Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan or strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you. Also, for those of you who didnt know. Voldemort was modeled after Illyria from Angel. Some of the lines from in this story are taking directly from Angel season 7 from the Illyria episodes

"The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone." George Eliot, Novelist


Chapter Sixteenth: Angelic Equation

By: Water Mage

Terry looked down at his wrist. His watch silently ticked along, its glass face slightly reflecting his face's scared expression. Harry was late. The two hour mark had passed almost thirty minutes ago and still there was no sign of Harry. This was bad, very bad. If he knew Harry, and he did, trouble was no doubt on his heels by now. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and he irritably brushed it away. The sound of footsteps coming from down the corridor made him look up. Riley came from around a corner looking serious and worried at the same time. An expression that he had never before seen on her face.

"Any sign of Harry?" she asked, coming to stop beside him.

Terry shook his head, frowning. "No. It's been half an hour now. Something's wrong," he said softly. "I can feel it."

Riley sighed. "This is bad. Very bad." She stopped in mid sentence a thoughtful look crossing her face. She looked at Terry and he stared back, both thoughts were in perfect sync. "You don't think…"

"I don't know. But if there is one thing I've learned about him is that he's unpredictable," replied Terry, shaking his head.

Riley grabbed his hand, breaking into a run. "Come on then. If he's confronting Quirrell without backup who knows what kind of trouble he's gotten into already!"

They took off at a breakneck pace. Students weren't confined to quarters but mostly everyone, still scared that another vampire was on the loose, stayed within their common rooms. This was good for them, since that left the halls deserted, keeping anyone from getting in their way. The pace they were running at was a no stop for anything speed. Armor jumped out of the way and statues backed against the corner, as they ran by, leaping over sinkholes in the floor, and jumping over trick stair steps. What would have taken a ten or more minute walk, only took four minutes as the two neared the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom out of breath and more than a little winded. Taking a deep breath, Riley met Terry's eyes and seeing conformation, she eased open the door.

"Bloody hell!" Terry shouted gaping, mouth open, eyes wide, at the sight before them.

Directly in front of them, next to an old wardrobe, the wall was coated in blood. The drying, dark red fluid clung to the wall, dripping down to splatter against the growing puddle of gathered blood on the floor. The two kids stared at the blood, their faces quickly turning a pale shade than white. Terry, shaking, looked to Riley with horrified eyes.

"Do you think…this was…H-Harry," he stuttered then stopped, barely able to get the sentence out he gave up, staring at the blood stained floor and wall with horror.

Riley wrapped her arms around herself, her face full of emotions. She shivered suddenly a cold chill running down her spin. Fear bubbled in her gut, filling her lungs traveling down her throat like some bitter liquid that refused to be swallowed. She shook her head, denying what her eyes were trying to show her. It wasn't supposed to be this way. The three of them were supposed to go together. Be each other's backup. Harry shouldn't have gone alone and now, now he was dead. She paused, stopping her internal, downward spiral of grief. There was no body, only blood. Who in the hell said it was Harry's blood. Something akin to hope slowly washed over her still pale face.

She turned to the boy next to her, who had twin trails of tears falling down his cheeks. "Terry, wipe your face. We have to get it together."

Terry's eyebrows shot up, as he stared at her in amazed disbelief. "Are you daft! Harry's dead."

"Where's the body?" she replied simply, a small smile etched on her face. "There is nothing to say this blood is Harry's. It could be anybody's blood for all we know."

"Then where is he then?" asked Terry, trying to sound hopeful but failing.

Riley let out a quiet sigh. "I don't know. But we have to find him." She turned to him, hazel eyes serious. "You have to go find Professor Dumbledore. Harry said that he was going to his office, maybe he's there. I don't know. I'm going to go search the castle."

Terry didn't argue. It was the only plan they had. What could he say to this reasoning when he had none himself? Inhaling a gulp of breath, he spun on his heel and exited the classroom. Raising a shaky hand to her head, Riley let out a measured sigh. Hope. That was all he was running on at the moment. Determined, she left the room heading to one who would know what to do. The halls were still empty as she casually walked-ran down the corridors, up a flight up stairs, and around corners. Riley approached the door positioned between two suits of shining armor. The door flew open as her hand was poised to knock.

Mr. Matheson stared down at her, grass green eyes holding a dangerous light that normally wasn't there. The door opened wider and she stepped into the Professor's office. It wasn't decorating with anything, like pictures or any keepsakes. There was merely the standard desk, wardrobe closet and shelf housed with books. Riley turned to they flying Professor, who closed the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed he regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

"We can't find Harry!" she blurted out. Her nerves had gotten the best of her and her cool façade was broken as all of it finally got to her.

