K, so I've been way into the new season of Game of Thrones, just as I'm sure a lot of you guys have been too, and the plot bunnies are running rampant in my mind. This is a little pet project of mine, just like Fear the coming Dark. It's not my main project, just something I wanted to write because I need to get it out of my head and onto something. Expect random updates, and chapters of random length. This'll be a GOT/Harry potter crossover, with heavy elements from Lord of the Rings, as well as several other fandoms.

Cliche's: FemHarrytwin, Evil femHarry, like really evil, she'll make Voldemort look like a softcore bitch by comparison, psychopathic femHarry, Dark Got universe, Overpowered femHarry, dominating evil, good's about to get punched in the dick. And for those of you wondered, femHarry, basically became like Sauron or Morgoth, in her own universe, like just as evil, just as powerful, just as dominating, her past will be explained in memories, or flashbacks, so you'll get to know more about how she fell, and what turned her to evil in the past life. FemHarry/Harem, Male and Female, some as husbands and wifes, others as concubines or servants. Blood, Gore, Language, Character Death, Incest.

Fire and Shadow, Rise of the Queen of the Abyss

Chapter 1: Awakening

"Harry!" An adult Ron screamed out as Harry stood, sword locked with a wraith. The entity hissed, and screeched at him, trying it's hardest to overpower the boy-who-lived.

With a valiant cry, Harry shoved the wraith away from him and swung hard, with the sword of Gyrffindor. The blade passed right through the wraith's head, causing it's whole body to explode in a burst of darkness. Harry then fell to his knees, panting heavily.

He felt hands on his shoulder, and turned to see Ron standing next to him, Hermione stood nearby, both looked worn and exhausted, both clad in shining armor. Ron offered his hand to Harry, and Harry accepted pulling himself to his feet.

"We need to hurry. They wont be gone for long." Harry noted, earning a nod from his two best friends.

All three turned and watched as a figure draped in white robes walked past them, offering a nod of acknowledgment to them as he did.

"The final hurdle lies ahead. Her armies are defeated. Her power reduced. She is hurt, and in the final moments, the dark lord stands alone." The figure in white stated.

"Are you sure about this, Dumbledore?" Harry asked as he took up position next to his old headmaster.

"Yes. It is time to face your destiny Harry." Dumbledore replied offering the boy a kind smile.

Harry nodded and started forward. His own armor shining brightly, pushing back the darkness around him. He quickly crossed the room that led to the darkened throne of his greatest foe.

For countless centuries, he and his friends had fought. Magic had saturated the world destroying muggle technology, and allowing magicals to live for even longer than they had before. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, all looked to be old. In their late forties, yet each had walked the earth for half a millennia, fighting the Dark Lord. Now all three stood together, with their teacher and guide Dumbledore. All of them ready to finally end this war.

With a blast of magic, Harry tore the doors off to the Dark Lord's throne room. He and his group advanced inside, to find it near empty, except for the lone figure that sat, slumped on her throne.

There before him, clad in silk robes, was the Dark Lord. The greatest evil, the world had ever known. She looked tired, and worn. Her power exhausted. Her robes were stained with blood from a wound on her torso that refused to heal. It was obvious to those that viewed her, that she was very close to dying.

Looking upon the small troop, the Dark Lord smiled. Her smile was charming, and to those that viewed it, they found it beautiful. Her hair was pitch black, her iris's were red like blood. She had pale skin, that was even more so due to the bloodloss. Though even with the loss of blood, she was an immense beauty.

"I see you've made it." The Dark Lord stated as she rose to her feet. Her silk robes were almost translucent, and her voluptuous figure clearly visible beneath it as she made her way towards them.

All four stood, weapons at the ready. Two swords and two wands were focused on her, as she advanced towards them.

"Your reign of terror ends now. It's over." Dumbledore stated, his voice carrying years of authority and wisdom to it.

"This ends today. You wont live to see tomorrow." Harry agreed as he pointed his sword at her.

