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Title: Rise of the Sith’ari
Author: ChrisF. (Antarprince, et al…)
Rating: M or Higher
Pairing(s)/Character(s): N/A (Undecided)
Author Summary: When he was younger his Aunt and Uncle called him a Freak. They had no idea. And nor does anyone else.
Disclaimer: I Own Neither Harry Potter, Star Wars nor the works associated with them, or any other obvious fandom reference. This means no Money is made, but unless you’re a complete dimwit or this is your first Fanfiction, you know that.
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance, Crossover – a bit of everything.
Warnings: Evil!Harry, Bashing, Politics, Slavery, Technomancy, AU, Slash, and probably more…
Spoilers/Timeline – Pre-Hogwarts/Old Republic era-ish (You’ll see)
Author's Notes: This Fic is being written as a response to DZ2’s Evil Never Dies Challenge. Farther, feel free to Review. I accept all kinds, including Flames and do my best to respond to them all. Also, this will be Slash. I’m gay, it’s a thing.
Challenge
________________________________________
Prologue
March 15, 1997
Night had long since fallen. Two figures stood atop the tallest tower of the ancient fortress turned school. Both stood surveying the chaos and destruction below them. One stood stoically, towering behind the other, watching the battle unfold with a critical eye, as one observing a chess board and calculating every move.
The other, more diminutive of the duo wasn’t watching. He was standing atop the tower with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back listening. The golden light of the wards illuminated the night and you could see the lower half of his face despite the shadow of his hood. A smile graced his obscured features, and he swayed absently in the early spring breeze, as if he were dancing to a symphony. He was lost in the ecstasy of the battle, each sound an instrument that added to his orchestra: The screams of rage; the cries of pain, agony and death; the explosion of spell-fire and weaponry; the gentle wisps as fires razed the battlefield to cinders, and all the while The Force thrumming in the background, pulsing and thundering in his ears like a bass drum. All of it a musical that he was conducting.
"Word from Lady Amentia1...?" The figure asked, his voice a low whisper of pleasure.
“No Master,” the other answered behind him never taking his eyes off the grounds below.
The Master chuckled in delight. "Excellent," he said with a clearly pleased inflection as he watched. Everything was going precisely as it was intended to. Voldemort’s Death Eaters had entered Hogwarts, and Minerva McGonagall who was the New Head Mistress and Defacto leader of the vigilant group The Order of the Phoenix had engaged them, just as he’d intended.
Meanwhile, his people had triggered the long dormant siege wards around Hogwarts, keeping the admittedly feeble reinforcements of the Ministry from reaching them while his followers ambushed them both from the forest and crushed both sides. His people had rushed out from the school and the Forest like a crashing tide: Sorcerers’, Vampires, Werewolves, Dementors and all manner of Dark beasts that inhabited the forest.
He smiled, an expression of cruel delight. In ancient times before the statutes and during Britain’s invasion of Scotland Hogwarts was more than just a school, it was a fortress. It provided a safe haven and security to the Magical community in a time of war, superstition and fear. The Forbidden Forest’s denizens were meant to be a defense if the grounds were ever breached; he wondered what the founders would say if they knew that their defenses, meant to protect the school, were taking it.
These people were weak, he thought. They had no concept the force that they wielded. They had no idea of the true nature or potential of the power they possessed, and those that did have some inkling of it feared it. That’s why the Ministry saw fit to outlaw and legislate the power of the force that they called magic into its most rudimentary, basic, safe form.
Driven as they were by their greed, envy and fear, they ostracized and demonized those that had a greater grasp of the Force than they did. They segregated orphaned children with people who couldn’t understand them, and depended on those same children to deal with those ostracized, demonized sorcerers, and then often casted those aside for fear that, like their foe, they had grown too powerful and couldn’t be trusted.
This in turn fostered anger, hate and rage, continuing the cycle.
The wizards, as these force users called themselves had grown so confident in their Magic that they had become complacent and weak. They looked upon those who did not wield the Force as lesser. Granted, the Master agreed with this sentiment, but the wizards had dismissed advancement and grown stagnant.
They had minimal, if any understanding of science and biology, inbreeding and weakening themselves to the brink of extinction. All of this in an attempt to remain ‘pure’, all the while doing the opposite.
All of that would change tonight.