He stilled so suddenly, she would think he a statue. His body just seemed to freeze and his gaze turned dark. Riley felt a chill go down her throat as his blue eyes, so pale that they looked like chips of ice, settled on her. Snatching his wand from the sleeve of his robe, Mr. Matheson pointed it at a quill lying on his desk. Riley was barely able to make out the whispered word, "Portus". The quill on the desk started to vibrate as if the desk was shaking, but it in fact was not, and a vibrant blue light shone around it. Suddenly, as abrupt as it began the shaking and the glow receded leaving the quill exactly as is. Mr. Matheson grabbed her hand and as the tips of her fingers touched the quill, her body gave a jolt. A feeling like a hook pulling on her navel overwhelmed her, and then her world exploded in rush of colors and light. Her feet hit solid ground again and she fell over, falling face first on the ground. She spit out dirt and grass, her whole body shaking. Great heaving gasps filled the air, as her lungs worked in overtime to compensate for the lack of oxygen.

"What was that?" she gasped out looking up to Mr. Matheson, who looked down on her, the quill held between his two fingers.

Mr. Matheson hauled her to her feet. "Portkey. I'm sorry about that. I forgot that the younger you are the worst the disorientation is."

Wiping her mouth of the grass, she looked around her surroundings. They stood in the shadows of a row of trees. Not trees, but a hell of a lot of trees, a forest. Ahead of them, nestled between a rushing river and the forest was a two story cabin. In the distance, Riley could make out a familiar set of mountains. Those were the same mountains that stood near Hogsmeade. That meant that they weren't far from Hogwarts then. Wherever they were. Mr. Matheson cocked his head indicating she should follow along. His great strides couldn't be matched so she had to run to catch keep up to him. They made their way to the porch and she looked around quizzically. Why were they here? Gazing at the porch swing rocking back and forth by the wind, Riley's head snapped around as an electronic beep reached her ears. A small, rectangular section of the wood panel frame around the door had been pulled back revealing a keypad. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open forming a perfect o. Okay, this was… new. A little too James Bond, but she might as well go along with it. Matheson pressed a sequence of keys and there was an answering beep of what she guessed was clarification. He closed the hidden section on the panel and turned the knob on the door, admitting him into the cabin.

They stepped into the cabin and blinked. First of all, there wasn't anything in here that screamed 'I need a security system to guard my house'. Riley could recognize nice stuff here, but damn he was a little too paranoid. They stood in an average living room that one would expect a million other homes resembled. Footsteps sounded through the house and two people descended the stairs at the back of the room. Riley blinked in surprise, not recognizing the man or the woman before them. The man was middle aged with ginger hair, a pair of glasses, and had a dangerous air about him. The way he walked, so gracefully, simply spoke of the predator beneath. The woman had elbow length brown hair, steely gray eyes…. Riley blinked and then shivered….and entirely too much muscle for a female.

"Mark, what are you doing here?" asked the man, his eyes sliding from Matheson to Riley. "And why do you have Rilana with you? She doesn't have the necessary clearance to be here."

Riley stared dumbly at them, confused at the use of her real name, and bewildered by the fact that he knew her by sight. Since the fact of the matter is, she didn't have a fucking clue as to who he was, or the Amazon woman at his side.

The woman placed a hand on his arm. "Be quiet, Jeremy. Mark has a good reason for being here." She looked to Matheson. "What has happened?"

Matheson sighed, "The Little Lord is missing."


"I don't know what happened," replied Matheson frustrated. Frustrated with himself for failing then anyone else at the moment. "As soon as I found out he was missing. I and Riley took a portkey straight here. She is the one who told me the news of Harry."

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at Riley. She winced. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess he didn't like that she failed in her charge. Looking down at the ground, Riley went through the story just as she remembered it. She told them of Harry's dreams, his powers, how he blamed Quirrell for Michael Corner's death, and finally the gathering they had right before his subsequent disappearance. The adults in the room looked at each other over her head. This was big. Bigger than they could handle. They had to make the call.

Riley put her hands on her hips and glared them. She felt so tired, and this was all too much too soon. She was almost near her breaking point. "Now I want some answers. Who are you people? What do you know about Harry?"

The woman gave her gentle smile. "What you have told us, most we already knew. I am Gabriel. You, Mark, Jeremy and I all have the same mission."

Riley raised an eyebrow, her body loose and ready for a fight just in case one of them tried anything. "Oh, what mission is that?"

Jeremy smirked, his contempt for her shown on his face. "Why, that's the protection and safety of our very own little lord, Harry McKnight." He looked down at her with his penetrating gaze. "Together the four of us are his silent protectors, his bodyguards. We are Shadow."

Todd and Dylan entered the office of Killian McKnight. Their thoughts puzzled on the unusual urgency that had been carried with the summons. Killian stood behind his desk, sans suit jacket, revealing a brown shoulder holster with two Smith and Wesson's gleaming in the sunlight that lit the office. Todd looked at Dylan his eyebrows raised in question. The other man shrugged in answer, he too wondering what had brought on the need for Killian to arm himself with his wonder weapons, twin stainless steel Smith and Wesson 1911 pistols. These guns Killian only used in the direst of emergencies. The last time he had used them was when a siege had been carried out on Harry's primary school, year and a half ago.

"Sir?" questioned Todd, stepping forward, and then stopping as he saw the dead look in their boss's eyes.

Dylan placed a hand at Todd's elbow, and stepped up to stand beside him. "Sir, what's happened?"

