Chapter Text
Okay, first off, for those of you who were expecting the next chapter of The White Illusion, I'm very sorry. I planned on getting it up tonight but I was ambushed by plot bunnies while walking through the dark alleys of Borders Books, so now there's this. Technically this isn't really a crossover, though I kind of melded a bunch of things from Dungeons and Dragons into this. Anyone who's obsessed with the game should recognize some of the stuff in here. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. and the rest of the chapters will be much longer since this is just the prologue.
Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor anything related to Dungeons and Dragons belongs to me. the only thing that belongs to me is the story line. WARNING: This story will contain Slash, either TRHP or DMHP, so if you do not like slash then don't read this. and if you don't like pairings then you should check out my other story The White Illusion, as there are no pairings. This story will also contain Manipulative!Dumbledore, as well as Ron and Hermione bashing, and all around Gryffindor bashing.
The Silent, The Watcher
Prologue
The Sleeping God Stirs
“Get out freak!”
The small six year old boy watched from the side of the road as his uncle's pale blue company car sped off down the highway. He was all alone. Though he had never thought of the Dursleys as family, at least they had been something. Now he had no one. The young boy dropped to the ground with a sob as the reality of what just happened finally sunk in. He had been abandoned again. First by his parents when they died in the car accident, now by the the only family he'd had left.
As the boy continued to cry, another man, fairly average in appearance from his mid-length, dark brown hair and light brown eyes, down to the soul of his brown cloth boots, watched from within the forest next to the highway.
Though the man appeared ordinary, he was far from it. Beneath numerous glamors tilted forest green eyes stared out from under flowing silver hair that nearly reached the ground. The tips of pointed ears poked through as well. He was not a man, he was an elf.
More specifically an elven dracolyte devoted to the worship of Chronepsis, the draconian god of fate. And it was not coincidence that he was out in that forest watching the little boy cry on the side of the highway. He had been called here by his god. That in itself was momentous enough. Chronepsis was known for his disinterest in mortal affairs. Many who knew of him believed it would take nothing less than the next cataclysm to rouse the god into action.
So what was so special about this boy, that such a god would take any interest in him. At a glance the boy was nothing too special. He was rather small, though, from the boys gaunt face and the skinny body hidden beneath over sized clothes, that could easily be from a lack of nutrients. His skin was almost sickly pale, and his eyes were hidden behind thick, bulky glasses. His hair sat on his head in a messy black mop.
All in all, he was an ordinary enough boy, despite the obvious signs of abuse. The only remarkable thing about him was the aura of his magical abilities that any trained elf could see. The boy was obviously a wizard, though that wasn't all that unusual. Magic users might not be as common as muggles, but they were nothing special.
A pulse of urgency ran down the connection he had with his god, urging him to move towards the still crying child. The boys head whipped towards him, black strands of hair falling down to further hide the boys eyes as he approached cautiously. For a brief moment the elf was reminded of a deer caught in headlights. Noting this he slowed his steps even further, one wrong move and the boy would be running away as fast as his deer counterpart, and the last thing the elf wanted was to chase a little boy down the side of a highway for any length of time.
“Hello, my name is Voronda. What's yours?” The elf said gently as he held out a hand in cautious greeting. For a second the boy just stared up at him as if he had just spoken gibberish, before attempting a small smile of his own and answering “Harry”, in a quivering voice as he brushed the hair from his eyes and took the offered hand. Voronda barely held in the gasp of surprise as he finally got a close look at Harry's eyes. They were a beautiful emerald green color and innocently wide, but they were not those of a human. The green covered the entire eye save for the black iris which was slit like a cat's.
One didn't worship Chronepsis for very long without seeing eyes like those. They were the eyes of a dragon, but there was no way this boy could be a dragon, so that left only one possibility. Now here was something of interest, though it still wasn't quite enough to draw Chronepsis' attention.
“Well Harry, this probably isn't the best place for you, do you have somewhere I can take you?” That apparently was the wrong thing to say. Moments after the words left Voronda's mouth, Harry's eyes welled back up with tears and a loud, pain racked wail came out of his small mouth. Without realizing what he was doing, Voronda knelt down by the boy and gathered him up into his arms, slowly rocking him back and forth while rubbing his back in small circles.
“Shh, shh, it's alright. You can come with me. There's nothing to worry about. I'll take care of you.” If his fellow worshipers had seen him now, they would have never recognized him. He had never been fond of children, and he was the last person most would come to for comfort, but this boy was somehow important to Chronepsis, and therefore he was important to Voronda. He would give his life for this boy if his god asked it of him.
