uttered the rope like green vines were seizing him, wrapping around his arms, legs, chest, hips, wherever they could. Constricting painfully against him, stopping all chance of movement. Harry let out a growl, eyes flashing as he thrashed violently.

As quick as they had come, the vines were pulling his in toward the still work of art. Feet dragging through the leaves, leaving twin tracks, Harry was drawn closer and at an increasing rate. By the time he was nearly there Harry was sure he'd meet his doom when he smashed into the rock. But that was not his destiny, as he flew right through the solid surface and down into a tunnel, still wrapped up. Now the rope like things were lifting him, increasing their speed further.

Rocks made up the walls and roof of the cavern, the occasional gemstone or root sticking out of the surface. As the place flashed by, Harry began to wonder if he'd ever get to see the outside world again, or his friends. They would surely be worried if he didn't come back to the feast . . .

Harry was ripped from his thoughts for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as he gradually decreased in speed, and the vines loosened their grip, sending a mixture of pain and relief surging through his abused body. Once

Harry had come to a complete stop, the vines enveloping him released, dropping him to the ground. Harry bit his lip to prevent himself from screaming out as searing pain coursed through his body.

Weakly standing, Harry saw only one thing other then the cave walls.

Directly in front of him stood a single door, heavily made of a rough wood, probably one of the trees back on the surface. What was beyond, Harry hoped to never know, as it seemed unwelcoming, and most likely to 'rip' or 'tear'.

Harry was torn between opening the door, and somehow walking back to the forest clearing. But what would he do once back there? He hadn't a clue as to where he was, and there seemed to be no way but the forbidding path. Decision made, Harry walked, or rather, limped over to the looming door.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Harry slowly turned the handle, and almost just back at the screech the hinges emitted. Light flooded the dark passage in which he stood, casting a shadow behind him. Harry gaped at the room.

The walls glowed emerald green, surprisingly similar to his eye color, and on those fortifications were runes. Stepping into the room attentively, Harry's attention was focused entirely on the ancient writings. Some of the symbols across the rows of them were the same as the one on the statue, causing Harry to wonder what they meant.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry stepped forward, walking deeper into the room, only feet from the text. With a closer look he discerned that a blue light outlined the symbols, and gave them an enchanted look. Some form of magic must have done the workings of this room, no doubt.

Harry wobbled unstably on his feet, his wounds threatening to over take. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Harry clenched his teeth together, praying the nausea would pass. His wish was granted, only to be replaced with black engulfing his vision. Harry wavered unsteadily, feeling too tall and too thin to be standing. It was almost true. Harry waited for the spots to clear, but they never did, sending him back into the world of unconsciousness.

The petite form of Harry Potter fell into the wall, and instead of crashing into solid rock, he was sent into a whole new world.

Stark whiteness was all around, its illuminating aura hiding nothing. A single figure laid sprawled out, body flush with an imperceptible floor, curious gazes looking on from below, their unguided lust burning bright.

Angelic features covered in leather, marred with metal, and silky locks flowing, the creatures waited, for what is to be seen. Luscious lips were licked as a low groan came from the cavernous mouth of their specimen, hot, moist breath creating clouds of fog on the invisible ground in which he lay.

Anticipation flowed through the pure air, nothing disturbing the silence, a single breath drawn was still.

The purpose of waiting was of utmost significance; it could lead to the end of every existence, or possibly lead to the flourishing of a whole new society. A sole being from every race about the known galaxy was summoned; some even came as far as from paradox realities, for they no longer existed. A counsel was set, a solo young human was to be judged, he would live or die, remember of forget. The anticipation only grew as movement was heard over the deafening silence, and emerald orbs showed themselves for the first time.

One of the beings stood, its gender undeterminable, beauty beyond comprehension, long and graceful limbs carrying it to a set of stairs. Nothing in this realm not of living matter was visible, only the feeling of touch, or of familiarity could be a guide. Stretching out its hand, and spreading long elegant fingers, the creature closed its eyes, a ripple of power rushed through the air, passing around the others, drawing gasps from some, while others looked nonchalant.

Bare feet walked on air, and a sweeping cloak swirled in movement. Gliding up to the body of the young human, the being reached out a hand, placing it on the shoulder of the man. A startled yelp filled the air, followed by an outbreak of whispers. With a wave of hand, the magnificent creature that stood before the man silenced the room, yet the mouths of the other continued to move.

