Alone Facing Darkness

Disclaimer: I have not, do not, and will never own any of the characters in this fiction. They are the creations of JRR Tolkien and JK Rowling, to whom I mean no disrespect whatsoever.

So, after that very serious-sounding note, hello to whatever readers I may have. This is my first attempt at writing a fanfiction, so I ask you to read it with that in mind. (Mind you, I don’t think that the title’s that great either.)

I hope that I have written this well. However, I must warn you that as a major fan of both the Harry Potter series and LOTR, there are several HP spoilers – major ones – located throughout the story, especially in the first couple of chapters. If you are reading the HP series and do not want to know (for lack of a better phrase) what happens next, I suggest that you go out and borrow or buy all five books before reading this fanfic.

I’ve tried to make everything as clear as possible for those of you who haven’t read all five books that are currently published, but I don’t think that I’ll have spotted any possible sources of confusion (at least for me) since I know those books very well. Notify me if anything is unclear; I’ll try to remedy it.

I have no idea where my story is going to go in terms of its plot (besides the very basic Fellowship quest and all else that follows). I’ve always written like that; however, if anyone is willing to help me move the story along by sharing ideas, I’d appreciate that.




~Prologue~


Countless ages have passed since Ilúvatar first called forth the Ainur, since the first notes of their Great Music filtered out into the void and created reality, since the voice of Yavanna brought forth the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, at whose blossoming the Count of Time began.

The world first created by the Valar has changed almost beyond recognition since those days of splendor. It has been through numberless eons of light and darkness, seen many battles both great and small. But as time marches on, as each Age dies and another is born anew, the events of each Age are eventually turned history to legend to myth. And even these myths are eventually forgotten by the wise.

It is said that in Mandos, in the Halls of Waiting, are the souls of the Elves slain in battle or through utter grief, awaiting rebirth. But what of Men, whose greatest gift and yet sorrow is death? Very few souls of Men enter the world again. But among them there is one soul so strong and pure in its goodness that its presence among the living seems to be for only one purpose: to counter the deepest, darkest kind of evil.

Very few times in the history of the world has there been a villain of such great power and such blackness of heart that this soul had to be brought forth. The only time remembered by the wise, and very dimly at that, occurred at the end of the Third Age of the world. The Hobbit Frodo Baggins destroyed the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, dissolving the great power the Dark Lord Sauron held in Middle-Earth. But this tale has been embroidered and picked at so often that the true details are long forgotten.

The name of Middle-Earth may be beyond recall, the races of Elves and Dwarves long lost to Men, but this soul has been born again to fight a new, dark evil.

Such is his fate until the End of Days.



~Chapter 1: Voices and Visions~


September 1, 1996: The Hogwarts Express

The sky was heavy and dark as the Hogwarts Express sped north out of London through hills and forests, a long snake of cars being pulled along by the scarlet steam engine. Large droplets of rain pelted at the widows of the cars.

Sitting alone in a compartment, Harry Potter watched the landscape slide by with his bespectacled green eyes. The weather, dark and gloomy as it was, seemed to be echoing his mood.

Harry sighed and slouched down in his seat. His current appearance suggested that of a young man who no longer cared about anything. His jet-black hair, uncombed, was messier that it usually was, his Muggle clothes – he would change into his wizard’s robes later – were rumpled and unkempt. Pulling the round glasses off his face, he shut out the world by pressing his palms to his eyes and sat there, thinking.

It seemed so long ago – five years, in fact – that he had first ridden this train on his way to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That day, he had met Ron Weasley and the two of them had become fast friends. Hermione Granger had joined them after they had saved her life on the Halloween of their first year. Right now, both of them were sitting up front with the rest of the prefects. His two best friends would be here a little later; Harry was saving seats for them.

It was back then, five – no, six – years ago that he had learned that there was a reason for the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, a reason why he made all sorts of odd things happen without meaning to. That there was a way out of the hellish life of Number Four, Privet Drive, where his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon treated him little better than they would a dog, at least one they didn’t particularly care for. His mother and father, lost to him before he could remember, had been wizards, and so was he.

Always, he had been glad to return to Hogwarts. It was because he had friends there, because he felt that he belonged there. It was the closest thing to a true home Harry had ever had.

Then, in his third year, Harry discovered that he had a godfather, albeit one who was a convicted criminal. But Sirius Black was innocent; he had also been James Potter’s best friend and was willing to take Harry to live with him once his name was cleared. Faced with the prospect of leaving Privet drive behind forever, Harry’s spirits had been lifted considerably. But now even that faint hope had been extinguished. Sirius was dead, murdered just like Harry’s parents had been, all because of a prophecy concerning Harry and Lord Voldemort.

