A/N: So I started a new story. Based on the plot point of Harry picking up a Denarius from the Dresdenverse. This came about after re-reading Shezza's Series, so it is safe to say that jumpstarted my thoughts on this. But, I've chosen a different path and different everything really. The only similarity would be that both Harry's have a Fallen in their head. That said, on with the show.

Quick shout-out to the people of DLP who critiqued the shit out of the original Prologue and are continuing to help with coming chapters. This story, like all my other ones, will be updated as I write. I have no timeline for this. That said, enjoy the show.


Harry rested behind a large tombstone. He mind reeling with pain from the Cruciatus and terror as Voldemort sent another dark grey curse twisting at his shelter. He grimaced as the tombstone did not hold.

With a shriek of protest, a large chunk was stone was punched through and the curse pierced his back, exiting his chest and spattering gore across the darkened grass. He watched in slow motion as it tore through his chest and kept going, a piercing curse he assumed. He fell.

Silver met Flesh.

Fire, burning, twisting and ripping, roared through him. Sulfur engulfed his sense of smell and taste. Then, just as suddenly, the flames vanished and a deep cold surged through his warmed veins, chilling his blood within seconds, before power, pure and unrefined, washed over him. A void consumed him as the power drew everything inwards. Greed overcame him as a desire to own the void surfaced. He reached forward to touch it when a trumpet clarion blasted, loud and clear. As it grew and became all encompassing within, he gave out a pained grunt.

'You will serve well,' a voice whispered. It rebounded around his head and then the voice came again. Stronger, darker, sibilant.

'Virga Veneficus? I've not had one of you before.' it whispered.

"Who's there?" Harry grunted out through his gritted teeth. The world slowed to a stop and Harry felt blackness seep over him. Within seconds he was enveloped and then sound disappeared. A man stepped into a cone of light. He was dressed in what could only be described as a Roman robe. It flowed to the ground, pure white save for the hem at his feet which was stained red. His features we sharp and angular, narrowed grey eyes examined him. The man paced forwards, the light following him.

"Where am I," Harry gasped, "who are you?" The man smiled gently.

"We are within a moment of Time, dear host, which is held within you, as you lay at death's door. I cannot hold this for long, but for now it shall suffice for introductions," the man spoke clearly. His voice was a gentle lilting tone, but underneath, Harry sensed a sharp edge, waiting to come out. He stared at the man.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"I have had many names, some unpronounceable in your tongue or any tongue of man. You, may call me Turiel, dear host," the man. The name stirred something within Harry. The void's presence grew once more within his mind. As suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.

"My apologies, dear host. It has been quite some time since I was last free. I am having some trouble keeping myself calm," the man said quickly. Harry stared at him.

"That's you? What is that?" The man's eyes softened.

"That is a story for another time, dear host. For now, shall we speak of the moment?" Harry's head jerked back.

"He's still out there, isn't he?" mulled Harry.

"I can help you dear host, I can minimize the pain and allow for movement. I cannot heal it at this time. I am sorry," the man said, with a small bow.

"What," Harry paused, uncertain if the man was telling the truth, "what would you do?"

"Oh it's quite simple, dear host. I shall lend you my aid, all I ask is that you carry my coin for a while; it is currently underneath your hand on the ground. I can lend my aid further after wound is dealt with, if you desire."

That caught Harry's attention. He looked at the man, whose lips were quirked in a knowing smile.

"Voldemort," Harry said, "that's what you mean, isn't it?" The man nodded.

"And I just have to carry your coin?"

"That is all, dear host. If you carry my coin, I shall lend you my power and my knowledge. I can show you worlds and times that you never dreamed of. I can teach you, educate you, empower you, and invigorate you. I can provide all of that and more," the man said as he slowly dropped to Harry's level. He held out his hand to Harry. The teen looked at him in the eyes, peering closely. His hand drifted out and finally, clasped the strange being.

