Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter characters or plots, but I do however own my original characters, which may or may not be appearing in abundance in this fic. I am making no money off of this, otherwise it wouldn't be on here.

Rating: R, for violence and language in later chapters.

And now...whatever. On with the fic!

The room, if it can be called that, was dark and clammy. Tall, imposing dark figures silently swept up and down the corridor outside of the door. There was no light anywhere, the place crawled with darkness and even darker shadows. If you listened closely, you could hear muffled sobs coming from more than one direction. Despair thrived here, for it was the infamous Azkaban Prison. Every ray of happiness that a person could have was literally sucked out of them as they spent time there.

Small grunting sounds could be heard coming from a corner of the cell, and a pale figure could be seen doing sit-ups. Muscles could be seen rippling across his back underneath his long, mangy hair that was soaked with sweat, despite the chilled air. Looking around at the front of him, it was easy to tell that he worked out. A lot. There wasn't much else to do in Azkaban, after all. Providing you managed to retain your sanity, as this person obviously had, at least to an extent. The person was skinny, evidence of being underfed, but muscles were very noticeable all over his body. His abs were finely tuned into what was commonly called a six-pack, his chest and shoulders were broadened by muscle, and his biceps looked as if they could easily lift a first year or two from Hogwarts, --maybe even second or third years-- each. His hair was pitch black in color, with streaks of premature gray here and there. It went about two-thirds of the way down his back. He had a shaggy beard that went down to his chest, and frown lines were evident on his face. His eyes were a vibrant green and most noticeable of all, was the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, over his right eye. Harry Potter was in Azkaban, and had spent the last eight years of his life there.

Harry was imprisoned for the murders of Angelina Johnson, and a family of muggles that witnessed her murder of Angelina. It was at the end of his fifth year when it happened. Angelina had left Hogwarts due to a family emergency, and was seen arguing with Harry at the station for the Hogwarts Express. That night, she was found dead, along with a muggle family of five nearby, avada kedavra on all of them. Eyewitness accounts told of Harry committing the crimes, and a check on his wand showed that the killing curse was the last spell cast with it. The evidence seemed irrefutable, with the eyewitnesses being none other than Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley. After all, why would Ron lie about such a thing? They were like brothers. There was a problem however, Harry was innocent.

The Weasley's, Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwart's teaching staff, the Ministry of Magic and Wizengamot, and especially the Dursley's, all believed Ron's statement. The Weasley family accepted Percy back into their family, crying that he was right all along, and that they never should have doubted him. Public opinion was mixed, but the majority believed him to be guilty. The ones that believed his plead of innocence were ridiculed and accused as ignorant, blind fools. So they quickly learned not to voice their opinions, and keep their complaints to themselves.

Harry did, however, have a particularly steadfast contingent of loyalists. These were his other best friend, Hermione Granger, his godfather, Sirius Black, his former professor, Remus Lupin, and surprisingly, another former professor, Severus Snape. The four banded together, trying to put their differences aside, though it was difficult at times, for they had a common goal: Trying to prove Harry's innocence.

Hermione knew Harry better than anyone, they had bonded particularly closely during their fourth year at Hogwarts, when Harry's name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire. Ron had abandoned him, and Hermione was all that he had left of his best friends. She believed him incapable of committing such a crime, and after speculation with Sirius and Remus, became more ardent in her stance.

Sirius knew what it was like to be wrongfully accused and imprisoned, and after talking with Hermione and Remus, believed without a shadow of a doubt, that Harry was innocent.

Remus was one of the few people in the wizarding world to keep his calm over all the proceedings, and from his personal knowledge of Harry, and conversations with Hermione and Sirius, also believed that Harry was innocent.

Severus Snape, shockingly, also believed Harry to be innocent. All he had was a sneaky suspicion, and decades of Slytherin cunning, to reinforce his belief. He did, however, have to remain very secretive of his stance, or else Voldemort would likely kill him.

