Champion of Light

Harry Potter lived a particularly unfair existence, in his opinion. Orphaned at an extremely young age, unable to even remember his own parents; their smiles and warmth, or their love for him. He was taken in by his oh so loving relatives, the Dursleys, which doesn't sound that bad, and to everyone else looking in at number four Privet Drive, they'd see only a normal, caring family. It's on the inside where things change, and the true nature of Harry's life is laid bare.

Harry had faced neglect at the hands of his aunt and uncle ever since he could remember; they vastly favoured their own son and Harry's cousin, Dudley Dursley. Where Dudley got plate loads of food and any toys he wanted, Harry was frequently sent to bed without having eaten anything, and given the bare bones of possessions; he currently only owned a single set of clothes, hand-me-down clothes from Dudley that were five sizes too big for Harry's small, malnourished frame. And when he says bed, what Harry really means is the tiny cupboard under the stairs, where he has slept every night that he's been living at the Dursley's home — not his home, no, the Dursley's home; they'd made that very clear to Harry. As he said, his life was particularly unfair.

The most recent example of this unfairness happened just that day, when the entire family and one of Dudley's friends took a trip to the zoo. It was Dudley's birthday, and the plan had been to leave Harry at a neighbour's house, but Mrs. Figg had had an accident and broken her leg the night before. Despite Dudley's fake bawling and shouting, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were forced to take Harry along to the zoo, afraid of what might've happened if he was left unsupervised at the house.

At first, Harry was quite excited. He got to see a lot of things he never would've been allowed to normally, but then the incident happened. When visiting the Reptile House, the glass of the boa constrictor's habitat vanished into thin air, right as Dudley was pressed up against it. The sudden lack of this tangible barrier sent Dudley to tumbling into the habitat, where he came face-to-face with the giant snake he'd previously been tormenting. Fortunately — or unfortunately depending on who was asked — the boa constrictor preferred to take its chance at freedom rather than eat Dudley. This is the part where it gets unfair.

It was true that Harry had been close by when the glass disappeared, having been shoved away from the exhibit by Dudley, but how on Earth did that lead to Uncle Vernon blaming Harry for what happened? It made no sense! How was he supposed to have made the glass disappear? Harry tried explaining this, but in his hurry, he'd made the mistake of mentioning the forbidden word — magic — which made Uncle Vernon's anger skyrocket. Uncle Vernon shoved Harry into the cupboard beneath the stairs as soon as they got home, promising him that he would not be released for a long time, and neither would he be receiving much in the way of food during this punishment. Yeah, as Harry was saying, his life was very unfair.

Laying in his cupboard much later, past midnight if he were to guess, Harry was still wide awake, angry and frustrated. He hated his life. He hated his relatives for how they treated him. He hated that the life he could've had with his actual parents was stolen away by the car crash they died in. Releasing a massive sigh, Harry rolled onto his side but knew that he wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon, it didn't matter either; he'd have plenty of time to sleep now that he was going to be locked inside his stupid cupboard for who knows how long. It's not like there was much else to do in there.

"Why is my life like this…?"

Harry had long since lost count of the number of times he'd asked that question. Whatever Gods were out there — if there were Gods — either couldn't hear him, or were watching his life with a big bucket of popcorn at their side. Why else would they make someone suffer like he does if not for entertainment?

Kicking his thin, worn-out blanket away, Harry abandoned his attempts to get to sleep. What he needed was something to distract him, to take his mind off his shitty existence. One thing came to mind, and Harry knew where to get it, but after everything that had happened that day, it would be extremely risky. If he was caught then Uncle Vernon might well keep him locked in the cupboard forever. At least then he wouldn't have to do any chores, he thought, deciding the risk was worth it.

Quietly removing one of the wooden panels of his cupboard, Harry reached out and unlocked the bolt on the cupboard door. That removable panel had been a godsend from the moment Harry discovered it, allowing him to sneak out when the Dursley's were asleep to get food, except Harry had a different destination than the kitchen in mind tonight. Climbing into the hall, Harry paused a moment, relaxing once he heard the sound of Uncle Vernon's snoring echoing through the house. He tip-toed up the stairs, skipping over the seventh step which always creaked. Once he was at the top, he stopped again, waiting until he heard his uncle's continued snores, treating them like the green light on a traffic light, letting him know it was alright to keep going.