The world rushed back to reality and the muted colors and sounds surged forward, obliterating the darkness. Harry screamed as he lifted his hand. Stuck to it, was a red hot coin, but the heat was quickly fading and as he slowly pried it from his palm, the skin mended, leaving a faint scar in the shape of a strange sigil upon his hand.

Then he stood and felt it.

'My dear host, take this and be victorious.' A surge of energy flowed into him, coldness crept into his veins as the void began to turn within his chest. He trembled with energy, he also felt excitement he realized, that was not his own. He felt power and in that moment, he felt he could be victorious. The rush of cold removed any lingering traces of pain or stiffness. He marveled at the absence of pain.

'It has been so long since I've been freed last.'

Harry smiled savagely, feeling the power at his fingertips. He whirled around the headstone, already swinging his wand up to meet Voldemort's curse. The wound didn't pain him as he moved. He glanced toward the Cup and Cedric. Escape was his only chance now. He turned back to Voldemort and with a sharp slash, released a curse and made for Cedric.

He could hear Voldemort screaming at his Death Eaters to do nothing as a curse brushed his robes, leaving a searing wake of superheated air and charred cloth. He managed to reach Cedric alive and pointed his wand at the cup.

"Accio Cup," he incanted, watching with satisfaction as it leapt to his hands. His last look of Voldemort was a face of pure rage as he disappeared in a whirl of displaced air. He reappeared on his knees in the center of the maze, Cedric cradled in his arms. He looked up to see the form of Dumbledore flying down the stands, followed by professors and ministry personnel alike. He looked down.

A wail went up in the crowd as Amos Diggory finally caught sight of his son and Harry. Harry looked up to the man, despair written in his face. Amos came closer and then knelt before Harry. His eyes flicked to the wound and then down to Cedric, tears falling freely.

"Thank you," he whispered, "for bringing my boy back." Harry simply nodded as he let Cedric go into Amos's waiting arms. He knelt still, even as Dumbledore softly grasped his shoulder. He looked to the man and smiled slightly to see Dumbledore's approving gaze. His grip steadied Harry even as a multitude of question surrounded Harry. Dumbledore was pulled away by Minister Fudge himself, but Harry looked to him and muttered.

"He's back." The small crowd grew quiet.

"Who's back?" Fudge blustered.

"Voldemort, he's back. He killed Cedric." Harry replied. His words brought an eruption through the crowd at Voldemort's name and soon chaos reigned. Harry again felt a hand on his shoulder, only this time it was Mad-Eye Moody's gaze he met as the man practically dragged Harry up to the castle.

"C'mon Potter," Moody growled as they entered through the front doors. The wound was starting to hurt once more and his right shoulder began to stiffen in response. He grunted.

"Almost there Potter, just need to get ya to my office. Dumbledore's orders," Moody stated, rather gruffly as he dragged Harry though the castle to his private office.

'I am sorry, dear host, but my abilities are fading. You will start to feel the full extent of the wound and I urge you to seek care. I can only do so much right now.' Harry heard the voice echoing within his mind

"What the hell was that?" he whispered.

'Speak in your mind dear host, and I shall hear you.'

'What the hell was that?' Harry repeated.

'Don't fret, dear host, I can hold this for another hour or two. We have much to discuss. And much to do,' Turiel spoke once more, strained almost, 'the Void sapped much of me. I would return to this conversation after I have gathered my strength.' Harry could feel his voice slip away.

Harry's mind reeled as he was finally sat down roughly in a chair across from Moody. The man stumped around to his desk and sat heavily in his chair. He peered directly at Harry.

"So," he started, "you saw him, didn't you?" Harry knew exactly who Moody meant. He swallowed and nodded.

Harry looked at Moody as he seemed to grow more animated. He took on a different emotion suddenly and his wand whipped at Harry. Blackness enveloped him.

The sky burned, ash and dust filled the air. Oppressive heat battered at him again and again. He stood behind a tall shield, almost as large as himself, and just a wide, but curved, to provide sliding edges for deflection, rather than puncture. He felt the weight of the sword on his hip and the spear in his hands as he readied himself.