The Master used all of this to his advantage to draw the disenfranchised, the angry all under his banner with the promise of great power, and the freedom to use it. Oh, he was going to save them. He would allow that weakling who called himself a Dark Lord remove his opposition – with a little help from his followers, and then he would destroy Voldemort and his lackeys, playing the conquering hero to the Masses.
Afterwards, much as Dumbledore had done before him, the Master would take the Ministry amid the approving shouts of the people, and then the whole of the British Isles and the United Kingdom. He would unit them under him. He would usher a new age of power with The Force.
With him as the Emperor of the beginning of the new Sith Empire….!
“It’s time….” The Master said suddenly. “We end this now.”
Without another word, the Master left his apprentice and climbed up onto the sill. Briefly looking over the edge the Master jumped. As he plummeted, the wind whistling in his ears he heard his apprentice over the communicator. “All forces –Darth Interitus2 has entered the fray. I repeat, the King is on the board!”
Darth Interitus’ landing was precipitated by a concussive blast of explosive Force energy that bushed the throng away from him as he landed in a crouching position, braced by his left arm in front of him on the ground. The masses were thrown back several hundred feet and fell unconscious.
The Darth rose gracefully to his feet, a haunting specter of death and destruction. He reached into the folds of his crimson robes and withdrew his light saber, igniting the deadly blade with a sickly looking black-green energy and a quiet, ominous hiss. As he moved though the battlefield arrant spells dissipated harmlessly before they even touched him, and he manipulated the more deadly ones – the Killing Curse and the Pain Curse – with his own Force powers so that they refracted harmlessly around him, as he cut down his foes, Death Eater and Order alike with ruthless, efficient ease.
Both sides caught on soon enough and tried to face him, but it was hopeless. As he cut them all down like wheat he extended his senses though the Force and projected a sense of Hopeless despair. Those that did not know how to defend against such mental assaults simply cowered in fear, whimpering pathetically before they too met their end.
This would be over soon, he thought. He could see McGonagall and Voldemort dueling just a few meters in front of him. The fight was impressive by wizard standards, he supposed. Spells flew furiously from wands, and McGonagall – the fiery old Scott – ducked, dodged and blocked expertly. She gave as hood as she got, but she was no Dumbledore. He could see the strain.
He saw Voldemort’s next spell, the Killing Curse, fly at his former professor. It was going to hit her, age and exhaustion making her falter. She was just a fraction of a second too slow. For a moment he considered letting her die, but decided against it just then. He had a better idea. He would toy this them.
Smirking, he leapt forward, using the Force to flip and propel himself through the air. He landed solidly in front of McGonagall, shielding her from the curse with his body. He heard McGonagall’s yell of fright as the deadly energy struck him in the chest. The force of the impact made him stumble and lose his breath; as he did so his hood fell revealing the pale face of Harry James Potter, but he did not fall.
“Son of a-!” He yelled out in pain as he pivoted to face his professor, biting his lip against it, hiding his comedic expression from Voldemort. “– Bitch!” The seventeen year old finished petulantly as he turned back to face the would-be Dark Lord. “Stings!” He glared childishly before muttering. “That’s gonna leave a mark…”
Both the elders had ceased their duel and were looking at Harry dumbfounded. It was McGonagall who spoke first as Harry moved away from her to face them both. “How…”
Harry smiled innocently, masking his deviousness behind it. In truth he understood their confusion. He had once again survived the impossible, but he just shrugged impishly. “What, done it before. Old trick…”
It was at this point that Voldemort composed himself again. "Harry," he said enthusiastically. “I wondered when you would be joining us.” He sounded cordial, but Harry knew better. He felt the caution and contempt rolling of the other man in waves. He was all too easy to read, but Harry understood. Voldemort was envious and more than a little afraid of him, as he should be. He wanted to know how Harry had survived the Killing Curse, and he wanted that power for himself. “After all, I should thank my gracious host for the invitation.”
McGonagall’s head snapped up, a momentary look of shocked disbelief as she looked back and forth between the two. “You lie!” She accused the older man viciously and drew her wand back to strike him.
Voldemort just laughed at her, a deep charming baritone. “Have I then,” he asked her amused. “Why would I do that, what have I to gain from a deception now? I’ve taken the castle.”