Harry stared out the window and clenched his fists. Voldemort, in his insane bid for absolute power, was the reason that many families, not just Harry’s, were in shambles. Nearly sixteen years ago, there had been a prophecy stating that a boy such as Harry would be the one to fight Voldemort. The prophecy was clear: One had to kill the other before the world would settle down again, for good or for ill.

*Neither can live while the other survives*, Harry thought bitterly, recalling the prophecy’s exact words.

Voldemort had arrived at the Potters’ house on Halloween of that fateful year. He had murdered Harry’s parents before attempting to kill the little boy as well. But the curse had backfired. Voldemort, reduced to little more than a spirit, fled; Harry had somehow escaped with only a cut on the forehead. That too, had been in the prophecy – Voldemort would had *marked him as his equal,* whatever that meant. Harry had discovered that some of Voldemort’s own powers had transferred to himself, including the ability to speak to snakes, not to mention the strange link that the scar seemed to have forged between himself and Voldemort.

So Harry, orphaned at age one, had been sent to live with his aunt and uncle. For ten long years the secret of his wizarding ability had been kept from him, for they both hated magic. And then the secret of his scar came out: He had narrowly escaped his first encounter with Voldemort, and, unbeknownst to him, he was a celebrity in the wizarding world. Since then, Harry had learned other things about that scar. It provided a sort of link to Voldemort’s mind. When it throbbed painfully – as it was always doing now, ever since Voldemort had returned to his body – Voldemort was either usually euphoric or livid. Since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry had narrowly escaped Voldemort four times. He wondered how many chances he had left.

*I’ve escaped,* he thought, *but what about those who haven’t? What about Cedric? Sirius? It’s all my fault they’re dead…if I hadn’t convinced Cedric to take the Triwizard Cup with me, if I hadn’t decided to play the hero last year, they’d still be alive…No one KNOWS how this feels, to be singled out, separated from everyone because of some great deed I have to do…No one understands how lonely a path it is…*

*You should know,* a small voice said to him. *You’ve walked it before.*

And then a woman’s voice. It was a low voice, very ethereal and wise. *This task was appointed to you. If you do not find a way, no one will.*

Harry jerked slightly. *Now where did that thought come from?* Bad enough that he was picking up Voldemort’s thoughts, now he had to hear more thoughts that weren’t his own. The voice was wrong, he decided. He only knew the feeling of loneliness from the sixteen years he had lived.

Harry looked despondently out the rain-splattered window. He wished there was someone to talk to, like Ron or Hermione. It wasn’t that he missed them – Ron had invited them both over to his house at the end of the summer – he just needed to hear someone else talking to him to reassure him that he wasn’t completely alone in the world. He’d felt so solitary ever since he’d learned about the prophecy. It was as if he had been cut off from the rest of the world, marked out as he was. He was never normal, and never would be. It had been such a long time since he had been genuinely happy.

The compartment door slid open.

As if in an answer to his wish for companionship, Ron and Hermione walked in, both already dressed in their wizards’ robes.

“Hey, Harry!" Ron said. “Anything interesting happen while we were gone?”

“No, not really. I was mostly sitting and reading a bit – *Quidditch Though the Ages* – no one walked in.”

“I would think that it would have been better to look over one of your new textbooks,” said Hermione.

“Give him a break, Hermione, school hasn’t really even started yet!” Ron was sorting through an assortment of brightly wrapped packages. “I’m starved, being a prefect is too much work…there was actually something to do this year, a scuffle broke out among a couple of the midgets – ”

“*First years*, Ron…”

“ – and Hermione and I happened to be the ones patrolling that car at that time. They had no idea how to use a wand whatsoever…Only a few sparks, but still…”

Harry sat back and listened as Ron spoke. The conversation between the three friends flew from topic to topic as the train wound its way through the pouring rain.

* * * * * * * * * *

They arrived at Hogwarts just after dark had fallen. The rain had subsided to a fine mist.

“Firs’ years! Over ’ere, please! Firs’ years! Al righ’, you three?”

Hagrid’s gigantic form towered above the students as he beamed at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Even with this show of friendship, some of the first years still seemed intimidated by the half-giant.

“It’s all right, he’s much nicer than he looks,” Hermione said to a frightened-looking girl.

The girl looked at Hermione, still unconvinced.

At that moment, however, the carriages that would take the older students to the castle drove up. Ron got into one, shouting for Hermione and Harry.

“Are you going to stand there for the rest of the night? There’s food waiting up at the castle, I’m starving!”

* * * * * * * * * *

The Great Hall was buzzing with activity. Students were moving about, finding their friends and getting seats. Seeing their fellow sixth years sitting at the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked over and sat down.

“Had a good summer, Harry?” asked Dean Thomas.

