OK, guys, this is the start of a new story, one I'll be regularly updating.

Summary: AU. After Sirius's death at the hands of Voldemort during the summer after fourth year, Harry, devastated, resolves that if they didn't want a war yet, he was going to take it to them.

Training, curses, duels. Welcome to the Second War.

Chapter 1

A Thousand Years Ago

Godric Gryffindor held his sword in his sheath and his wand in his hand, as he endured a storm of feeling he had never felt before. His friend stood in front of him. Salazar, his comrade, his greatest friend. His voice cracked and his heart wrenched as he spoke the question he already knew part of the answer to.

"Why, Salazar?"

His friend spoke with assurance, yet with an underlying dejection. "Godric, my friend, you do not understand. Our traditions are disappearing, our rituals degrading, as a new generation of the Mud-Crawlers learn magic's biggest secrets." Godric bowed his head, as red hair whipped in the breeze. "You didn't need to resort to this. You could have just taught them our traditions, our way of life. Why destroy entire villages and kill the muggleborns in government?"

Salazar laughed, a little manic. "Godric, they will always be Mud-Crawlers! They will always have that taint to them, that desire to revert back to their own way of life, destroying ours! Understand, my dear friend, the only way to stop this is to teach them from birth itself! Remove them from their birth parents, and give them a loving, magical home." Gryffindor sagged, his face despaired. "Salazar, I'm sorry, but I just cannot be a part of this. I cannot condone this, and if you do, then I have no choice but to do my duty." He unsheathed his sword, the rain hiding any trace of the tears rolling down his cheeks. Salazar nodded with confidence, but glazed grey eyes gave away his hurt. He unsheathed his sword. "Very well then, old friend. Let us duel. To the death."

Godric raised his hand. "Beware then, Slytherin. For words can be twisted, actions misunderstood. You have no idea how this will be taken a thousand years from now, but mind, for you may end up spawning a movement you had never intended."

When fire and ice finally collide, the world will be changed forever.

Present Day

Harry crumpled the letter he had received from Dumbledore tightly in his hand as his eyes burned with tears. Voldemort had found Sirius. His godfather was dead. Voldemort got to his hiding place in the Caribbean, right after the resurrection.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Harry, the letter had read. He thought about him, as guilt set in. If he had just been a little less idiotic, a little stronger, a little smarter, this wouldn't have happened. He slammed his fist on his desk, sending wood splinters to the floor. I'm so sorry, Sirius.

No, he started this. He was going to end this. He remembered what Dumbledore had said to him.' 'Voldemort would need some time to prepare his forces, Harry. Perhaps a year.' Harry sat down again and calmed himself, breathing heavily, thinking. He was only at fourth-year spells, but he needed to do more. A lot more. He wasn't going to wait around for Voldemort to come to him. He was going to train, the become stronger, and magic help him, Voldemort would not win!

- - - - -. -

Harry ran his twentieth lap around Privet Drive as the sun set and he trudged back to the house, opening the door.

"Take your shoes off quickly, boy! You'll muddy up the carpet!" his aunt screeched. He sighed and took them off. Dudley was watching television on the sofa while his uncle read the evening newspaper and his aunt cooked dinner. He had stopped cooking meals for them after receiving his letter to Hogwarts. They were probably afraid he'd put some weird wizard thing in their food, and he wasn't the least bit sad about it, either. He went up to his rooom. "Hey, Hedwig, girl," he said as he scratched her wing. She hooted. "Yes, I have a letter. Can you take this to Dumbledore?" He let her out of the cage and tied it to her leg. He waved as she flew out of the room.

It was a request for some books in the Hogwarts library and extra training. He didn't know how Dumbledore would reply, but he needed those books. The training as well. He wasn't going to defeat Voldemort if he had no knowledge about him, or any spells above fourth year. He also asked for extra training, and this was the first step he needed to take. If he had to participate in this war, he was going to be on the side against Voldemort.

First, know thy enemy.

…

Harry read the chapter again, as he forcibly tried to clear his mind. Dumbledore had sent him the books, recommended learning Occlumency, and resolved to give him extra training in Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione didn't send any letters, and he couldn't help but feel a little hurt. The emotion intruded on his thoughts as he gave up again. He was delighted about the books, though, and tried the wand movements of the spells he learnt as he mouthed the incantations. Sadly, Dumbledore wrote that he would only tell Harry about Voldemort's life at Hogwarts. It didn't matter, though, as he focused on clearing his mind.