A chuckle was all they received as she reached within a few meters of them.

"Aw… what? You're just going to kill me, with no goodbye kiss? I even got all dressed up for you." She replied as she ran a hand over her clearly nude frame, beneath her see-through robes.

Harry's eyes quivered a bit, faltered almost, before they steeled over. With a defiant yell, and with incredible speed, he shot forward and drove his sword into her heart.

The dodge, or block he was expecting, didn't come. Instead, she took the hit, with a smile.

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief as he felt blood erupt from the wound. Despite her beauty, her blood ran black, revealing the foulness of her soul. She stared into his eyes, her smile never wavering. It was only then, that Harry felt blood pour over his hand.

His eyes shot down, as black tendrils emerged from her chest wound. These tendrils of smoke and blood, dug into his hand and began to crawl up his arm, burrowing into the skin as it did.

"Harry!" His friends and mentor shouted as each made a move to pull him away from her, but all three were sent flying back against the wall by and unseen magical force. Around Harry and the Dark Lord, nine figures soon appeared. Each one draped in darkness, each one a wraith of incredible power.

"Shit." Ron hissed as he shot to his feet, and drew his wand to fire a spell at the nearest reformed wraith.

While his friends started to do battle with the Nine, Harry was left in the Dark Lord's grasp. She stared at him still, smiling, and he glared at her, with anger in his eyes.

"This is goodbye Harry. I love you… I just wanted you to know that before the end. I don't care what Dumbledore has said. I don't care what lies he has fed to you. I love you. I have always loved you." The Dark Lord whispered as she placed one of her hands on Harry's shoulders, earning a shocked look from him. She then used her other hand to grab hold of the one that Harry was using to try and push away from her.

Her strength was impossible, and he could do nothing to stop her as she pulled his hand back and held it in her own.

It was then that Harry's eyes widened even further in shock, as he saw a golden light, wrap around her arm and reach across to his.

"I swear on my life… and my magic… that I have always, loved you." The Dark Lord whispered, and the light around their hands erupting, showing that her words had been truth and her magical oath, real.

Harry's eye's filled with tears, as he stopped struggling, and stared at her in disbelief.

"Goodbye, baby brother." The Dark Lord whispered, as red cracks began to spread across her chest from the stab wound. Her body could no longer keep itself together.

"Harri..." Harry whispered in disbelief. His big sister, just smiled at him, a genuine smile, one that carried love an affection to it. He felt her hand slip around his neck, and before he knew it, their lips met, in a searingly passionate kiss.

The kiss held, even as the red cracks tore up through her skin, reaching her face. They held the kiss even as a boiling red light began to erupt from her chest, her core beginning to break down.

They held the kiss, even as Harry's allies screamed for him to not to give in to her, to fight back and pull away.

It was only in those final moments did the two separate and stare into each others eyes. And it was in those last few seconds, that Harry found himself looking into his twin sister's eyes. The twin he loved more then anyone else. The twin that he was in love with. The twin that he had fought for so long. The twin that he now understood, had never stopped loving him, and had never changed who she was. It was in that final moment, when all Harry could do was cry, knowing that he had destroyed the only good thing in his life.

His twin felt her brother rest his head to hers, and in those final moments her eyes drifted to the eyes of Albus Dumbledore, standing nearby, fighting off two wraiths. When their eyes met, she saw nothing but hatred, and in the instant before her core detonated. She smiled, an evil smile.

Darkness, all was darkness. Where once there was fire, and ash, now there was only the void.

Death was an interesting thing. She often wondered why Voldemort had feared it so, why he had gone to such lengths and ravaged his own soul just to avoid it. Of all the things she had taken from the previous Dark Lord, his fear of Death was not one of them.

Magic was all about intent. She didn't need soul anchors, she didn't need Horcrux. All she needed was a will of absolute dominance. When she died, she simply refused to become one with death. No matter how strongly it demanded her to accept it, she simply refused, and called her magic back to her. Being the master of the three Deathly Hallows, didn't hurt in this endeavor.

