Grimmly Determined

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or Harry Potter. That right goes to Rooster Teeth and J. respectively. The genius bastards.

"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."

― Arthur C. Clarke

"Now here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame/What makes a monster and what makes a man?"

- Clopin, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Chapter 2

"Heeds these words, my descendent, the words of your forefathers and ancestors. It is easy destroy and despoil, to steal and conquer, to take and kill. This is how Man has gained power from the very beginning of time and will continue to do so until the light of Ra dies completely and utterly.

However, this power is but brief and fleeting, without deep roots and stability. It can only last until a stronger power emerges and will then, in turn, be destroyed by it.

But there is more than one way to gain power, to become strong.

Power, in itself, is change, turning one thing into another. The act of Creation.

This is path that our family takes. We maybe warriors and fighters, but we are never attackers or raiders, we are defenders and protectors and, if necessary, avengers, but at the very heart of our family's identity...

We are Creators."

- Excerpt from the Annals of the Potter Family, dictated by Ptah, the First of the Family, Pre-Dynastic Egypt.

Atop the glass like surface of the, for now, calm sea, a silver gull idly rested it's tired wings, it's webbed feet getting a workout instead of it's feathery pinion for once.

It had travelled a long way, following the movements of it's main food source across the face of the planet and the ancient routes of the wind, ones that it's ancestors and their ancestors and their ancestors had travelled, etched into it's little mind driving it onward to finally meet up with it's kin for the Time of Eggs.

So preoccupied was the feathered creature with it's rest, that it didn't see the looming shape below the water, rising slowly and stealthily from beneath it.

The feathered being idly ruffled it's feathers, preening slightly, ignorant and unaware of the danger approaching with an open maw of multiple rows of serrated teeth.

It only sensed the danger, the subtle rising of the ocean as something from below pushed the water upward before it, when it was too late, it's wings flicking open and on the down stroke as it tried to rise above water, to haul itself into the sky.

But it didn't have time.

Panicked golden avian eyes rolled as it just rose above the waves, even as it saw the open jaws of the great ocean predator open, a fleshy hole gaping wide to engulf and devour it's feathered body. The gull was practically hanging in between those two massive jaws, waiting to crush the migrating bird between them.

It still frantically tried to escape, even if it's instinct told it that it was useless, the primal mind conditioned for survival still spurred it on.

Then, impossibly, a miracle happened.

The didn't have time to fully process what had happened, only glimpsing the emerald green line of sky fire streaking beneath it, it's passage make the very air rattle, and strike the would be predator, piercing through it's roughened skin and knocking the crushing jaws away from it's position.

And then it was clear and flapping it's wings frantically, back on course for the safety of it's would be nesting place, leaving it's would be killer to it's own demise as it thrashed in water, impaled by the solid sky fire and churning the watery depths into a bloody froth.

"Bullseye," whispered the emerald eyed teenager from his pace on the rocky shore of an island, a small smirk on his lips as his keen sight traced the crackling line of power from it's origin from a large green jewel on the back of his hand to the shark he had just harpooned with the line.

"Haven't had flake in quite a while," the teen kept muttering to himself, licking his lips slightly at the thought of the delicious, if simple, spread he could create with such a meat source, his new and slightly enlarged canines showing through that hungry smile.

Without a hint of an effort, solid muscular arms tensed as he gripped the emerald line, the flashes and crackles of bright emerald power doing nothing to the darker skin of his taloned hands, the talons themselves able to carve through stone with a single swipe, crush that same stone with a firm grip and yet retain all the delicacy and dexterity of a jewellery working on his masterpiece, and began to reel in the soon to be meal.

Hand over hand, he pulled the 'line' in, the shark's strength, size and slowly fading struggles doing nothing to even slow him down in his eagerness to pull the massive fish to shore. Any normal person of his size, age and stature would have had trouble with doing what he was doing.

If there was one thing that could be describe Harry Potter though, it was that he was never normal.

The large shark was shortly dragged ashore, Harry's desire and hunger lending him even more speed and strength. It was a decent sized one, but still not fully grown or an adult, if Harry was correct. It wouldn't have been so close to shore otherwise. Other specimens of this species that Harry had seen on other fishing trips, larger ones, had been mostly sighted off of the island's edge, where the descent into the abyss of the deep began.

Still, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

A dark talon tapped the emerald jewel on the back of his hand and the 'line' that had pierced and captured the aquatic predator flickered and vanished, the emerald ceasing to glow, leaving only the feebly thrashing body of a four metre shark on the sandy beach, a neat hole bored through the underside of the creature's lower jaw and up into the creature's brain and out of the top of the head.

Harry glanced at the sun, squinting slightly beneath his furrowed and horned brow, judging the time.

"Mid-morning," he grunted out as he crouched on the ball of his taloned feet, his four toes along with the high ankle and heel spur making it easy and even comfortable, and grabbed the large fish by the gills before standing back up, his long and whip like tail enabling him to keep his balance despite the weight of the aquatic predator. "More than enough time."

With those last words, he crouched a little, not as deep as before and his eyes burned with emerald fire as he called upon his own magic for aid in his next action, and then leapt high as he could, a respectable height despite being burdened by his weighty and soon to be meal for him to devour.

Then, upon the ground metres below, his shadow expanded greatly as, from the backs of his shoulders, pinions of skin and bone, of flesh and sinew, of blood and nerves, snapped open before pumping hard once, twice and thrice, taking him ever higher and higher, his muscles and sinews aided in this action by the magic and power that surged through his veins, making the impossible become probable. His emerald eyes beneath the large black and goat like horns adorning his brow, the roots of which were hidden underneath the long and loose dark hair that flowed freely about him, burning with that same mystical power as they searched for the place that they were forced to call home.