Harry very slowly opened the door to Dudley's second bedroom and slipped inside, closing it just as carefully behind him, waiting for the soft click of it shutting before letting out the breath he'd been holding. That was the hard part done, getting up here without waking any of the Dursleys. Harry looked around the bedroom bitterly, glaring at the unused bed. Any normal family — as the Dursleys insisted they were — would've had everyone sleeping in proper bedrooms, but not them. In the Dursley's eyes, Harry had to sleep in the cupboard because Dudley needed this spare bedroom for all his discarded and broken toys. It was yet another example of how unfair Harry's life was.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, Harry was supposed to be trying to distract himself from his anger, not inflame it. Looking away from the scattered toys to the desk, a smile came to Harry's face when he laid his eyes upon Dudley's computer. This was the reason he risked lifetime imprisonment to sneak up here.

Though Harry had very little enjoyment in his life, there was one thing that never failed to brighten his mood, and that was playing video games. When Dudley first got the computer, Harry had been much more excited about it, though he had to keep this hidden. He would sneak out most nights to play on it, and he never failed to have something new to play because Dudley got bored of games quickly, and was always crying to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for new ones. For once, Dudley's spoiled upbringing benefited Harry, but no matter how many games Harry tried, there was one that he kept going back to.

Reaching beneath the bed that should've been his, Harry dislodged a loose floorboard and took out a game called Medieval Kingdoms. He kept it hidden there so that Dudley couldn't break it. Without a doubt, it was Harry's favourite game ever, way ahead of its time, and he vibrated where he sat as he impatiently waited for it to load up on the computer.

What character should he play as this time, he wondered. Maybe he should continue his latest play-through as the Sword of Avalon? A knight renowned for his courageous feats. Or was he in the mood to start all over again? He could take on the role of king, and work to make his kingdom prosper, and strong enough to defeat its enemies. Harry could do it all, that's why he always got so lost in this game, imagining — and wishing — that he was living the life of his characters.

By the time the game finally loaded, Harry had come to a decision. He picked neither a knight nor a king, but instead, he chose to load into the save file of his longest played character - the Grand Sorcerer. OK, the name wasn't very good, but Harry thought it sounded cool at the time. Anyway, loading into his magic tower, his home base, Harry controlled his character to do the same thing he always did whenever he loaded into this save, and that was to say hello to his familiar, the fearsome dragon — Spyro. Contrary to its rather small namesake, Harry's familiar was a giant purple dragon, who unleashed a mighty roar upon Harry's greeting.

For a moment, panic gripped Harry as he'd forgotten to check that the computer's sound was off, but thankfully it was. His mind flashed to the image of Uncle Vernon storming in, face redder than a tomato and moustache twitching in rage. That wouldn't have been a fun time, but watching as his character cast a teleportation spell, Harry grinned knowing he was breaking another one of his uncle's rules; do not mention or partake in anything out of the ordinary. Uncle Vernon never would've bought Dudley this game if he knew it contained all sorts of abnormal magic and creatures — dragons were just the start of it (but they were definitely Harry's favourite). This was one of the reasons his Grand Sorcerer character was his longest played character; Harry loved magic.

Sometimes, Harry liked to imagine what his life would be like if magic was real, and if he was a sorcerer or a wizard. It could explain some of the weird stuff that happened to him, like the time he ended up on the school roof when running away from Dudley's gang. Imagine all the adventures he could go on! Sadly, he knew magic wasn't real — Uncle Vernon was very insistent on that.

As the hours flew by, Harry forgot that he'd ever been angry; it bled away as he lost himself in the adventures of his character, fighting to unseat a corrupted king that was ruining the lives of his people. Harry's rebellion started small, but grew quickly, and soon he was charging through the doors of the throne room, demanding that the king abdicate the throne. Hands sweating, almost slipping off of the computer mouse, Harry prepared for any quick actions he might need to take, a shield spell queued in case of a last second surprise attack.

There was an audible click. Harry scanned the screen frantically, searching for the enemy that had just cocked a crossbow. He looked all over the throne room but saw no one, even using a search spell came up blank. Harry suddenly tilted his head and leaned back from the screen, blinking as he realised something. Where did the click come from? Wasn't the sound turned off?

"You…"

Harry leapt out of his seat, heart in his throat as he spun to face the bedroom door. Standing in it was Uncle Vernon, and he looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; face redder than Harry had imagined it would be — narrowed, hate filled eyes glaring — and his moustache twitched so much that it could've been a caterpillar stuck above his lip.

"U-U-Uncle V-Vernon," stuttered Harry, backing away towards the window. How long had he been playing for? It was still pitch-black outside, moon high in the sky, so it couldn't have been that long. But long enough for him to get so lost in the game that he hadn't heard his uncle wake up. Harry berated himself; he was usually so careful, always keeping an ear out for any noises in the house.