Death itself, also had great admiration for those who did not cower before it. She had no fear of death, and even as her time came and passed and Death demanded her acceptance, she refused. She refused with power, unheard of. She refused with a will of diamond. Nothing could hinder her. Nothing could sway her. She refused to die, because she wasn't done with the world. These were traits that Death admired. So even though it was refused, Death couldn't help but be intrigued as the Dark Lord chose instead to remain in the void, and remain as nothing more than a spirit.

She had been defeated, that much was certain, but her enemies would not know victory. For in her death, she had unleashed something terrible. In an instant, her brother, his friends and the Lord of Light, Dumbledore himself, died. As her body exploded in a violent blast of fire and darkness, magic erupted out of her, and tore through the earth. Whole continents sunk beneath the seas, great mountains tore up through the land, massive chasms swallowed entire countries. When it was done, what remained of the living, found that their technology no longer worked, as the world was now saturated in magic.

Tossed back to the bronze age, mankind, and what few magical creatures that survived the cataclysm, started to rebuild. Centuries passed, then a millennia, then two, soon eons were passing, and all knowledge of who she was and what she had done, passed out of legend into nothingness.

And in the nothingness, she waited. As the old gods, withered and died, as new gods took their place, as mankind slowly rebuilt the world, as magic grew in power, yet stagnated due to not being used. During of all this, she waited and returned to power. Her memories, wilted, and images began to blur, but her will remained absolute. Her time would come again.

Tens of thousands of years passed, and eventually what she had long waited for, finally occurred. A great war had torn a continent apart, countless thousands had died, and magic roared silently, unused and forgotten. In that moment, a cry was heard, and the dark lord smiled. Her time had come.

"What will you name them, milady?" A soft voice inquired as she felt herself swaddled in warm cloth.

"Visenya, for the girl, Jaehaerys, for the boy." A pained voice replied, in a weakened tone.

The newly named Visenya, opened her eyes, just able to make out the face of the wetnurse, that was holding her. She could just barely hear her brother, crying off to the side, in the arms of their mother.

Just then, a door opened nearby, and the wetnurse let out a gasp. She quickly stepped over to her mother, and Visenya caught a glimpse of the woman, she had dark hair, and was deathly pale. It was obvious that she was dying.

Quickly, the wetnurse scooped her brother into her arms and stepped away as a man with a sword approached the bed. He looked worried for the woman and quickly knelt by her side. They shared a few words, as her mother began to fade. Once they were finished he turned his gaze to the wetnurse as she stepped forward for him to view the two children in her arms.

Visenya got a good look at the man, and quickly noted the resemblance he shared with her mother. She guessed he was a sibling of some sort.

He stared into both children's eyes for several long moments, his own showing compassion and love, but also resolve, and great sadness.

"I'll keep you both safe… I promise." The man stated, and like that, the greatest dark lord to have ever lived, was reborn, and had started her new life. With an inward chuckle, she closed her eyes. It would be several years before all of her power returned to her, but she was patient. She had waited eons in the abyss, away from the eyes of gods and men, she could wait a few more years.

Soon though… soon she'd have her revenge, and would laugh on the graves of the gods and dead that had thought her gone. Her will was absolute, the Necromancer, the Master of Death, had finally returned.

-Eleven Years Later, Winterfell, capital of the North-

"Wake up."

A small growl escaped her lips, as she rolled away from the door.

"Come on Lyarra, you don't want to sleep all day do you?" She heard a slightly teasing tone.

The Young Lyarra Snow, sat up in bed, her coal black eyes darting to her half brother Robb, whom stood at her doorway, his friend Theon standing by his side and behind both of them, hiding in the background, her twin brother Jon.

