Avatar: The Legend of The Other

Prologue... The Runaway

He is young... so very young. Already touched by destiny. There is evil in this world as well.

There is always evil, just as there is always the will to fight against it.

Is this right? Who are we to take him from his crib?

Not yet... he is not yet ready...

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ..."

He had begged.

Kneeling before the Dark Lord, he pleaded his case. The Longbottoms were pure-bloods! Surely they would beget a more powerful child, one capable of stopping him? He was given carte blanche to search the available records. Loyalists in The Ministry provided whole family trees, a year's worth of reports from the Auror's offices, and a listing of every non-friendly worker alive and of child-bearing age in Britain. The Prophecy was frustratingly vague, yet when the genealogies were compiled and birth records scoured the Dark Lord still chose the other boy.

The Potter's child.

Lily's son.

When he was done speaking, he carefully gazed up at his master. The Dark Lord's face was twisted into a lip-less grin, his small, white teeth glittering in a black mouth. He heard a reedy voice thanking him for his efforts in finding the child, that when his thousand-year rule was established he could have anything he wanted. When the Dark Lord turned to his other followers, he sang the praises of Severus Snape – though there was an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. The poisoned sweetness when he asked them if he should fulfill Snape's request to spare Lily Potter was met by dark laughter. Snape was certain his heartbeat could be heard pulsing around the room when the Dark Lord turned around to face him, and he tried not to cringe when long, spidery fingers stroked his cheek. Lily Potter would be spared, the Dark Lord rasped into his ear, because He was a merciful Lord.

Lily Potter would be spared.

But not her son.

Snape whispered his thanks as he struggled to keep the bile down.

There was no question that Severus Snape hated James Potter, and by all accounts the feeling was mutual. That hate was further tempered when he married Lily Evans, and not a day went by that Snape wasn't haunted by the day his friendship with her ended. Lily Evans... miraculous and brilliant, stubborn and faithful. True to her word, she never spoke to him again no matter how much he pleaded. How he begged...

And now he sat in the dark, nursing a bottle of firewhiskey in the same house he was raised. There had to be a way to save them. Them. Snape was no fool – if the Dark Lord kept his word and spared Lily alone, there was no way she would ever forgive him for the deaths of her husband and child. Not that he wanted their blood on his conscience. James Potter tried to murder him, ossifying an enmity which would probably survive to his dying day, but Snape refused to sink to Potter's level! He would be the better man, even if Lily would never see it. He would save them, all of them. If Lily never gave him a second thought, it was enough that she lived, that her family lived.

He swallowed the last of his cup and grimaced at the fiery belch that followed. Snape knew he was no weakling, and of all the Dark Lord's followers only Bellatrix exceeded his prowess. Not that he would ever challenge her to a fair duel – should the time ever come to deprive the Dark Lord of his right hand, Snape was ready. A poisoned blade through her heart as she slept would silence her just as effectively as the Killing Curse and would leave no evidence. The others could and eventually would fall to his wand... but not the Dark Lord. Despite all his strength, facing the Dark Lord on his weakest day would still be suicide.

There was only one person who could help him, who would even be willing to help a known Death Eater... Albus Dumbledore. Snape hoped that the price he demanded wouldn't be too high... though in his heart he knew that no matter the cost he would pay it anyway. Severus Snape knew he couldn't stand against the force-of-nature that was the Dark Lord, so he did the only thing he knew he could. The thing that only Lily Evans could bring out of him.

He would beg.

His opponent slid hit the wall with a wet snap before collapsing against it, a red smear marking it's path to the ground. One hazel eye glared vacantly at Lord Voldemort, the other partially closed as if in the midst of a macabre wink, and for a moment the Dark Lord wondered if he should close them for propriety's sake.

No, he decided. There was no reason to, really. Severus' hatred for James Potter was well-known... he would enjoy the sight of his enemy mangled on the kitchen floor when he arrived to claim the Mudblood as his own. With the coppery scent of blood in the air, it was almost beautiful to behold. Yes, he would leave this for his faithful servant.

He was a merciful Lord after all.