Killian stared down at the ground, looking as if he was visibly trying to control his emotions. When he looked back up they couldn't help but stare into his eyes. Killian's eyes had always been the most unique feature about him. They had an up-tilt that hinted at his Asian heritage, giving him an exotic look to his handsome face that seemed younger than his thirty years. Now, those green depths were dead. There was no other word for it. They bored into them, staring at them, but looking through them at the same time. Creepy as hell would be another good description.

"I just got a call from Shadow. Harry has gone missing. They think he's been taken," he stated, voice shaking with barely concealed rage.

Dylan and Todd's eyes widened at the same time. "Taken?" Todd blurted out before Dylan could even form a coherent thought.

Killian didn't even answer the question. Instead he gazed at them, eyes seeming to grow darker with each passing second, reflecting his black mood. "Gather the Archangels and ready the jet. We're going to Scotland. Pack every weapon and bring enough C4 to liquefy Buckingham Palace."

Dylan gave a low whistle. "What are we going to do with all that, sir?"

His lips twisted into a feral snarl. "If we don't find Harry then we're blowing that fucking castle sky high."

Riley stared at the three adults in the room. Quickly, they were strapping on Kevlar vests, sheathing knives on various parts of their person, and loading numerous guns with clips. These were the real guardians of Harry. She had nothing on these experienced warriors that exuded skill from real combat, unlike her own skill which was only from training, and not actual real life fights. She was nothing compared to them. Why didn't Killian tell her that Shadow extended farther than she had ever guessed. Riley felt so stupid for believing that Killian would ever trust her with the safety of his son. Sure, she had Mr. Matheson as her silent partner, but she had felt chosen… special. Now, she saw that Killian was right in having more guards. She had fucked up. Royally. Harry was in trouble, hopefully still alive, but most likely in the hands of one sick fuck. She glanced back up at the adults and swallowed. She thought them dangerous before, well she had upped her assessment. Dressed head to foot in black, weapons strapped to their body, and faces cold as ice they were a heart hammering sight.

Suddenly, the ground began shaking and a deafening noise reached their ears. Wincing, Riley covered her ears only partially blocking out the sound coming from outside. Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to get her ears to stop popping. She hated when that happened. Her eyes roved around the room till they landed on the adults. They stared at her apparently unfazed by the noise, and each wearing different facial expressions, which were directed at her. Mr. Matheson arched an eyebrow. Gabriel gave her a sympathetic smile. And Jeremy, he merely sneered at her, his disgust at her composure apparent. Cheeks flushing, Riley's hands fell from her ears dropping to her side.

"What is that noise?" shouted Riley, her voice raised to carry over the roar.

Matheson smiled grimly. "That would be the Ascendant. The boss's private jet."

She swallowed and followed the adults out of the cabin. The sun was going down, and its fading light cast an orange glow over the horizon of the long stretch of land. About thirty meters in front of the house, dirt and grass blew about as a long, sleek black jet hovered yards above the ground. They covered their eyes as the harsh gusts blew dirt around them and played havoc on their hair. The landing wheels extended from the bottom and unconsciously Riley held her breath, hair whipping about her, as the jet finally touched down. The door of the hull opened outward and stairs extended.

Immediately, men wearing clothing identical to the three adults beside Riley came down the stairs, faces stoic and movements military precise, as they filed down single file in a perfect column. As they reached the end of the stairs they broke off into two separate columns, one line going left and the other right. There were nineteen men in all, eight forming a line on one side and eight on the other. All of them stood at attention, hands at their side, and eyes doing the thousand yard stare. Two men walked down the stairs next, their eyes scanning their surroundings. Riley knew they weren't looking at the scenery. These two were checking for signs of possible threats. The duo seemed different then the others, cautious, vigilant. They carried themselves with an air of authority, like they had seen it all. Probably had too. Warriors through and through they were.

"The Angels of Death," Gabriel murmured softly, part awe and part surprise.

They stepped off the stairs and moved till there was about a foot of distance between them. All the while they kept their eyes forward, bearing as perfect as any officer serving in the Queen's army. Briefly, Riley wondered if they were ex military. Their posture reminded her of her grandfather who was a retired Colonel. Her grandmother, when speaking of her husband, always said that "you can take a man out of the army but you can't take the army out of the man". The training you go through is drilled in your head, becoming part of your mannerisms, even carrying over into your civilian life. Riley felt more than saw the others go ramrod straight. She dragged her eyes from the Angels of Death and looked up till her hazel eyes met sharp green eyes. Killian came down the stairs, dressed the same as the others, wearing all black, with guns secured in shoulder holsters and thigh holsters. His long hair was tied back, so the first thing you noticed about him was his face. Riley's mouth went dry as those green eyes bored into her, making her feel like she was drowning. She shuddered, and then looked away from that chilling, accusing gaze. He was definitely not happy.

"Gabriel, report," said Killian, his voice laced with command.

"Sir, the situation has been analyzed and we have a strong theory that the Little Lord has been kidnapped by his Defense teacher, Professor Quirrell."