"They cannot hear us, little one." The being spoke, a masculine voice flowing over the others consciousness, soothing. Curious lilac eyes questioned, and a gentle laugh rang. "Before I confuse you as I have many before, I am male by your terms," He smiled kindly. "And my name is Galahad, you may address me as such." The handsome creature, now known as Galahad, presented his hand for the other to take, helping him in pulling him up. Skittish eyes flickered from one silenced being to another below his feet, and Galahad took notice. "You needn't be afraid, nothing can possibly happen while I am here, looking after you. Now, before you are presented among those of which you watch so adamantly, I must explain something.

You are no longer in the midst of your own manner, you must not take those others to be as such, and they will not react with kindness if you are to," Galahad gestured to the observers. "They are not of mortal life, most of which you see are creatures you only hear about in fairy tales, something of imagination, a fictional story if you may. You must see that they are very much so existent; they would not hesitate to take you, kill you, or make you one of their own. Humans are a rare species where they are from, well sought after, and one such as yourself is very hard to resist." Galahads deep pools of quicksilver looked in to the boys, freezing him. "Now, in two hours, your time, you will be set before them, judgment will befall you, and the course of your life will be chosen. You will never be bothered with having to come before us past this day, and I bid you good luck, but for now you must prepare."

A journey had begun, its briefness forgotten as the boy looked on in wonder; he could never obtain enough of the nothingness to see, for he wasn't truly seeing.

Galahad led the youth to a break in the seemingly endless realm, into a room draped in black. Marble in which was laid out as flooring shone, Harry could see his own reflection in its glossed surface. As in the great invisible area, everything was a consistent color, this time black. Every wall, floor and ceiling blended together, joining dimensions.

The pair only came to a stop, several moments later, when a door came into view, its gloomy planks standing in yet another vision of precision. Galahad opened the door, yet again by reaching out a hand and sending the pulsating energy. Behind there was another room, this one unlike the former, its walls an eggshell white, and the floors beige. There was an Egyptian style of décor, gold the only other primary color.

Motioning to a set of laid out clothing, Galahad spoke, "These should fit you, little one. I shall leave you to change, and will return when you have been prepared." A swift incline of his head, and he was gone.

Harry stared at the cloths; they were of white and black silk, a flowing robe. Blindingly ashen material made up the one-piece cloak, and a two-inch in width belt of midnight black was to fit his waist. A pair of dark sandals was set to the side; the laces would cross around his calf and to just below his knee.

Sighing, Harry set to taking off his shirt, bracing himself for the familiar, long forgotten pain that accompanied it. Surprise over took his senses when no muscles protested, no wounds reopened, and not a bruises ached. Reaching a hand over his shoulder, the small teen felt the once mutilated skin, and found only old, raised scars. A slight smile graced full lips, and a silent thanks was sent.

The end of the cloak reached just past his knees, brushing ever so slightly against his skin.

Harry waited fifteen minutes before finding his feet growing weary, and took a seat on the ground, careful of wrinkling the robe. On closer inspection, Harry noticed the floor was not just beige, but also held a mirage of swirling colors, all light, so small they were almost undetectable.

Goosebumps rose on his skin, and Harry knew someone was approaching. Hopeful of Galahads return, he stood, legs protesting from lack of rest. His muscles had greatly reduced over the summer; many days of not moving and no food depleted all his strength.

The door slowly opened, and Harry was surprised to see a set of violet eyes staring into his. A small female entered the room, she was slightly taller then him, with an odd purple skin. Bowing, she offered a hand, "I have been sent to retrieve you, and you are to be prepared." Questions of being 'prepared' popped up in Harry's mind, but he was given no chance to inquire as he was led to yet another set of adjoining rooms, ones he hadn't seen before.

With similar furnishings to the last, this room was smaller, and had several different races of people, some cleaning, some sitting and watching. He was directed to a tall man with many scars layered over his face where he was sat down. Not seconds later he felt his hair being wetted.

"You should grow your hair out, it would tame it." Deep and harsh, the voice of the man floated into the air. Harry squeaked when a rather rough tug at his hair was given. "This mess needs to be straightened, I don't care what Galahad says, I'm gonna grow it out." The man was muttering to himself, lifting and inspecting random locks of raven hair. Without warning, Harry began to feel a weight on his scalp grow heavy, not unbearably so, but enough to notice. "Better! Knew it would work."