Between the four of them, they managed to keep Harry somewhat informed of news from the wizarding world. Sirius was still being hunted by the Ministry, Remus was living with Sirius at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had taken the History Professor position at Hogwarts, relieving the school and its students of the ever-boring Professor Binns, and Snape was still terrorizing students in the Potions dungeon, as well as acting as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry was interrupted from his workout as a Dementor, one of the few that didn't answer Voldemort's call several years previous, slid a package through a hole in the door separating his cell from the rest of the prison. This happened about once a month, usually packages from his few remaining friends, though sometimes a harmful package that his now many enemies thought would be funny to send to their fallen hero. This package had no return name on it, and he didn't recognize the writing. It was roughly the size of a shoebox, and covered in thick brown paper. It was rather weighty, and Harry was cautious with opening it. The Dementor's wouldn't allow overly harmful packages to reach their prisoners, as they still enjoyed sucking the happiness out of their minds, but they weren't too concerned with minor curses that did little damage. Normally, one wouldn't expect mail and packages to be given to prisoners, but the Ministry of Magic had decided to allow that one simple pleasure to be given to prisoners who still maintained their sanity.

Harry decided to throw caution to the wind, and just get the risk over with. He tore the paper off, and was expecting a curse to hit him in the face. That didn't happen. He was not expecting to see a book. A rather large book, at that. He looked down at it, a spark of surprise glinting in his eyes, though otherwise not showing. He had learned long ago not to show any emotion, and to keep any emotion he had, well under check. It had made resisting the Dementor's easier, though still excruciatingly difficult. He had been helped a lot by Snape, who sent him several large books on Occlumency. Using those, Harry had managed to form a wall around his mind, that was able to keep the Dementor's at bay. As of late, he had let his wall crumble, but still the Dementor's were unable to break him. The reason was simple: The only feelings he had now, were rage, and hatred. The last note he had received from Hermione, a month and a half previous, told how Ron was living rather comfortably off the money he had received from the Ministry, for witnessing Harry's acts of murder. This only reinforced his belief that Ron was paid off to lie about him. He was suffering, because his former best friend's desire for money, overcame their friendship. Hermione had shunned Ron after guessing the same thing, but had nothing to prove it by.

Harry broke out of his thoughts from the past, and looked closely at the book. It didn't look like one that Hermione would send him, so who was the sender, he thought. It was entitled 'The International Compendium of Wizengamot Decrees'. Frankly, it looked quite boring. He was struck with a vague thought of what his godfather and Professor Snape did when they sent him somewhat contraband reading material. They used a charm that would disguise the material, unless Harry spoke a correct password to it. Only then, would its true form be revealed. He thought for a moment, and remembered the password that he always used with them.

"Prongs." He whispered, close to the cover. It worked. A masking charm seemed to fade off of it, exposing the true form of the book. The new title was 'Sacrifices and Rituals to Appease the Gods'. It looked particularly dark, and a good deal more interesting than its masked predecessor. The cover was made of rough leather, and there were metal strips as bindings, held to the cover with rivets. Runes decorated the borders of the cover, several of which he recognized as being from ancient Egypt, notably, the Book of the Dead. He also recognized some as Norse, and Aztecan. He mentally thanked Hermione for sending him books on Ancient Runes to pass the time while he was locked away. He opened the book, and looked at the table of contents.

Forward by Charles Picuns: Pages 1 - 24

Chapter 1 - The Gods and Goddesses: Pages 25 - 76
Chapter 2 - History of Sacrifices: Pages 77 - 100
Chapter 3 - History of Rituals: Pages 101 - 124
Chapter 4 - Sacrifices and Rituals: Pages 125 - 570
Section 1 - Atlantian: Pages - 125 - 187
Section 2 - Aztecan: Pages 187 - 240
Section 3 - Chinese: Pages 240 - 276
Section 4 - Egyptian: Pages 276 - 305
Section 5 - Incan: Pages 305 - 335
Section 6 - Lemurian(Mu, Hiva, Bolutu, Hawaiki): Pages 335 - 374
Section 7 - Mayan: Pages 374 - 410
Section 8 - Roman: Pages 411 - 446
Section 9 - Sumerian: Pages 447 - 480
Section 10 - Toltecan: Pages 481 - 506
Section 11 - Misc.: Pages 507 - 570
Chapter 5 - Appeasing the Gods: Pages 571 - 650

Harry stared at the star that was marking Chapter 5, and turned to page 571. He saw a message that had been scrawled on the page.

