The Veiled Vestiges

Disclaimer – This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine.

Author's Notes - I know this has been done before and more than a thousand times no less. But I have tried to make it a little different. Give it till chapter 5 and you will see that it is unlike what you have read before, at least for this particular idea. The realism I have tried to show is unlike canon but still revolves around the magical world that we all love so much. This chapter will double as the prologue, and therefore, when you read it, you will have many questions. There will be more than a few things that will not make sense. I will even go as far as saying that they would seem illogical. But trust me, EVERYTHING will make sense in the later chapter(s). Every single thing will be explained. As this is a minor AU, I have not forgotten anything or gotten anything wrong with what I have written. It's simply different than how some elements have been shown in canon. With that said, Enjoy the chapter.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Burning…It had a distinct feel to it than anything he had ever felt before. The way his flesh sizzled and melted right before his eyes. The smell of it...his screams...his very life being lifted out of his body. He could feel every second of it. Could see it as if he was an outsider, watching his body being scorched asunder. It was almost easy at this point, despite the pain involved, to let go. The end would either bring him to the judgement of his cruel existence or would take him towards his only chance at redemption. A sixty-forty gamble at most. One he was more than willing to make. He had known as much before going through with the insane and seemingly masochistic idea that had been the result of years of struggle. A last-ditch effort, as it were. Something only someone of his blood could carry through. Life had been painful enough; his death had no right to be anything but. Had he been consciously aware of his musings, he would have shaken his head in mild amusement.

As it was, the pain was a marvellous distraction. And a reminder. A reminder that he had failed in his duty and left the fate of his world, his people, on mere chance.

A circulatory logic if there ever was one. The fate of the world, dependent on his own.

A sudden pressure came from above as he felt his essence being ripped from his body and he knew. It had to be done now.

His hand came forth and threw his boiling blood on to the runes carved on the stone below. They came alight with a fiery radiance, glowing ominously as the life-brew powered his last hope. A raspy breath left his lips and Harry James Potter spoke his last words in the burning world beneath.

"Redivivus Ignis Sacer".

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had somewhat expected what came next. Had even been hoping for it in fact.

His mistakes laid bare. Naked.

Years worth of them.

All for him to see how his actions and inactions had ruined the lives of millions. How his stupidity and blind faith had led to the victory of his prophesied nemesis and so much more.

A multitude of white misty streams travelled past his forlornly buoyant body, showing him anything and everything that had carried any symbolic meaning in his life. And some he himself branded as his most treasured…his most feared.

The naivety of a child. Friendless. Alone. The foolish bravery of a denigrated twelve-year-old. The clinging hope of an orphan. The trials of an inequitably botched tournament. The tortures of the wicked. The year of respite. And then, the final frontier. Their undoing. The words of a fickle friend. Their secret out in the open.

This had been the turning point. And it had been something he was hoping he could avoid seeing. But it seemed the control required was just as much of a bitch to achieve here as it was in real life.

And so, he saw it all.

The frequent attacks on the burrow. Arthur and Charlie's deaths as they fought with the invaders in their home, valiantly holding on just long enough to give their family a chance to get away. A recently repaired burrow disintegrating into ashes. Molly Weasley's attempts to keep everyone alive. The arrival of Ron with a Horcrux around his neck. The divulgence of their secret. The lost hope in the eyes of the Weasley matriarch. A deal with the devil to keep safe what she treasured the most.

Family.

The wandering of two friends. Years of struggle. Lives snatched by the reality of war. Sacrifices in the name of survival. Love lost and brought back. The end of everything. A world of endless darkness.

He gritted his teeth as the pain became near impossible to bear. Crying out, he firmly closed his eyes and waited for the oblivion. A soft melody reached his ears even as the sounds of his life-past blew against his ears like the gentle gusts of wind.

"…blessed be this union which brings love together. Joining of hearts, minds and souls. A journey of love, friendship and respect. A hearth to call home. A love to call eternal. Do you take…"

"AHHHHHHHH…"

"…to be companions throughout life and beyond, to be the guides and partners in everything so forth?"

"ARGHHHHHH…"

"…I do."

"I do."