Harry winced in a mock apologetic expression. “But have you really,” he asked. Voldemort glared spitefully at the contradiction. “True enough, you’ve breached it, but have you looked at your Death Eaters lately? They seem pretty decimated to me.”
His statement made Voldemort hesitate. The wizard looked out over the field; true to Harry’s word there were a few scattered skirmishes, but the battle appeared to be over. The werewolves and other beasts prowled the battlefield scavenging; the Dementors wondered aimlessly… Some wizards stalked the dead, accounting the bodies and occasionally killing survivors. He reached through his link with the marked, but other than a few weak signatures he felt nothing. Voldemort looked to Harry, his eyes filled with rage. “What is the meaning of this!?!”
Harry’s lips pouted and he shrugged, a careless expression. “I said I’d let you in.” he spoke as if it were obvious. “I never said I’d allow you to take it. If it’s any consolation, my men killed most of the Order as well.”
“Why!” Minerva shouted in despair. “How could you!”
Harry smiled in cruel amusement as he tasted her emotions through the Force; a heady combination of fury and despair, it was delicious. She opened her mouth, a curse on the tip of her tongue; but he held up his hand to stop her. She was prepared to strike him down as payment for his treacherous actions, and in any other situation he would have struck her down for the mere thought, but no…
“Stop Minerva,” he commanded. His voice was saturated with Force power. She faltered, very clearly fighting the compulsion, but it was futile. Her wand arm fell harmlessly to her side. “You see those flames about sixty meters behind you?” He waited for her to turn and look. “Be a dear and go stand in them.”
All the while, as he issued her directive, he did so with a kind and care free tone. Meanwhile, McGonagall’s feet carried her unwillingly forward. Her face was drenched in sweat, and she tried to fight, but eventually, her agonized cries echoed through the night sky. She screamed and wailed, until her throat was scorched and her voice died, the acrid smell of charred flesh wafting in the breeze. “It’s a shame, you know.” He said offhandedly with a disappointed sigh. “She was quite formidable. If only she could have embraced the Dark Side, she’d have been Unstoppable.”
Harry was pleased to note Voldemort's knuckle white grip on his wand - fear evident. He peered at the older man hard, as if inspecting him, before extinguishing his light saber. He wouldn’t need it, he decided. “You once told me – what seems like a lifetime ago now – that there was only power; power, and those too weak to seek it. Do you remember that?”
Harry pocked his saber back in his robes as Voldemort nodded and the two began to circle one another. Voldemort watched the boy calculatingly, searching for answers and weaknesses as the boy spoke. He was powerful, powerful beyond anything Voldemort had encountered. He had ruthlessly slaughtered two armies, friend and foe alike; he had dominated Minerva McGonagall’s mind with a word and sent her off to her to her death, and Voldemort knew that she was an accomplished Occumencer. Most infuriating of it all, he’d survived the Killing Curse – again. How, he had to possess that power!
“You asked me why,” Harry paraphrased his earlier question as to the meaning of his actions. “Simply put, you were right –“he conceded. “There is only power, and you are weak!”
The accusation pushed Voldemort beyond the brink of reason and he lashed out. “Avada Kadavra!”
It wouldn’t work of course, but if Harry didn’t know the limitations of these people then he might have been impressed. The man pushed all of his power into that single spell; driven by shear blind fury. It was unrefined and raw with no direction or purpose other than destruction, but that was the first step in tapping the true nature of the Dark Side.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion…
As it was, Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. This was the most feared wizard in a generation? He just found him disappointingly predictable. “Is this seriously all you have?” He held his hand up, palm out, and the impotent curse bounced projecting back at Voldemort.
The man screamed and seethe with rage as, with a glare and an angry flourish of his wand he transfigured the ground before him into a wall, and transmuted it into titanium The curse struck it with a force that rang out like a gong in the night. The sound drawing the attention of the survivors, and they all stopped, turning to watch.
With his right hand the Darth struck out, wrapping the titanium in the force like a blanket and squeezed, drawing his hand into a fist. The metal creaked and groaned in protest, but gave away, denting and bending under the force of his mental grip. He motioned as if to throw it and it flew across the gap, straight at Voldemort; all the while he shaped and molded it, wrapping it around Voldemort’s body like the coils of a great python.
Immobilized, Voldemort used his rudimentary grasp of wandless magic and the metal began to glow red-hot. He screamed out in searing pain as his flesh melted, but the titanium began to slide away.