"How dare you…" said Uncle Vernon furiously. He stepped further into the bedroom, closing the down behind him. "After what you pulled today… How dare to break out of that cupboard and steal Dudley's things."

"I-I haven't stolen a-anyth—"

"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon whispered with rage. He must not have wanted to wake Aunt Petunia. "After everything we've done for you — taking you in — feeding you — clothing you — and you repay us with this disrespect! What gives you the right?!"

Harry wanted to point out that they barely fed him, and it was a stretch to say they'd clothed him, but Uncle Vernon looked like a volcano about to explode; nothing good would come from saying that stuff right now, no matter if it were true.

"What gives you the right to sneak around our house at night, whilst we're asleep, like you're some thief? What have you been stealing, aye? Selling our hard-earned belongings to your criminal friends! Dudley's always going on about his missing toys. That was your fault, wasn't it?"

Harry vehemently shook his head, cowering into a corner. "N-No, Uncle V-Vernon."

Harry had never taken a single one of Dudley's toys, if hiding that single video game didn't count. Dudley was always misplacing things, or breaking them and hiding them so that he wouldn't get in trouble.

"You're lying to me," snarled Uncle Vernon, unconvinced even as Harry pleaded that he was telling the truth, and apologising profusely. "Looks like I need to teach you about what happens when you try and lie to me, boy."

Uncle Vernon took a menacing step towards Harry, who was cornered against the window and the bed with nowhere to go.

"N-No, please!" begged Harry. "I'm s-sorry! I won't l-leave my cupboard a-again, I promise!"

"Oh, you're right about that, boy. Once I'm done with you, you won't want to leave that cupboard ever again."

Faster than anyone would expect a man of Uncle Vernon's size to move, he lunged forward and made a grab for Harry. Thanks to years of avoiding Dudley's attacks, Harry's managed to dodge, acting purely on his instincts. He scrambled sideways onto the bed, crawling along it with the intention of running for the door, but Uncle Vernon recovered quick.

"You're not going anywhere!" shouted Vernon, too angry now to worry about waking Petunia and Dudley. He got between Harry and the door, cutting off the only escape route.

"Please, U-Uncle Vernon! I'm sorry!"

Vernon lunged again and missed, but he was smart enough to retreat momentarily to make sure Harry couldn't slip past him to the door. Harry couldn't see a way out, running his eyes around the bedroom which was only dimly lit by the light coming from the computer. The game was still going, and plastered across the screen was the giant words 'You Died'. Harry's character had been killed without his input telling it what to do — looks like the corrupt king would live to see another day.

Harry looked out of the window, unable to see the ground from bed because of the angle. How much would it hurt if he jumped, he wondered. A stupid idea, he knew; they were on the first floor, but the look on Uncle Vernon's face promised a great deal of pain as well. Which one would hurt the least?

"Come here you freak!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

Thick, sausage-like fingers grabbed at Harry's legs and he tried to kick them away. He was successful at first, but then Uncle Vernon roared and managed to clasp his hands around each of Harry's ankles, pulling him closer and there was nothing Harry could do but struggle.

"I've got you!" said Uncle Vernon, smiling evilly.

One of Harry's ankles was released and he thought he might be able to fight out of his uncle's grip, that was until Uncle Vernon delivered a devastating punch to Harry's ribs. All the air inside Harry's lungs fled his body, leaving him winded, and unable to beg for mercy as his uncle delivered another punch, then another.

"Take — that — you — little — freak!" said Uncle Vernon triumphantly, each word accompanied by a strike.

Even in Harry's horrible life, it was rare for him to receive a beating like this. Harry was terrified, trying and failing to shield himself as tears flowed down his face. The only thing he could see was Uncle Vernon's cruel smile; the enjoyment on his face made Harry think his uncle had been wanting to do this for a long time.

 "P-PLEASE—"

Harry's attempt at begging was silenced by a punch his head. It was the first of Uncle Vernon's punches to hit him there, and it dazed Harry something terrible, emptying his head of all thought, leaving only crippling fear. He was going to die; his uncle was going to kill him.

Harry didn't want to die.

A strange sensation bubbled up inside Harry. It felt like body-wide pins and needles, going from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Before he knew it, the sensation was overwhelming the pain caused by Uncle Vernon's continued beating, growing more intense every second.

Is this what dying felt like? Harry's vision blurred from the tears in his eyes. He didn't want to die. There was so much he wanted to do; he wanted to leave the Dursleys and see the world, experience everything there was to experience. He couldn't die like this.

The tingling reached a completely new height, and suddenly, it withdrew from the far reaches of his body, leaving them numb as it gathered at Harry's heart. It condensed, feeling like a ball of electric in his chest, humming like a second heart, then it shattered and raced down each of Harry's arms to his hands.