The words escaped his lips as soon as he realised what the vision had been about. Without warning, every single thing in his periphery turned bleached white, peevishly so. A pause and he felt the floor vanish. He could feel himself falling, could feel the gravity taking hold of his body and delivering it to its ultimate conclusion. He could see the floor below. His end. The concrete seemed far more intimidating at this height. As the floor reached near, the last of the voices he heard brought an unknown sense of peace with its final deliverance. A soft voice that soothed all his wounds.

"…Always."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey was as exciting a place as an art museum for an engineer. It was a normal suburb consisting of normal people with their normal jobs who did their normal everyday things. It was so mind-numbingly mundane that even a change in the maildrop schedule required a meeting of the residential association.

The residents of this monotonous and depressingly dull conurbation had no clue that this place was about to become the nexus of a magical event that would have boggled the mind of every magical researcher in the world, had the surge produced left any such detection devices in the area working. As it was, not a single person was aware that their future had just been completely and irrevocably changed.

A six-year-old Harry Potter suddenly awoke with his mouth open in a silent scream. His green-eyes darted every which way in confusion. He would have cried out in his desperation for the air to fill lungs had he been aware that he was not breathing. Muted seconds passed and finally, a wheezing cough erupted from his throat and he finally sucked a desperate breath. Despite the struggle, despite all the pain, instincts ingrained in him by the circumstances of his living made him choke on his scream. The sensation of falling came and he grabbed the edges of his small cot. As soon as he felt the falling sensation subside, a shaky sigh left his lips. It was possible that it was just an effect from the merge that had occurred, not that he was aware of what was happening to him at this point.

And just as abruptly it had begun, it was over. He heaved a few deep breaths. Taking a few moments to calm his rapidly beating heart, he tried to focus his thoughts.

He was not dead. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, could feel the warmth of his body. Which meant only one thing. Success. The ritual had worked. Good. Fawkes would be proud. Nothing would have been possible without him. The little bugger had done more for him than most in the world he had left behind. A little wetness came to his eyes and he gave himself some time to collect his bearings. He had fought his way out of the cesspool that had been the reign of most foul evil in existence. He had bled for this. He had lost family for this. He had jarred his humanity for this. And he was alive. Breathing. Successful. Wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeves, he shook his head intending to bring his thoughts together. Now was not the time to break down. He could bawl his eyes out later when he knew that he was safe. And alone.

"What first?" He whispered softly.

"Taking stock. Yeah."

'I am in the cupboard. Headache…Mild. Probably fractured ribs. A little constricted throat. Everything else seems fine. Assuming it worked as I planned, it should be near enough to Tinne Holly lunar aver. So, August. Yeah... Judging by my size, around six, seven at most. I am smaller than I remember. Fuck. Didn't think it would matter this much. It would be difficult to...to...No…Not the time. Need to find a way out of here first!'

With a soft click, the door swung forward a bit.

He had wondered if he would be able to muster enough strength to do the simplest of things required to reach his initial goals back when he had been planning his possibly last adventure. He didn't have a definitive answer as to when he might be arriving and thus it would have been difficult to account for the possible injuries that might be ailing from considering how his relatives liked to pass their leisurely hours.

'Shouldn't look a gifted horse in the mouth, I suppose.'

Next obstacle came in the form of the twice layered protections covering the house. Any mid to high range magical discharge would be recorded and he would have either ministry or the meddler on his case. And so, apparition was out. So was anything that could actually get him out without a trace. And that left just one thing.

'Right. Here's to you Gred, Forge.'

A quick search had a paper clip in his hands and a twist had it exactly in the shape to pick the lock. Another to hold the partition within. All it required was a nifty trick that he had learned, a little twist a little bend and…

'click'.

'There you go. Now, to get clear of the wards.'

A little jog with the crisp cool air blowing in his face and he was quite a ways away from Privet Drive and on the pavement of Magnolia Crescent. It was as good a place as any considering he could not feel the wards pressing on him anymore. A twist and a resounding crack were heard as he left for his next appointment.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He arrived near the woods of Lakenshire, a northern part of Britain which was almost in its entirety, surrounded by deep forests and ponds. A perfect spot for someone wishing to live his life in seclusion or at least appearing as such.