Harry was almost impressed. “That’s much better,” he said patronizingly. He wasn’t nearly done toying with the man though. He threw a bolt of dark purple lightning from his hand straight at Voldemort. It struck the molten metal, which turned to rock and sent the wizard flying through the air. “- But still not good enough…”
He hit the ground so hard that it knocked the breath from him. He groaned in pain as after-shocks of lightning arched over his exposed and scorched flesh, robes smoldering with glowing embers of molten titanium, raw exposed nerves and muscles twitching and convulsing.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Harry said standing over-top of him now. His hand cupped as if to choke him, Voldemort began to rise, suspended in the air by the Force, gasping for breath. “As far as your kind go, you’re the stronger of them, but you never stood a chance against a Dark Lord of the Sith!” He laughed, the very idea ludicrous.
He was growing bored, however, and he needed to end this and advance. So, with his free hand he reached out and touched the defeated man’s forehead. His hand began to glow, and Voldemort’s body stiffened.
Voldemort began to panic, but Harry tilted his head back, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the man’s very life-force began to flow into him, the force whispering to him like silk.
Lost in the Force, he vaguely heard Voldemort’s body hit the ground – dead.3 Then suddenly however, it ended, coming to an abrupt halt. Harry felt a searing pain in his chest and his eyes snapped open, the red glow of power fading from them. He looked down to see the pale blue glow of a light saber receding from his chest. His pain turned to rage as blackness began to encroach on his vision.
He turned quickly to face his attacker, using his anger and hate to stay conscious. “You –“The last thing he saw before the world faded was the bushy brown haired Hermione Granger…
________________________________________
End Notes:
So there you have it, the Prologue to my new Fic and DZ2’s Evil Never Dies challenge. Bit of a Jump forward, but don’t worry, we’ll go back.
Anyway, just a few notes:
1. Amentia
Madness, folly, being out of one's senses, mania, lunacy
2. Interitus
Destruction, death, ruin, removal, annihilation, dissolution, extinction
3. I know Voldemort's death seemed easy, and that's because it kind of was.
Truthfully, I never saw Voldemort as that powerful
Author: ChrisF. (Antarprince, et al…)
Rating: M or Higher
Pairing(s)/Character(s): N/A (Undecided)
Author Summary: When he was younger his Aunt and Uncle called him a Freak. They had no idea. And nor does anyone else.
Disclaimer: I Own Neither Harry Potter, Star Wars nor the works associated with them, or any other obvious fandom reference. This means no Money is made, but unless you’re a complete dimwit or this is your first Fanfiction, you know that.
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Romance, Crossover – a bit of everything.
Warnings: Evil!Harry, Bashing, Politics, Slavery, Technomancy, AU, Slash, and probably more…
Spoilers/Timeline – Pre-Hogwarts/Old Republic era-ish (You’ll see)
Author's Notes: This Fic is being written as a response to DZ2’s Evil Never Dies Challenge. Farther, feel free to Review. I accept all kinds, including Flames and do my best to respond to them all. Also, this will be Slash. I’m gay, it’s a thing.
Challenge
________________________________________
Prologue
March 15, 1997
Night had long since fallen. Two figures stood atop the tallest tower of the ancient fortress turned school. Both stood surveying the chaos and destruction below them. One stood stoically, towering behind the other, watching the battle unfold with a critical eye, as one observing a chess board and calculating every move.
The other, more diminutive of the duo wasn’t watching. He was standing atop the tower with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back listening. The golden light of the wards illuminated the night and you could see the lower half of his face despite the shadow of his hood. A smile graced his obscured features, and he swayed absently in the early spring breeze, as if he were dancing to a symphony. He was lost in the ecstasy of the battle, each sound an instrument that added to his orchestra: The screams of rage; the cries of pain, agony and death; the explosion of spell-fire and weaponry; the gentle wisps as fires razed the battlefield to cinders, and all the while The Force thrumming in the background, pulsing and thundering in his ears like a bass drum. All of it a musical that he was conducting.
"Word from Lady Amentia1...?" The figure asked, his voice a low whisper of pleasure.
“No Master,” the other answered behind him never taking his eyes off the grounds below.