Harry, Read this chapter well. You might find something to be useful for your current...predicament. Be wary, do not take the supreme-beings' lightly. I will contact you again if you go through with it. You will know what "it" is when you come across it.

A friend

Harry contemplated the note for a few seconds, and then began flipping through pages, looking for whatever 'it' may be. He went past gods of loyalty, goddesses of love, and many others. Finally, nearing the end of the chapter, he saw one that immediately drew his attention.

Naylajaratim, The God of Vengeance. Little is known about this powerful, but secretive god. Only one sacrifice has been recorded throughout history; it was done by an immensely powerful Mage by the name of Edward Potter, in the 16th Century. He was betrayed by his brethren whom cast a coma-inducing charm on him, then handed him over to a rising Dark Lord by the name of Lusalin. After Potter was awakened by Lusalin, he underwent many months of torture and imprisonment, until a slave of the Dark Lord snuck an ancient scroll into his possession. That scroll contained the instructions for the sacrificial ritual needed to invoke the power of the God of Vengeance. Potter used the instructions, and became the first person in recorded history to do it successfully. He had Naylajaratim on his side, and he brought down vengeance on those that betrayed him.

Harry reread the paragraph over and over to make sure that his eyes weren't deceiving him. 'Edward Potter? I wonder if he's one of my ancestors.' He thought to himself. He thought about it for a few more minutes, before continuing to read.

Naylajaratim is very particular about who He helps, as very few people have been wronged badly enough for Him to pay attention to them. Making a sacrifice to Him is very risky, because if He doesn't approve of your situation, you will be struck down with the terrible wrath that only a God can have. As Edward Potter was the only person on record to have successfully made the sacrifice, we must assume that his situation is the one that Naylajaratim approves of: Betrayed by those closest to you in the deepest manner possible, to the point that you suffer needlessly for a long length of time. You are warned against performing this sacrifice, but if you wish to continue forth anyway, the instructions, copied directly out of the ancient scroll that was given to Edward Potter, and now lies in the Potter Family Vault, is below.

Harry read the instructions over and over, and committed them to memory.

Several hours later, he kneeled in front of a tin bowl that he was usually served food in, that had a good amount of drained blood from him. His wrist was sore from the cut, but had stopped bleeding the moment he finished with the first part of the ritual. He took that as a good sign, and continued with the rest of the ritual. He was chanting in a long dead language that hadn't been heard on earth since his great, great, great, great, great grandfather chanted it in a similar situation. The magic in the air was palpable, and Harry's eyes had turned the deepest color of black that one couldn't begin to imagine. He was only vaguely aware of a horde of Dementors trying to get into the cell. They were being held back by an invisible field of energy so strong that Voldemort himself wouldn't have been able to make a dent in it.

A hurricane strength gust of wind blew through the tiny cell, wreaking havoc on the chanting man. Still he continued. A lightning bolt shattered through the ceiling, exposing him to a torrential downpour of acid rain, and showering him with razor sharp fragments of stone. He gasped painfully as his skin slowly started to melt off of him, and the stone fragments imbedded themselves into his flesh. He continued chanting though, and an earthquake began rumbling underneath, shaking the foundations of the island that Azkaban was situated on. He continued chanting. Suddenly, everything went black for him, as he was drawn into unconsciousness.

Harry awoke in a void that was filled with energy, colored flashes went off all around him like the grand finale of a fireworks display. He wondered where he was, and how he got there.

"You're in my home, young Harry," A voice came from nowhere, and everywhere at the same time, startling him from his thoughts. "As for how you got here...it's simple. I brought you here."

Harry, regaining his composure, asked. "Who are you?"

A low chuckle resounded through the void, "I believe that the mortals call me Naylajaratim, though how they came up with that name is beyond even my expansive knowledge. I firmly believe that one of the other Gods, possibly Atalyia, implanted the name into one of the mortals' minds during his sleep. She would do that just to irk me, though she denies it." The voice paused, as it sensed that Harry had a question. "Speak your question."

Harry looked surprised, but quickly recovered. "Erm, I look how I looked back before I was sent to Azkaban...which was a long time ago...it's safe to say that I look completely different now, though."