A little research and a bloody interview with one of the parties involved in making the place habitable after the removal of the original owners had brought up the mention of this location. Harry had no idea of the veracity of the answers he had gotten, nor had he been able to find any other way to acquire the necessary things at the time of his arrival. But now that he was here, when he was at his most vulnerable, with no wand, his smaller stature and a weaker body, he couldn't not take a chance to equip himself with some much-needed tools.

And it meant going inside the insidious looking cabin which was probably warded to hell and back. Well, the hosts were never known to be a welcoming bunch.

Contrary to popular belief, the Unspeakables of the Magical Community, the original owners of the place he was hoping to ransack, were not entirely devoted to magical research. It was a major part of their duties, that was true and it had been the original reasoning behind their formation. However, with the times past and the growing need for some highly qualified personnel for tasks that required to maintain the security of the Magical Relm it was deemed appropriate for them to branch out. Such branching out usually involved undertaking missions where either the realm of Magical Britain or the whole wizarding community were at risk.

According to what he had been able to find, little as it had been, on the night of his little stint in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort himself had gotten rid of most of the Senior Unspeakables who had been ambushed by him and his inner circle. Frightening, the difference between them and the Dark Lord had been, he'd been told. They, who were essentially the Hit-Wizards, had succumbed to the powerhouse that was Voldemort. He hadn't known that. None of the others had either. Not until Rabastan Lestrange had been captured in a raid on the compound where he had been enjoying his down-time in the company of some of the muggleborn witches.

Images of intoxicated and violently raped women flashed in his mind as the memories reminded him of that little tidbit. He had been forced to end their misery. And even after all the years, all the sleepless nights, a face still stood apart. Little Natalie Dormer had just been thirteen. Mumbling and asking for something only she could understand. Lost in her own mind. Forever.

With a forcible effort, he brought his mind back to the task at hand. The cabin. It was visible at the far end of the woods. A little hike had him near the perimeter of the property. He waited as he felt some pressure buildup near the area. Looking around for the edge of the protective dome that were the wards of the place, he spotted a series of runes overlaying some of the previous indentures. A while passed as he flared his senses towards the encampment to look for any other traps. His eyes widened slightly as he considered what he had discovered.

It was always a wonder to him that in spite of having geniuses like Nicolas Flamel, Picardy Emerett, Marlow Forfang and even the meddler himself, there were such heedless witches and wizards in their world that there was no point in even asking how Noseless was able to conquer it all in such a short amount of time. To think they would apply measures as drastic as to invert a person inside out in case of possible burglary or hostile entry but to miss a simple solution such as a relatively low magical presence and blood of a magical was the height of ignorance. They were the Unspeakables! They were supposed to be the ones who caught things that others usually missed! Anyone with the knowledge of the place could have sent an elf to set up an ambush or even to steal something worthwhile. And this was the secret society that was supposed to keep the citizens safe?

Pitiful.

He strolled forward without much apprehension. He knew his interpretation of the warding scheme had been correct even as he crossed the first runic array that had been embedded into the stone pathway leading towards the cabin. A swift picking of the lock had him inside the cabin. Now, to gather the necessary items.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was still dark when he reappeared near Privet Drive. His last possible return to the hated place he had to call home. Well…just for a little while longer. But it wasn't the thing that he was most anxious about. His soon to be executed plan was the thing that had his nerves on the edge. It had the capacity to go horribly wrong or incredibly well. It all depended on the reactions of the few people who were no doubt going to be involved. He was fairly certain about some of them. But there were some he knew nothing about to even begin to understand how they would react to a situation as unstable as it was, no doubt, going to become. It was one thing to calculate the possibilities and quite another to make decisions based on the reactions that others might have. He mentally tipped his hat envisioning the aggravating face of the meddler. No matter his own grievances with the man, he could not deny the intelligence that had held them all in a tight grip when he had been a boy.

He eyed the wand in his hand, a recent acquire during the visit to the Unspeakables safe-house, rolling it between his fingers just to familiarise it with his magic. It was about thirteen inches, springy and ebony. He hadn't a clue what the cores were. But it had been one of the only ones to respond even close to a third of the feeling that his old one had. Another advantage was that along with being untraceable it had a discharge dampening array carved on it. He could perform spells requiring low to mid-range power and it wouldn't show even a little blip on ministry's monitoring devices. It was enough until he got his hands on a better one and certainly enough to do what he had planned to do now.