Giza Pyramids

Midnight

Voldemort led three of his followers as he slashed with his wand and killed the guard in front of the tomb. Muggles. He sneered as Bellatrix killed the other Muggles present outside. They stormed inside the pyramid, as he disabled the fire curse outside the two thousand year old door and laughed. He was inside. This happiness did not last for long, though, because as soon as they entered the chamber, a sand dragon emerged, clearly present to guard the tomb. He called to his followers to hit the dragon in the eye as the dragon swiped him, he flew back and he hit the door.

He got up, murderous rage dancing in his eyes. This dragon would feel the wrath of Lord Voldemort.

"Conflagerous!" he roared as a wall of fire hit the dragon's back and combusted. It staggered back. "Glaci!" The dark curse of a thousand ice spikes stabbed the dragon. "Praemium!" he cast finally, as the jagged purple curse hit the mouth of the dragon, and it exploded in a cloud of sand. He looked at his followers.

Bellatrix was mildly injured, Dolohov was untouched, and Rowle was dead. No great loss. Rowle had been weak anyway. The dragon had been a good defence, but it couldn't keep out the strongest wizard of the age, could it? Voldemort laughed as he read the glowing, red runes inscribed in the tomb of Imhotep. He laughed maniacally, a deep, booming laugh. Strong magic indeed. He knew how to break the blood wards! Harry Potter was finished!

He gestured to his followers as they all stood still. "Prepare for attack. We will kill Harry Potter in fifteen days."

….

Perspiration trickled down Harry's forehead as he pushed up the dumbbell he had spent most of his money on for the fiftieth time and gasped for air. He really needed to go to Gringotts. He was still frustrated with himself for not learning Occlumency, and according to the book Battle Strategies, he needed to learn how to summon his wand, wandlessly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he rested for a few minutes and reread the letter from Ron.

Listen, mate, I'm really sorry for not writing you sooner. We were all just a little sad, you know? Also, how are you, Harry? You know that Sirius wouldn't want you to feel guilty. There's no reason you should, anyway. You couldn't have known that You-Know-Who was going to come back. You saved lives by surviving and telling us he's back. Ginny's really sad, though. Dad and Mum are trying to cheer her up.

Harry pushed down the hint of jealousy that Ginny's parents could comfort her. He appreciated the letter, though, especially that Ron knew exactly what he had been thinking. The one from Hermione came from her new owl, Em.

Harry, I'm so sorry about Sirius. I was shocked when I heard it and I can't imagine how you feel. Sirius really loved you, all right? Harry, I know you. Don't feel guilty. It wasn't your fault. It's You-Know-Who's. How are your studies? I hope you are planning on finishing your homework.

He felt a little happier, really, but it stung somehow. Sirius really loved you. Everyone who really loved him was dead. He put his wand on his desk as went to the other side of the room and concentrated, moving his hands in a slashing movement. "Accio!" It didn't budge.

"Accio!" Nothing.

"Accio!" Nothing. Bugger.

He read that part of the book again.

Summoning a wand wandlessly is one of the most important battle moves. If one is disarmed, one is helpless. Therefore, it gives one a distinct advantage in case he or she is disarmed. One must feel the need for a wand and let that take over as the primary emotion. Desperation works best. One can also call out to the wand soundlessly, if they have a strong connection with it.

Harry concentrated and felt the need for his wand. He needed it more than anything else. Ever. "Accio" The wand moved five centimetres.

He cheered as Hedwig was startled from her sleep and hooted at him.

"Sorry, girl. Just look, alright? Accio!"

The wand moved at least ten centimetres. Hedwig didn't look like she thought it was anything to be proud of, though. She went back to sleep. He childishly stuck his tongue out at her. "Fine, be that way."

"Accio!"

It moved across the room to his hand. He celebrated. He practiced it a few more times until he was sure that it was done, and went back to learning Runes, the ancient language of magic itself. Dumbledore had kindly sent him all the textbooks on the subject, and Harry found it fascinating, especially due to the possibility of combining spells.