At least, for now.

It had been more than a few months since Harry Potter had arrived on this isolated little island and he was still very confused.

When he had first awoken upon the sands of the sunny Isle, water lapping at his feet, he had thought it was all a dream. He hadn't seen the sun itself for over three months. Voldemort had cast a massive weather spell over the entirety of the country, calling upon a storm so thick and dark that the warm rays had never reached the ground of Britain, whilst also blocking the majority of the warmth that they may have provided.

Cold, wet and miserable had defined the isles of Britain for quite some time.

To awaken to see the sun...had been a curiosity, to say the very least.

Eventually, he had managed to be able to discern that it wasn't a dream, that he was actually on a sandy beach on a sunny day.

Then his memories of what had happened in that final confrontation had come flooding back. The black ball of malice, crackling with crimson lightning, that had been Voldemort's penultimate spell, followed by the Killing Curse being cast to rupture it and then blinding pain rupturing and tearing at his senses, his mind and his very soul...

Then nothing. Nothing until waking up on the beach.

He had torn and confused at that moment. Torn between satisfaction and dread.

Satisfied that, finally, Voldemort had been slain, cast down from the broken throne he had ascended and the tainted life he had lived. Harry had achieved his revenge, had delivered Justice for those who had suffered, directly or indirectly, at the hands of the cowardly mongrel that was unable to face his own mortality. It was a weight off of his shoulders, a burden removed. He was not one to take Divination with any seriousness, and further investigation had proved his belief rather wise, but even he didn't have a heart of stone enough to not help those less fortunate when he could, to not extend a helping hand or offer a sword to be wielded.

Besides, even if he didn't believe in the prophecy, it didn't mean Old Snakeface wouldn't. Plus, just by him surviving the bastards curse meant that he had been a symbol, a reminder, of the Slytherin scion's weakness. One that the snake wouldn't allow to live.

He felt dread because he didn't know where he was, what was around him. He didn't know what the final spells from Voldemort had done and was wary of any thing that could cause him harm.

He had then proceeded to try and stand, ascertain his surroundings.

Only to swiftly eat sand as his legs bent the wrong way, folding up like an accordion, but, strangely enough, without any pain.

That had him more than a little concerned at the time.

He had then inspected himself, looking immediately at his legs, only to be shocked at what he saw.

Beneath the torn rags of the remains of his leggings, he saw his legs. Legs that were very different from what he normally saw. With regards to his feet, his toes had become more splayed, like a bird's foot, tipped with hard black talons that looked like they could tear stone or grasp it firmly, perfect for a bird to perch with. In addition, his heel had raised and lengthened, like a dog's leg, making him need to walk on what had originally been the balls of his feet. A small back spur, a lone talon, was at the top of his heels while what had been shin, calf and thighs were still relatively human, if a little more muscular than he normally saw.

It had been the heels that had folded underneath him and caused him to collapse.

Add in that the flesh had darkened, becoming shade of colour that seemed to be an odd mix of blue-grey, black and a light purple and Harry believed many could understand the reason for his shock.

They were not the legs of a human. They were not the legs that he normally used to walk and wander. Despite the strangeness of them though, he could still recognise part of them, like what they had been from.

However, he had halted that reasoning to inspect the rest of himself, a suspicion growing of what might be the cause of the unnatural appendages.

He swiftly found his hands had thickened, growing stronger and more muscular and taloned, his skin now entirely that odd 'twilight' colour. An uncomfortable sensation from his lower back and an odd sensation of detachment had swiftly allowed him to register the fact that he now had a tail, his mind trying desperately to process the information he received from the new appendage to make it more natural rather than detached.

Then there had been the nails in the coffin that had proven his belief.

His taloned hands had brushed over his head, only to meet thick resistance. A hard bony resistance which his hands had traced down to the root, where his hairline met his forehead. There was no mistaking what they were, their position and feeling of them both familiar and recognisable. Tall and curved, two goat like horns erupted from his skull.

But that hasn't been the feature that had made him dead certain what had happened to him, even if he wasn't entirely sure of the how or the why. That particular honour rested upon the two new appendages on his back.

Of fine bone, muscle and sinew, two massive dark wings erupted from his shoulders, flaring wide behind him, stretching out and reaching for the heavens.

All together, these features made him look like a devil, a demon out of myth and legend. People couldn't have been more wrong.

For some reason, his Animagus form had partially manifested itself, blending with his human form to create something that was both yet neither.

It evoked a feeling of disquiet within him. Partial transformations into one's Animagus form were possible, often for just calling upon the superior senses of the animals form like eyes or ears, but they were exceedingly difficult and often not worth the struggle to attain. This was because of the nature of the Animagus transformation.

At it's base, the Animagus transformation was based on spirituality, the ephemeral and primal. One did not choose the form they became, the form was with them from birth and would remain unchanged forevermore and it would be the only thing that they could become naturally.

In essence, one's spiritual animal or guide became one with them, sharing their power and abilities with the host while the host, the practitioner, allowed the spirit to be able to interact with the physical realm. It was a form of symbiosis, a balancing act between two different entities taking place in one body.

However, just because there is symbiosis, doesn't mean there wasn't any conflict at times.

When the Animagus was human, the human was dominant, their thoughts overriding the primal impulses of the animal spirit within them while said animal spirit, in turn, empowered and protected the host human's mind, which they saw as their territory. When the Animagus was in beast form however, the animal spirit was dominant, not the human. Instincts became a little more important and the human could guide the animal spirit in it's actions but never completely control it. The relationship between both spirit and mage is what helped the animal form take actions or make judgements that were more human like.