She glared at all three of them, her eyes, giving off a coldness, that caused Jon to avert his eyes, Theon to glance elsewhere and Robb to shake his head at their cowardice. Her, Robb, and Jon, were all eleven years old, and in her time in this life, much had changed about her and yet much had also stayed the same.

Lyarra Snow, was a very pretty young girl of Eleven, whom would most definitely grow up into a breathtaking woman. Her hair was black as night, with eyes that were so crushing and dark that it was near impossible to tell pupil from iris without the aid of light. Her face mirrored that of her father's, she was beautiful, elegant, in a way that Stark's often weren't. Stark's were known for their hardiness, and wolfish features. Being strong, stout, and in many cases, grim. Her twin Jon was often mocked for how pretty he was. Better looking, than northern girls, some would say.

Lyarra was a cunning and ambitious child, a natural in everything she did. Her intelligence left lords, and maesters dumbfounded more often than not. She learned to walk as soon as her little legs could carry her, she learned to speak in full sentences, as soon as her vocal cords had developed enough. By the time she was five, she was reading books, most men four times her age, had trouble with. Lyarra, was a gifted child. A gifted child, that held a dark secret.

Beneath those coal black eyes, lay something monstrous, that yearned to be released once again. Her past and what she was, was well known to the girl. In fact, it was probably more accurate to call her a woman in a girl's body. Since the moment of her birth, or rebirth into this world, Lyarra had been aware of what she was.

She remembered her life before as Harriet Potter, daughter of James and Lily Potter. She remembered Hogwarts, she remembered magical Britain, and most importantly, she remembered magic.

Magic always came so easily to her as Harri Potter, and now, as Lyarra Snow, it came to her with even greater ease. In her past life, she had been born as a child of light, whom was turned to darkness, by betrayal, and the aid of a very depraved monster.

This time around, Lyarra Snow was already Dark. The people around her could tell there was something off about her, and a few even felt something was very, very wrong. The way she understood things, her natural abilities, her speed and strength, and the eerie way she just knew what you were thinking whenever she spoke with you. All these things together caused many to be incredibly weary around her.

Lyarra stared at the three boys for a moment, wondering if only for a moment, she should do something awful to them for waking her. The thought faded as she fully awakened. As upset as she was at being drawn from a good dream, she knew it was best to wake up. The one thing Lady Stark hated more then her husband's bastards was when they lazed about.

Lyarra suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, at the thought as she rose out of bed, stalked over to the door, and slammed it in her half-brother's face. With nothing more than a wave of her hand, her sleeping attire, changed and reformed into more acceptable clothing for the harsh northern climate.

Magic came so easy to her in this life. She was always capable of immense feats of power with wandless magic, in her last life, the things that could be done with her level of power, would make any normal person die of shock, the things she could do with a focus of some sort, would have caused even those who knew how magic worked, to lose their minds. This time around however, it was even easier, then before.

The planet had so much magic in it, and no one was using it. The laylines were full to bursting, magic was there, it was just dormant, and the more she used her magic, the more the magic of the Earth, revitalized and pushed out into the world.

Many people in Westoros, believed that magic had either never existed or faded away long ago. The truth was actually, that those that could use magic, had died out, and most magical creatures died with them. This resulted in no one learning how to use magic, and thus natural magic became stagnant. Hell, because no one was using magic, when the Targaryen's put their dragons into pens, it caused them to wither and die. Lyarra ventured to guess that had people actually been using magic, the dragons would have been fine, and wouldn't have shriveled up, but because magic went unused and the dragons were locked up and couldn't invigorate magic themselves while caged, they shriveled away into extinction.

Needless to say, the world was a powerful magical place. No one knew how to use it, that was the problem. Actually the most specific problem was that no one knew how to use the magic within themselves. By using the magic in your own body, the magic around you is invigorated and it starts to react, most people who practice magic, according to her own studies, use the magic of the earth and not the magic in their bodies, thus without it being invigorated…

Well, the easiest representation would to imagine someone trying to make something beautiful using a ball of steel. Being a ball of steel, they wont be able to do much with it. That was magic in most of the world. But once it came into contact with active magic, it would start to become alive and active again. Thus the ball of steel would melt and become malleable.