"NOOOO!" Harry screamed, pushing his hand out towards his uncle. Something impossible happened. The electric sensation shot out of Harry's hands and collided with Uncle Vernon, sending him flying backwards with violent force. A wave of invisible energy washed over the room, emerging from Harry. Uncle Vernon crashed into the door harder than any of the punches he'd delivered; his head hit the door and left behind a thick splash of blood as he crumpled to the foot of the door where he remained unmoving.

Harry panted heavily, breaking into spontaneous coughs, and staring at his own hands in horrified disbelief. He looked back up to his uncle, then to the blood on the door and his terror grew. Had he just killed his uncle? But … But he hadn't meant to! It wasn't his fault! It was that … that … whatever that feeling was! Hyperventilating, Harry could only think about how he was going to be arrested and forced to live the rest of his life in prison.

A popping noise dragged Harry out of his spiralling thoughts. The computer was flickering, the game's death screen changing every second between static and random fragments of colour. A burning smell wafted up Harry's nose, and out of nowhere, the computer exploded into a shower of sparks. They spread across the entire room, forcing Harry to shield his face, and when he next looked, the curtains and carpet were on fire.

Fresh, untamed fear erupted inside of Harry as the fire spread ridiculously fast. The heat washed over him next, and smoke began to amass on the ceiling. He didn't understand, they hadn't even touched the computer — how did it explode?

Leaping off the bed and running to the door, Harry tried to pull it open but it wouldn't budge; Uncle Vernon's unconscious form was blocking it from opening. Harry knelt down and shook his uncle, desperately trying to wake him up.

"UNCLE VERNON! WAKE UP! PLEASE, WAKE UP! THERE'S A FIRE!"

Harry shook his uncle, but nothing he tried could wake him up. The fire was spreading quickly behind them. Harry tried again, and when that didn't work, he tried to move his uncle out of the way, but his small, malnourished body proved too weak to move someone of Uncle Vernon's hulking size.

The door handle rattled, and a shrill voice shouted from the other side of the door. "Vernon? What's going on in there?"

"AUNT PETUNIA!" shouted Harry, banging on the door.

"What are you doing in there? Where's Vernon—"

"THERE'S A FIRE! PLEASE HELP! WE'RE TRAPPED!"

The fire from the curtains jumped to the bed, igniting it all in one go. Harry was forced to squint, the blaze growing too bright and hot.

"A FIRE?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S A FIRE…"

But that was all Harry heard as the smoke descended, invading his lungs and making him cough uncontrollably. He barely registered the door handle rattling again, losing strength in his body and collapsing to the floor.

"No… Please…" Harry sobbed, his tears evaporating before they could even leave his eyes.

The inferno grew wilder, licking at Harry's arms, leaving behind blistering burns as he pressed himself further up against the door, trying to keep away, but there was nowhere to go. Staring into the flames, Harry could almost make out a dreadful face grinning back at him. He swore the flames then transformed into hands trying to grab a hold of him and drag him into them.

Harry could hear nothing except the thundering of his own heart and the snapping, crackling pops of the fire consuming the world around him. If Petunia was still there, he couldn't make out her voice, or feel her pushing against the door. Uncle Vernon's pyjamas caught fire, and as horrified as Harry was supposed to feel for his uncle, all he could think about was how the same thing was going to happen to him.

The flames finally consumed Harry, and they brought with them an incomprehensible amount of pain. All of the nerves in Harry's body screamed out, and Harry opened his mouth to scream but his throat was as dry as a desert. He quickly closed it again when the fire leapt inside, burning his tongue and throat. His eyes were the next thing to hurt, feeling like they were being melted inside their sockets, and closing them did nothing to help.

'Please… Please stop…' he gasped, those being the last words he could form before he lost the ability to speak. Harry sent his pleading out as prayers to whatever higher power was out there. But these prayers were no longer as they'd been before.

'Please… No more… Just let me die… Please! Just let it end!'

Harry felt like he'd been in the middle of the fire for hours. His very soul was burning to ash. It was turning him crazy, burning away all of his memories. Harry tried to escape the excruciating pain by diving into one of his last remaining memories, but the only thing he could think about was his parents, and how he'd soon get the chance to meet them in some twisted way.

This was the end. The tale of Harry Potter, the orphaned, neglected boy had reached its tragic, premature end. This almost hurt more than the fire, knowing that he'd left the living world without getting the chance to experience any of it. His desire to die and be rid of the pain clashed like a sword against his deep-seated desire to live!