However, if an Animagus tried to integrate their animal form into their human body without full transforming, then that allowed the mindset of the animal to erode the humanity of the Animagus. An animal mind was not suited to be in a human body.

The stories of feral children or men going mad had sometimes stemmed from an Animagus delving too far into their animal, their primal, side. It was also why a werewolf was so feral and wild when they transformed.

What looked to have happened to him, an almost complete fusion of his human and Animagus form, would have been considered an impossibility, the spiritual and magical trauma should have either killed him or driven him mad.

Doubly so due the possessive and dominant nature of his own Animagus form.

Dragons, no matter what particular breed it was or that wizards doubted that it was even a dragon, weren't the most placid and accepting of beings after all.

He would be looking for answers very soon, but not now. His mind was still clear and his magic, while a bit on the low side, was still responding to his calls.

Survival would be his main focus for a while.

It had taken him time, weeks in fact, to explore the island he had now found himself on, stumbling and staggering as he tried to get used to his new body's form of locomotion and not get thrown off balance due to his large horns and the cumbersome wings he now had. The tail had been a blessing in disguise as it aided him in his balance issues.

It was an interesting island. A relatively large island that was shaped rather oddly with a small cluster of three islets close by to the north. Rocky and sandy beaches covered the majority of the shore, save for a long stretch of of cliffs that ran along the eastern coast of the island. The inland was covered in thick forest that rose into a small mountain range near the centre of the isle. The climate was mild, warm and comfortable, and it looked to be a good season for fruits judging by the familiar berries and other edible plant foods that he found almost without having to look, not to mention that the forest was stocked with plenty of healthy wildlife. Mostly fowls and other small game.

All in all, if he were to be stranded on a deserted island, then worse ones could have been chosen.

Though it begged the question of where, exactly, he was.

A question that was answered in the first night of his time on the island, as the sun fell below the horizon, the stars came out...

And the moon, in all it's shattered glory, cast it's light upon his incredulous face.

Just by seeing the damaged form of the celestial body, he knew he wasn't on Earth, his Earth, anymore.

He had been numb for a few days after that, trying desperately to compute what had happened to him and staggering around the thick forest and sandy shores in a daze.

He was on another world, or maybe on a different Earth, having somehow crossed the barrier between dimensions. Had Voldemort planned this? His revenge for defeating him being banishment to a completely different world, one where there may be no human life for him to interact with?

The possibility had almost broke him. Despite being by himself for the majority of his life, without friends or company save for his disgusting relatives, he still craved companionship in his heart of hearts, as did all humans.

To be banished to someplace without human life? Madness would only come with time.

He had then kept his mind and body as busy as possible, seeking to keep the possibility at bay within the dungeons of his mind, never giving himself enough time to think of the possibility lest he break down in a heap.

He got used to his new body, able to move as smoothly in it as his human form. He learned how to use his wings properly, now able to fly, even if it was for only short distances for now, the muscles that associated with such feats as yet to build up to a sufficient level for a longer one. He hunted and fished, gathered food and built shelter, creating a small wooden lodge of home through judicious use of his magic.

He also, in his curiosity, explored the island more, finding many curious things.

Some of which gave him great concern. As he delved into the forest, his skilled hunter's eyes noticed various marks that he associated with large predators, one of which looked distinctly similar to that of a werewolf, though much bigger than any he had encountered before. Another had been a long, winding and deep groove in the soil and sand, indicating a snake, though if the marks were any judge it would be comparable in size to the Basilisk he had slain at twelve years old, a complete impossibility for mundane serpents. Even the vaunted anaconda never reached such size.

The weird, and frightening, thing was though, where were they?

In his time in the island he had never run across any of the predators that would have left the marks. It was like they had all up and vanished at the same time. It worried him. Something like that was completely unnatural and had his hackles raised almost twenty-four seven. There was definitely something strange about the island, and he wasn't sure he would like the reason why when he eventually found out.

The second curious thing he found was far more pleasant.

Sometimes, when he walked by certain areas of the island, particularly rocky areas, he often felt something, something odd and out of place. He felt the crackle of lightning and the scent of ozone, the chill of winter and touch of ice and snow, the blaze of the inferno and the accompanying soot and ash, felt the touch of a crisp gale and the scent of spring.

All of these sensations coming from a place that they had no business being in.

His curiosity peaked, he had explored those areas more carefully, following the strengthening sensations that he felt more than physically, as was treated to a wonder that he thought he would never see, as he shifted and broke stone to reach the origin of these strange feelings.

The cause of the sensations had been from crystal formations, each of them unique in colour. Just by being in their presence, he could feel those sensations swell and become stronger, almost overriding his own senses, but had managed to master them with his own disciplined mind.

Each of the formations pulsed and glowed with the raw, if dormant, power within them. Flames that wished to be unleashed, frozen in a prison of ruby red. Ice that desired to freeze all in it's path, halted and caged by a crystalline blue glacier of small size. Wind that wanted to run free and tear apart all in it's wake, imprisoned in a green cage. And the wrath of heaven itself, the power of the storm and Lightning, trapped in the shell of molten gold and amber.

Harry instinctively knew that these gems, these crystals, were more than they seemed. The wrath of Nature is rarely so easily contained. And yet...

To find crystals that veritably radiated such primal and elemental energy formed naturally...

He couldn't help but laugh to himself at the time. To think that a portion of the Potter's legacy, their knowledge and skill, existed in this world, seeming naturally. What were the odds?

He had wasted no time in collecting these crystals. With his own knowledge, he knew that they would be useful for many different things, once he had the time and resources to apply them.

All in all, his period of time on the Island had been trying. Adapting both to his new body and new abode and new life. But, despite those struggles and the almost mind breaking revelations, he couldn't help but feel a certain sense of peace. These past four months had been the longest he had stayed anywhere after Voldemort had stepped up his campaign. Running, hiding and fighting had defined his life during those times.

