Stolen Lives

Summary: During his search for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, Harry finds something else, something with the potential to become either a great asset or a great threat. Ancient Spirits, Forgotten History, Shadow Magic and an all about crazy twist to his life is what this young wizard will have to deal with. Slash. Rated for Violence.

Chapter 1: Prologue


He saw it all. He watched from his little balcony, unable to tear his wide and frightened eyes away from the horrifying scene unfolding right in front of him, and equally unable to do anything about it. Not for the first time he cursed the blasted Pharaoh – wishing the infuriating man an end at Ammut's jaws – for confining him into this room, locked and warded by said Pharaoh himself and his little court of mindless minions. He was powerless now, helpless and doomed to only watch and do nothing about it at all.

'Why? Why did he do this? What does he care if I fight, if I die?' His thoughts came in angry waves of irrational anger and worry.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair that everyone else was getting to do something, to actually help defeat a common enemy while he had to just sit there, worried out of his mind, and watch as everything he ever loved crumbled down to ashes.

And then it happened. He fell. He fell and didn't get back up and all the poor little prisoner in the balcony could do was scream in agony and sorrow at the heavens that would offer no solace or comfort to his broken heart and shattered soul. He cried then, shed tears that the world had not seen since he was a very young child, and cried until he could no more.

Why, why, why, why, why?


He went down to the battlefield only minutes afterwards, finally freed from his gilded cage when the Pharaoh's magic vanished into nothingness. He looked through the debris, frantically trying to find him. Crumbling rock, shattered wood and still burning materials were forcefully moved out of his way, and his hands were bleeding and torn after so much rough work, but he was determined to do this, determined to find him if it was the last thing he did.

Finally, after what could surely be no sooner than a lifetime, when the fires that threatened to destroy what little was left had been long since put out and the people who cried over lost material goods and loved ones were long since gone, he felt it, the pull at his soul that could come from no other than him. He moved faster than he had ever in his life and pulled a crumbling piece of wall away, revealing the treasure underneath.

It was a beautifully crafted piece of golden jewelry, adorned with the Eye of Wadjet right in its center, thankfully unscratched even though it should have been crushed by the heavy stone, and gleaming strangely in the sunset light.

"I found you" He spoke, his voice full of love and adoration that no one could possibly feel for just an object, regardless of its value.

But this was no mere object, this was an Item…and it no longer was just that, either.


It was a week after the tragedy and he finally had everything ready.

He had been forced to run away the very moment after he found the Item, too paranoid and worried that whatever remained of the court would come for him, to chain him and bind him in a way that he would soon be wishing for death. He wouldn't let them! He wouldn't lose the freedom they had both worked so hard to obtain. Not now, not ever.

He sighed, ridding himself of ugly thoughts as he stepped into the circle of strange symbols, carved in stone and painted in blood…his own blood. He was weak now, due to the blood loss from having to donate so much of his life-liquid for his last resort project, but he would not let that weakness bother him.

As soon as he stepped into the center, he chanted a few words and raised his arms as though in prayer. The symbols lit up, the light coming from them was the very same blood-red hue they had before, but somehow much more frightening. Slowly, the symbols painted on his naked skin also lit up, first the ones on his legs and at last the one on his forehead.

The chanting grew louder, and outside of his little hidey-hole he could hear the wind pick up, sending sand crashing everywhere and threatening a sandstorm. He didn't pay any mind to the outside world though, too busy and focused with what went on within.

The sound of his own voice increased volume almost exponentially until finally he could speak no more, his throat bloody and raw, and the wind stopped just like that, the sand it had carried falling to the floor like little droplets of water.

The almost ethereal silence lasted for all of one second before a blood-curling, gut-chilling screech pierced the calmness of the night. His throat protested the action, still too hurt from the loud chanting and continual crying of the last few days, but he didn't pay it any attention, he couldn't for his mind was much too busy with the pain.

It hurt. It hurt much worse than anything that had ever hurt him in his entire life put together. It felt like knives were peeling his skin away at the same time it was pierced by needles, rough sand being rubbed in the exposed muscles and blunt daggers cutting into the bloody flesh, clubs of stone shattering his bones to dust and merciless claws cutting his innards into tiny little pieces. It fucking hurt!

Then the darkness started to creep in and, just when he thought the pain would go away and he would be in peace at last, the hurt increased. It was nothing like he could have ever imagined, the feeling of cold hands digging into his very core to rip away his innermost part: his soul.

That was when the darkness finally covered it all, taking away the pain and the hurt and every other feeling that he could have ever felt, and he knew peace. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the last time was the little piece of golden jewelry lying innocently next to him, inside the circle. Not an Item, but, to him, equally as valuable.


The boy woke up with a gasp, lifting half of his body violently away from the cot he had gone to sleep in last night. His breath was coming in pants and his whole body was plastered with sweat, he could still feel it sliding down his head and lifted a hand to wipe it away, absentmindedly rubbing the lightning bolt-shaped scar that adorned his forehead.

Usually whenever a nightmare struck him he could just blame it on the trice-cursed scar, but not now, not with these nightmares. There was no possible way that these dream could come from Voldemort, of that he was pretty sure.

To start with, the Dark Lord didn't feature as his main tormentor during the dreams, which is something that he rather doubted Voldemort could resist doing. Secondly, the setting was just too strange, too different from anything he had ever seen and he was convinced that old snake-face didn't have the necessary imagination to send him visions of these places and those people. Last of all, why would he do it?

Sure, Harry was in a lot of pain during a few parts of the dreams, but it didn't last all that long and not all the dreams were horrible. Sometimes he dreamt of peaceful times, when the people in that strange, different place were happy and carefree. He dreamt of someone who loved him and treasured him above anything else. He also dreamt of freedom, of being able to do as he liked and having to bounds or limits to hold him back, and the one who loved him was right there by his side, laughing with him, being free together.

The young man sighed tiredly, resigned to spending the rest of the night awake and going over every detail of his little nightmare over and over again. Still, he had to at least try and sleep some more, since tomorrow the tiresome search for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes would continue and it was hard enough to do without being a half-asleep zombie.

He would worry about his dreams some other time. He had the feeling though that whatever those dreams were, they were trying to tell him something, and that something was very important.


Author's Notes: Again, I blame those infinitely persistent, Ra-damned stubborn, brain-burrowing, loud little plot bunnies! They wouldn't leave me alone about this idea, making it appear in my mind every time I so much as closed my eyes! Didn't let me focus on anything else! *starts to hyperventilate*

Okay, okay…calm now. So, anyways, the idea seemed good enough to write a story to me so let me know what you think about it. This is only the epilogue though, so the really interesting parts are yet to come.