Something weird flowed through Harry's burning body. He didn't recognise it at first, but it was the same sensation as before, when he'd pushed Uncle Vernon away. The difference this time, it was unable to overwhelm the agony Harry was going through. What was it even going to do? Push away the flames like it had pushed away his uncle? The entire room — likely the entire house — was on fire, what would that accomplish? Harry would never find out as the pain suddenly grew tenfold, like a shielding force had suddenly been taken away and he was feeling the full force of the fire for the first time.

The last thing Harry would know of the world as it faded away was how it felt to be burned alive, and the regret of losing his unlived life. Then everything went black.

{ ⚔︎ }

"Walker! Get me more hoses on this fire!"

"We haven't got anymore, Captain!"

Cursing loudly, the captain aimed his hosepipe directly into the middle of the burning house, but the water had no effect, just like all their efforts since they'd arrived on the scene some hours ago. Scanning his gaze around his team of firefighters, the captain checked that they were alright, and besides their clear tiredness from fighting this stubborn inferno, they seemed fine for now.

In all his years as a firefighter, even way back when he was a new recruit, he'd never seen a blaze as violent or persistent as this blasted house fire. No matter what they tried, the flames fought back, roaring at them in rage for daring to try and extinguish it. Honestly, what could have caused such a deadly inferno?

"What the hell is this fire?" shouted Walker, his second in command, mimicking the captain's exact thoughts.

"Are you sure the gas was turned off?" yelled another one of the firefighters, Alberts.

"They were!" confirmed the captain. It better have been. "Where the hell are those other fire engines?!"

Every local fire engine was at the scene already, as well as ambulances and police. The entire street had been evacuated, including the mother and son that lived in the house; they'd been taken to hospital as a precaution, but not before the woman informed them all that her husband was still inside, as well as her nephew, a young boy. Strangely, she'd been massively more concerned for her husband, screaming for them to save him, whilst barely saying anything about the boy. The captain summed it up to shock and grief; everyone knew there was no way either the man or boy were alive inside the house.

"Last update said they were thirty minutes out!" shouted Walker, answering the captain's question.

"That was an hour ago!" yelled back Alberts, grunting as he fought with the hosepipe he was aiming at the house.

It hadn't quite been an hour, but the captain agreed that it had been more than half an hour since the last radio update. They'd needed those extra forces here an hour ago; the fire had only increased in intensity since they began fighting it. It was a miracle it hadn't spread to the neighbouring residences.

"Walker, take the hose!" commanded the captain, and Walker hurried over. "I'm going to radio in and find out where our damn backup is! Focus on keeping the fire contained! We can't allow it to spread!"

His firefighters shouted their agreement. The captain skirted around the blazing house, but as he got to the front, there was an alarming scream. Flames lanced out of the front window, catching the arm of their newest recruit. She reared back, but her protective gear was on fire. Acting fast, the captain ran to the truck and grabbed the foam, using it to spray her down, but to everyone's horror the fire would not be extinguished.

"GET HER OUT OF THAT GEAR! NOW! AND DON'T TOUCH THE FIRE"

Staring into the inferno as a part of his team split off to follow his orders, the captain couldn't help but question what kind of infernal abomination had been unleashed upon them. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light on the lawn. The captain feared that more of the fire had lashed out; if that continued to happen, they could say goodbye to trying to contain this thing, and then they'd really be in trouble.

Forgetting about radioing, the captain prepared to fight tooth and nail to prevent the fire from spreading further, though what he found on the front lawn made him pause. It was a ball of flames separate to the house, but it wasn't catching anything else on fire; that was because it was floating, sitting there like the world's most dangerous disco ball. The captain wasn't the only one in disbelief, some members of his team had been distracted from the house by the impossible phenomenon.

Suddenly, the ball of fire expanded, causing a few shouts of surprise and fear, before it shrunk in on itself. A new sound erupted from the ball, a beautiful song that took the tension away from the captain, and those around him. It was one of the most beautiful, relaxing sounds they'd ever heard. Another flash of light forced everyone to shield their eyes, and when they turned back, the ball of fire was gone and in its place was an old man and woman. The former had what looked like a large, colourful tropical bird sat on his shoulder.

"Oh, Albus!" cried the woman, seeing the house on fire. She covered her mouth with her shaky hands. "The house … Harry!"

The old man stared intensely into the house, as if searching for something in the flames. "I know, Minerva. We must work fast — Fawkes, please stop the fire from spreading any further."

The tropical bird trilled and flapped its massive wings, taking off to fly a circle around the house. The flames immediately recoiled, as if scared of getting near the bird. In less than a minute, this bird had somehow done more to combat the fire than all the firefighters on the scene.