"Do you have any idea at all where he is?" asked Dylan.

Matheson stood at attention as he gave his report. "I have an idea. When Riley began reporting to me about Harry's suspicions of Quirrell, I began to watch him myself. He seems like a bumbling fool, but below that personality lies something else. I think he may be after an object of great power that's hidden inside the castle. Harry I think got in his way, so I'm guessing he's got him hidden somewhere."

"Object of great power?" Killian asked, frowning. "What exactly?"

"Have any of you ever heard of a Sorcerer's Stone?" Matheson questioned, looking around those gathered. Not getting an immediate response, he continued, "It also goes by the name of the Philosopher's Stone? Even muggles have heard tales of it."

Todd nodded, his gaze turned inward, recalling forth a memory. "In all the old fairytales, Alchemy is generally defined as an art which aims to change impure metals into silver or gold. The goal of alchemy, called also the Art, is the "Philosopher's Stone". The Stone was viewed as a magical touchstone that could immediately perfect any substance or situation. Like for say, turning metal into gold," he recited this all in a lecturing tone, showing that he was way smarter than he looked. He was more than just muscle. "The Philosopher's Stone has been associated with the Salt of the World, the Astral Body, the Elixir, and even Jesus Christ. It is said the Elixir the stone generates has essentially the same ability to perfect any substance. When applied to the human body, the Elixir cures diseases, and restores youth and lengthens life, or even gives immortality."

Killian raised a thin eyebrow, and said, "I assume this is going somewhere."

"We have a Philosopher's Stone hidden at the school. I only just recently formed an idea that Quirrell may be after it. If we have to start looking somewhere, I would say that's our best bet," replied Matheson. "And if he's there then most likely…"

"Harry is there," finished Killian. He looked into Matheson's eyes, gaze unwavering and deadly serious. "Get us into that castle."

He grinned in answer, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Anything you say, Boss."

Matheson meant it too. Between him, Gabriel, and Jeremy, who were also wizards, they managed to turn a fallen log into a portkey. It wasn't a small act of magic, since it took the three of them combined to work the magic properly onto something big enough that would transport the twenty plus people onto Hogwarts grounds, particularly, Mr. Matheson's office. Funny thing about Hogwarts wards, you couldn't apparate in or out, but you could portkey in and out easily enough. It had something to do with modulating, harmonic frequencies and that portkey transportation being more about folding space around you and not actually displacing molecules, like apparation. This wasn't necessarily a security risk upon Hogwarts, since portkey's weren't generally used without Ministry authorization, and it took an adept wizard to even create one. Gabriel had tried to explain the process to them but they lost themselves in the metaphysical specifics. Only Todd had managed to understand her explanation word for word. Killian, one of the brightest men whom ever graced a boardroom, normally would have gotten it too, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Harry. He busied himself with checking over the Archangels, making sure they were properly equipped and had weapons in top functional capability.

Riley tried to help in any way that she could, but she had only managed to get in the elder wizard's way. So feeling useless, she stood to the side wallowing in dejection. A hand on her arm made her look up. Uh oh. Riley swallowed and instinctively became tense as she looked into Killian's eyes. He was going to kill her. Fuck. She hadn't even ever got to kiss a boy or even kick one in the balls. It sounded silly and was a random thought to have, but hey a girl's got to have a goal.

"No need to be scared," Killian said calmly, dropping his hand from her arm. "I know what you think. I don't blame you for what has happened. I know my son, and I'm guessing that he rushed ahead and confronted Quirrell without waiting for backup. You did your job and reported him gone as soon as you knew."

Riley nodded. She couldn't find words. She wanted to say something at least, instead of looking like a total idiot. All she could do was nod dumbly and barely manage to stutter out a thank you. Now, normally she wasn't a wuss. But dammit, Killian was intimidating as hell. Killian seemed to sense her unease and gave a comforting pat on her arm. He titled her face up to meet his and she reluctantly met his eyes. Those green eyes sucked her in and she found herself unable to look away. It seemed those glittering, green eyes were measuring her worth, looking at her from the inside out. Well, at least she now knew where Harry picked up his stare from.

Finally, Killian spoke, seeming to find what he was looking for in her gaze, "There is something that I need you to do for me. When we get to the school. Find the Headmaster and tell him what's going on."

"Sir," said Riley, feeling her heart sinking. She shook her head. He was trying to get rid of her. This wasn't fair. She was Harry's guardian, or at least one of them. If anybody deserved to be in on the rescue mission then it was her. "I already sent Terry to find Professor Dumbledore! I need to go with you to find Harry."

Killian held up a hand to stop her protest. "Think about this. Terry doesn't know what we know. Dumbledore needs to know that Quirrell has Harry and that he's after the stone. I bet that's been his goal this whole year," Killian said the last sentence with a contemplative tone. He shook the thought off, getting back to business. "According to the letters from Harry, Quirrell is powerful. Powerful or not, I know anything with a heartbeat will fall to a bullet. But we don't know if he already has the stone or not, and if he does I don't think bullets will do much except get on his nerves. That's why we need Headmaster Dumbledore. He's supposed to be most powerful wizard in this little community."