Several minutes had gone by before Voronda heard the soft, even breaths of one who was at last asleep. With a slight groan, Voronda stood up, Harry snuggled close to his chest. The longer they staid out in the open, the more likely a muggle would notice them and call the authorities. Voronda stretched as well as he could with a small boy in his arms and winced as his back cracked loudly.
“I should spend less time observing and more training.” He muttered to no one in particular as he began his slow trek back through the forest towards the portal he had arrived through.
Without a backward glance, Voronda stepped though the portal that would take him back to the temple of Chronepsis, located several thousand miles from anything one would consider civilization, with the young boy named Harry in his arms.
It wouldn't be until nine years later that Harry would be seen alive again, and by then he would be something far beyond anything most in the wizarding world could ever imagine. From that point on, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was dead.
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Far away in a large castle somewhere in Scotland, a loud piercing noise was emitting from a small spinning silver device. In the same room, behind a large wooden desk an old man, with long white hair and a beard long enough to tuck into his belt, known by many as Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat and stared off in to space as millions of thoughts ran through his mind.
The blood wards he had set up around the Dursley residence had fallen. Severus had been sent to investigate it and had come back with troubling news. The Dursleys had abandoned Harry in the middle of no where.
Dumbledore frowned. Damn those muggles. This would set back all the plans he had carefully laid out since he had discovered just what Harry Potter really was. All those blasted fools had to do was torment him for a few years until Harry was old enough to come to Hogwarts, where he would be perfectly pliable to Dumbledore's every command after being rescued from the horrible muggles. Now the boy was missing, and the only thing Albus could do was search for him.
With a deep sigh, Albus stood up and walked over to the large fireplace. Fire calling a few choice contacts about Harry's disappearance was a necessity at this point. The sooner the boy was back under his thumb the better. It was only a matter of time before the spells he had cast on the boy began to wear off, and it would be disastrous for him if anyone else found out that their savior wasn't entirely human.
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Several floors below the Headmaster's office, Severus Snape sat in front of his small fireplace, a frown much like the one Dumbledore had twisting his features as the firelight flickered across them. A half empty glass of fire whiskey was cradled in his hands.
Despite himself, Severus felt his hatred for Harry Potter slowly evaporating. Before he'd discovered just how the boy had been treated for the past five years, he'd felt fully justified in letting his hate of James Potter transfer to his son, but now...?
Severus took another sip of his drink and held the glass to his temple. His visit to the Dursley's home had brought back very uncomfortable memories of his own childhood. His father had been abusive, and his mother too weak to fight the tyrant. He couldn't help but empathize with the Potter brat, against his will of course.
That the boy had been forced to sleep in a small cupboard under the stairs was disturbing enough, but the way those pathetic excuse for muggles had spoke of Potter had made Severus's blood boil. It was because of muggles like them, with their hate for anything they didn't consider 'natural' and all around ignorance, that he had first joined the Dark Lord.
Surprisingly, this newfound concern for the son of James and Lily had him hoping the boy wasn't found. Severus was under no illusion that Dumbledore had anyone's interest besides his own in mind. As soon as Harry Potter was found, the old coot would place him back with the Dursleys, this time most likely threatening the Dursleys into not abandoning the boy again.
At least for the time being Potter had a chance of someone finding him who wouldn't treat the child like a House elf.
Severus's contemplations were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
“Severus? Are you in there?” The Potions Professor sighed and, after finishing of the whiskey with one last swig, skulked over to the door. Throwing it open, his sneer lessened just the slightest as he found Minerva McGonagall on the other side.
Even though the woman was head of Gryffindor and his constant rival, Severus still felt a heavy dose of respect for the woman. When he'd been a student at Hogwarts, she had been a very fair teacher, which was saying something considering the bias most teachers tended to have against Slytherin. She hadn't let house rivalries get in the way of her teaching.
“Ah good. Albus sent me to fetch you.” He suppressed a scowl. What did the manipulative old fool want now?
“Tell him I'll be up in a moment.” Minerva nodded and left. She new better than to ask what he was doing. Closing the large door, Severus leaned back against the wooden surface. He really didn't want to see Dumbledore right now, but it wasn't as if the wizard had given him a choice.
In a bout of frustration, Seveurs threw his empty glass into the fire. It shattered against the brick backing. The fire grew slightly higher as it fed off the small remnants of whiskey that had been left at the bottom of the glass.
Whatever it was Dumbledore wanted him for, Severus knew it had something to do with the missing Boy Who Lived.
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So what did yah think? Good? Bad? Insult to all things Potter? Either way please review and tell me what you think, your reviews give me new ideas which help move the story, which is good for everyone.
Transltions:
Voronda: Elvish word for faithful
Ciao XP
Kirril