The old man, apparently named Albus, took out a stick of all things from his sleeve. The ridiculousness of this action snapped the captain back to the reality, and he stormed towards to the elderly pair, speaking loudly. "Hey! You two! I don't know where you came from, but you can't be here! That fire's out of contro—"

Whatever else the captain planned on saying was cut short by a wave of the old man's stick. A foreign calm washed over the captain's mind, bringing with it a sensation of euphoria. The world's problems melted away. The raging inferno no longer seemed like such as big deal — they didn't need to do anything about it — the old man would take care of it, they just needed to stay out of the way. All the firefighters walked away from the house, joining the paramedics and police on the street as they collectively waited for the old man to put out the fire.

Albus Dumbledore lowered his arm, having finished putting every muggle at Privet Drive under a strong confundus charm, ensuring that they'd stay out of his and Professor McGonagall's way. With that done, he directed his wand — the mighty elder wand of legend — at the house fire and began a battle of wills with the malicious flames. Fawkes's constant singing was a great help, and together they were able to push the inferno back. It tried to resist, attempting to lash out and spread — to run away. Albus wouldn't let it.

With a pathetic, crackling whimper, the flames that had plagued number four Privet Drive for the last couple of hours finally died. What remained was a blackened husk of a home. Fawkes stopped circling and dived into one of the blown-out windows.

"Albus…" said McGonagall anxiously. "What happened? What could have caused this?"

"I do not know, Minerva. That fire, it was incredibly strong — malevolent magic flowed through it. I haven't felt such a power in many years." Albus had known the fire was magical in nature the moment they'd arrived, sensing the power within it and the desire it had to destroy. The last time he'd felt something like that was when combating Tom's fiendfyre during the war.

McGonagall gasped. "Dark magic? You don't think it was his followers, do you?"

"No, they would not have been able to attack the house." Albus shook his head, quite sure of his words. "The wards would have stopped them, but I feel that there is something wrong — or rather, something absent."

Albus walked over to the boundary line of the house, followed closely by McGonagall, who kept looking into the house. Crouching low, Albus pointed his wand, casting some unseen and complex magic. "The wards are still functional, though they should not be this weak. Young Harry's presence at the house alongside his aunt should have been charging them these past ten years. What could have caused this … unless … they've expended their stored power…"

McGonagall continued to look between Albus and the house, thinking about the boy they'd left there that Halloween night all those years ago. "I'm going to speak to the muggles. Maybe they know what happened, or where Harry Potter is."

Albus nodded, saying nothing as she left and he continued to examine the wards. They were very powerful; Lily Potter had spent a long time creating them to ensure that her son would survive if Voldemort found them, which he sadly did. What could have happened to leave them in such a pitiful state?

Albus was a smart man — everyone always said so, so it must be true. He had an idea — a terrible, dreadful idea — of what might've happened. His sad eyes landed on the destroyed house as he prayed to magic that he was wrong.

McGonagall came rushing back, more frantic and distressed than when she left. "Albus! Oh, it's terrible! The muggles … they say that two of the people living here were taken away to a hospital … but … there were still two people inside when the house went up in flames!"

Albus stood up, his old knees aching, and reached out to comfort his longtime friend. In a fashion most unusual for Minerva McGonagall, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing into his purple, star-dotted robes.

"They say…" McGonagall tried to continue, being interrupted by her own choked cries. "They say … that Vernon Dursley and … and … Harry Potter was still inside! Oh, Albus. Please tell me it isn't true!"

Albus dearly wished that he could do just that, but it aligned with his theory of why the wards were currently so weak. Harry must have been trapped within the fire, and the wards, they were doing what they were designed to do; they would've tried to protect him. Whilst well intentioned, the wards would have only prolonged young Harry's suffering before the fire finally claimed him. Tears fell down Albus Dumbledore's aged face, into his long grey beard.

There was a song-like cry and Fawkes flew out from the first floor of the destroyed house. He landed on Albus's shoulder, and they locked gazes, having a conversation without words. As they did, Albus's eyes widened, a hopeful smile blossoming across his face.

"My dear Professor McGonagall, let us not lose hope just yet."

"What do you mean, Albus?" said McGonagall, looking up at him with red eyes. "H-How can we have h-hope … a-after this?"

"My dear … Fawkes has looked through the house, and he believes that he has discovered where the fire started," explained Albus, but McGonagall gave him a pointed look, telling him to get to the point. "Two people may have been trapped inside, but Fawkes found only a single body, much too grown to be little Harry. I am both saddened and happy to say that it is only Harry's uncle in the house."

"H-How? His aunt told these muggles that he was inside!"