To not have to always look over his shoulder, to not always have his back to the wall and exits in sight, to not have to fight and kill desperate and mislead men, women and children just to survive another day amidst the terror of Voldemort's reign. It was a blessing that he was still trying to wrap his mind around completely.

But it came at a price, the price of solitude.

At least for a time.

Harry Potter alighted gently upon the hard stone that surrounded his lodge home, his taloned feet crunching the rocky material tightly in their grasp, and threw his catch of the day upon a smooth slab of said stone, readying it to be filleted and prepared for consumption.

He glanced around the site of his home, a camp really, and couldn't help but smile at what he saw, a sense of peace filling him.

A simple log lodge greeted him, much like the pioneers of the Old West in the Americas once made. Davey Crocket, Daniel Boone and other heroes of that wild frontier would have been proud of the lodging he had created.

Thick timbers stacked high and three layers thick, bark and branches stripped away, and tied together with thick vines. The gaps between each layer and log was filled with clay and mud from the nearby freshwater river and a few spells of his magic had ensured that there were no more gaps and that the rough wood and earthwork housing was waterproof.

The roof was just as simple, a series logs slashed in half and propped upright from the top of the walls and leaned over the abyss of what would eventually be the living area of the lodge to meet another leaning log before both were lashed together. More clay and more spells applied and then he had the basics of his new home.

It was a simple design, but it had served him well enough so far.

Harry then turned his eyes away from his proud creation moved over to the corpse of his caught shark, the emerald gems on the back of his demi-gaunts, which had surprisingly survived the transition, glowing faintly as he channeled his power into them, invoking a change in the world, twisting it to his will.

Almost immediately, a large knife appeared in his hand, shaped by his will, as he stood over the dead fish and gutted it with practiced ease. It wouldn't take long for him to prepare the fish, he had done the same thing to many an aquatic denizen since he had appeared on this island, and he would then immediately begin cooking it.

He would need all the strength he could gather for what he had planned this night.

Harry looked critically at the Circle he had created, looking for anything out of place or possible problems that may occur when he activated it, on the floor of his lodge home.

The size was just right, the proper sigils for 'travel', 'sight', 'hunt' and 'human' were placed in the designated spots, not a single stroke out of line. The perimeter of the Circle had several of the small green gems he had found, the ones that he had felt resonate with the nature of wind and air, the element of movement, knowledge and communication, placed on it in regular intervals. And, most importantly, an object was paced in the exact centre.

To him it looked pretty good for a Circle he had made himself.

He chuckled to himself. Not many back in his home dimension could create Circles anymore, the knowledge said to have been either lost completely, suppressed by the power hungry and paranoid Ministry or simply not used due to the negative connotations the practice had gained through the Middle Ages. Harry simply called them all idiots and fools for not doing so.

Circles, which was short for Ritual Circles, were an ancient magic long before wandcraft became as prevalent as it had been. It stemmed from ancient rites performed by their ancestral peoples and was closely linked to shamanism, animism and other natural magics. They were slow to cast, took a fair chunk of power to perform and weren't something that could be used on the battlefield, but they were powerful, far more powerful than a simple spell from a wand.

The closest thing that modern wizards studied that came even close to such things was Warding, but that didn't even come close to the sheer scope a Ritual Circle could cover.

Circles such as these had saved his arse many a time before the final confrontation with Voldemort and Harry couldn't help but thank the heavens that the Potter family was as old as it had been and still contained knowledge of such things for him to use.

This particular Circle was focused on Scrying, a branch of Divination, which in turn was an aspect of magic that fell under the element of Wind, focused on viewing remote places, objects or beings. In particular, this Circle was designed to seek out things that met a certain criteria, like a search engine for the Internet.

He glanced at the object in the centre again, the focus of the Circle and the ritual, what the magic produced in this manner would look for. He eyed the piece of flotsam that had washed up on one of the beaches of this island, noting the roughened and splintered wood that had once been varnished and coated, tracing the stencilled shapes of the letters and numbers made in washed out white paint. It was clearly not a natural thing, but something that had been crafted, manufactured, by hands and tools more complex simple hand tools, the wood was too straight, to closely linked, to not have been touched by a machine at one point or another.

It was something that had given him hope. That he was not alone in this world. That there was humanity on this planet he could join with, despite his twisted form, somewhere out there, far away. The Circle should be able to reach beyond the horizon with it's strength and his power.

Harry could only hope that it was strong enough.

Harry then calmly sat with crossed legs before the Circle and began to summon up his magic, his power.

His eyes glowed in the dimness of his lodge home, twin fires of emerald that burned away the darkness, as the power came to his call, surging through his veins as an euphoria encompassed his body, making him feel mighty and strong, able to face any challenge that came his way. The emerald jewels on the back of his demi-gaunts also burned bright, emulating the power surging within him as said powered entered them. The replacements for his long snapped wand were far more attuned to him than that thin stick of wood had been and enabled him to use a great deal more power, power that would be needed to empower the Circle.

Finally judging he had summoned up enough of his arcane power, he then directed it all to one particular emerald jewel, making it glow brightly like a star, and then placed the hand it was on in the prepared spot in the Circle.

It reacted immediately.

The energy surged into the Circle, coursing through it like lightning through cables or information through a circuit board, making the inscribed lines light up in it's passage, casting watery shadows on the walls like an illuminated indoor pool at night. The evenly spaced local gems he had found, something he had gambled with due to his lack of proper gems associated with the Wind element on hand, seemed to work as he had hoped and prayed that they would, his magic filling them and making them brighten up, reacting to his power (though he felt a strange...dissonance within them, a note off key, as if, despite them reacting as they were, they were not quite designed to interact with his power, but with something else, but that his power, his magic, was close enough to the original power for it to react to his.).