The voice chuckled again before responding. "Residual self image, young Harry. You are not here in your physical form, just your subconscious form, so you look how you see yourself in your mind."

Harry nodded, it made sense. "Since I'm here, does it mean that the ritual worked?"

There was a sigh, before the voice continued. "Down to business already? I haven't spoken with a mortal since your great, great, great, great, great grandfather Edward, was here some four-hundred years ago."

Harry looked up sharply from studying his now scar-free arms, "So, he is my ancestor, then?" He asked.

"Yes, The fact that you and he are the only two human's that have called upon me, and gained my acceptance, might be called strange, in the mortal realm."

"So the book was right, then? He was the only person to successfully perform the sacrifice?"

"Yes, Though many, many more tried. But their situation wasn't dire enough to warrant my attention...a spouse cheating on you, a significant other breaking up with you, someone killing your family member...it isn't enough to gain me as an ally."

"I would think that a family member being murdered would be a good reason for vengeance." Harry said.

"That's what the common misconception is. See, contrary to popular belief, I am not entirely a god of vengeance...I do lend my power to those that I accept, so they can pursue vengeance, but there are requirements. It's not just someone that has been wronged in some way, such as the murdered family member...it's more than that. I help with vengeance for those that have been cheated, betrayed by those closest to them, and personally suffered, either physically or mentally, needlessly."

"So you're more of a...god of justice, then?"

"I suppose that would be one way of putting it, though that wouldn't be an entirely accurate title."

"I see."

"Now, we were going to discuss business...the reason I have brought you here, to my 'home', so to speak, is so you can inform of what exactly it is, that you want."

Harry floated through the void, experimenting with propelling himself, before answering. "I want vengeance."

Harry could almost feel the god's smile, as it remained silent for a few moments. "Yes, of course, but be more specific."

"I want vengeance on those that put me in here, and on everyone that betrayed me. I want unparalleled power so that I can break out of Azkaban and begin my hunt, and I want knowledge to use on my hunt. I want my life back."

A roar of laughter echoed through the void, causing Harry's bones to tremble. "That is more like it, young Harry! Consider me as an ally now. I will do what I can to help you in your 'hunt', as you put it."

"Another thing you can do, is stop calling me 'young Harry'. I'm twenty-three years old."

"I'm older than the galaxy you live in. Anything less than ten- billion years old, is but a child to me."

"If you've been around for that long, how is that me and my grandfather are the only ones to have successfully performed that ritual?"

"You're not the only ones...just the only ones in recorded history for this planet."

"This planet?"

"You're not so arrogant, as to think that with all of the expansiveness of space, there aren't any other intelligent life-wielding planets out there, are you?"

"Yes...well...I don't know."

"Very well. There have been others on this planet that performed it, especially back in the days of what you call Atlantis, the Aztecan Empire, and a few other occurrences here and there. But until now, your Edward was the last one to have done it."

Harry awoke from his unconscious state, completely healed from his injuries, and powerful beyond belief. He slowly stood up from the floor of his cell, and saw that Aurors were trying to break through the shield that had been erected around him during the ritual. They looked at him in surprise as he stood, and took a step backward after seeing the look in his eyes. It was a look of unrestrained power. Electric charges danced around the whites of his eyes, and his iris' glowed green. He smiled, though it was without humor. The Aurors began backing away from the cell, as a current of magical power swept across the island, being drawn to Harry's outstretched hands. Clouds began darkening overhead, lightning lit up the sky. Thunder crashed violently, nearly shattering ear drums. It all suddenly went silent as Harry brought his arms down from over his head, and crouched on the floor of his cell. He looked up at the terrified Aurors that cowered across the corridor from him, and grinned maliciously. "It's time for me to leave."

With that, an explosion of green and red flames ripped through the prison, and the island itself, hurtling automobile sized rocks hundreds of feet into the air, and smaller debris all the way back to mainland Scotland. Clouds of smoke rested thickly around the island, but it was thinning out enough to see that there was no Azkaban anymore, and the island was shattered down to water-level, with debris still falling back into the surrounding ocean. There was a lone figure standing on a piece of smoldering rock, looking at the sky with anticipation. Harry Potter was free, and there was only one thing on his mind: Revenge.