'Caveatis Porcina.'

A muttered spell and his presence was erased from any sensing entities nearby.

He walked forward resolutely. No matter what happened next, there was no backing out now. Not when most everything depended on these scant few minutes. A quick wave of the wand and the door opened. He entered almost silently, knowing the person inside was not in any possible way a danger to him even if they got up hearing the slight sounds he was making. Then he remembered... the cats! They were laying about every which way. Some were eyeing him dangerously. Some were growling a little as they inched near his position. He knew some of them were more intelligent than the others, being Half-Kneazle had given them some added acumen. Add to that the basic animal senses and there was no doubt in his mind that they knew someone was present in their mistresses home who shouldn't be.

'A precautionary measure then.'

'Somnus Fluctum.'

A wave of magic spread through the room as the felines suddenly fell into a deep slumber. Satisfied, he moved onto his next quarry. She looked quaint in her sophisticated night robes and that same stern expression as he remembered. It was such a shame that the woman was an utter bitch. He didn't even feel a little hesitation as he aimed the wand at her head and cast.

A memory modification spell was something that left a whole lot of clues for people to find. Hence, the justification for the existence of people who specialised in memory reversal even if the reversal was limited to a degree. From the various mind-healers to expert legilimencers, anyone could find the discrepancies within the memories if they had been tampered with. But there was a way to cheat them, so to speak. Legilimency was the art of basically deep diving in the person's psyche or mind and manipulating events from within. But what many did not understand was that for a person who was intimately familiar with the workings of the mind, it was very much possible to actually create memories from within rather than just changing the existing ones. It was virtually undetectable. The human subconscious was an amazing thing. It filled the holes within the memories so long as the person believed it to be true, and that is where the work of a legilimencer came into effect. To make the events seem true.

Harry was one of the very few people who knew of the possibility and possibly the only one who could actually perform such a complex series of manoeuvres inside a person's mind. When you had a dark lord lurking in your brain for most years of your life, the mind arts suddenly becomes an essential skill to have. When he had first started delving into the basics of magics involving the mind, he had been certain that such a thing, if not impossible was certainly immensely challenging. He had been right of course. But underneath that valid excuse had been the real reason for his reluctance. The botched attempt at learning Occlumency at the hands of his potions professor had been the trigger. It had jarred something loose. The voices, the horrific scenes that his psyche conjured along with the continuous connection with the Dark Lord had been enough to make him think twice about touching anything having to do with it.

That reluctance, that fear had ended when it became crucial for them to get an edge during the war. His enemies had had the audacity to snatch her from him. He had surrendered then. Surrendered himself to whatever that was writhing within him. He had delved into the connection between him and the monster and had come through. After what had felt like years, he had gained the intelligence required to get her back. Even better had been the incapacitance of the dark lord. The planned raid had been successful without any loss of life on their end. And most importantly, they had gotten her back. He had got her back.

Since then he had never looked back. He had learnt anything and everything that had to do with the mind arts. He had performed numerous deep dives on the captured death eaters. Seen what they had done. Felt their crimes run through him as he had been present there himself. Their feelings, the desperation of the acts, the satisfaction derived from the blood of their victims. He had swum through the thick black sludge that was the psyche of their enemies all the while keeping himself whole.

Until he couldn't. Until they had broken through and painted him black. Even then he had kept to his morals. Lived as she would have wanted him to. Struggled and sacrificed till the end.

A light snore from the woman below brought him back to the present.

"Legilimens."

Knowing the time constraint, he dove in to perform the planned series of actions required to do the necessary. It was after another half hour when he came out with a grunt and stumbled backwards into the wall. No matter how little the power requirement had been with his target sleeping, the concentration needed to manoeuvre elements had been phenomenal. And a wand as mismatched as this one, it had taken a lot of out him. Taking a deep breath, he centred himself. A look at the clock showed a quarter to two. Only one other thing could be accomplished tonight.

Casting another look around and changing the surroundings in accordance with the forged outcome, he left the house.

A crack and he was off to his last destination for the night.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry stumbled as he arrived on the cobblestone steps of an alley near the less favoured pub in the only all-wizarding village in Britain, Hogsmeade. This part of the plan had been something that required quite a bit of luck. He knew the necessity of a good fortune in a mission. No matter the amount contingencies anyone planned for, no matter the calculations involved, the stimulations performed, a leap of faith was always required at the end.