Then, when all the lines, the runes and the gems were all glowing bright, the real ritual kicked off.

The item he had placed in the centre of the Circle, slowly began to lose form, hard wood becoming a small cloud of floating dust that began to rise to what would have been eye level if he had been standing, the dust pulsing with a different light, a vivid blue light, as it hovered and expanded, creating a large glowing circular shape hovering above the Circle beneath it.

Then images began to be seen in that blue glowing circle.

The first to be seen was an exact image of what was happening in his lodge, reflecting his own focused image and the various objects behind him in the lodge. He nodded his head, which was mirrored by the image circle. Good, it seemed the Circle was working as well as he had hoped that it would.

The image in the circle then quickly expanded. His own image vanished from the surface only to quickly replaced by an aerial view of his rough made home, followed by the general area that he had created it in and then beautification aerial view of the entire is and he was on.

He couldn't help but smirk slightly at the view. The island wasn't exactly small by any means, roughly the size of a small country, and there had been no signs of human habitation on it all. Defending on how the ritual went, this would be either a good thing or a bad thing. But that was for another time and place to think about. He stayed focused on looking for any form of human life.

The view then 'zoomed out' again and again and again, making his glowing eyes widen in shock with each change of view.

If just seeing the shattered moon hadn't convinced him of the fact that he was on a completely different world or dimension, what he was now being shown would have.

The arrangement and number of continents, the very shapes of those land masses, none of them in a million years could have been his Earth. His eyes flicked to the small green dot that indicated his own position in this world. A country sized island he may be on, but it was utterly dwarfed by the other significant land masses it was close to.

His eyes narrowed. There was a large continent sized mass to the east, one that oddly enough looked like a dragon, with it's wings outstretched, perched upon a large rock formation. It seemed to be a good distance away and was beyond the horizon in comparison to his current position. Strangely though, considering the wealth of fish he was able to obtain from that part of the ocean, he hadn't seen any large fishing boats or trawlers near there. If there was a nearby settlement on that continent, then he should have seen at least one long range fishing boat, one that would be able to brave deeper waters and function for weeks at a time away from the home port.

His instincts told him that there was something strange in that regard, but he would put that off for another time.

His eyes flicked down slightly to view the landmass to the south. It seemed to the largest of the four or five continents, with very few islands to break it up unlike the others. Given the fact that he had found the board on the south western part of the island, he was betting money that it came from that direction and from that continent. However, it was three times as distant from his island than the dragon continent was, meaning that getting there would prove to be a difficult proposition to say the very least.

Still, he might be wrong. The tides were very strange in this world, following little rhyme or reason, possibly a consequence of the shattered moon, and the board may have come from the dragon continent. He would let the ritual show him the truth.

The image he was watching then shifted south, moving away from his island as the focus of it's attentions, and began zooming in on the southern continent. Harry smiled grimly, well that proved that.

He watched as images seemed to close in on a coastal area and felt his mouth dry in anticipation.

Closer and closer the images came and he couldn't help but let out a choked sob of relief when he saw the familiar outlines of a city and a harbour filled with a large amount of boats and ships. There was life here, intelligent life!

The image kept zooming in and he couldn't help but drink in the images like a thirsty man would water in the Sahara. People, human people, rushed around the docks the image focused on, carrying cases and cargo onto slim, more modern and futuristic looking ships. Others haggled with swarthy boat captains regarding the days catch at their feet. Behind the docks, he could see the skyline of the city, which seemed to lack much in the way of skyscrapers that had once dotted London of his homeworld, but was otherwise quite similar to most other cities he had seen in his running and hiding days back in England, minus the rubble and destruction of course.

The only odd thing that stood out were amongst a few of people, ones that looked different from the others, that acted different from the others.

He focused on one of them, mentally tweaking the Circle to do so. It was a tall male, with broad shoulders and bare muscular arms, ones that seemed more solid and larger than they should be in proportion to the rest of his body, that was easily lifting heavy crates onto one of the ships, the amount of netting on it indicating it's purpose. His eyes were a warm light brown and his face was lined with signs of both age and laughter and had a thick five o'clock shadow, an indication he hadn't shaved all that recently.

However, the most startling feature he had was the set of short rounded animal ears that peaked out of the top of his short scruffy hair. If Harry didn't know any better he could have sworn that there a bear's ears.

Nor was this swarthy man the only one to have such a feature.

Rabbit ears were seen in the crowd, along with a few from various types of cats and dogs. There was even one red haired woman that seemed to be the epitome of a vixen with her tall tapered ears and bushy tail on full display with a cunning and saucy light in her amber eyes. Harry couldn't help but chuckle briefly as, with a wink and a subtle gesture at her curvaceous figure dressed in a rather brief amount of red silk clothing, she had men tripping over themselves and bumping into things. Another woman that seemed to be coated in iridescent scales, a feature that while alien was far from repulsive but instead was strangely alluring, did a similar thing with the subtle sways of her seductively serpentine hips.

Others had more subtle animal traits. Slightly larger canines, subtilely slitted eyes, thicker nails on their hands. But all of these beings had a very similar walk that verged on a prowl, the walk of a beast in unknown and possibly dangerous territory, ready to run or fight at a moments notice. Judging by the instinctive berth the regular humans gave them and the disdainful and scornful looks they were thrown from various members of the human race, some of them even spitting at their passing, that walk was probably a good idea.

It made him frown. It seemed prejudice and bigotry would always be part of the human race, wherever one went, even on different worlds.

