Children of the Dawn

It was simple maths that such a young phoenix couldn't hope to match a millennia old Basilisk,. Thus, Harry Potter went up in flames, and Lumen Stella Proelia was reborn in them. Fate's plans were saved, but the method in which would be drastically changed. Slash. Prompto/Harry, Luna/Noctis, Cindy/Aranea

WARNING: I played with the Royal Edition, and recently too, I'm told that this means I've been privy to things that other players have not been, so there may be some spoilers or differences in my writing some scenes because of that.

000

Chapter One

It was a simple case of mathematics.

The healing properties of phoenix tears, as miraculous and potent as they may be, just were not enough. A Basilisk was a fearsome opponent in of itself, but twisted and stewed in magic as living and breathing as Hogwarts herself, nesting above a layline in slumber for a millennia, driven mad by solitude, hunger, and dark magic – only the Elixer of Life itself could have saved the child of prophesy laid out across the stone floor, sodden with blood and drain water, struggling for breath, his heart beating like the desperate stuttering flutter of a trapped sparrow's wings.

Fawkes was strong, he was young and healthy, his magic was powerful. But there was nothing he could do to save the child's failing body, not now. Perhaps had the bite been fresh, before his blood had carried the poison any further, before it had begun to eat him alive from the inside. But now...

He did not even waste the energy to try, his tears here would be useless.

He burned.

Infinite are the world a phoenix can travel to. Ride the heat of the sun between realities before sliding out upon a flick of light where they desired. This world, this beautiful place, so different and different again, across eons and millennia and galaxies. A thousand cataclysmic events, heroes and villains both, Gods and Demons and Mortals. A single choice shifting the balance of a world, jarring it from one future to another – and a new world is born.

He burned. And he burned the boy with him, consuming his poisoned body in a funeral pyre fit for the King he may have one day grown to be, if given time and guidance. Burned his body so that it may never be used against him, so that Fate's chosen King would not be tainted by the machinations of others.

A thousand worlds in the blink of an eye. Clutching the spirit of the child in his talons, burning to keep the flame of his life lit. Burning, burning, burning.

Searching through the worlds for that familiar spark, the flicker of light so bright, pale gold like the first glimmer of light at dawn. A flicker guttering, to be snuffed.

And found him.

That same little star of light.

A little younger in body, his mind faded with pain and blood loss. A child on the verge of death, split in half, pinned beneath the corpse of his mother, the weight of her body holding his wounds shut, drawing his death out. Slow and painful, left to gasp in the mud, in the dark. A wound such as that... lethal, but simple. A slash across his stomach and back from the cleaver that tore his mother in half. Far more easily healed than the venom of the Dark King Serpent.

Mending the vessel was easy.

Joining the souls, one in the same or not, was harder.

But a Phoenix is a creature of rebirth, of renewal, of life-after-death.

He brought them together, and all three of them burned within his wings, within his song.

He used the last of his strength to return, burning himself out to return to where he belonged, consuming himself entirely to be reborn.

With this, two innocent lives were saved.

With this, the hand of Fate would not be denied, and the threat that Voldemort would become would not come to pass.

The boy hero would live, and grow, until it was time for him to do his duty to the world that birthed him, until they came for him. He would survive. He was strong.

The only problem now was...

Fawkes shuffled, chirping weakly as he sloughed off the ash he created, the ash of the child's body, and stared up at the face of the young Dark Lord in waiting. Naked, helpless, and very much alone.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

000

It was cold, and raining.

Everything was quiet.

That was wrong. It shouldn't be quiet. Mum always told him that when things went quiet, he should run and hide and not look back.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and he felt what little grip on his dazed, distant awareness slip through his fingers like sand.

Hands, burning hot, rough skinned, pulled him back to waking.

They pulled him up, and turned him over, the cold crushing weight on his chest and back falling away, sliding heavily down his back to his legs as he was turned over, cradled against a leg as burning hot hands smoothed over his face, wiping dirt, blood, and sodden hair. Groping along his jawline, pressing uncomfortably, and stopping.

"He's alive! The kid's alive! Get the car! He's hurt bad!" a familiar voice shouted over his head. "You hang in there, Lumen."

You hang in there.