With a hesitant step, he walked forward towards the entrance to the Hogshead. It was little known that while the two siblings did not see eye to eye, the pub did have a room for the elder brother. A room from which he could be seen exiting from after an odd weekend at least once in a couple of months.

In a world where his target was revered as one of the most powerful warlocks of modern times, doing what he was about to do was something even the most proficient and suicidal criminals would wash their hands off from. Hence the reason for favouring the plan. Just one spell, one slight move of wrist…'Homenum Revelio'… and he was sure. It certainly was his lucky night.

Just a single magical signature.

In the end, it went off without a hitch. In his hand, he had the one thing that held the key for getting rid of every single chain that had tethered him to the insanely optimistic ideas of the most despicable manipulator of his life. A single hair of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The morning came sooner than expected. Even with being used to waking up at a smallest of warnings, more often of the rising sun, he stepped out of his cupboard and walked towards the kitchen. He was fortunate, that it was a Sunday. It would give him plenty of time to rest his aching limbs and a marching headache while he ate breakfast. He chuckled as the thought crossed his mind. It would be the first time in either of his lives that he was getting to eat his fill at this table. Well, it would be the last time too.

A while passed as he ate the fried eggs and some toast to fill his empty stomach. A sound of feet coming down the stairs made him look upwards. Watching the enlarged tub and a bony stick that were his Uncle Vernon Dursley and his Aunt Petunia, he couldn't help but snort. To think they had been the ones he had feared the most at some point in his life. To him, as he was now, it was simply unimaginable. Another set of feet came tumbling down as a seven-year-old Dudley Dursley joined the foray.

Vernon Dursley having indulged himself in more than a bit of brandy at the dinner party last night was not in the best of moods as he came down for his breakfast. Seeing the freak sitting down on the table helping himself to his hard-earned food was certainly not something Vernon had been expecting as a start for his Sunday. He was about to give the boy a rightly deserved thumping when he felt his body freeze.

Harry had seen his uncle move towards him from the corner of his eyes and knew that the discussion would have to take place after he took care of their little attitude problem. An agile swish and a boldly pronounced, "Primo Obsideo", was all it took to bind the trio with magical bindings and another swish delivered them onto the waiting couch.

"Now that that's settled, we can get along with the next part of today's proceedings. Yeah?…Alright. Let's get the basics out of the way first. Yes, I know I am a wizard. Yes, I know who my parents were and how they died. Yes, I know how to do magic and yes, this is a wand. I imagine you know quite a bit about them, don't you Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia looked horrified at her nephew as he calmly explained what she and her husband had been hoping to keep secret for the rest of his freakish life. She could even see a slight smile tugging at the end of his lips. When he directed the question at her she couldn't help but ask how he could have known such a closely guarded secret. In accordance with her thoughts, she opened her mouth to speak.

"H…How do…?"

"How do I know this? Yes, I imagine it must be bothering you quite a bit not being able to understand how I could have gotten such knowledge. Well, it doesn't really matter now, does it? It's not like you are going to remember any of this in a little while."

Vernon had been stunned silent when the little freak started waving the little stick. It hadn't been a shock to see what he was doing, he had always known the boy was unnatural, but it had made him pause. To see him threaten his wife was where it reached his limit. Anger surged through him again and his usual angry visage showed hoping to be enough to cower the freak into submission.

"You dare threaten us boy. You unnatural spawn of freaks. You think these tricks are going to be enough to…"

The rest of what he was going to say was lost as Vernon suddenly found himself knocked out facing the ceiling with his mouth open. A similar thing happened to the little Dudley.

"Don't fret. They've just been knocked out. Still breathing see." he said, pointing the end of his wand to their throat. "Got anything else to say? No?…Good. Now, as I was going to say, we need to change the décor around here. And for that, I need you and your family to get away for a little while. Heh…Who am I kidding? Actually, I want you guys to go poof. Forever."

Thinking of the worst, Petunia started waling while looking at her husband and son. Her shrieking wails would have been enough to rouse the whole neighbourhood had Harry not had the foresight to apply the silencing wards around the living room.