The Master chuckled in delight. "Excellent," he said with a clearly pleased inflection as he watched. Everything was going precisely as it was intended to. Voldemort’s Death Eaters had entered Hogwarts, and Minerva McGonagall who was the New Head Mistress and Defacto leader of the vigilant group The Order of the Phoenix had engaged them, just as he’d intended.
Meanwhile, his people had triggered the long dormant siege wards around Hogwarts, keeping the admittedly feeble reinforcements of the Ministry from reaching them while his followers ambushed them both from the forest and crushed both sides. His people had rushed out from the school and the Forest like a crashing tide: Sorcerers’, Vampires, Werewolves, Dementors and all manner of Dark beasts that inhabited the forest.
He smiled, an expression of cruel delight. In ancient times before the statutes and during Britain’s invasion of Scotland Hogwarts was more than just a school, it was a fortress. It provided a safe haven and security to the Magical community in a time of war, superstition and fear. The Forbidden Forest’s denizens were meant to be a defense if the grounds were ever breached; he wondered what the founders would say if they knew that their defenses, meant to protect the school, were taking it.
These people were weak, he thought. They had no concept the force that they wielded. They had no idea of the true nature or potential of the power they possessed, and those that did have some inkling of it feared it. That’s why the Ministry saw fit to outlaw and legislate the power of the force that they called magic into its most rudimentary, basic, safe form.
Driven as they were by their greed, envy and fear, they ostracized and demonized those that had a greater grasp of the Force than they did. They segregated orphaned children with people who couldn’t understand them, and depended on those same children to deal with those ostracized, demonized sorcerers, and then often casted those aside for fear that, like their foe, they had grown too powerful and couldn’t be trusted.
This in turn fostered anger, hate and rage, continuing the cycle.
The wizards, as these force users called themselves had grown so confident in their Magic that they had become complacent and weak. They looked upon those who did not wield the Force as lesser. Granted, the Master agreed with this sentiment, but the wizards had dismissed advancement and grown stagnant.
They had minimal, if any understanding of science and biology, inbreeding and weakening themselves to the brink of extinction. All of this in an attempt to remain ‘pure’, all the while doing the opposite.
All of that would change tonight.
The Master used all of this to his advantage to draw the disenfranchised, the angry all under his banner with the promise of great power, and the freedom to use it. Oh, he was going to save them. He would allow that weakling who called himself a Dark Lord remove his opposition – with a little help from his followers, and then he would destroy Voldemort and his lackeys, playing the conquering hero to the Masses.
Afterwards, much as Dumbledore had done before him, the Master would take the Ministry amid the approving shouts of the people, and then the whole of the British Isles and the United Kingdom. He would unit them under him. He would usher a new age of power with The Force.
With him as the Emperor of the beginning of the new Sith Empire….!
“It’s time….” The Master said suddenly. “We end this now.”
Without another word, the Master left his apprentice and climbed up onto the sill. Briefly looking over the edge the Master jumped. As he plummeted, the wind whistling in his ears he heard his apprentice over the communicator. “All forces –Darth Interitus2 has entered the fray. I repeat, the King is on the board!”
Darth Interitus’ landing was precipitated by a concussive blast of explosive Force energy that bushed the throng away from him as he landed in a crouching position, braced by his left arm in front of him on the ground. The masses were thrown back several hundred feet and fell unconscious.
The Darth rose gracefully to his feet, a haunting specter of death and destruction. He reached into the folds of his crimson robes and withdrew his light saber, igniting the deadly blade with a sickly looking black-green energy and a quiet, ominous hiss. As he moved though the battlefield arrant spells dissipated harmlessly before they even touched him, and he manipulated the more deadly ones – the Killing Curse and the Pain Curse – with his own Force powers so that they refracted harmlessly around him, as he cut down his foes, Death Eater and Order alike with ruthless, efficient ease.
Both sides caught on soon enough and tried to face him, but it was hopeless. As he cut them all down like wheat he extended his senses though the Force and projected a sense of Hopeless despair. Those that did not know how to defend against such mental assaults simply cowered in fear, whimpering pathetically before they too met their end.
This would be over soon, he thought. He could see McGonagall and Voldemort dueling just a few meters in front of him. The fight was impressive by wizard standards, he supposed. Spells flew furiously from wands, and McGonagall – the fiery old Scott – ducked, dodged and blocked expertly. She gave as hood as she got, but she was no Dumbledore. He could see the strain.