Lyarra had always been able to do magic, since the moment she was old enough to fully control her limbs. With each passing day, she regained more and more of her power. She had been nearly six hundred years old when she had been vanquished, and thus she had a lot of magic to reacquaint herself with.

The thought of her defeat, quickly came rushing back into her mind as she stood in her room. Vague images of golden lights and burning rays descending from the sky, torching her armies. Her baby brother, foolishly charging into battle against her, and the mortal wound, inflicted on her by Albus Fucking Dumbledore. The thought made her want to gag. It took centuries. Literal centuries before people figured out that the best way to beat her, was to unite and use all of their strength.

She had been quite the deviant woman in her past life, images of the death, chaos, and madness she had unleashed onto the earth often visited her dreams. The thoughts always brought a smile to her face.

She found herself blinking a few times and she recognized that the right amount of time had gone by for her siblings to believe she had changed outfits. She turned and opened the door, finding the three still waiting there. She quickly gave Robb a look, he just chuckled and started off, Theon following next to him.

She took up position next to Jon as she followed after the two. Her twin, avoided eye contact with her at all cost, he knew he was in trouble with her.

Lyarra had interesting relationships with every member of her family.

Her 'father' Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, always kept a close eye on her, and was often left exhausted by her antics. She was a troublemaker, and reveled in causing him distress. As Harri Potter, family was something that was yearned for, something desired above all else. Those desires died along with the betrayal that ultimately led her down the path to becoming the monster that destroyed the world.

As Lyarra Snow, family was equally important, but it was something she put a certain emphasis on. Eddard was a liar. And far too paranoid for his own good. She knew the truth about her birth, hell she remembered it clear as day. She knew her mother was Lyanna Stark, Eddard's sister. She could guess with relative accuracy that her father was Rhaegar Targaryen, as he had been the one to kidnap Lyanna and initiate the war that had awakened the last Great Dark Lord from her slumber in the Abyss.

Lyarra knew what Eddard kept secret and in a way she was thankful to him for what he sacrificed to keep her and her twin brother safe. But he could have gone the extra step of bringing his wife into the fucking secret circle.

Lyarra didn't hate Eddard Stark, she just thought very little of him, due to his refusal to at least admit the truth to his wife Catelyn Stark. The woman hated Lyarra and Jon, she treated them with disdain and if it wasn't for Eddard's commands she would have seen the two shipped off to somewhere far away, and out of her sight. If only she knew the truth, she might had been accepting of the twins.

When it came to Catelyn, Lyarra's relationship with her was simple. She hated the woman, and wanted her dead. Why? Well other then the treatment she gave the twins, Lyarra's anger stemmed from a time when she was very small, when her Twin got the pox. Lyarra had seen into Catelyn's mind and seen her praying for Jon's death. That sealed it for Lyarra. She hated the woman, ever since that day. Lyarra could easily recall the moment when their eyes had met and Lyarra had heard how she asked the gods to take Jon's life from him. The look on her face must have told Catelyn that she knew. The two had never spoken about it, but even to this day, Catelyn's eyes would never meet Lyarra's, and Lyarra would never bother to hold back the scowl that would take up residence on her face whenever Catelyn Stark was around or even mentioned.

Starting at the youngest of her siblings, Rickon was a sweet little baby. He had just recently been born, which meant he spent a lot of time with dear ol' Cat. Needless to say their relationship was nil at this point in time.

Bran, the next youngest, was very similar. He was adventurous, and would often try to follow Lyarra whenever she would drag Jon out into the forest to explore, but he was closely watched by Cat and the various servants in the castle, so Lyarra spent little time with him.