Fourteen Days Later, Privet Drive

3:00 am

Voldemort inscribed the runic circle on the border of the blood wards and gave a guttural chant in Old Celtic. He slashed at his arm with a knife and let the blood fall on the ground. Another ten minutes, and Harry Potter was dead.

…

Harry woke up in agony. His scar was burning furiously. He screamed and thrashed around, then got up, grabbing his scar as he saw Voldemort outside Privet Drive, chanting, in his mind. Voldemort was here. Panic set in as his heart pounded and his breath quickened. He needed to leave and with a heavy heart, he realised he didn't have time to save anyone else. He quickly scribbled out Help. Voldemort's at Privet Drive on a spare piece of paper and told Hedwig to take it to Dumbledore as fast as she could. She hooted in affirmation and flew away.

Harry snatched his broom from his trunk and threw on his Invisibility Cloak. He readied himself and took off through the window, scraping the top of his head on the sill. Right after him, the house exploded. The whole street became a conflagration of fire. Harry looked on, shocked. What remained of his family was dead. All the people in Privet Drive, dead. Mrs. Figg, dead. He felt a burning anger, fury.

Voldemort would pay.

A jagged chunk of concrete hit him in the shoulder. He groaned painfully, but flattened himself on the broom, willing it to go faster. He was pelted with chunks of building and he knew he was bleeding profusely. Point Me The Burrow, he whispered, weak, as the wand lit up north west. The wind whipped around him, as his breath slower and formed patterns in the cold air. He flew for almost an hour, unable to take his hands off his broom, before he started growing dizzy. He knew he had lost too much blood. He started to descend, Invisibility Cloak loose, to tend to his wounds, but his vision slowly darkened until he felt himself falling, and all grew black.

Voldemort rejoiced.

…...

Bright eyes widened as they saw, through the trees, a small figure falling from a height of at least forty feet. The man quickly grabbed his wand and cast the Cushioning Charm. The young one froze, then floated slowly to the ground. He ran to the boy and laid a hand on his forehead, then saw the scar.

Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Who could have known? He laughed softly, then saw the boy's wounds. He wouldn't survive much longer without at least minimal medical treatment. The man sighed. He couldn't leave a dying child, even if this one would unnecessarily complicate his life. He picked up the boy and Disapparated.

Eridane Manor

"Sandy!" the man cried out as he carried the boy in. The house elf appeared in front of him. "Who is this, master?"

"No matter, little one, just give him a few Blood Replenishing Potions from my lab, care for his wounds, and tell Delly to prepare a room for him."

"Yes, master." Sandy and the boy disappeared.

The man sighed. He couldn't help but be intrigued by Harry Potter. The one prophesied to destroy Voldemort. He had heard tales of the boy in school. Slain a basilisk. Interesting. Not to talk about the Triwizard Tournament. The solution to the first task was ingenious. He thought for a while. Harry Potter had quite a personal score to settle with Voldemort, after all. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. This boy triggered far too many memories. He took a walk around the grounds of the forest instead, watching the sun rise. After an hour, he decided to visit his guest. He went to the room where the boy was and knocked on the door. He was quite surprised when the door opened and the boy inside pointed a wand at his throat.

…

Harry woke up in a strange room and automatically went on the defensive. He wasn't in his tattered clothes anymore but in a Muggle T shirt and sweatpants. His Cloak and wand were on the table next to him, and his Firebolt was propped up near the door. He felt his back, where the worst wound had been inflicted, and found it closed, a slight bump in a jagged line. A lone dresser stood near an antique table. Then, he heard footsteps down the corridor outside and positioned himself near the door. He opened it, then jumped in front of it, and pointed a wand at the wizard outside.

He was quite old, with short, neat, white hair. Strangely, he had one green eye and one blue eye with a hideous red scar slashed diagonally through it. Both gave off an aura of steel. He wore grey robes and had a short, pointed, beard. One corner of a mouth pulled up in a smirk. "It has been some time since I've been attacked in my own home, so excuse me for not being quick enough."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, unmoved.

"If you put your wand down, boy, I would tell you,"

"Oh, I'm not putting my wand down."

"Very well," said the man as he entered, Harry's wand still pointed at him. "My name, Mr. Potter, is Forrest Eridane."

OK guys, this is the start of the story. Please let me know what you think. Should I continue this story?

Thanks,

TheCheerfulPessimist