The once unruly strands of hair atop of his head were transformed into a shimmering curtain of silken locks, reaching to mid-back. In the duration of one half hour men and women alike pampered the green-eyed beauty, his skin glowed from the firm scrubbing it received, and once blood shot eyes were filled with fake tears to moisten.

All eyes were on him as the door opened to reveal Galahad, his silver orbs sweeping, taking in Harry's fresh appearance with approval. Offering an arm to the boy, Galahad smiled, "Are you ready, little one?" Harry chose to ignore the repeated usage of the term 'little one' used by the other man.

Arms linked, the two made their way to where ever the taller of the duo was leading. Harry watched in admiration at Galahad and how his feet never seemed to move, his grace so very high, and the way his chin was held upwards, proud, not arrogant.

Soon they were in the very same room Harry had woken in, if you could call it a room, seeing as there were no discernible walls. The assembly was built of the same life forms, their eyes yet again focused on him. Quite a few looked as though they wanted to rush the room, and ravish the young appealing one before them. Several of the front row occupants looked enticed, some of them making obscene gestures.

Throat dry, Harry rubbed at his chin, a nervous habit from his upbringing, for the most part brought on from constant teasing of his appearance. The silencing barrier Galahad put up had been removed, and Harry was gaining a headache from the constant chatter, most of which he was unable to comprehend.

"We have come together for the first time in four millennia for one decision to be made, a choice which will alter the rein of power for each existence. Years ago a single male was born, his powers were that of myth, never seen before, today he is before us, and the counsel must decide the route of his life. In this human is the power to inherit the supremacy of any single society he chooses, and now is the time for him to accept responsibility," the bodiless voice boomed, startling many of the members of the counsel into silence. "Not in any life time has such a chance arose, and for this young human the decision is not so free as wanted. In the members of the counsel rests the answer, for no knowledge of any culture present runs in the mind of the Chosen One.

"The Chosen One will not only inherit the traits of the culture, but become the very essence of it, the most powerful of all. The time is near; the counsel has one half hour to decide what culture the Chosen One will join. Begin." Wave after wave of voices clashed, frantic yelling erupted, and issues were disputed.

Harry's mind was a land of chaos as the beings fought, he had no right over then rest of his life, no part in what was to become of him. He was as in the presence of his Uncle, nothing, a toy, and a slave in the hands of others. Then next thirty minutes were the worst of Harry's life, worse then any time spent with the Dursleys, worse then any beating he'd received in all his life.

Time was up, and the selection was to be made.

"What has the counsel decided upon?" The disembodied voice filtered through the room once again, retaining all attention.

From the front row, a creature stood, and smirked at Harry, reviling a set of sharp canine teeth. "The human's future has been conversed, and no choice was made. The peoples say kill him, send him away, for he will destroy us all one day." The creature sat, smirk firmly in place, mocking all who dared to look upon him in unapproved abhorrence.

Bile rose in Harry's throat, a wave of sickness washing over him. He wished he was elsewhere, any place other then this, far away. No such fortune would become of the Boy-Who-Lived, as the voice came again, this time whispering in his ear. "You will find peace, little one, He will take you, and you will become one of His." All was silent again in the mind of Harry Potter, even if so very much noise was made on the outside.

With out warning on of the creatures in the back row stood, a wave of power gliding out into the crowed. "You will not waste such power, and since none of you imbeciles will accept it, I will." He made his way to Harry, eyes intent on capturing the boy's very soul.

Fear rose, grasping him as the creature drew near; it's magnificent wings inches from the ground. Harry tried to back away, but an invisible wall blocked his path, forcing him to face the Akushi.

Pale digits sought out, cupping the boys face in his right palm, meeting emerald depths. "So young, and yet you have seen so much. You, I chose to be my heir, do you accept?" An ageless beauty, tall and proud, stood before it's opposite, small and altruistic.

Thoughts spun, forming a web of confusion, a puzzle of endless banter. Mocking, his judgments were; they sang of how weak he was, how he could never be great, not like this being.

"I do," Harry whispered, shaken. A flair of sickening cruelty passed through the demon's eyes, and Harry knew of his mistake. The Akushi was a bittersweet race, attracting innocent beings to love them for their charms and false promises.