Sighing, feeling the fight drain from her at his reasoning, Riley nodded, "Understood, Sir."

It was thirty minutes later that Riley was going one way down the silent corridor of Hogwarts, and the rescue group was going another way. Her mission was to inform Dumbledore and send him their way. Their mission was simple. Find Harry and blow Quirrell's brains out the back of his skull. It was a tall order, but they had rescued Harry from other life threatening situations before. They just hoped that they weren't too late. They had gone into missions with less intel before, but magic hadn't been a factor then. Now the probabilities of shit hitting the fan had became astronomical. Matheson led the group through tapestries, revolving walls, and behind paintings, taking every secret passage that he knew of to avoid detection. They reached a staircase that led up the third floor and then they met someone. Matheson at point held up his hand to signal the others to step into the shadows. Like the trained professionals they were, the Archangels and Killian blended into the shadows as if born from them.

The group of twenty four moved quieter than the softest breeze. How they managed to sneak through the castle unnoticed was a feat in itself. They were just that good. Their footsteps were silent and their movements quick. It was easy to believe they had done this before. Finally, they came to a door that was slightly ajar. Matheson held his finger to his lips and spoke in a whisper.

"This room holds the trapdoor that leads down into the secret tunnels. Keep in mind what I said earlier, Fluffy sounds cute but this damn dog is vicious." He looked around at their determined faces. "We need music to put him to sleep, and then we all can go through the trapdoor down into the tunnels. Remember don't struggle against the Devil's Snare. That is the key to it releasing you."

They nodded.

It had been decided earlier that Gabriel would enter first and immediately start singing to calm down the beast, Fluffy. When they heard this it sounded like a pretty solid plan. So, when Gabriel pushed open the door and they were greeted with the sight of a huge, monstrous dog, they were a bit…surprised. It took up the entire room, ceiling to floor. Its three heads swiveled their way, their sudden appearance taking it by surprise. A second later, it recovered and was spitting and growling, all six pairs of eyes turned their way. Gabriel overcame her burst of fear and quickly began to sing. Slowly at first then faster, as panic settled. Fluffy's eyes twitched and he blinked as if weights had been attached to his eyelids. Slowly, he began to sway. Gabriel, still singing, swung her head around and gave Matheson a look. A very pointed look that said clearly, wasn't the dog supposed to drop like a rock fast asleep. He shrugged in confusion, eyes sweeping along the room, finding a tall harp near the trap door that lay open in front of his back paw.

"I think he's already had his nap for today," said Matheson in answer, pointing toward the harp.

Killian and the Archangels waiting outside the room looked at the giant dog in apprehension then at Gabriel. She had been singing for a few minutes now and the dog still had not fallen asleep. In fact, Fluffy now seemed to be shaking his head roughly, the effect of the music was evidently wearing off. Killian ground his teeth together, irritation and dismay weighed down heavily upon him. They didn't have time for this. Even moment they spent here was another second that Harry could be lying somewhere, hurt, bleeding, helpless.

"We don't have fucking time for this," Killian snapped, frustrated.

He stalked forward through the door. Smoothly, his guns were drawn and before he even registered what happened, he was shooting. Aiming for the heads, Killian felt all emotion leave him as he fired into the beast. The twisted, mutated abomination whined pitifully as hot pieces of lead tore into flesh. Its body jerked and twisted as each bullet hit, spilling thick blood along the floor. See, Killian had come prepared. Both guns were loaded with Glazer Safety Rounds. Glazer Safety Rounds will kill a man if you hit him anywhere near the center of the body. The hole will be too big for the body to keep going. If you hit a person in the arm or leg with Safety Rounds, it will take off that arm or leg. Right now, more than anything, he would really like to see Quirrell take a bullet in the chest and see if he would get back up. Fun.

Breathing real deep, Killian sighted up his arm. He squeezed and the top of the middle head exploding, raining bone and brain down everywhere. The ground shook as Fluffy collapsed onto the ground, dead. So much blood covered the ground and the walls too. Blood and meat like bits of hamburger meat stuck to the ground. Soon, the smell would come and the room would smell like actual hamburger. The smell so thick that it clung to the back of your throat, staying with you even when you breathed fresh, clean air.

Killian turned to the Archangels still waiting outside the door. "Let's go."

He walked toward the trapdoor. Scanning the dark drop below with his guns still held in hand, Killian holstered them, and then with a held breath he stepped forward. He dropped like a rock into the abysmal darkness.