"It is entirely possible, I suppose, that when the wards could not protect young Harry from the fire, that they instead sent him away, helping him escape a most horrific death," said Albus.

"I-If that's true … then where is Harry now?" asked McGonagall, desperate for an answer. "Where could he have been sent?"

"That, I do not yet know the answer to," said Albus, but his smile didn't diminish one bit. "But be rest assured, I will do everything in my power to find young Harry. The first place to check is the book of admittance back at Hogwarts. It will hopefully know of young Harry's whereabouts, then I will go and retrieve him."

Albus waved his wand, quickly altering the memory of the muggles to make them think that they put out the fire. Fawkes spread his wings, and in another flash of flames, the majestic phoenix took both Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall away from the remains of number four Privet Drive. They left with hope in their hearts that Harry Potter had escaped the fire that claimed his uncle's life, and was somewhere out there, likely terribly confused and waiting to be found.

Unbeknownst to Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, in one of Hogwarts great towers, an extremely old book opened by itself. It looked like the only thing holding it together was the magic weaved into its pages, and said pages were filled with lines and lines of names. Some were past students, some were current, and new names of potential future Hogwarts students were written every day by the same quill that had just floated up off the table, dabbing itself in a forever replenishing pot of ink. In that moment, this quill wasn't writing a new, instead, it went down the page and stopped above a specific name — Harry Potter. Without ceremony, it crossed out Harry's name, as he was no longer a possible student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Meanwhile, in a dark chamber deep beneath London, a large group of cloaked witches and wizards gathered around what seemed to be the site of an explosion. The high shelves on either side of them were severely damaged, and many of the crystal balls resting upon them were cracked, some even shattered.

"What has occurred here?" asked one of the robed figures.

"A prophecy exploded, it appears," answered another.

These people were unspeakables; members of a private order that worked in an equally strange location known as the Department of Mysteries; an entire sub-section of the Ministry of Magic.

"That's impossible," declared the first figure. "A prophecy has never exploded in the past."

A third figure approached holding a gold, soot covered plaque. "I think I've discovered which prophecy it was. Here, these are names that were associated with it."

With a flourish of a wand, the golden plaque was as good as new, and the names inscribed on it shone brightly under the light of a lumos charm.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter

"It can't be…" stuttered the first robed figure. "This is … We need to inform senior unspeakable Croaker about this immediately!"

The trio of unspeakables left with haste to inform their superior of what had happened. Somehow, and for some unknown reason, the prophecy involving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry Potter had been destroyed.

{ ⚔︎ }

Everything was dark. Harry didn't know how long he'd been here, in this dark place, or how'd he gotten here in the first place. All he could remember was the fire; it burned forever in his memory, reminding him of the pain, and the smell of his own melting flesh. Although Harry couldn't recall the moment he finally died, he knew he must have, but then he'd woken up here in this all-encompassing darkness. He says woke up, but Harry had no idea whether his eyes were open or closed, or if they were even still there; he couldn't move his hands to check, so they might've been melted out of his head by the fire, leaving him blind and morbidly disfigured.

It wasn't only his arms that he couldn't move either. Harry had lost all control of himself; his body was numb and he felt like he was trapped underwater, yet he could breathe. He was unable to do anything but relive the traumatic events of his death over and over again in his mind, all the while wondering if this was hell.

Quite suddenly, the entire world shook. For the first time in months — maybe years — new feelings, sounds, and smells assaulted Harry's senses, though it was all muffled by something.

He was moving without meaning to move — something else was moving him. Harry tried to kick out, but he still lacked any control over his body. Then, as if a thick blanket had been lifted away, everything came into focus. There was a lot of screaming and shouting, it felt like knives were being stabbed into Harry's ears. He screamed out himself, begging for it to stop, but it only got worse; now a baby's piercing cries were added to the commotion.

"It is a boy, my Prince," spoke an old, raspy male voice. They must've meant the baby.

Harry fought to open his eyes, finding some semblance of power over himself returning, but he had to close them again in an instant, unable to handle the intense light; an immeasurable contrast to the darkness he'd been trapped in for so long. He cried out, but again, they were drowned out by the cries of the baby.

"A boy…" said a different, younger voice — male as well, but much younger. He spoke with amazement. "Aegon… His name is Aegon."

Harry felt himself being moved again, and failed again to kick away whatever was doing it. Something gently touched his face, a finger or a hand, and he flinched away, eyes still closed, as the moment of quiet was shattered by the pained screams of a woman.

"The second babe is coming," said the same raspy voice as before. "You need to push, Princess—"

"I AM PUSHING!"