He saw Voldemort’s next spell, the Killing Curse, fly at his former professor. It was going to hit her, age and exhaustion making her falter. She was just a fraction of a second too slow. For a moment he considered letting her die, but decided against it just then. He had a better idea. He would toy this them.
Smirking, he leapt forward, using the Force to flip and propel himself through the air. He landed solidly in front of McGonagall, shielding her from the curse with his body. He heard McGonagall’s yell of fright as the deadly energy struck him in the chest. The force of the impact made him stumble and lose his breath; as he did so his hood fell revealing the pale face of Harry James Potter, but he did not fall.
“Son of a-!” He yelled out in pain as he pivoted to face his professor, biting his lip against it, hiding his comedic expression from Voldemort. “– Bitch!” The seventeen year old finished petulantly as he turned back to face the would-be Dark Lord. “Stings!” He glared childishly before muttering. “That’s gonna leave a mark…”
Both the elders had ceased their duel and were looking at Harry dumbfounded. It was McGonagall who spoke first as Harry moved away from her to face them both. “How…”
Harry smiled innocently, masking his deviousness behind it. In truth he understood their confusion. He had once again survived the impossible, but he just shrugged impishly. “What, done it before. Old trick…”
It was at this point that Voldemort composed himself again. "Harry," he said enthusiastically. “I wondered when you would be joining us.” He sounded cordial, but Harry knew better. He felt the caution and contempt rolling of the other man in waves. He was all too easy to read, but Harry understood. Voldemort was envious and more than a little afraid of him, as he should be. He wanted to know how Harry had survived the Killing Curse, and he wanted that power for himself. “After all, I should thank my gracious host for the invitation.”
McGonagall’s head snapped up, a momentary look of shocked disbelief as she looked back and forth between the two. “You lie!” She accused the older man viciously and drew her wand back to strike him.
Voldemort just laughed at her, a deep charming baritone. “Have I then,” he asked her amused. “Why would I do that, what have I to gain from a deception now? I’ve taken the castle.”
Harry winced in a mock apologetic expression. “But have you really,” he asked. Voldemort glared spitefully at the contradiction. “True enough, you’ve breached it, but have you looked at your Death Eaters lately? They seem pretty decimated to me.”
His statement made Voldemort hesitate. The wizard looked out over the field; true to Harry’s word there were a few scattered skirmishes, but the battle appeared to be over. The werewolves and other beasts prowled the battlefield scavenging; the Dementors wondered aimlessly… Some wizards stalked the dead, accounting the bodies and occasionally killing survivors. He reached through his link with the marked, but other than a few weak signatures he felt nothing. Voldemort looked to Harry, his eyes filled with rage. “What is the meaning of this!?!”
Harry’s lips pouted and he shrugged, a careless expression. “I said I’d let you in.” he spoke as if it were obvious. “I never said I’d allow you to take it. If it’s any consolation, my men killed most of the Order as well.”
“Why!” Minerva shouted in despair. “How could you!”
Harry smiled in cruel amusement as he tasted her emotions through the Force; a heady combination of fury and despair, it was delicious. She opened her mouth, a curse on the tip of her tongue; but he held up his hand to stop her. She was prepared to strike him down as payment for his treacherous actions, and in any other situation he would have struck her down for the mere thought, but no…
“Stop Minerva,” he commanded. His voice was saturated with Force power. She faltered, very clearly fighting the compulsion, but it was futile. Her wand arm fell harmlessly to her side. “You see those flames about sixty meters behind you?” He waited for her to turn and look. “Be a dear and go stand in them.”
All the while, as he issued her directive, he did so with a kind and care free tone. Meanwhile, McGonagall’s feet carried her unwillingly forward. Her face was drenched in sweat, and she tried to fight, but eventually, her agonized cries echoed through the night sky. She screamed and wailed, until her throat was scorched and her voice died, the acrid smell of charred flesh wafting in the breeze. “It’s a shame, you know.” He said offhandedly with a disappointed sigh. “She was quite formidable. If only she could have embraced the Dark Side, she’d have been Unstoppable.”
Harry was pleased to note Voldemort's knuckle white grip on his wand - fear evident. He peered at the older man hard, as if inspecting him, before extinguishing his light saber. He wouldn’t need it, he decided. “You once told me – what seems like a lifetime ago now – that there was only power; power, and those too weak to seek it. Do you remember that?”