"Don't worry Aunt Petunia. I am not talking about offing you all. Certainly not. Believe me, I want to. I really do. But, if I do kill you now, then there would be nothing that would set me apart from those I am soon going to hunt. Anyways, I could have just snuck into your rooms earlier and done what I am planning on doing now and trust me, it would have been easier, on both of us. A sleeping mind is something I specialise in, you see. But I wanted to look into your eyes when I told you this…I do not fear you. I certainly don't fear that tub of lard you call your husband. What you made me go through was something that will always be a part of me, for good or ill. And for that, I will always remember you. Though I believe your sister would be disappointed in you, Petunia. You had every opportunity to treat me right. Every opportunity to show me the same love and the same compassion that you showed your son. You know, I remember reading a letter from her addressed to a friend. She had written that she loved you still. And it was well after you had married this pig and had called her a whore and driven her out of your front porch. She had faith in you even when you were at your worst. A faith spent foolishly, I think. So, just to let you know of your current fate and that of your family, I will be going away for a little while. In that time, you can talk to your son and decide what you wish to do for the rest of your life. The Dursleys will be moving far away today."

"Wha…What?" Petunia asked looking fearfully at her nephew.

Harry didn't answer as he turned towards the door. As he exited the room, he noticed his shaking hand. It had taken a lot of effort to get that out of his chest. He had moved on quite a few years ago, but to actually face his tormentors… It had required a different kind of strength. He hadn't expected it to affect him this much. He wiped a few tears leaking at the edge of his eyes and with nary a thought to the crying woman at his back, disapparated.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey, Jameson! …Jameson! …Hey! Hold up, mate."

"Rufus? What are you doing here this early? Didn't they change your shift back to weekdays?"

"Nah! Said they would. Nothing came of it though. Anyways, got a moment? I have to check something with yah."

"Sure."

"Old Crouch was here last evening, you know? Been asking about the pixie incident, he was. I told him that you were on a holiday that week. Said Peterson was the one that was on that time. The bastard still hasn't paid me money from the last stake we had. He sure would like the new shift old crouch sets him up with, wouldn't he?"

"Hah! He sure would mate. He sure would. Thanks for saving my arse, Rufus. I owe you one."

"No worries mate. And listen…Uh…speaking of owing, I was wondering if yah could get me something. It ain't much mind yah. It's just… it's me little one you see. She's quite taken with Dumbledore she is. I was wondering… well, I was wondering if yah can get him to sign something for her. As a present, ya know. Her big day is coming soon."

"Hahaha… yeah. I suppose I can manage that. Not for a while though, Rufus, sorry. He's got some business with them ICW folks coming up. He's been really busy up at Hogwarts for most of the day since yesterday. He likes to spend most of his time there, you know. I think today will be the same as well. At least he hasn't called the office yet saying he'd be coming."

"Oh…Alright then. Can ya just get it to me before next month? Her mum's setting up a surprise party then."

"Sure. Take care, Rufus."

"I will mate. You too. Don't let me see you hereafter eleven though, Sheila will be pissed won't she."

"Yeah. She would."

Rufus watched as his mate walked around the corner before he departed for the nearest broom cupboard. It had taken almost forty-five minutes to get to the floor without alerting anybody. And then the waiting. It had been difficult enough to find a person working at the Chief Warlock's office but to wait another ten minutes for the only available person to show up had been nerve-racking. A few moments later, Harry Potter stood near the unconscious form of the real and very much naked Rufus Hargreave.

He had just one dose of Polyjuice left and only a single shot at his target. It needed to be done quickly and with no static what-so-ever. Dropping the near-white hair in the potion he gulped it down quickly, hoping for the best and planning for the worst.

A few minutes later Albus Dumbledore could be seen walking out of an elevator as the manicured voice called out, 'level nine, Department of Mysteries.'

-x-x-x-x-x-

The sound of a soft crack brought her attention back from her son. It had been several hours since she had last seen him. She could not believe he was the same old boy who used to startle at the slight change in her tone. The difference was massive. The degree of the transformation and how quickly it had taken place made her sure it was something in relation to his-lot. Though there hadn't been this much change in her sister and never this drastic though. And that boy she was always with, that greasy little, good for nothing boy, he hadn't been this freaky at this age too. Not that she had gone looking for them when they had been out of the house. No, she couldn't compare anything relating to her nephew with him. He was already more unnatural than her sister had been. As she craned her neck to look towards the entrance, she saw him walking towards her with a slight smile on his face. Even though she was looking at him, when he spoke, Petunia almost jumped a little.

