AN: This story is going to be very catch-as-catch-can; It's essentially a plot wererabbit that got out of hand. As such, chapter length, composition, and quality are going to be largely unpredictable, but they will keep coming.
Two Black-Jeweled Warlord Princes and an assassin wearing a Grey Jewel circled a large island in a Realm neone of them had heard of. The males were Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, Prince of the Darkness and High Lord of Hell, and his arguably more deadly son, Daemon Sadi. Unusually for both, their handsome features were creased in consternation and bafflement. The assassin, a lovely half-Dea al Mon woman called Surreal, eyed the landmass with the institutional paranoia of her profession.
*Nothing, nothing, and nothing… Why aren't there any Blood? I'm catching traces of Craft, but no Jewels.*
*Why indeed… Hang on, there's something there.*
*Where? I don't - Never mind. There in the center of the island?*
*Yes, Daemon. You get Lucivar and Jaenelle; Surreal and I will investigate.*
*As you wish. Be careful, Father.* Cutting the psychic threads that allowed silent communication, Daemon jumped to the Black Wind and headed back to the mountain they'd arrived on, where his Queen and his brother were waiting.
Saetan and Surreal spiraled carefully down to earth, raising protective and sight shields the moment their feet touched ground. The area appeared to be some sort of aristo housing district, but all the houses and all the gardens were as near identical as made no difference. For a pair that had spent nearly sixty thousand years between them in a Realm of unique, varied dwellings, it was a bizarre and rather unsettling sight.
Surreal called in a dagger, holding it at her side but keeping the razor-edged weapon poised for a swift stab to the throat. Chuckling slightly at the lady's discomfort, Saetan gathered his cloak around him and and strode up the road to the source of the psychic signature he'd found: A house with a large, silver number four on it.
Harry Potter, unusually for a twelve-year-old just back from school, was not enjoying himself. This was largely to do with the bars on his window and the locks on his door, specifically with the facts that he did not have the keys to them and that they were designed to keep him inside. He hadn't seen the sun, except through his barred window, in a week, and all his meals had been delivered through a cat flap. Not being entirely unused to such treatment, he had settled in for a very long and very boring summer.
And so, as he lay on his bed thumbing through one of Dudley's unread novels and contemplating the merits of turning Dark, it was with extreme surprise that he heard his Uncle Vernon's voice rising angrily downstairs, accompanied by an hysterical shriek from his Aunt Petunia. The two competing sounds build higher and higher, both drying to drown the other out, before falling abruptly silent. They were replaced by possible the most chilling voice he had ever heard, a voice that made Voldemort's at the end of the school year sound entirely tame in comparison. A soft, malevolent whisper that nonetheless carried far and wide, as if the speaker were standing right behind you.
"Lady, perhaps you misunderstand me. I did not offer you a choice in the matter; we need to speak with your nephew. It will not take long, and I would appreciate it if I did not have to complicate matters by dealing with you and your husband." Those words… a honey-coated monologue, pleasant to hear but unsettling in the extreme when their implications sunk in.
"Now see here, you! We'll have none of your kind in this house! Normal, decent people, that's what we are, and if the boy had stayed with us we'd have beaten the magic out of him!" And there was his uncle's voice, just as crude and offensive to the ears as always. Did that mean a wizard had come to get him? And was a wizard with that kind of voice someone he really wanted to be with?
"I beg your pardon?" Where the voice had been a promise of eventual retribution before, it was now as icy as an Arctic night, full of barely suppressed rage. Had it been anyone other than his Aunt and Uncle on the receiving end of that voice, Harry would have felt sorry for them.
"Don't try and be smart with me! You're a freak, just like him, and if it wasn't for that damned Dumble-door fellow we'd have beaten the freakiness out of him and you wouldn't be here!"
"Oh, I assure you - While I might not have come here so soon, I would have eventually. Your actions demand retribution. Hasn't anyone ever told you that everything has a price? Now, you and your Lady will remain here. Lady Surreal, see that they do."
The sounds of footsteps, an icy-sounding "I see." at the point when someone climbing the stairs could see Harry's door, and an indescribable feeling of power filled the room. Just as Harry cocked his head, unsure of what was happening, his door exploded. He dove to the floor, curling into a ball to protect his head - but the splinters never hit. Looking up, he saw them suspended in mid air, the air surrounding them tinged with black. They dropped to the floor just as a man in a white shirt, black suit, and long black cape stepped through the ruined doorway. He stood there, frowning slightly, apparently waiting for Harry to say something. Harry stared back, entirely unprepared for recent events. The man sighed, muttering darkly to himself. "No Protocol at all, what's the Realm coming to? Ah, well. Come along, young Warlord. There's places to go and things to do." With that, he crossed the room and helped Harry up. With Harry in his wake, the man strode back downstairs and gazed at the Dursleys with an almost bored-looking expression.
"Remember: Everything has a price, and you will pay yours eventually."
A woman with long black hair and startling green-flecked golden eyes smiled thinly, and cocked her head towards Vernon. "Sugar, you want to listen up. He's the High Lord of Hell; even being dead won't stop him from hurting you." Eyes wide, Harry tuned to stare at the man. So baffled was he by the events unfolding around him that he didn't notice as the lady gestured towards him and a bolt of power sent him into a deep, deep sleep.