Prologue/Chapter 1: Monsters, Freaks, and Abominations

4 Privet Drive, 1981, a cloudy night in autumn.

"I won't have that bloody freak staying under our roof!" shouted Vernon Dursley. Perhaps it was the brandy he had been drinking, or perhaps he just had a predisposition to rage against what he saw as unnatural, but the small boy with a lightning-shaped scar wasn't welcome in his house. For that matter, neither was the old man with the long white beard and lurid robes.

"You are his only family," replied Albus Dumbledore calmly. "His parents have just been killed by terrorists, and anyone else who would take him is no longer capable."

"I won't have it!" shouted Vernon, not listening. "Good riddance his parents were killed for all the good your 'magic' has done!"

This drew the attention of Dumbledore. He may not have been especially close with James and Lily, but hearing their memories cursed in such a manner irked him. He needed young Harry to be raised here, away from his fame, so that he would willingly rise to the challenge of facing Voldemort's inevitable return. It seemed that ensuring Sirius' imprisonment would not be the most difficult part of his plans after all. Dumbledore stood, drawing himself to his full height. He was not especially tall, but he still towered over Vernon who would struggle to reach six feet with a step ladder. The twinkle in his eyes gone, he struck an imposing figure in the small room.

Dursley was still raving, but his wife looked on fearfully cradling her small boy. The wizard snapped his fingers and all sound in the room was gone. This did get the attention of Vernon, and it frightened him.

"You will listen to me," Albus said simply. He spoke with gravity, not needing threats or even a raised voice to back his command. "You will take this child, and you will raise him. Your nephew will attend Hogwarts when he turns eleven, and he will have a home here at least until his seventeenth birthday, when he becomes a legal adult in the wizarding world. See all this done. I have no wish to return here. It would be unwise to force my hand."

Vernon, as drunk and apoplectic and utterly stupid as he was, understood by some primal instinct. This man before him, now preparing to leave, this Albus Dumbledore, could reduce him to ash at a moment's notice. As he came to this revelation, Dumbledore turned on a dime and was gone. Vernon slumped in his easy chair with relief.

A baby's wailing then caught the attention of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. This gave Vernon pause. He mightn't be able to stand against that man, but he could handle a child. He could handle a child easily.

A church on the Cliffs of Moher, 1813, summer, before dawn.

Church bells rang loudly in the old cathedral, drowning out the cries of a young woman. She struggled against the men holding her shoulders and arms and tried to rise from her kneeling position.

"Where is my baby?" she screamed. "Please, take me instead, do what you will, but my baby boy is innocent!"

The ivory walls and gold plating echoed the ringing bells and the wails of the young mother.

"Innocent, you say?" an old man questioned, holding up a hand to halt the bells. He was dressed in white robes and had little hair. His face was crinkled with lines formed by decades of frowning, and if his eyes had ever had color they were now whitewashed with cataracts.

"I believe," he said, still over the cries of the woman, "That being a child of Lucifer is condemnation enough. Curiosity was always woman's greatest folly. You doomed this child the moment you conceived it."

"Please, no!" the woman cried. "Please!"

"I am not the one you should beg," the man said. "I am but an arbiter of the lord's will. This bastard child is already born out of wedlock, a product of adultery, but for his father to be an agent of the devil?"

"No, he isn't any of that, please, give me back my baby, he doesn't even have a name yet," the woman whimpered.

"Isn't he?" the priest asked. "How else would you explain what he can do?"

"This harlot," he said, now raising his voice, "would have us good, God-fearing people believe that it is completely natural the way the man acts. A man who can hold lightning in his hands without a twitch, who walked through the burning ruins of another of our congregations with no burns, who jumped from the Cliffs of Moher without injury."

Cheers came up from the crowd. Torches were lit, and the congregation moved out behind the church to a bonfire on the cliffs. The priest, guided by his altar-hands, made his way shakily to a dais.

"Bring her here," he commanded, hoisting a branding rod. "Expose her back"

The men who were still restraining the woman forced her to the platform and ripped open the back of her shirt.

The priest, cross-shaped brand in hand, put all his weight into the thrust, ignoring the woman's screams, first for the freedom of her child but soon for an end to the excruciating pain. When he released her, she slumped to the ground, dead from shock and pain and burns with a cross burnt an inch into her back.

"The father of this bastard child," the priest continued. One of his attendants handed him a child in swaddling clothes. "Is a demon and a plague on County Clare. He cannot be killed and cannot be hindered. He cannot be harmed by bullets or lightning or fire, can cleave trees with his bare hands and can fall from height without a scratch."

The townspeople jeered.

"Famously, he jumped from the Cliffs of Moher where we now stand," the priest continued. "He was uninjured, an insult to anyone of sense. We will see now if his son shares this ability."