Harry took his eyes off of the image of the harbour to glance at his hands, ones that were clearly inhuman. If these humans treated the beings with small and barely noticeable animal traits like that, how would they receive someone who was more beast than human? Was he willing to trade his solitude for scorn? To accept being taunted and despised in exchange for companionship?

He sighed heavily to himself. It would be something he would have to think about deeply. Now that he knew where a human habitation was, he could afford to take his time, planning his entrance into the public of this world.

He glanced at the image again, searing into his memory the exact position of the town in comparison to his island abode. He would not be able to either Apparate or Portkey there. Portkeys were a device created by those who used wands, something he no longer had or was able to do, his first death had forced him to take a different, more ancient, path of spellcraft.

Apparition was also out due to the amount of water between his island and the town. Few were they who could have Apparated across the Channel to France back on his home world and the distance between his island and the town was far larger than that much to his misfortune. Large bodies of water, particularly salt water and the ocean, for some reason resonated in a way with magic that caused it to breakdown or otherwise interfered with it's workings. The last time a fool with enough power or skill attempted a Channel crossing using Apparition, he had split he'd himself so badly that it took a year to find all the pieces scattered over the landscape and the Channel for him to be put back together.

He was lonely but not to the point of attempting suicide just to end it.

That left the only options of entering the town to be either by sea in a boat, which he had absolutely zero experience in creating or using, or by air, which would mean by his new wings as he no longer had either his Nimbus or Firebolt in working order, both of them destroyed in separate escapes from Death Eaters back on English soil, and no idea how to properly repair them.

He gently let the power he sent into the circle fade, the inscriptions and power surging through the connecting lines and odd gems dimming slowly. The image above the Circle wavered and flickered before dying completely, a soft cloud of dust falling into the dimming Circle before it too flickered and died along with the Wind Gems, as he had dubbed them, leaving lodge in complete darkness.

Harry's slightly glowing eyes of emerald flames watched the now dead Circle for moment before he simply turned and crawled over his bed of bulrushes and conjured cloth. He had much to think about, but nothing that couldn't wait until the morning. His eyes slipped closed, the emerald embers dimming in his ocular orbs, before complete darkness covered his mind and body.

Old questions had been answered this night, and hopes made real. In return, new questions had arisen and nightmares of eld had resurfaced.

It was a restless night for Harry Potter.

Two Months Later

Powerful talons clenched the unyielding stone of the top of the bare mountain in the darkness before the dawn, grasping it tightly as the owner of said talons shifted the burdens on his body into a more comfortable position, knees slightly bent to catapult him into the air when he was ready.

After the use of the Circle, it hadn't taken much for Harry to make a decision on what to do next. Come what may, bad or good, he would rejoin humanity as carve his own future in this new world.

He had then gone about preparations in earnest.

First on his agenda had been to exercise his new wings, to strengthen them as much as possible. His only viable mode of transport to the harbour town he had viewed had been the new pinions he had, all other possible vectors, magical and mundane, currently out of his reach. There had been a small problem in regards to that though.

The Animagus form he had gained this from, in a manner he still wasn't certain of, was not the best of distance fliers, their use of wings generally more like a sparrow or a swallow, brief, agile and fast, meaning he had to exercise the wings to their ultimate potential and to perform a few...risky experiments.

On the bright side, he could legitimately claim to the first Gargoyle to have patterned wings.

He grunted to himself as he inspected the contents of one of the packs he had made, his shrunken trunk already full with various essentials, ensuring that nothing would shift or be broken.

The identity of his Animagus form had been quite a surprise to find out, to say the least.

The Gargoyle, as it was most commonly known in modern times, was a bipedal draconic beast native to the areas of France and Italy. Greece had also been a possible point of origin for them, the myths and legends of the mundane folk, particularly those of the Dactyls, the loud noise making warriors crafted from Rhea's scratchings in the dirt when she gave birth to Zeus who muffled the baby deity's cries with the clashing of their shields and weapons, and of Cadmus, who sowed the teeth of the draconic child of Ares to bring forth a new race to populate his city of Thebes, merging and twisting with the cult of Priapus and his link to garden gnomes, who were reputed to move around at night and stay still as stone during the day.

Standing anywhere between nine and ten feet tall, from foot to head, they were without question one of the smallest of draconic beings ever known to humanity. Despite that, they were no less deadly and proved themselves to be as formidable as their much larger cousins.

Amazingly fast and able to react quick enough that their bodies blurred with a immense degree of natural stealth in regards to sight and sound, they also had the innate magical ability to 'blend in' with an environment, not like a chameleon, but by standing so still, they became a part of that place, faded into the background and became overlooked, like a localised SEP field. Their prey could walk right past them in the middle of a clearing and not think anything of them, right up until the unacknowledged predator's jaws locked around the foolish prey's neck in a deadly clasp.

They also had the unique ability to throw fire balls, rather than a stream of flame, if they so desired, and were more than able to run down their prey through the thick forest, swamps and marshes that they called home.

If Harry had give them a shorter description, he would have called the Velociraptors, like from that movie Dudley had seen and that he had watched secretly, with wings, horns and the ability to breathe fire. Both species also shared the traits of territoriality, pack hunting and a streak of ruthless intelligence wider than the ocean. Add in the Gargoyle's standard draconic traits of their hides' resistance to magic, their monstrous strength and sheer durability along with a temper hotter than wildfire set on a hair trigger...

It was a frightening thought to those who had thought about it.

However, these marvellous, if extremely dangerous, were extinct now. The legend of St. Romanus, a chancellor under one of the Merovingian kings back in the seventh century, defeating the legendary Goji had some basis in fact. The Saint had secretly been a wizard of ample power who had faced the last few remaining colonies of those powerful predators and had, instead of killing them, had somehow bound them into the service of the Church, to become the stone guardians that sat upon the roofs of those houses of the holy within the land of France, unable to move in the sunlight and freed to roam and protect the church's confines at night, guarding against those that would commit sacrilege and defile the house of The Lord, and the caretakers of the various churches had ensured each colony was well fed and that their numbers were a relative constant.