Next was Arya, the youngest girl. She was quickly turning into quite the little she-wolf. Just as adventurous as her older half-sister, and always eager to watch sword fights and the like. She was still too young to be allowed to be off by herself, so again, Lyarra had a very sparse relationship with her due to Catelyn's constant presence.

Sansa was next. Prim and proper little girl, just like her mother. She dreamed of being some lord or knights wife some day, the whole thing made Lyarra want to gag. Chances were good, Sansa would be married off to some Northern lord or another, and most people in the North looked about as noble and elegant as a stubbed toe. Northern beauty was an interesting thing, and Sansa Stark was more Tully than Stark. She'd be hard pressed to find her radiant knight in the gloomy snow-laden hills of the North.

After Sansa came Robb. He was old enough and adventurous enough to spend time alone with Lyarra and Jon. They often went on adventures, and Lyarra found him pleasant enough. He was her brother. She cared about him, because he treated her like family. His teasing was always friendly and playful, and he was always quick to reprimand the family ward Theon whenever his own teasing stopped being playful and became more hurtful. Robb looked out for his half-siblings. He kept an eye on them, and saw it as his job as the eldest Stark child, to watch out for all of his siblings, even the bastards. When it came to him and Lyarra, he was fearless. He had the perfect mixture of Stark and Tully pride. It was enough that her glare's never broke through his charming, and wolfish demeanor.

The house ward, Theon Greyjoy, Lyarra and he had an interesting relationship. Lyarra liked to scare him, and thus, Theon was afraid of her. The scaring came in the form of making shadows move around her to form terrifying monsters, to even giving him nightmares involving him being eaten by wolves. This ensured that he was rightly cowed in her presence and his mockery of her twin was kept to a minimum. The boy had told others about some of the things he'd seen but he was never believed for a multitude of reasons. One he was a Greyjoy. Two he was a liar. And three, he was a Greyjoy. The Northern men, never put much stock into the young Greyjoy's terrified rants. Robb always just laughed and told Theon to mind himself. It wasn't that Robb actually believed Lyarra capable of those things. He just thought it was funny to see Theon squirm.

Finally, there was her twin, Jon. Out of all of the members of her 'family' Jon was the only one she loved. Truly loved. He was her twin, and while not born with her gifts, the two of them shared a bond. She loved her little brother, and looked out for him. She protected him, much to his annoyance, and kept him safe and comfortable whenever Catelyn Stark reared her ugly head and unleashed some snide comment or another, that would hurt Jon's feelings. She often watched him, and would often feel saddened as she would inevitably recall her twin and great love from her previous life. The thought always put her in a mood of sorts. Still, she loved Jon, and was curious about whether or not he noticed her interest in him, and whether he suspected her love for him might be greater than what siblings should feel for each other.

Lyarra always looked out for her brother, and always kept him in mind when she made decisions. She trained with him out in the yard, constantly, much to his annoyance, since she moved like a master, while he was still learning to swing a sword the right way.

Jon himself cared about his sister, he loved her just as much as she loved him, or at least as much as he believed she loved him. The two were often inseparable and despite his annoyance at her seemingly perfect nature, he rarely left her side. Though there was something Jon knew about her, that no one else did. He knew she could do magic. He had seen her do it, she had even shown him some spells, and what she could accomplish with it. He also knew she had a temper, a bad one. She held grudges and did not forgive or forget.

Lyarra had not yet told her twin the truth of their heritage, mostly out of a desire to foster his own dislike of Catalyn and eventually draw him completely into her camp, when she forced Eddard to unveil that information. Lyarra was always looking to advance her power-base. Jon was already learning to fight with a sword, and Lyarra planned to teach him how to wield magic. She knew he would be a skilled ally in the years to come, and so in secret, she molded him into a weapon.

"Sorry for waking you." Jon muttered meekly, by her side. He knew she was not someone who liked to be woken up. Lyarra enjoyed her dreams, it had nothing to do with time of day, she just liked to allow her mind to roam free and invent things, situations, creatures, objects, things that would inspire her when she awoke. She loved to dream and hated being torn from them. Jon knew this, and was thus terrified at being forced to wake her.