000

He woke in a soft bed, numb, and slow. Blinking felt like it took an eternity as he just breathed. The room was dim thanks to the drawn curtains, but enough of the early morning light streamed through for him to see the rest of the room in pale light. The wall opposite him was a warm autumn brown, the other three were a creamy beige colour with a dark wooden chair railing framing them all. It was a small room, dark furniture, leaf patterned cream curtains, an open door; he was on a single bed, piled high with blankets and pillows. Against the brown wall opposite him was a chest of draws with a basin and a jug atop of it, a little woodburner sat in the corner on the right of it, empty and cold. There was a desk against the wall directly on his left, radio perched upon it next to a stack of books and magazines, and on his right...

A man slept awkwardly in a green armchair, slumped down, his bootclad feet propped up on the bedside table, his head twisted to one side in such a way that there was no doubt in his mind that he would wake with a sore neck.

"...Dave?" The name came unbidden to his lips, because he knew this man, but had never met him. He would take him out fishing while his mother was on dangerous hunts that he couldn't join her for, they would cook what they caught for her when she got back, dirty and hungry. Dave taught him how to fix a car, bits about it anyway. Would play the guitar for him, and taught him how to play the cords and his mother's favourite song. He was a complete stranger though.

Wasn't he?

A sharp pain needled his brain, right between his eyes and his temples, blossoming white-hot fire behind his eyes. He whined, high and painfilled, squeezing his eyes shut against the discomfort. The sound doing what his voice, weak and raspy as it had been, could not before as a moment later his eyes were covered by a large rough-palmed hand, bathing his vision in darkness and lessening the fiery pain. Gentle hands smoothed through his hair, continuing to shield his eyes while waiting for the pain to pass.

"How are you feeling, Lumen?" Dave asked softly.

Lumen?

"I'm... a bit sore. My side really hurts, my head too," he heard himself croak even as the Hunter carefully slid his hands away from his eyes and helped him sit up straight, arranging the pillows behind and around him to make him comfortable.

He watched in silence as Dave made his way to the jug on the dresser and poured a glass of water, and brought it over to him. He needed some help to hold the glass, his hands being bandaged into what was very much almost mittens of cotton, but the water was cool and clean, soothing the dry crackle of his throat, and washing away the distant memory of iron and mud.

"Thanks," he managed to say under his own strength, the words feeling strange in his mouth, like his lips and tongue were swollen and not moving right.

Dave smiled warmly, looking tired and wan in the morning light as he sat down. He paused, realising the older man's eyes were red and puffy, like he had been crying recently. All of a sudden he felt a horrible sinking dread in his stomach, an awful knot forming at the bottom of his neck and in his chest because -

"Where's Mum?" he asked suddenly, and Dave flinched.

He went cold.

"What – what happened to Mum? Where is she? She's okay, right? She's super-strong, she – "

A flash of red, a woman in the dark, broken headlights in the distance, blood in the sand, her voice screaming in his ears.

'LUMEN!'

His voice died in his lungs, the sinking dread in the pit of his stomach turning solid, heavy, and spreading through his limbs. His chest hurt. Everything was fuzzy. It sounded like the world was underwater and his ears were ringing.

Dave gathered him into a tight hug, sitting on the edge of the bed, winding both arms around him, blankets and all, burying his face into his hair, smelling like old leather, dust, and honing oil – just like his mother used to. His eyes burned. Dave's voice shook. "I'm sorry, Lu, we – we didn't find any other survivors. I'm so so sorry..."

He gasped, the ache in his chest easing even as something hard rose up in his throat, like a still living organ, thick, red, and hot. He panted, moaning, "It's my fault," he gasped, "It's my fault, I wasn't fast enough, I – Mum – she – it caught up – I ran but it caught up – Mum jumped between us – it-it's my fault – she died because of me!"

"No, no, no, Lumen, no," Dave refused, heartbroken, his voice thick and wet as he swept him up into his arms, wrapping him up tightly and pulling him into his lap. "You're barely eight years old, Lumen, it isn't your fault. It was no one's fault, no one save those daemon bastards that attacked you, you hear me?" he demanded roughly, kissing his head, hugging him tightly.

"B-but Mum would be alive if I hadn't – "

"Or you might both be dead," he corrected firmly, rocking him in his arms, "She would have never forgiven herself if you'd died with her," he swore kissing one of the few unbandaged parts of his forehead.

But I did, sprang unbidden to his mind. It was true, he had died. Both of them had – he had been hidden by the Basilisk, and Fawkes cremated his body, he had been cut in half along with his mother, and he burned under phoenix fire.

He died.

His momma died too.

The choking feeling was back. Someone was making a horrible heaving sound, ugly, gritty sobs. It took him a moment to realise that it was coming from him, that he was clinging to Dave with everything he had, and wailing his heart out in earnest. He didn't care that he was eight, and grown up, and even allowed to fight little monsters on hunts to help his Mother. He cried, and cried, and cried.

