Of Chaos and Flame
by Lens of Sanity


Prologue: Godric's Hollow


Visible by nothing save late evening's twilight, the glowing pinpricks of starlight, and a tiny slash of the moon's waning crescent, an exhausted man looked down once again in disbelief, staring at the impossible shaft of holly gripped hard in his clenched right fist.

Too much had happened that day.

Too much.

Too much with not enough rest.

Both emotionally and physically, the man found himself overtaxed beyond the point of mere simple fatigue, exhaustion jolting across each synapse and pumping through every capillary.

Dirty knuckles, tired limbs, and eyes tight from grief, he stood tall looking over at his opponent, both seeing and feeling the flash of fear flit across his red, serpentine gaze. He exulted in that fear, for at this time and in this place, the man knew he could not, would not be beaten.

Not today.

No more running.

This was home, or as close to it as the man could ever know. Dark hair, midnight past black, whipped across his face as his coat billowed with the magic in the air. He had the home field advantage, and on this night, this night his enemy would flee from him.

What the girl had told him was true he realised in that instant.

He was Harry Potter, with everything that name entailed.

And so, with three purple slashes of impossibility from the tip of Harry Potter's wand, three bands of violet insanity, Lord Voldemort fled in terror from his prophesised foe.

And so it was that the child of destiny laughed in pure ecstasy, engulfing the world in golden flames.