"Everything's set, Aunt Petunia. Although I am sure you would be disappointed to hear your favourite rose bushes didn't survive being in close proximity of a failing ward scheme I had set up to keep the nosy neighbours away. Anyways, I sort of found out that despite being a muggle you had somewhat of an interest in magic. So, consider this your first and possibly last lesson in the art. Memory altering. It is a technique which does exactly what it says. It alters your memory. There are plenty of rules involved in actually performing the practice on someone, which I won't bore you with, but the gist is that the more power applied during the application, the harder it would be reverse the effect. There comes a time when the effect becomes irreversible. Also, over the course of time, the altered memory latches on to the psyche with such a grip that the brain construes it as its own. Quite fascinating really. But you see, there is a catch. The more power is applied, the more the original memories are stretched. So, it takes a fine balance to alter someone's let's say life history enough to not make them a vegetable. Capeesh?"

Petunia looked on in horror as she figured out what he was going to do. As soon as she opened her mouth to scream, he jerked his hand in motion.

"Obliviate."

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when the Dursleys were seen getting in their car while shouting at their wayward nephew about keeping the house clean and them being back later that night.

The little boy could be seen walking back into the house with a saddened face. Any observer, if there was one, could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes as he closed the door watching his relatives speeding away to their no doubt, fun-filled destination.

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It was a quarter to one when he opened his eyes. It was time. The last jaunt in his first prison. The events later would require precise timing and he needed a clear head for such. The preparations had been made earlier in the morning. Some had been taken care of during his little hike to the cabin last night. The next phase was ready for execution. Taking a last look around, he moved towards the basement. Bringing out his wand he spoke the incantation that would rid the world of their saviour.

"Incendio Tria."

A jet of green fire came forth and blazed through the wooden beams as easily as if they were made of paper. The fire continued to burn as he moved upstairs waiting for it to reach the upper bedrooms. It took a little while but the magical nature of the fire did achieve what he had hoped. As the burn became painfully uncomfortable he apparated out in the garden. Hearing the sirens in the distance, he knew, the neighbour at the front would be moving. He lifted his wand towards the heavens and shouted in an unnaturally bold voice before disapparating.

"MORSMORDRE."

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Time was of the essence now.

It had to be done in a sequence but it had to be done readily.

He reached the circle as soon as he saw the moon above. He brought out a bottle and pulled the stopper, pouring the maroon viscus contents, signifying it as life-blood, into the goblet sitting in the middle of a circle of runic arrays representing the symbols that could only be found in a ritual chamber.

A slash through the palm and the goblet was filled with his lifeblood.

'Accipio sanguis tamquam unus ex vobis.'

Another slash on the other palm and another generous deposit.

'Concede mihi vestrum.'

A look at the moon and another slash horizontally through his naval.

'Concedo me iudicium.'

A scream tore from his throat as blinding pain shot through his spine. He had prepared for this. He had bled for this. A little pain would not stop him from saving them all. Not now. Not ever.

'Deep breaths Potter. In…Out…In…Out. Can't stop now. He would know soon enough.'

'Ego tibi meum sanguinem tuum est.'

"AHHHHHH…"

No matter his resolve, no matter his defiance, he was in fact, in a six-year-old malnutrition body. The loss of blood and the painful ritual were enough of the catalysts to make his fragile body give up. As the moon shone onto the sweaty, bloody form of the child laying beneath its luminescence, a subtle change started taking place.

Over the course of hours, his hair that had once been a darker shade of black morphed into a slight brownish hue. His round oval face turned a bit angular, aristocratic. The eyes that had once been a unique shade of green, changed into the brightest of blues. The scars mended themselves and diminished to become barely visible.

The chosen one, the-boy-who-lived, the six-year-old orphan died that night. His third and final death.

But an end must give way to a new beginning. So, is the nature of the world.

A gasping breath came from the boy lying down as the first ray of sun shone upon the ground beneath. And Harold Kent, sole surviving heir of Ancient House of Kent took his first breath into the world.

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