He ascended the stairs with a deliberate pace, letting each creak and groan echo through the house. It likely would have been easier to glide up the stairs, and easier still to disapparate into the room, but Voldemort wanted the Mudblood to know he was coming. He was certain that she was preparing something to stop him, and part of him wanted to know what the woman would come up with. Several of his followers praised her ingenuity, however grudgingly, and Severus was still enamored with her after all these years. Truly, there must be something interesting about the girl beyond her talent.

Lord Voldemort could appreciate talent, no matter where it was found.

A dull light shown behind a bedroom door at the end of the hallway, and the eagerness inside him grew. He quickened his pace and with a simple swish of his wand the door opened. Inside, a slender red-headed woman stood very still in the center of the room.

Just behind her was a crib, and he grinned.

The moment he passed through the threshold, her eyes opened wide, and the Dark Lord steeled himself against anything that could be coming. He reached out his senses... and he couldn't help but sense the disappointment at the lack of magic in the air.

Nothing. She had prepared nothing.

It was time to end this.

He asked her to step aside, knowing that she would refuse. She wept and then she bullied, and Voldemort had to marvel at the fact he was being browbeaten by a woman who had to know there was no point in trying to sway the opinion of her Lord. Barely a woman, even. In the candlelight, she seemed impossibly young. Too young to have birthed the child that would one day bring about his downfall. Finally, she fell to her knees and grabbed at his robes, begging for the life of her spawn, tears freely streaming from her frighteningly green eyes. Disgust settled in the belly of the Dark Lord, and only his promise to Severus to spare her kept from murdering her on the spot. He waved his hand, and Lily Potter was tossed aside.

He despised weakness.

In the crib was a child... a baby that stared curiously at him with the same emerald green eyes as his mother. A tiny creature that would one day vanquish him, erasing everything he had worked for. He was helpless, but he wouldn't stay that way. Lord Voldemort was long desensitized to killing, especially when there was a certain beauty to be found in it. But what was there to be gained in murdering a child? What thrill was there in hunting what couldn't fight back, to conquer another so utterly they wanted to die? The child in the crib was too young to even comprehend death in all it's glorious facets, and would barely be aware of it's own life being snuffed out. If not for that thrice-damned Prophecy, he would have simply killed his parents for defying him and collected their heads as his spoils. Let the child be adopted out to a proper family to raise him in the glory of the Dark Lord.

But there was no other way to ensure his reign...

With a sigh, he raised his wand, "Avada Kedavra!"

The tip of the wand had only just flared green when Lily Potter dove into its path, and with a whimper she collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

The child screeching brought him back to himself, and Lord Voldemort frowned when he saw Lily Potter lifeless on the floor. He reached out with a foot and turned her face-up, and wide, unblinking eyes confirmed what he already knew.

What a waste... perhaps he should find a token for Severus to appease him for the Mudblood's death.

He returned his attention to the child in it's crib, and he readied his wand again.

The words came to him as they had countless times before.

There was a flare of green.

And the Dark Lord's world exploded.

He was caught in a maelstrom, his body withering against a typhoon that had bloomed inside the child's bedroom! His flesh felt like it was burning, and it was all Lord Voldemort could do to remain standing. His eyes widened when the wooden crib burst into flames, and the ashes scalded his skin as the wind swept them past. In the center of it all, floating in the air as if suspended by a puppeteer's strings, was the child. It (for he could only really be called IT in this moment) glared at him from eyes so ethereally white it hurt to look upon them, and upon it's forehead was a tiny wound in the shape of a lightning bolt that dripped that same luminescent horror.

Tom Riddle... A thunderous voice emanated from the walls, from the air, leeching into his very mind... Your ravaged soul has no place in Our Presence.

There was a spark in the air, and a searing wind burned off his robes and blistered his skin. Was this the power? Lord Voldemort couldn't hold back the scream as he kneeled before the monster in front of him, "Please..."

You are so corrupted that you can not stand before us, and you think to beg?

A sound like a wet crack was lost against the din, as was the gurgling cry when all the air was forcibly sucked from his lungs, and the ability of speech was stripped from the Dark Lord.

You will not have our Chosen. Now BEGONE!

And like a candle, Tom Marvolo Riddle flickered before fading like smoke in the wind.

What Monster locks a child away for asking about it's parents?

He isn't of their world... they, more than anyone else, can sense it.

And that makes it right? We need to help him!

The Moon has given her blessing. I will be the first...