Unfortunately, when the French Revolution and the Church of Reason rocked around centuries later, a lot of churches where defiled and statues destroyed. Statues that held bound the flesh and blood of the Gargoyles. And thus ended the existence of a singular race of beings, not with a bang...

But a whimper.

Never again would one of them walk the earth and strike fear once more into those that had forgotten their power and might.

That is until Harry had first shifted into one of these beings of beautiful nightmares. The Death Eaters had learned well to fear the fangs and claws that loomed in the shadows, striking quickly and without them even being aware that they were being stalked.

Harry couldn't help but smile a little sadistically. The acrid scent of fear wafting off of Tommy Boy's goon squad had been like the bouquet of a fine wine to the senses of his Animagus form. The spirit had practically purred in delight at the scents and had been rather happy to let him take the reins in regards to those hunts.

Sadistic humour aside, a Gargoyle's wings were not meant for long and enduring flying, though it seemed that his body merging with his Animagus form (and he really had to sit down and figure out how that happened eventually.) had mitigated that somewhat, thus his wings needed some outside help.

He winced to himself, ruffling his wings uncomfortably in remembrance at what he had done.

He had taken advantage of possibilities that the elemental gems he had found on the island presented to him and had ground down a mixture of certain types into dust before mixing it water, creating an ink.

Tattoo ink to be precise.

It had hurt like the buggery, even with the correct spells he had dig up in the family library he had in his shrunken trunk, but it had worked.

He glanced at the glowing swirling lines on his chest, knowing that they were mirrored on his back and that similar designs were on the inside and outside of his wings. The inner emerald fire that blazed in his eyes now arising from his very skin.

Using the wind gems to apply the concept of speed and travel, and some of the rare earth element gems he had found for stability, strengthening, endurance and permanence, he believed he should be able to make it, especially if he used a few spells to aid him on the way.

With the first part of his agenda filled, he had then looked into the other parts of it.

Number two, a source of income or currency, had been easy. He still had a great deal of his family's wealth in his shrunken trunk and gold was universal currency, as he had briefly in the harbour images from various people trading cash for golden jewellery at one of the stalls.

Number three was a bit more difficult, but not insurmountable. He had been worried that, despite the human presence, that he would not be able to communicate with them through speech, a possibility that their language would be far different than any he knew. That had been taken care of with his ability at creating magical artefacts. A simple gold necklace with a wind gem, the element representing knowledge, thought and communication, and a few enchantments layered onto it and all had been well. Any spoken language would be comprehensible to him and his own speech would be comprehensible to others. In addition, it had a direct link to his memory and comprehension centres of his mind, which would allow him to slowly learn the language better with every time he spoke or heard it.

He would also have to think about something similar for reading but messing with one's perception and eyesight was a dangerous prospect. He may have to see if he could hire someone to possibly teach him how to read the local scripts and the more worldwide ones. Demeaning, he supposed, but definitely a great deal safer than messing with his eyes.

Number four had been as easy as number two. All manner of supplies like food and water were abundant on this island and, with the right twist of spellcraft, preservation of those goods was quite easy. He had made sure to take samples of all the different elemental gems he had encountered. Harry was convinced that the native humanity knew about these substances and he was eager to gain whatever knowledge he could about them. How they formed, where they were found, how they were used, and other assorted questions.

They were far too useful in his projects to not know more about.

Having checked all his baggage strapped to his powerful frame (though he wondered sometimes at it. Despite the clearly changed and more muscular form, he couldn't help but think that there was something more...youthful about it than his previous form. As if this hybrid shape of gargoyle and man was younger, less mature, than the years he had lived. It would be yet another avenue if investigation he would have to make at a later time.) to see that it was all tightly secure and comfortable, including the demi-gaunts on his hands and the sheathed Sword of Gryffindor at his waist, he took a last look down onto the island that had been his home for over half a year.

He would miss it and all the natural wonders that were within it. The beautiful waterfalls, the quiet streams and burbling brooks. The soft scents of wild flowers in bloom, untouched by man. It was an untouched paradise that would have been almost impossible to find back on Earth. But here, on this planet, on this world, it was a truly beautiful thing that he would treasure for the rest of his days.

He was half tempted to stay a little longer and somehow place a ward or barrier over the entire island, to stop it from being somehow despoiled. To keep it as his own private little hideaway and bolt hole to go to if things went belly up for him, as they usually did at some point or other. However that would take up far too much energy and materials, especially for such a large island. A Fidelius could have been possible if he had another intelligent companion with him. But, because of the restriction in the spell for the owner of the property to be unable to be their own Secret Keeper (as the spell was based on the trust one person had of another) and the fact that he had never cast the spell before, as well as inability to use a wand any longer, it was no longer an option.

He would just have to settle with the fact that people seemed to have left it untouched despite being relatively close to a bustling city and thus were unlikely to step foot on these shores.

"Well," he sighed heavily, crouching slightly as he prepared to launch himself into the unknown. He glanced at the small artefact he had created, a ring with small fragment of a wind gem and the collected dust of the piece of flotsam he had used in the ritual months before, which would act as his guide toward the harbour city. "No use wasting any more time." He smirked slightly, crouching deeper and his dark wings, lined with glowing designs of emerald green, flared wide, "Let's go!"

From his high roost on the mountain top, he leapt, his wings furiously beating and the surging emerald power in his wing, torso and back tattoos glowing brightly, into the air, pulling himself higher and higher into the sky, the island below growing smaller with every foot of height he achieved.