Harry pocked his saber back in his robes as Voldemort nodded and the two began to circle one another. Voldemort watched the boy calculatingly, searching for answers and weaknesses as the boy spoke. He was powerful, powerful beyond anything Voldemort had encountered. He had ruthlessly slaughtered two armies, friend and foe alike; he had dominated Minerva McGonagall’s mind with a word and sent her off to her to her death, and Voldemort knew that she was an accomplished Occumencer. Most infuriating of it all, he’d survived the Killing Curse – again. How, he had to possess that power!
“You asked me why,” Harry paraphrased his earlier question as to the meaning of his actions. “Simply put, you were right –“he conceded. “There is only power, and you are weak!”
The accusation pushed Voldemort beyond the brink of reason and he lashed out. “Avada Kadavra!”
It wouldn’t work of course, but if Harry didn’t know the limitations of these people then he might have been impressed. The man pushed all of his power into that single spell; driven by shear blind fury. It was unrefined and raw with no direction or purpose other than destruction, but that was the first step in tapping the true nature of the Dark Side.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion…
As it was, Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. This was the most feared wizard in a generation? He just found him disappointingly predictable. “Is this seriously all you have?” He held his hand up, palm out, and the impotent curse bounced projecting back at Voldemort.
The man screamed and seethe with rage as, with a glare and an angry flourish of his wand he transfigured the ground before him into a wall, and transmuted it into titanium The curse struck it with a force that rang out like a gong in the night. The sound drawing the attention of the survivors, and they all stopped, turning to watch.
With his right hand the Darth struck out, wrapping the titanium in the force like a blanket and squeezed, drawing his hand into a fist. The metal creaked and groaned in protest, but gave away, denting and bending under the force of his mental grip. He motioned as if to throw it and it flew across the gap, straight at Voldemort; all the while he shaped and molded it, wrapping it around Voldemort’s body like the coils of a great python.
Immobilized, Voldemort used his rudimentary grasp of wandless magic and the metal began to glow red-hot. He screamed out in searing pain as his flesh melted, but the titanium began to slide away.
Harry was almost impressed. “That’s much better,” he said patronizingly. He wasn’t nearly done toying with the man though. He threw a bolt of dark purple lightning from his hand straight at Voldemort. It struck the molten metal, which turned to rock and sent the wizard flying through the air. “- But still not good enough…”
He hit the ground so hard that it knocked the breath from him. He groaned in pain as after-shocks of lightning arched over his exposed and scorched flesh, robes smoldering with glowing embers of molten titanium, raw exposed nerves and muscles twitching and convulsing.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Harry said standing over-top of him now. His hand cupped as if to choke him, Voldemort began to rise, suspended in the air by the Force, gasping for breath. “As far as your kind go, you’re the stronger of them, but you never stood a chance against a Dark Lord of the Sith!” He laughed, the very idea ludicrous.
He was growing bored, however, and he needed to end this and advance. So, with his free hand he reached out and touched the defeated man’s forehead. His hand began to glow, and Voldemort’s body stiffened.
Voldemort began to panic, but Harry tilted his head back, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the man’s very life-force began to flow into him, the force whispering to him like silk.
Lost in the Force, he vaguely heard Voldemort’s body hit the ground – dead.3 Then suddenly however, it ended, coming to an abrupt halt. Harry felt a searing pain in his chest and his eyes snapped open, the red glow of power fading from them. He looked down to see the pale blue glow of a light saber receding from his chest. His pain turned to rage as blackness began to encroach on his vision.
He turned quickly to face his attacker, using his anger and hate to stay conscious. “You –“The last thing he saw before the world faded was the bushy brown haired Hermione Granger…
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End Notes:
So there you have it, the Prologue to my new Fic and DZ2’s Evil Never Dies challenge. Bit of a Jump forward, but don’t worry, we’ll go back.
Anyway, just a few notes:
1. Amentia
Madness, folly, being out of one's senses, mania, lunacy
2. Interitus
Destruction, death, ruin, removal, annihilation, dissolution, extinction
3. I know Voldemort's death seemed easy, and that's because it kind of was.
Truthfully, I never saw Voldemort as that powerful