Voldemort turned smoldering, red eyes onto the destroyed pieces of the Mirror of Erised. Gone now was his chance of reacquiring his true body and power. He was condemned to this mortal shell that was incapable of sustaining his true glory. Once, he walked between realms. Traveling all of them, gaining knowledge and inflicting suffering as he pleased. Realms of pain, torment, and everlasting fire, hells. Blood filled lakes and pleasure ridden glaciers. Realms where lust and hope were one. Now, now he was stuck. Sentenced to this existence where he was stripped of his full power, limited to this one small realm filled with magicless mortals. Motes of dust. Mayflies who die so soon after their born they might as well not live at all. The world was full of them. They ruled the Earth, ignorant of the true power hidden from them. The mortal humans would last for millennia like roaches, crawling and infesting every crevice and corner of the world. Voldemort's eyes had been opened. The world needed to be destroyed of the muck. He knew what he had to do. He would summon his army and recreate the world, exterminating the muck and raise his kingdom from the ashes. Oh yes, he had work to do. Red eyes flicked downward to where Harry lay, beaten and bruised, next to a pillar.

He knew where he had to start first.

His head cocked to the side as he ran his eyes over Harry's unconscious body. The boy had lost his connection to the Song of the Green, reducing him back to his original state. Gone was the glowing, lightning bolt mark on his brow, ceremonial clothes, and markings on his cheeks. He was a pitiful site, lying on his side, bloody, arm at an unnatural angle, and breath coming out in a haggard rhythm. Voldemort stalked toward the battered child. He knelt down, hand extending out to grasp Harry's neck. Right before touching skin he stopped his movement. Oh no, he would not make that same mistake twice. Extending his senses outward, Voldemort hissed at what he found.

"A protection mark," Voldmort muttered, senses seeing the glowing aura covering Harry. "Seeped into your very bones, sown into your soul. Your mother called on ancient powers for this. I was right to suspect she was more than a mortal. Oh yes, she was so much more to summon such powers. But I wonder did she, herself even know what she was." He stood up in one fluid motion, his red stare still trained on Harry. "Nothing of me can touch yours without searing my flesh." Voldemort smirked. "But my power knows no such bounds."

He held up his hands, palms up. Sparks of jade light jumped and fizzled above hands. Pointing his eerie, green glowing palms at Harry, he sneered at the unconscious boy. "Avada Kadev—"


The entire room shook and Voldemort stumbled backward. The quake came again then once more, and then suddenly the great doors of the chamber blew open inward, throwing smoke and debris through the air. Voldemort stared up into the smoke. He could make out shadows through its thick vapors, but no visible forms. Finally, the smoke cleared and his eyebrow raised upward, the only surprise shown on his stoic face. His inhuman face. His face was like a blank canvas, the barest of emotions only peaking through, when times of intense feelings occurred. Almost like he didn't know or forgot emotions and how to express them.

"Get the hell away from my son, bitch."

Silhouetted in the doorway was Killian with the Angels of Death on either side of him. The Archangels had fanned out in front of their lord and his bodyguards. Each and every one of them had their weapons out and sights aimed on the Dark Lord. More than one pinpoint of red light appeared on Voldemort's form. Laser sights, spiffy. Try to get away from that. Voldemort took a step forward in their direction and dozens of guns being cocked echoed through the chamber.

"I was not aware that human spawn were even able to see this hive…" said Voldemort. That hollow, emotionless voice reverberated loudly over the silence. "…Yet alone able to penetrate its defensives."

Killian's eyes were just as hollow as Voldemort's voice. They were deep, endless. Those jade eyes stared into the Dark Lord, boring into him with a fiery intensity. "I said; get the fuck away from my son, asshole."

"I decline," replied Voldemort bored, as if they were flies. "Bleat at me no longer."

Killian smiled. A not so good smile, given that that bright, false smile didn't reach his eyes. This smile was purely feral, for his eyes remained dead. "This ends now."

"I think that I may have to agree with that assessment."

Albus Dumbledore glided into the room, standing side by side Killian. The crime lord didn't take his eyes off Voldemort. Dylan however now had his gun trained on the aged wizard who appeared so stealthily. Killian nodded inwardly. Good boy. They didn't know who was friend or enemy in this place. Dumbledore's long gray beard was tucked into the belt around his waist. Royal purple robes and the ever present half moon spectacles gleamed in the fires of the torchlight.

"Albus Dumbledore, my old teacher," Voldemort remarked. "Still alive?"

Dumbledore nodded, eyes a deeper blue than normal. Power was being pulled together; its only outward effect was the darkening and more vibrant intensity of his eyes. He shook his head at his former pupil. "You have truly lost yourself to darkness, Tom," he said, sadly. "Becoming one with an Old One? Surely, you never meant to be a house for an ancient demon just for power."

"Do not presume to lecture me as if you are my superior, my elder," Voldemort snapped, rage coming over his usual stoic face. His red eyes stood out sharply in contrast to his pale, pale skin. Like rubies against marble. " Do you know what you were when I was young? Your species were the muck at our feet. We called you the ooze that eats itself. You were pretty at night. You sparkled, and you stank. You still stink of it!"

Dumbledore gave him a look of pity. "You don't even know where you stop and where the demon inside you ends. It has completely taken you over from the inside out." Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes as if the weight of the world weighed on his shoulders. "I fear that the boy I knew, Tom Riddle, is truly lost."

Killian finally took his eyes off of Harry's beaten body. He let the rage consume him and he fed on it. He used it to guide his next motions and actions. Without even a thought except for the broken sight of his only son, Killian sighted up his arm, and then glared darkly at the Dark Lord. "Bored now."