With the burning fire beside him and turning away from the mother he had just slain, the priest hurled the baby with as much force as he could muster. It fell wailing, until it could not be heard. The townsfolk rushed to the edge of the cliff and peered off it.

"He's been dashed on the rocks!" they cheered.

Lightning flashed overhead, and it began to rain. The bonfire was soon out.

"Return to your homes," the priest ordered. "God's work has been done here today. We have rid the world of a great evi-

The priest disappeared from view under a mass of dark scales and a fountain of blood. Lightning illuminated the leathery, bat-like wings and a pair of horns longer than the spokes of a wagon. The purple eyes of this creature, however, were luminous all on their own. It opened its mouth, and green fire could be seen at the rear of its throat. The townspeople scattered, but those unlucky enough to be trampled or otherwise incapable of leaving observed not a torrent of flame from the giant reptile but a voice dripping with quiet rage.

"Ubi filius mea est?" it rumbled. More of the townsfolk gathered their wits and scrambled away from the dragon.

Only one was left to hear it switch to English. A small boy who had been forced to watch the gruesome murder of a mother and child by his parents.

"Where is my son?" the dragon asked again.

The boy answered, frightened but not yet learned enough to understand that being spoken to by such a creature should be an impossibility. He stood up and pointed towards the cliff.

The dragon craned its neck over the edge of the cliff. It was the same cliff he had jumped off of in his human form to save a drowning swimmer. Peering down, he saw blood on the rocks and the bundle of swaddling clothes flattened against the shore. Lightning flashed again and sparked off the scales of the dragon. He turned to the boy again.

"te solum necare comparcam"

Historians would later wonder how an entire town had been seemingly reduced to ash in one night, and why there was so much iron residue in the scorch marks on the ground.

(A/N: Latin translation: "I will refrain from killing you alone.")

4 Privet Drive, 1991, Harry's eleventh birthday.

Harry languished under the hot sun. His frail torso could be seen dripping sweat into the garden. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and the sweat made the white lines crisscrossing his back gleam unnaturally.

"Hurry up boy, or you won't eat!" harped a wispy-looking woman from the window.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia, right away," Harry replied.

He had been taking his time because he actually enjoyed working the garden. He was unlikely to be bothered by his whale of a cousin or walruslike uncle while he was among the flowers. The menial labor under the hot sun wasn't as bothersome when it came with peace and quiet. He pulled the last of the weeds from the garden and meandered towards the hose to wash off.

Harry had lived with his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin for as long as he could remember. In that time, he had watched his cousin become more and more spoilt with each passing year while he remained unnoticed except for doing his chores. At school, Dudley scared away all the other children. When Harry tried to tell the teachers about what his life was like with the Dursleys, they all seemed to forget very quickly, some even before he left their offices.

He had accepted his fate, to do chores and sleep in a cupboard his entire life. Maybe someday he'd grow, and the Dursleys would have to make the cupboard bigger. One could dream.

Once he was inside, he made lunch for the Dursleys. Once they had eaten their fill and he had had some scraps, he began to wash the dishes.

The doorbell rang.

"Boy!" shouted Vernon. "Go answer the door."

Harry quickly put down the pan he was washing and scrambled to the door. He opened it with a creak to reveal the strangest-looking man he had ever seen. He wore a black robe, had long, greasy dark hair, and appeared to be in his late thirties.

"Hello," he said with a sneer. "You must be Harry Potter. May I come inside?"

As he said this, Petunia came around the corner.

"You!" she shouted. "Get out of here at once!"

The man's sneer seemed to double.

"Me." he answered. "Believe me, I have no intention of staying longer than is absolutely necessary. I am here to see that this brat receives his Hogwarts letter, and nothing more."

Hogwarts, 1994, Halloween

"Harry," Hermione pleaded, "We're your best friends. Why won't you tell us how you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Ron looked on angrily.

"How many times do I have to tell you two?" Harry protested. "I didn't put in my own name. I think Moody's right and someone is trying to kill me."

"That's a load of shite," Ron exclaimed. "After all we've done for you, you can't even tell us the truth? Maybe Snape was right about you, you really just want the attention. You've almost gotten me killed every year, and for what? No one ever sees me. The great Harry Potter has saved the day again."

Harry felt his anger rising. "You know better than anyone that I don't go looking for trouble. I was telling you just this morning that I was happy for the year off!"

"Yeah," Ron said. "I bet you can't stand the adoration of the school and the chance at the prize money. I bet it's just eating you up. You know what? Enjoy your damn tournament. I hope Moody's right and someone is trying to kill you, at least then you'll stop putting me in danger."

"I never asked for anyone's help," Harry said quietly, now shaking with anger. "I never asked for yours, and I never asked for Hermione's. Speaking of, you've yet to do anything besides be a hindrance."

"What was that?" Ron shouted. "You think you're above me, that you could do without my help? That you're better than everyone?"