I was eight years old when I met the first of them.

The first thing I noticed about her was the way she was dressed. It was the middle of summer, yet she was wrapped in a long, blue coat trimmed with white fur. I had seen women wearing such things in the magazines Aunt Petunia left laying about the house, but it made no sense for a lady like that to be walking around a park on a sunny day. She was pretty, with lightly tanned skin and straight brown hair... but something about her face made it seem hard and unfriendly. Still, when the woman caught sight of me she smiled, and it made the angles of her face melt away.

"Hello, child."

I wasn't certain if she had been talking to me, and I glanced around even though I knew there was no other person hiding in the bushes, "Um... hello there."

She came closer to me, and I had to quash the urge to back away when she reached out to ruffle my hair, "You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you."

Despite years of being told in Primary School to avoid talking to strangers, something in the odd woman's voice comforted me. Her hand was cool to the touch, but the sensation was familiar, "Who are you?"

The woman bent down until we were face to face, her steel-colored eyes meeting mine, "My name is Hama."

Her coat was too large for me, but it's thick leather and furs kept me warm as we trekked through a city made of ice. I had only closed my eyes for a second, but in that space I felt Hama's hand squeeze mine when an icy chill raced down my spine and into my veins.

"This was my home, Harry Potter. Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe."

I had only seen igloos in picture books – small, icy domes with doors shaped like a mousetraps. They looked ridiculous to me then, simplified and cartoonish. Seeing the real thing banished all of my childish ideas away. Domes were only the beginning – I saw entire homes made from snow and ice. None of them were as big as the house I lived in, but with the children playing in the streets and people carrying round, earthen pots to and fro, this place was alive! More alive then the Privet Drive by any stretch.

"It's beautiful." I whispered, and I couldn't help but blush at the smile that graced Hama's lips.

"I can show you more, if you like."

I don't know how long we spent just... walking around. In front of a gigantic igloo, I saw men practicing elaborate movements with spears and angled clubs, and I marveled at how fierce they looked despite the repetition of their routine. When I asked Hama about it, she simply chuckled softly and told me that anything worth doing is worth doing correctly.

"Practice, Harry... it's the only way we've survived this long."

Somehow I couldn't imagine Hama charging into battle with a spear in hand "You practice this?"

"No... not this." She reached for my hand and led me away from the fledgling warriors, "Let me show you something."

We came to the very edge of the city, where an impossibly high wall of solid ice surrounded it. Stepping in front of me, I heard Hama take a deep breath and lean low to the ground, her hands facing the sky. There was an audible groan as the ground before us split, and a geyser of water burst from it. She abruptly stood straight, her hands curving as if trying to hold up some invisible force... and I saw the water curl and writhe with her movements. I stood stunned as she shaped a pillar of water wider than she was tall into a curving staircase, and as she exhaled, the water went rigid and froze on the spot. The newly-formed stairs were fused into the wall as though they had always been there.

Hama turned to me, her cheeks ruddy from the effort and the biting cold "That is what I practice."

She called it Waterbending.

There was so much excitement in her voice as she described it, how the Moon fueled her strength as a child. How she always beat the other children in snowball fights because she could make her own snowballs out of thin air. How her Grandfather told her she was the youngest person to waterbend he could remember.

How the Village Elders came to her home one day with a box full of toys, and how she thought they were gifts for her birthday.

How they told her that she was the Avatar.

She stopped smiling when she told me that.

"What is the Avatar?"

Hama looked up at me, a sad smile on her face "The Avatar is the soul of our world, Harry. A soul that is reborn in order to bring balance to our world."

"And how do they do that?"

Something tickled my nose, and I reached up to scratch it on reflex. When I pulled my hand back, I noticed my fingers were smudged with soot.

Soot?

Hama was already looking into the sky, and I saw fat, dark flakes of soot in the air, falling like some dark mockery of snow. The hard angles of her face came back as she turned to face the ocean "Any way they can."

In the distance, I saw pillars of smoke across the horizon reaching into the heavens like countless black fingers. It scared me like nothing in my young life ever had.

"Let's go, Harry. I would rather not live through this again."

I woke up in my cupboard to my Uncle Vernon's screaming, his face redder than I've ever seen it.

Sometime during the night, all the pipes in the house had frozen solid.