At that, following their boss's signal, the Archangels and Killian McKnight opened fire.

Voldemort blinked and time for him seemed to come to a stand still. The bullets moved at the pace of snails, but even slower. However, what the Archangels saw was Voldemort's body blurring as he began to move. Totally pulling a Bart Allen or a Wally West. What a rip. Gathering his power, he prepared to strike out at the mortals. What he forgot was Dumbledore had some not so mortal blood in his veins. He couldn't distort time the way Voldemort was doing, but he could see more than they could to a degree. Anticipating, the Dark Lord's next move, Dumbledore opened his mouth and began to sing. What left his lips was not a song heard in any record stores or over any air waves. This was music at its purest. The word that could best describe the sound was heavenly. There were no words for the song, only beautiful sound. Power was woven within the notes. Even Killian who carried not an ounce of magic in his veins shivered as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was the song that all fey children heard in the back of their consciousness, in the depths of their soul. The very song that sung the plants into being and awoke all the creatures of Faerie. This was the Song of the Green.

The ground beneath the Dark Lord shuddered like the waves of the ocean. As if rising from the sea, thick green roots rose from the ground and wrapped around Voldemort's legs. Up, and up, till they encircled him up to his waist. They tightened, trapping him in its grip. He hissed as the vines throbbed, and little by little he could feel the power being drained from him. Voldemort howled in rage as his hold on time slipped and bullets pierced flesh. His body jerked and twisted as the hot lead tore into him, blood gushed like rivers down his convulsing form. Killian aimed carefully and fired again. The back of Voldemort's head blew out as the bullet hit home. Blood and mess covered the ground as bullets just continually rained down on him, turning him into an unrecognizable form of a man. Killian raised his arm and the firing ceased. Voldemort was nothing more than a mutilated body, still trapped in the overgrown roots. Blood and flesh surrounded the dead Dark Lord, an ever growing puddle of red that looked like it wasn't going to stop soon.

"Ding dong, the witch is dead," Dylan smirked. Seeing the incredulous look Todd shot him, he winced. "Sorry, I meant the wizard is dead."

Todd's mouth twitched. Unable to form words, all he could do was shake his head. "We need to get Harry and get the hell out of dodge."

"We need to take him to the Hospital Wing," interjected Dumbledore.

His gaze was locked on Killian. The crime lord was huddled over Harry's body. His son's bloody head was lying in his lap, and so softly his fingers trailed down the young boy's face. Reverently, almost as if he was making sure he was real, the hands roamed over Harry's body. He checked over Harry's body, noting the injuries and being careful not to jar his broken arm.

Killian turned his cold eyes upon the Headmaster. "You will fix him. Heal him. Whatever it is you people do. Just make him better." At the man's nod, Killian continued. "If he dies…you do."

As the Medi Witch, Madam Pomfrey, poured liquid after liquid down Harry's throat, Killian paced the room. The Archangels had been sent back to the cabin. All of them. Even Dylan and Todd, though they protested. It was agreed that the least the wizarding world knew of them, the better. Taking his eyes off his son, Killian stared across at Dumbledore who stood by the window. The aged wizard beckoned him over. Dumbledore pointedly didn't say anything once Killian stood by him. The crime lord almost snorted. He was trying to be dramatic. Pointless. Killian was the king of games.

"Who are you really and how did you come to be here?" asked Dumbledore bluntly.

Killian raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm Killian McKnight and that's my son over there in that bed. I came to be here because I knew he was in trouble."

Dumbledore's blue eyes lost that twinkle. Looks like he was getting down to business now. Fun. "You know what I mean. Do not ignore the question. When Mr. Boot and shortly later Ms. Adams found and informed me of the situation I was not fully prepared for what I saw. Muggles facing off against the Dark Lord, unheard of. How did you manage to get through the trials and into the chamber?"

Killian smirked. "With enough C4 I can get past anything." The smirk vanished. He stepped closer till they were nose to nose. "You put my son's life endanger with this little game you were playing. You had to be fully aware that this man was evil when you hired him. No one is that incompetent. My eleven year old son figured this out; surely you have more wits than that. I swear to you that if you play another game like this again I will put a bullet in you. No warnings. No second chances. I will kill you."

"A threat. Mr. McKnight?" asked Dumbledore, his voice turned cold.

Killian turned his back on Dumbledore and walked to Harry's bedside, as Madam Pomfrey bustled off into her office. "No, not a threat," said Killian, his voice carrying through the empty room. "Since I have a feeling you'll try me and my word, call it a vision of the future."

Quickly, for someone his age, Dumbledore drew his wand. "What if I killed you right now?" he questioned, his voice still that eerie coldness that was most unusual coming from him.

Killian smiled a false cheery smile. He didn't know why he was even smiling in the first place. He just couldn't seem to stop. Turning his head, a lock of hair that had slipped from the band at his neck fell across his face covering his eye. Seeing, that jade green eye stare at him forced Dumbledore to reconsider his next few words. The stare, even with one eye, was unnerving.