Smirking, the Akushi plucked his hand from the young wizards cheek. "Seeing as you have decided," he started, "you will follow me back to my realm." Harry sent a confused look. "Do you truly expect to be living back on earth? Humph, I never would have thought humans to be so incompetent."

Before Harry could reply, he was being pulled from the enclosed area by the neck of his shirt, and out a whole new door.

Black skies stretched out for miles upon miles; out over and across the horizon, red flames promising pain paced the placid plain. Smoke filled Harry's lungs, and a cough began to build. Wanting to be silent, and keep the peace, he kept it in; swallowing it back down.

No moon filled in the darkened lands, and only a few far off stars twinkled in the distance.

Craning his neck to see around the other side of Rauh, Harry gasped. Not more then 1,000 meters ahead, was a castle of a design he had never encountered, the ancient palace was beautiful in its own right, but still filled with a foreboding atmosphere.

As they approached, the grand gates opened. The very make of the wrought iron was awing, with black thorns of hell climbing and twirling together.

"Quit your gawking, and move," snapped Rauh, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him none too gently towards the inner court. "From now on you will only answer to me," the demon began to tell, "I don't care if your left for days on end, I don't want you associating with any other beings in this realm with out my permission, got that?"

Fear stricken to the core, the raven-haired youth nodded, a quick 'yes, sir' was demon's only answer.

As they walked, Harry studied his surroundings, trying to memorize all the passages they went through, and the doors they entered once they were inside of the main building. He counted twenty-three right turns and fifteen left. It was a labyrinth of indefinite chances, and only one way to escape.

As he was lead further and further into the building, Harry thought back on his last few years at Hogwarts. Of all the trouble he got in with Voldemort and the countless other misadventures, he wasn't as surprised as he should have been to be in such a situation. Depressing thoughts started to fill his mind, ones of never seeing his two best friends again, or his Godfather. Professor Lupin's last conversation with Harry had truly raised his hope of having a normal year, one where Sirius wasn't running from the Ministry, hiding in caves.

Deep in thought, Harry never noticed when they entered a rather large room, or when Rauh started talking. "… stay here until I come to fetch you. For one year you will reside in this room, and pending on how well you please me in your new abilities, I may think of upgrading."

Harry shook his head, befuddled. "I have to stay in here for a year?"

Rauh backhanded him sharply, glaring into his eyes. "You will never talk back, not to myself or any other, understand?"

Bowing his head, Harry nodded, "Yes, sir." Face throbbing, Harry knew the next year would be the longest of his life.

-One-year later-

Harry landed hard on the ground, jagged rocks digging into his lower back, grinding against old and new welts. Why did the demons have to be so damn careless? This wasn't the first time they'd dropped him on top of something less then comfortable. But now was not the time to be thinking about useless little things, especially things such as his own well-being, though. He could die, and then be back within the hour. Looking around at his current position, Harry groaned.

He was sitting in the center of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Now, normally that would not really matter, if it weren't for the hundreds of eyes watching him. Fourteen of the eyes were situated on brooms, looking down at him in wonder. Just great, he just happened to interrupt a Slytherin/Gryffindor match.

Groaning, Harry pulled his body off the ground, mumbling about 'Stupid demons, can't resist throwing poor little Harry around! No! They think its funny to have a broken tailbone!' Grumbling, the raven-haired Akushi rubbed his aching backside, painfully aware of all the people watching as he did. 'I wonder what time line I've been sent to this go 'round?'

Taking a look around, Harry noticed a younger then remembered Dumbledore walking out to greet him, and promptly growled. Searching the faces of all the Quidditch players, emerald orbs narrowed. "Just bloody wonderful! When I get back up there I'm going to kill you bastards!" Sitting only meters away was a taller replica of him, hazel eyes looking down curiously. His father.

End Chapter One.

A/N: This will be the only author's note held within these chapters, and is only here to give important information.

- The plot of the story depends on the reviewers, if there are any.

- Any and all flamers are welcome, seeing as I enjoy a good roast.

- A lot of information was left out in the prologue, and will be reveled with time.

- This chapter was by far one of my worst works, and I only hope if you find any mistakes, you can point them out, please. Thank you for your patience, and I only wish to see someone enjoying the work I put forth.