He laughed heartily with delight, his blood singing and roaring at being in his true element once more, as he felt air try to tug at him, try to pull him down, but he only beat his wings harder. He had trained for this, had endured for this, he would not be denied his freedom in the sky! He would meet every challenge in the aerial domain and show his dominance.

He finally got so high that his breath misted with every exhalation and his wings brushed the clouds that formed around him. He was high enough now to continue his journey.

He glanced down at small island once more and gave a small salute before locking his wings and banking towards the south, using the air currents to fly, or rather glide, instead of wasting his own energy.

With sun just rising, heralding a new day, so too did the first True Mage make his first steps into the world of Remnant, every wingbeat a step along the path of enlightened knowledge.

And yet, the brighter the light shines, the deeper the shadows grow.

The winged beast stirred from it's deep slumber, it's feathers of black steel clanging and singing the song of swords and battle as they rattled.

It's half clouded mind, so sluggish after decades of deep slumber, felt something tingle it's senses. A bright light in the emptiness of the area around it's roost. A light brighter than many it had sensed before. A light that made it hungry, made it angry.

Multiple eyes the colour of spilled blood opened behind a mask of white bone, tribal designs glowing scarlet as it began to fully awaken.

One of the Lights dared to impinge on it's domain?! Not since the Times of Great Darkness had any of the Lights dared to challenge it by crossing onto it's territory!

It slowly dragged itself upright onto it's own three talons, the feathers of it's wings left gouges and furrows in the blood soaked walls of it's cave, scattering the long bleached bones of bipedal beings that littered the floor of the lair with callous disregard. Rusted and pitted remains of steel implements, their original shapes and purpose long lost to time, scattered with the bones and the few remaining pieces of cloth that had once covered them.

But these were of no consequence to the winged creature with a body as dark as the abyss. Only the bright Light that it could sense in the distance had it's focus, it's ire and rage and hatred.

On three feet, it hopped awkwardly out of it's personal lair, emerging out into a larger cavern with a ceiling towering over head, a dim light penetrating to stand floor beneath it.

Standing tall, it's height immense and wings spread wide enough to almost touch either side, it gave an ear splitting shrieking call.

"RAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRR!"

The sound echoed in the cavern, bouncing off the walls and creating a cacophony able to wake the dead from their eternal rest.

And wake something did.

On the walls of the cavern, viciously gleaming red lights suddenly began appearing in groups even as the rustling of hard feathers and the scrape of hard claws on stone added to the dying noise of the great creature's screech.

Out of the darkness the cavern, creatures fluttered to flew to land in front of the much larger creature, the smaller ones close copies to the immense being they collected before, like worshippers before their God.

The large avian creature's six scarlet eyes glared down at it's smaller brethren, the majority of them only the size of one of it's sharply taloned feet or smaller, but a few at least a third of it's and two of them just reaching over two thirds. But it still stood like a god over them all.

Crested bone masks shifted around, low avian roars and screeches were heard amongst the rabble before they were cut short by another authoritative screech from it's throat, making them all silent and still.

It glared around again before making another call, a call to gather, to follow, to hunt and seek.

Then, with a flap of it's immense wings, it shot up the great shaft above it, a hurricane sent in it's wake with every stroke of those nightmarish black pinions, towards the dim light it could see above.

It could faintly here and feel the screeches of it's brethren as they followed quickly after, eager to sate their long unfulfilled hunger on the prey that the largest and oldest of them could now faintly sense, a Light burning brightly in the distance, as they were roused from their deep slumber.

The great beast emerged from the opening with a powerful roar that shook the sky, the red sun at it's back as it emerged with wings flared wide and all the vicious talons on it's three feet and on it's two pairs of wing claws looked like they were all dipped in the life blood of whatever poor fool, had crossed it's path and it's feather's, so dark and steely, seemed alight with a dark fire that looked like it wanted nothing more than to scorch and devour all in sight.

It shot into the sky, roaring it's anger and bloodlust, warning one and all that heard who truly ruled this portion of the land, and soon turned toward the south west, where it felt the bright Light burn, and stroked it's wings it that direction, pulling itself through the air, as the flowing feathery tail trailed behind as did the immense cloud of it's sun blotting brethren. Their calls added to it's own as they trailed in it's wake and then overtook it, eager to spill blood.

It was not worried as it almost leisurely flew on. It had felt the power of this Light. It would not fall to the talons and beaks of it's brethren, even in such numbers and strength. Only it had the strength to kill the Light, to bring the Darkness. But if it's brethren were to weaken it, then so be it. The less Lights in this world the better.

Beware, Children of The Broken World, for the Ruler of the Scarlet Skies, the Dawn Carrier, the Beast that Burns the Heavens, Herald of the Bloodfire, has awoken.

Author's Notes

Well, folks. how did you like this one?

Not much in the way of action I will admit but that will change in the next chapter. Be prepared for an Aerial Battle of the likes you have never seen before!

I have also made the decision to make Harry's Magic and Aura be different things. Aura comes from the soul, is the embodiment of it on the mortal plane, but Harry's Magic is an anomaly, a form of unknown energy that is able to interact with the world around it in various ways, going by much different rules. Also. just to give you guys a heads up, Harry's new magic system will eventually be explained in depth. but not for a couple of chapters. Until then, just roll with it.

As for the mask that Harry had on his face at the end of the first chapter, just think that it dissolved back into the host.

I also hoped you liked my depiction of the new Harry. If you haven't guessed, I was aiming for an unholy amalgammation of Illidan Stormrage from Warcraft and Goliath from Disney's Gargoyles. Hopefully that will draw some interest.

As always please leave a review,

kujikiri21