Her fury silenced the room; even Harry stopped trying to make himself heard, as did the baby. The young man, obviously the father, then proved himself the bravest person in the room. "Keep going, Elia. You're almost there, it's almost over."

"I can see the second babe, Princess," stated the old man. Another baby's cry erupted into the air. Harry felt a flurry of movement around him. "It is a girl. Both babes appear to be healthy."

"Bring … Bring me … my babies…" The woman was exhausted by the sounds of it. Having two children would do that, thought Harry. He then, yet again, felt someone moving him around, and he was passed like a parcel to someone else; their hands were soft and gentle, unlike the first person's hands.

Harry needed to know what the hell was going on. Fighting through the pain, he forced his eyes to open and stay that way, despite the bright light burning his eyeballs; it was nothing compared to how they'd burned back in the Dursley's house. With each blink, the world cleared and Harry finally saw a stone brick ceiling, and a massive window from which the blinding light was coming through.

"Our babes…"

Harry tried to turn his head, but found he could only move his gaze. Looking down at him was the large face of an incredibly tired and sweaty woman — no, not a woman yet — a teenage girl. Had this teenager been the one giving birth?

"They're beautiful…" she continued, turning her head from Harry to what was held in her other arm. With difficulty, Harry managed to see a bundle of blankets, within which there was a baby. That begged the question — where was the other one?

"What shall we name her, Rhaegar?" asked the girl.

Another face came into view above Harry, a teenage boy with silver hair unlike anything Harry had ever seen, and vibrant purple eyes. When he spoke, Harry recognised it as the voice of the younger voice from before. These two were the parents — both of them were incredibly young.

"She shall be named Rhaenys." Rhaegar gently stroked the babe's face, then looked at Harry. "Aegon and Rhaenys. They are beautiful, Elia."

What the hell was happening?! Why did this Rhaegar guy look at Harry when he said that? Harry opened his mouth to demand answers, but like each time he'd done so before, there was only the sound of a baby crying.

"Shh, shh, shh … Don't cry little Aegon," cooed Elia, speaking down at Harry.

He was so confused. A tiny little hand arose into Harry's field of view. That was strange, because Harry had been trying to do the same thing with his own hand. Rhaegar smiled, presenting his finger and Harry grabbed it, but so did the tiny hand.

"Aegon has a strong grip," said Rhaegar proudly. "He'll make a strong knight one day. Better than even Arthur."

Why was Rhaegar looking at Harry when he said that? Where was this Aegon they were talking about? This was really starting to freak Harry out — he wanted to get out of here. Harry tried to move his body, but the best he could do was struggle in place. Rhaegar and Elia looked down at him in concern, then an actual woman — not some teenager — told them how the babes likely needed to rest. Maybe she could tell Harry what was going on, but that stupid baby wouldn't stay quiet enough for Harry to be heard. Seriously, where was it? It sounded like the baby was right on top of him!

"They shall sleep here, in my arms," said Elia.

"But, Princess — you need to rest as well," said the woman. "The birth was very hard on you—"

"I will be fine, Juline." Elia smiled down at Harry and the other baby — Rhaenys. "I will not be parted from my babes."

"But, Princess," tried Juline, stopping short as she received a pointed look from Rhaegar, before bowing her head. "Yes, Princess. I will remain close in case you have need of me."

Elia thanked her then leaned down and kissed Rhaenys, doing the same to Harry a moment later, speaking softly. "My little prince Aegon…"

Harry suddenly felt like he'd been dumped in a bucket of ice water. There was no mistaking that Elia had been speaking to him just then, and thinking back, the same could be said of her earlier words, and Rhaegar's earlier words. He — Harry — was this Aegon they were talking about. Remembering his tiny hand, Harry realised that he was baby. These two teenagers staring down at him were supposed to be his parents. As if to prove this once and for all, Rhaegar pulled back his finger from Harry's hand and spoke.

"Our little prince," said Rhaegar, correcting Elia's words with a loving smile. "He has a great destiny ahead of him."

Harry didn't want a great destiny! What he wanted was to wake up from this nightmare! Any second now, he'd open his eyes to the cupboard beneath the stairs; he'd must've been dumped back in there after one of Uncle Vernon's punches knocked him out. That was it! Maybe the fire never even happened! Harry was working himself up, and it concerned Rhaegar and Elia greatly, who summoned the raspy voiced old man from earlier to check on him.

Harry didn't hear anything that was said because the world around him started to fade to black. He must be waking up! Back in the real world! Never did Harry think that descending back into complete darkness would feel so comforting, but it did. The next time he opened his eyes, he'd be waking up from this nightmare, back to the life he knew. Harry was sure of it.