Dave held him the whole time. Heart bleeding along with him.

000

The death of huntress Lilium Byrrus Proelia was written off as nothing more than a tragic accident amidst the greater tragedy of the annihilation of Saltash Outpost. A cautionary tale about road navigation, equipment maintenance, and having back-ups for your back-ups.

Saltash Outpost was a small village that straddled the border of Leide and Duscae, a modest little place comprising of a petrol station, chocobo rental, a few residential houses, a caravan, and a burger van. The electricity generator fell into disrepair with the passing of their only mechanic, Steve had been quietly maintaining it for so long that most of the residents had been completely ignorant to its very existence, believing themselves to be sat on the EXINERIS powerlines, instead of the unreliable and borderline defunct Leide mains, they continued to believe that too – until it caught fire one morning, knocking out the power. And the lights.

Getting a new generator shipped to them would have taken weeks. Meanwhile there was only seven hours until sundown. Barely enough time to pack bags, and drive to the next outpost for safety. They could have gone north to the Hunter's Prairie Outpost, but it wasn't large enough to support their numbers, so instead they opted to go south. His mother had been in the area for a hunt, and had been willing to provide combat support to expedite the evacuation in exchange for room and board when she passed through on hunts in future. Everything seemed like it was going well, the majority of the residents moving South East to Longwythe where the large outpost could support their numbers until the generator could be shipped, and set up.

Later on the road though... they realised...

The driver had taken a wrong turn, and gotten lost.

Terrified, going in panicked circles trying to find his way down desert backroads, keeping quiet so as not to terrify the children, even as the sun began to sink.

Night fell before they found their way.

And the daemons came.

The convoy broke. Several cars sped up, crashed, vanished into the darkness, swallowed by the sounds of twisting tearing metal and groaning darkness. The car that he had been in with his mother crashed, their driver hitting the accelerator and harshly pulling on the wheel until they ploughed directly into a rock-formation.

Lumen had crawled out of the wreckage and done what his mother trained him to do if ever he found himself alone in the dark with daemons on the prowl – look for the blue ribbon. That thin tongue of blue smoke that glowed in the night that would guide him to a haven, safe from the creatures of the night. He ran. Put his head down and moved, his heart in his throat. He wanted to help, but what could he do? He was eight, and daemons were the kind of thing that only good Hunters and legendary Heroes could handle. He needed to get out of the way to let his mother do her job and save people.

Then he heard that sound. The groaning shriek of straining metal, and the hiss of living darkness behind him.

"LUMEN!"

His vision filled with red as he turned, eyes wide, the Iron Giant's blade falling in front of him – his mother, backlit in broken headlights from their car, her wild scarlet mane filled with braids and beads, her scarred cheeks pale and frightened in the half-light, her freckled nose. The green eyes they shared, meeting his in the night.

The blind terror at the thought of losing him written across her face.

She threw herself on top of him, pushed him down – and the blade fell.

Pain burned across his side, hot and wet. And he knew no more of that night until he woke up in Dave's house at Headquarters, up in Meldacio, an entire country away on the otherside of Duscae in Cleigne. It would have taken days to travel that kind of distance. And he had been unconscious, fighting for his life, the entire way.

His mother had been cut in half.

His side itched where she had narrowly saved him from the same fate.

Because surely she had? She must have. Because he was here. And... his name was Lumen. He knew Dave. Dave was here. And he knew Meldacio. He had been here before, he practically grew up here as much as he had done on the road. He... Hogwarts, Harry, the Basilisk, Fawkes... it was... it had to be some kind of weird dream. Right? He was here, now, and looking at the maps yielded nothing of England, of Scotland, of America, or China, or even... anything. One part of him, Harry, insisted he was real, that the pain he suffered, that the things he saw, the people he knew and hated and loved were real, that magic was real, that he existed. But the other part of him, Lumen, was surrounded by proof of his existence, proof that his world was the real one, that he was surrounded by people he knew and loved, that magic was nothing like what Harry seemed to think it was.

But the more things changed, the more they seemed the same?

Both of their mothers had been beautiful red heads; and while Harry's was dead, Lumen had never known his father either, and didn't know if he yet lived either. His mother, Lilium (not Lily as Harry insisted), declared the man to be a coward and the worst mistake she'd ever made, she was well shot of him in her opinion. The only good thing he had done in the time she had known him, was to give her a son, give her Lumen, the light of her life. Her beloved little Firefly. Her Lightning Bug.