Harry laughed, amazed he hadn't seen through his 'friend' sooner.

"What's so funny?" Ron demanded.

"Ron, all you've ever done is play a bit of chess and nearly collapse a cave on us. You weren't there when I fought to the death against Quirrel, you weren't there when I had to run from a werewolf last year." Harry said. "You weren't even there when I saved the life of your sister from a basilisk the length of a quidditch field. I could have died at any time, but you were always safely removed from the action."

A hint of shame appeared in Ron's eyes at the mention of his sister, but by this point, the damage was done. Harry was through.

"I don't think I'm better than everyone, Ron," Harry continued. "But I hardly need to be better than anyone to be better than you."

Hermione had watched the rest of this exchange in silent horror. When Ron, now red in the face, made to throw a punch at Harry, she tried to hold him back.

She needn't have. Harry smacked Ron's fist away from his face with practiced ease. He turned and made to walk away, still a little bit hysterical from the encounter.

Ron brandished his wand.

"Expelliarmus," the redhead shouted. The spell petered out on the end of his wand.

"Really now," Harry chuckled darkly. "You think you, of all people, could hit me with that charm?"

Harry answered the attack with an Expelliarmus of his own. Ron's wand was flung from his hand, where Hermione scrambled to go retrieve it.

Harry turned back towards his former friends.

"You might think a lot of things about me right now, Ron," Harry said. "But if you really think I got around an age line set by Dumbledore himself, then I must know some pretty advanced magic. I'd hate to waste it on you." He spun on his heel, again facing down the hall away from the furious Ron and shocked Hermione. "I'll be seeing you later, I suppose."

"Weasel"

Underneath Pompeii, 1994, Early November

Flames danced through the tunnels. Two boys stood over the scorched corpse of an old man. One was extremely skinny and dressed mostly in black. The other had an athletic build and was dressed mostly in browns which turned orange in the firelight. The second boy was crouched at the side of the man's corpse.

"Liam, we've gotta go, they're burning down the school," John cried, trying to pry his friend from the corpse of their headmaster.

"You go if you have to," Liam replied. "Flames won't hurt me. I'll kill all those bastards for this."

"Yeah, and what about the others?" John protested. "You're leaving them to fend for themselves? You know how Sasha and Naomi are about fire, and the rest of them could be trapped somewhere in here."

"Fine," Liam agreed. "Vengeance can wait, but not for long. I'll help get everyone out, but then I'm putting Salazar's head in molten tungsten."

"I'm with you, and I'm sure everyone else is too, but we need to get them and get out of here," John pleaded. "How do we find them all?"

"I'll case the open areas with mage sight and get whoever I find to the surface," Liam said. "Can you darkwalk the corridors in the south basin?"

"Sure," John answered. "See you on the surface in twenty."

"See you then," Liam answered.

They dashed in opposite directions. Soon John felt a magical wave and heard a loud voice that was unmistakably Liam's.

"Braceros ad nihil"

"Modus non hominis"

John smirked despite the situation. God help any of those purists who ran across his friend now.

A/N: And scene. I've been fiddling with the ideas behind some of the original characters in this story for the better part of three years. My intention is to have a few main plot lines and several character arcs weaving together in a way reminiscent of Rick Riordan's Heroes of Olympus series. Thank you for reading. If I have made any grammatical errors, or something is worded weirdly, please do not hesitate to DM me or leave a review addressing the problem.

Latin used: I took four years of Latin and competed in Certamen competitions through High School. I have always loved explaining it. After each chapter I will put the Latin used with pronunciation at the bottom for anyone who is interested. Most of the words will be in dictionary form, but I will only include the first two principal parts for verbs because I highly doubt anyone who that knowledge matters to does not already have it. When the word as used in context does not appear in the dictionary form, the use of the word will be given.

ubi? (ooh-bee): where?

filius, fili (fill-lee-oose): son

mea (may-ah): my

est - sum, esse (third person singular present active indicative) (esst, soom, essay): to be. In context: he/she/it is

te - tu, tui (accusative singular) (tay, too, too-ee): you

solum - solus, sola, solum (masculine accusative singular) (so-loose, so-lah, so-loom): alone

neco, necare (nay-coh, nay-car-ay): to kill

comparcam - comparco, comparcere (+ infinitive) (first person future active indicative) (com-par-com, com-par-coh, com-par-care-ay): to refrain from (verb). In context: I will refrain from (verb)

Braceros - I made this word up. If I'm wrong and it's a real word I apologize. I am using it as a second declension accusative plural noun meaning 'bracers'

ad (odd): to

nihil (irreg): nothing

modus, modi (mode-oose, mode-ee): form or way

non (+verb) (+adj): not

homo, hominis (home-oh, homie-niece): man or human

Again, Thanks for Reading!