“Yeah…”

He still couldn’t do it. He was at Hogwarts, and he wasn’t feeling truly happy. There was a great gaping hole inside him where Sirius once had been, one that could never be filled. He looked around him at the people contentedly talking with their friends, wishing that he were someone else.

And then, for the very briefest instant, he was no longer sitting inside the Great Hall. It was very odd…He was outside in the open air, he felt so inexplicably carefree. Many people were dancing around him – several curly-haired ones of his own height, and there, off to the side, was an old man in grey robes, laughing merrily as he danced. It was obviously some sort of celebration. He felt himself laugh as he watched his friend dance with the young woman he liked…

“Harry?”

Harry snapped back to reality. Ron was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing…Just something I thought about.” And in a sense that was true…though it was more like a vision had stolen upon him unawares…

Ron still looked unconvinced. “Well, I’m glad to hear you laugh, mate. It’s been a while since you have.”

“Tell you later.” Harry gave Ron a significant look, directing it at Hermione as well. Both gave a very small nod.

Hermione changed the subject. “So who do you think is our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year?”

Harry scanned the staff table. “I don’t see anyone new…”

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened. In walked a line of first years, about to be sorted into the four Houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Professor McGonagall led them in, carrying a three-legged stool and a very ragged-looking hat. The Sorting Hat. She placed the hat upon the stool. For a moment it did nothing, then it opened up the rip at the brim and began to sing.

"Dear students of the Hogwarts School
I must divide you now
Into four Houses, all different for
The qualities they show.
To Gryffindor the bravest go
To Ravenclaw the clever,
In Slytherin the cunning are,
To Hufflepuff, the loyal forever.
I do not wish to separate you
But sadly, that’s my task.
To keep a little unity
Is all that I will ask.
We all can learn the importance of
A strong alliance here
In the story of our founders four
Which makes many shed a tear.
The school was founded in unity
To teach all those who came,
The founders chose their students
But their views were not the same.
Said Slytherin, “Pure blood, no less
Is worthy of our teaching.”
But the three others shook their heads,
For he was overreaching.
And so one day he left them.
The school was broken then
By inter-House contention
And will remain till…when?
I beseech you in these dark times
To stand together strong.
And so now I shall Sort you,
For I have reached the end of my song."

The Hall was silent for a few seconds. Then Dumbledore began clapping his hands. The whole school followed suit.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a scroll. “When I call your name, you will sit down on the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head…”

Harry and his friends weren’t paying attention. “That’s the second year in a row it’s told us to stand united,” said Ron. “How bad d’you reckon it thinks this whole thing’s going to be?”

Harry and Hermione didn’t answer.

When the final first year was Sorted, Dumbledore stood up.

“Welcome, welcome, to our first years, and to those of you who are returning. I am aware of the fact that you must be hungry –”

“Tell me about it,” mumbled Ron.

“– but you must forgive me for making my start-of term announcements right now. I feel that I must talk to you while you are still awake and not sleepy from eating too much food.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes, usually twinkling, looked weary behind his half-moon glasses. “First of all…the Forbidden Forest is completely off-limits to students at all times. Secondly, no one is to be out on the grounds after dark.

“I know that most of you are expecting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Several of you may have noticed that there are no new faces along the staff table. That is because…” he paused for an instant before continuing, “I am to be your new teacher.”

A stunned sort of silence greeted this remark. Harry looked up and down the Hall. Most of the students – except the Slytherins, of course – looked thrilled to some degree. Some wore mixed expressions.

“He’s going to be our teacher?” Hermione whispered. “But that’s wonderful! Seeing as he’s the only one who Voldemort – oh, Ron, do get used to hearing it – he’s the only one Voldemort’s afraid of, it’s absolutely perfect that he’s teaching us!”

Dumbledore continued. “I must warn you once again of the threat that hangs over us all. You all now know that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned. In these dark times, I will be imparting my knowledge to you as best as I can. And now, with that…eat up!”

He clapped his hands and the food appeared on the tables.

* * * * * * * * * *

The feast passed very quietly. In light of the Sorting Hat’s song and Dumbledore’s speech, it was no wonder that the students didn’t make much conversation.

When Harry reached his dormitory, he was so exhausted that he immediately went to bed. He lay there for a few moments, thinking about Dumbledore’s speech…it really was good that Dumbledore would be teaching the students…especially now that Voldemort was back…

He turned over onto his side, now pondering the meaning behind his strange vision in the Great Hall and the voice that he had heard on the train. He hoped it had nothing to do with Voldemort entering his mind…he still hadn’t mastered Occlumency, perhaps he would ask Dumbledore about that…He wanted no more nightmares about dark passages and locked doors…

Turning over once again, Harry fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.