And while neither of them had known their fathers, now they had both lost their mother's, and now... now it seemed as though Lumen may end up with a spiteful Aunt as well.

He could hear Dave arguing with his mother, Ezma, head of the Hunter HQ, in the other room arguing about him. They probably thought he was still sleeping, but, he had learned from a young age as both Harry and Lumen to wake at the smallest of sounds. And now he could hear everything.

"- may have been sweet on her, but he ain't yours, and he can't stay. We can't afford a child getting under foot," Madame Auburnbrie lectured coldly, "Lilium's sister – "

"Hated her, and would have no problem taking that hatred out on her son," Dave cut in, his voice low and mean in a way that Lumen had never heard. "I promised her I would see him taken care of if ever the worst happened, an' that's what I intend t'do," the hunter declared firmly.

"He would be better cared for in Insomnia's Crown City with his Aunt. They'd let him in with a blood relative, and he's young enough that if she refuses he'll still be taken as a refugee. Don't be stupid, boy."

"I promised. An' that's the end of it. If he's gunna be underfoot here, then we'll just leave." A chair scraped against the wooden floor.

"You would take him on the road? After what just happened? He'd a bad luck charm, that boy."

He heard Dave 'tsk' angrily, and then a door slam, heavy boot steps approaching his recovery room. Lumen debated pretending to be asleep, Harry told him to do so, because adults hated it when you listened in on their conversations, Lumen didn't like lying and knew Dave would never hurt him. He didn't get a chance to make his mind up before the door was opening, and the Hunter was stepping in with a face like thunder. One that paused and then dropped as soon as he realised that he was awake. Dave scratched the back of his head awkwardly, and gently closed the door behind him.

"Guess I don't have'ta ask whether or not y'all heard that, huh?" he questioned softly even as he rounded the bed to slump into the arm chair. Lumen shook his head, picking at the bedding with what little of his fingertips that weren't bandaged. Dave sighed again, "I know I said a lotta things in there, but what do you wanna do, Lumen? It is your life we're discussin' here. I say y'all should get a word in what happens."

Trap, he's lying, Harry whispered in his head, suspicion turning his stomach because this was just to see how opposed he was to going to the Crown City, to see if he needed more stringent methods of making sure he stayed there once they got rid of him.

He just wants to give us a choice, Lumen knew. Dave was a good guy, he always treated Lumen well, loved him even, as a father could have done. In all honesty, he really did see the Hunter as the closest thing to a father that he had. He knew that the man loved his mother, loved her dearly, but she was just too... she couldn't bare the idea of being tied down, and while Dave was one of her dearest friends, she didn't like indecisive wishywashy men who meekly did as they were told all the time. She did not like how the man's mother still had his balls in a vice (her words, not his).

That Dave was arguing against his mother for Lumen was huge. And if she had been alive, he knew his mother would have kissed the man silly for it.

"I'd like to stay with you," he said quietly, "I don't know Insomnia. Or Auntie. Mum never had anything nice to say about her. I don't think she'd like me either." He shrugged a shoulder, "She probably wouldn't accept me. I'm too..." he trailed off, trying to find the words to describe what his Aunt would find so objectionable given what he knew about her. She had been a fairly normal young woman with a head full of practicality and romance and ambition. She wanted to marry well, to be comfortable, so her children would be safe, but she wanted to be safe, wanted to be well taken care of. She wanted status. A woman obsessed with appearances, cleanliness, orderliness. For her, Lumen would be a blight. A child so entirely wild that just having him within her house would somehow make it dirty, lesser, than what it had been. He would be a cancerous growth in her opinion. One she would never tolerate in her perfect life. (Idly he wondered how much of that information was from his mother's retellings, or from Harry's own opinion of his Aunt, it was getting harder to tell, the lines were blurring in places.)

Dave breathed out slowly, and nodded, "If that's what you want, Firefly, then that's that. I'd like for you to stay with me, and since you're amenable to it, and it's what your Mom wanted, that's the way it's gonna be."

"What about your Mum?" the eight year old asked warily.

Dave glanced to the door, neither of them had heard the front door open or close, so she was still here. Whether she was brooding, or listening in was anyone's guess but either way the Hunter looked back at him with heavy brown eyes.

"Family's more than just blood."

0000

I love Dave, but damn he seems so sad all the time. He needs more love, and a spine.

So, what d'y'all think of this?