He looked to the sky and saw nothing but blackness, he looked forward and saw a multitude of shadows, hazy shapes that hid their true definition. He knew fear and he knew courage. He looked to his left and right, to see similar hazy shapes, of light rather than shadow, standing beside him. He smiled and drew strength.

Then a clarion call sounded thunder clashed. He surged forward, nearing the shadows and slowly he could make out defined features, but before he could recognize them, a blinding fire razed his vision away and he was left to float in a blackened void. It was cold, empty, nothing resided and no natural laws took hold. He slept.


Harry started and realized he was sitting against a wall. He blearily gazed around to see Dumbledore standing over Moody's trunk. With him was Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick also stood nearby, holding his wand on a strange man who remained slumped over in defeat. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as a sneer stretched over his face.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sorry for what has happened. Rest assured, it's being dealt with though." Flitwick said, as the first to notice Harry was awake.

"Ah, Harry. I'm glad you are awake. We were not sure what you had been hit with, but suffice to say, we tried and failed to revive you, Madame Pomfrey is already on her way," he said calmly, not removing his eyes from the trunk.

"What happened?" Harry croaked out, his shoulder and chest hurt immensely. Just the act of breathing, brought fresh fire to his wound and he gave a wracking cough. McGonagall turned to him as Dumbledore finally tapped the chest. It sprang open, revealing multiple compartments stacked on each other. Dumbledore tapped the lowest one and the lids faded. Harry distantly heard a voice cry out.

"Hello Alastor. Are you ok?" There was a mumbled response.

"I'm sorry it took so long to retrieve you. The impostor did quite a good impersonation," a rumbling laugh and a comment.

"I'll have you out of there in a moment. Just please, keep still." Dumbledore spoke as he raised his wand. Slowly the body of Alastor Moody rose out of the chest, sans eye and leg. Harry gasped, coughing again from the pain of the sharp inhalation.

"I know I'm not that pretty," Moody growled as he was slowly placed into the chair behind his desk.

"12 months Albus. How did you not notice?" He asked, glaring at the wizened Headmaster.

"I must apologize again, Alastor, but like I said, the impostor was extremely good at what he did," Dumbledore provided in a conciliatory tone. Moody dropped his gaze for a moment before turning to look at Harry.

"So, you're Potter?" he asked. Harry could only nod. At that moment, Pomfrey appeared in the door and took quick stock of the situation. She immediately made a beeline for Harry, her wand already whipping about in one hand as a jar of salve appeared in the other.

"Mr. Potter, I should have known you'd be here," she muttered in a resigned tone as she carefully used her wand to conjure a small dressing and proceeded to cover the wound in a dark yellow paste. Harry sighed in relief as it started to remove the pain from the wound. He started again when he slowly felt the skin knitting back together already.

Pomfrey waved her wand again, and Harry stared in curiosity as numbers and symbols appeared in ghostly writing over his skin. She tutted and clucked as she inspected the rest of him.

"Besides the wound, you also show the signs of exposure to the Cruciatus and strained muscles in the shoulder from the Portkey while wounded. Thank goodness you don't know how to apparate yet or we might have had to deal with splinching," she said sternly, "You'll be good as new in a few days time, but what I can't seem to understand is how you're alive at all. That wound would have been fatal to any other witch or wizard.

Harry opened his mouth, about to speak of the coin, when it snapped shut on its own. He looked at her in a bewildered manner, before trying again. This time though, his body wouldn't move at all. A trickle of cold seeped into his veins once more, strangely soothing some of his strained muscles.

'One last request, dear host,' Turiel whispered in his ear.

"Do not reveal that I am here, I would not be parted just yet," Turiel said.

'How long until we are to be parted?' Harry thought tentatively. There was no response, but a simple emotion. He could barely describe it. Words wouldn't do it justice, the emotion just felt; timeless.

"Eternity," said the silence. Harry gripped the coin. If it meant something that could help him defeat Voldemort, then he'd wait and learn what it held in store.