She just gave him a pointed look, causing him to avert his eyes.

"Coward." She muttered, causing him to flinch, and Robb and Theon to start laughing. Both having heard her.

Lyarra just shook her head, and set out to handle her tasks for the day. She made it through her lessons, as quickly as she could, then headed out to the training yard, to practice with the various weapons. She was still too small for most of them, but her ability with those she could use, was incredible for a girl of her age. In her past life, she had mastered the use of many weapons, from straight swords, and axes, to spears, and bows. She had even mastered the use of firearms, which were now lost to mankind.

Though even with knowledge of technique, she still had to retrain her muscles. Her magic and soul might be the same, but this body was different. Weaker, frailer, not nearly as resilient as the body she had designed for herself in her previous life. She'd have to go about fixing that, once she reached maturity.

Even still, her practice, did not go unnoticed by the denizens of Winterfell. Many could only nod their heads in admiration of her skill and ability.

A bit later, after training, and after night had fallen, Lyarra found herself in the crypts. Powerful magic flowed through those hallowed halls and she often found herself, basking in the cold dark of the lonely and quiet tomb. In her past, she had held a powerful connection to death, and had become the greatest Necromancer to have ever lived. She often felt at peace in the crypts, and would come down here when she wanted to be alone.

This time though, things were different, she felt something calling out to her. She felt almost as if, there would be something waiting for her. She knew this was magics doing, she had experienced it before. Magic often guided it's greatest champions, so that they could complete their destinies. If magic compelled her to do something, she would. She found herself, almost in a trance-like state, moving through the tombs. Eventually she found herself standing before the statue of her mother, Lyanna Stark.

Lyarra stared at it, for several long moments, before a familiar presence made itself known.

"I'd wondered if you were still around, old friend." Lyarra turned away from the statue to find a massive cloaked figure hovering behind her. This figure was draped in a long dark cloak, with torn edges, it was hunched over, giving it a decrepit look, almost like a very old person was hiding beneath those silky looking linens.

The figure's head was hidden by a dark hood and it's face concealed in shadows. Poking out from beneath it's sleeves were two skeletal hands with very long bony fingers.

"You seem to be in good health, dearest Stranger." Lyarra chirped with a smile. Before her now, stood the physical manifestation of Death. Her ally, and greatest teacher. One she had denied through force of will, and knowledge alone.

"Have you come to claim your prize? Or perhaps, are you interested in other endeavors?" Lyarra inquired, her voice carrying none of the childlike innocence that it should have. Instead her voice was dark and cruel, filled will malice, that boiled beneath the surface.

Death stared back at her for a moment, silently regarding her before it moved. In a flourish, it pulled something from it's sleeve and placed it around her shoulders. The Invisibility Cloak

Lyarra began to grin, from ear to ear as she extended her hand. Death reached out and placed it's hand over hers palm down, she felt something appear in her hand as Death pulled back, and there, sitting in her palm, was the Resurrection Stone.

Then, with one final presentation, Death handed her the Elder Wand. Lyarra's grin could not be matched, as she took the wand into her hand, the familiar feeling of the cold wood, brought back so many memories, so many amazing memories of the things she had done with it.

"It's time for the world to remember, my old friend. Time for them to see. I was stopped once before, but this time, no one will be able to prevent me from accomplishing my goals. I will bring the whole of the world under my rule. All will know the name, Visenya Targaryen, the Dark Lord, Lady of Chaos, and Master of Death. Your servants are ready, the age of mankind is coming to a close, the rise of magic, is about to begin." Lyarra intoned as she channeled magic through the Elder Wand, feeling her power flourish alongside the ancient magical artifact.