"You think that I and my men strolled through this castle without thought?" asked Killian. He shook his head that smile still on his face. "You try and pull some magic on me, and my men will level this fucking castle. There's enough C4 hidden around here to liquefy the Tower of London. Try me, please. I dare you."

Dumbledore lowered his wand, his mouth gaped open like a fish.

"Uh huh, Merlin, that's what I thought."

Harry awoke in sunshine. It was half a day later and his body screamed in agony as he cracked upon his eyes, glimpsing the world for the first time in what he felt was years. He let out a noise of surprise seeing his father sitting next to his beside. The elder McKnight smiled widely seeing Harry awake. He ran hand through Harry's hair as the other picked up a cup and held it to Harry's lips. He sipped slowly, and then after having enough he turned his head.

"What happened? Voldemort?" asked Harry, his voice coming out in a soft rasp.

Killian smiled. "He's dead, kiddo. We killed him."

"Good," he smiled, eyes drooping then opening as he fought off the sleepiness. "Kevin? Okay?"

Killian nodded. "Yeah. Dumbledore went to the Ministry and spoke on his behalf. There's an investigation taking place, but Kevin has been set free."

"Good," he said again, and he fell back asleep.

When he awoke again the sun was setting and there were five people at his bedside. He grinned, feeling a hell of a lot better than he had the last time he woke up. Then he had been still feeling the after affects of the healing potions, and had heard with detached senses the full story of the incident from his father. Finding out that Riley and Matheson were agents, although surprising really wasn't something he hadn't expected from his father. The man was just too paranoid sometimes when it came to Harry's safety. Hermione, Riley, Draco, Terry, and Kevin grinned at him in return. Harry yawned loudly, causing Terry to snort.

"That's enough yawning from you. You've been asleep for almost two days straight. You only just missed your father. He left a few hours ago. Something urgent came up in the office," said Terry, smiling.

Harry wasn't hurt. He understood that when business, especially the kind of business his father did, then important things had to be put on hold. He gave Kevin a bright smile, eyes taking in his friend who looked better than he had ever seen. "I'm glad you're okay, Kevin."

"I'm glad you're okay," replied Kevin, shaking his head. "You were too brave confronting Quirrell like that. He kicked my ass and I have supernatural strength. You're lucky you came off, even though beaten to hell, alive."

Hermione frowned at Harry. "That was awfully stupid of you to go alone like that. You didn't have to confront him." Her frown broke and a watery smile was in its place. "I'm happy you're alright though."

"I think the same sentiments could be said for all of us," half smiled Draco.

Riley nodded, giving him a wink. "I always have your back, Harry." She said it in way that alluded to her being Shadow, but only she and Harry caught the double meaning. "But really you have got to give a girl a little more warning. I almost had a heart attack when we couldn't find you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I assure you. That was my intention," he said dryly.

Terry smiled broadly. "I don't know about you lot, but this year was probably the best of my life." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously with an odd glint in his eye. "I can't wait till we start our second year."

Everyone gaped at him.

Harry shook his head. "He's truly gone mad."

And no one disagreed with him.

Harry was finally released from the Hospital Wing only days before the school term ended. It would have been sooner, but having a punctured lung and internal bleeding took a bit longer to heal. He wondered why… Gryffindor won the House Cup. Harry wasn't upset. After the shit he went through this year, winning some pointless trophy wasn't the be all-end all. If he could look around the Great Hall and all of his friends were alive and well then that was his trophy. They had made it through this school year, fine, well for the most part. Matheson and Riley got dirty looks from Harry but he wasn't holding their secretiveness against them. If they were under orders, who was he to fault them. His father had his reasons and that was good enough for him.

The events of the chamber weren't public knowledge but people had guesses as to what happened. But no one knew for certain the actual events. Harry for the most part tried not to dwell too much on the events. It brought too many questions to his mind. He had taped into a power that was far greater than any mortal should ever wield. He had used the power of the gods. The powers of the Fairie gods, the Tuatha Dé Danann to be precise, something that should be impossible. No one of mortal parentage should be capable of doing what he did. The only logical conclusion he could come up with was his mother was something not mortal, not human. Something that looked like a human and can breed with the human species but not. Not Homo sapiens, but Homo arcanus. God damn, his mother was a freaking Faerie. That thought, him being half-human, was going to take getting used to.

Sometimes Harry wondered how the magical realm would fare if they found out that their Boy Who Lived was in fact one of the creatures they loathed. How would they deal with the fact that Harry was half faerie. He had a feeling that they wouldn't take it so well. Hell, like he even cared anyway. His best friends didn't fit into the stereotypical category of what a wizard was supposed to be. He may have been given the title the Boy Who Lived by them, but that wasn't who he was. He knew who he was and always would be. He was Harry Potter-McKnight, son of Killian 'Killer' McKnight, Little Lord of London, heir to the Empire. He was no one's fucking savior. They could go save themselves.

End Year One.

Finished with Year One. I tried to do the ending Anita style. Is it working? See you soon for year two: Slave of Dragons.