Death offered her a polite bow, and quickly faded from sight. She was, and always would be, the Master of Death, and Lord of the Hallows, and Death was eager to see her be unleashed once again. She was the greatest agent of Death and destruction.

Death was very interested to see how she would take this world as her own.

Lyarra stared at the wand for several long moments as visions of her past filled her mind. The countless deaths she had caused with this wand. The immeasurable number of monsters created using it as a focus. The horrors inflicted on the world, with it being the center piece that had banded them all together.

Finally she let out a chuckle and disappeared from sight. Apparating away from Winterfell.

She flew away from her home, moving fast and with purpose. It took only a few minutes before she appeared atop a hill, surrounded by nothing for many miles in every direction.

Wind blew, furiously around her, and her newly acquired Invisibility Cloak, billowed in the raging winds. She stared out over the empty expanse with a menacing grin on her face. The euphoria she felt at having some of her greatest artifacts returned to her, had ignited the raging beast within.

She brought the wand up to look upon it, her eyes quietly drifted over the dark wood. Her grin, grew impossibly wider, as she began to channel magic through the wand. The tip began to glow a bright, and sickly red, as power for a spell gathered within the magical item.

Lyarra felt her arm begin to shake as power bubbled through it and into the wand, a spell was on her lips and after a moment, all the world quieted.

"Let this be the moment, that you awaken. Let this be, the instant where magic ignites, and returns to this world." Lyarra intoned, and then, with a single downward motion, a red beam of pure energy exploded out of the tip of her wand.

The beam struck ground, about a dozen meters away and tore through the earth with unrivaled fury. The beam continued to channel forward, tearing up earth, and gouging a deep scar into the land.

Lyarra could feel it, feel it better then she ever had. Magic, all around her was exploding to life, the raw power she unleashed echoed out from within her, and magic itself, was stirred from it's slumber.

With a sigh of euphoric pleasure no girl her age should have breathed, she ended the stream of magic. The end result of her display, was a six meter wide, three meter deep, gorge that stretched for nearly a hundred yards before her.

Seeing it, she began to laugh. She could perform spells with wandless magic, but raw shows of power like this, no, to accomplish something like this with wandless magic, she would have needed to waste nearly five times the power. With the Elder Wand back in her control… she now had all she needed to return to full power.

She began to laugh, laugh as she envisioned the faces of those she hated in her mind, those that had defeated her once upon a time, chief among them were those four… The 'golden' trio, and their master, the bearded lord of light. Her naive twin, who had been controlled and manipulated by the Lord of Light. She felt hate explode through her, even as she cackled madly. Her voice was no longer her own.

She extended her wand towards the sky, and without any fear or hesitance she unleashed a massive green beam of energy that shot into the clouds.

Everywhere for a hundred miles, people looked up and watched as the green beam pierced the heavens and lit up the night sky. People in Winterfell could only gape at the massive green beam of energy that towered up from the far north.

Out of all of them, only one knew what this meant. Only one felt his body begin to shake as he realized what that was. That one person, was Jon Snow. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was Lyarra. He knew, it had to be her.

On that lonely field, Lyarra Snow cackled madly, like the witch she was. Her voice was no longer her own, it belonged to Harriet Potter. Twin to Harry Potter. The greatest Dark Lord to have ever lived, and the one who had destroyed the world.

-To Be continued-

Alright, here's the first chapter. This is just a pet project of mine. Something simple, that I wanted to get out of my head and onto paper, or the computer as it were. Please let me know what you think, and if you'd like I'll continue with it. As I said, it's another side project, so it wont take away from my Main, which is Broken Angel, I just needed to get this out of my head, so I could go back to focusing on that. Please let me know what you think, and let's hear some ideas for possible pairings.

It'll be a harem, no real limit right now, the only one that's certain right now is Jon, because it's deviant as all hell. Otherwise, let me know what you think and offer up so suggestions for pairs. As I stated in the beginning, she'll marry some, other's will be slaves, or concubines, stuff like that, so let me know.