Harry Potter and the Fractured Veil by NonsensicalRants

A Harry Potter Multiverse Event

Chapter 1:

The Amarinth Sentire

Universe: P X Z - Unknown

Location: Unknown

Year: Unknown

Shoggoth held back a grunt as he unexpectedly landed on cold, unforgiving igneous.

The surprise change of scenery was perplexing, but experience with portkey-based traps told him answers would come with time. Likely in the form of a long-winder monologue. Now if only his head would stop spinning.

He stood and brushed himself off, cursing his decision to wear a white suit to the casino today. It was one of his favorites, and it was ruined. On a more important note, his surroundings were nearly pitch black and the lack of visual information reminded him uncomfortably of the days before he got lasik surgery and needed glasses, like the other hims in the room.

Other hims?

He did a double take but, sure enough, all around him were Harry Potter duplicates. A Harry for every day of the month. Young Harold Potters. Old Harold Potters. Children, teens and adults. Some similar to him, others barely recognizable. One was even a girl, and another could have been mistaken for a younger and more curvaceous Lily Evans were it not for the lightning bolt scar on her cheekbone and the black arteries pulsing beneath her pale skin.

... It was probably best not to ask her about that. After all, of the Harry Potters present he was the least recognizable, currently taking the form of a dark skinned, blonde hair persona he wore to his casino some days.

Another one, maybe fifteen, wore the sorting hat and carried Godric's sword. The side of his face was a mass of molten scar tissue and he had a large, swiveling, jet-blue eye where green should have been.

Another one, not a day over eleven, had an oddly reflective appearance as if he were made of glass. The philosopher's stone jutted from his bare, emaciated rib cage. The one beside him wore Voldemort's face, but kept the unruly Potter hair, green eyes and lightning bolt scar where they should be. He pondered what this one's story could have been. Perhaps the horcrux within took over or fused with him? Perhaps he absorbed the other fragments of Tom's soul with each destroyed anchor?

Either way he looked to be more Harry Potter than Tom Riddle judging by countenance.

Speaking of Riddle, there were a few of him in the crowd as well. Pre and post horcrux alike. And Dumbledores. And Grindelwalds. He even spotted a Hermione, though decidedly not the one he knew. His Hermione was warm, prudish(in public at least) and full of life. This one was cold, pale and very, very dead. But undeath didn't seem to have slowed her down.

He made a mental note of counterparts to the more inconsequential individuals he met in his life, disregarding them as he had in the past. An Auror Draco. A filth-covered Fleur Delacour dressed in some kind of belly dancer outfit and bound by silver chains. Not much else of interest, really.

"Mom!" A four-year-old Harry exclaimed as he ran up to a Lily and embraced her.

Oh right. His mum(s) were here too. He'd been trying not to think about that.

This Harry looked unexceptional in contrast to the others, save for his age. The Lily he had foolishly embraced, on the other hand, was definitely something special. He could tell, between her blood-stained combat armor and mud-encrusted boots that this Lily was NOT a mother. Not to any child. To say nothing of the distinctly Lestrange madness in her eyes.

The self-control she exercised in not snapping the child's neck was apparent for all with an eye for such things.

She pried his fingers from around her legs and leaned down to his eye level. She whispered something to the boy that made him flinch away from her.

She shoved the boy away unceremoniously, but lightly enough to avoid harm. He landed on his bum with a grunt.

The baby Harry picked himself up and walked away from the warrior, retreating to hide in the shadow of the black-veined red-head. Upon closer inspection he spotted what made his youngest doppelganger unique. So too did the black-arteried femme, who was closest to the wayward child.

"No scar?" His female counterpart said, brushing some hair from the boy's forehead with a finger.

The scarless Harry fell to the floor as if struck by lightning at her touch and the woman's entire hand and arm, up to the elbow, was reduced to ash with a bright flash of light and a loud clap. He could have sworn he saw a patronus-like dome surround the young Harry in the split second it happened.

The ginger shrugged, apparently nonplussed by her gruesome injury. Her nonchalance was well placed, as the lost appendage grew back in seconds, almost as quickly as his own limbs could regenerate. Of course, unlike his own regenerative abilities, hers were more... liquid. She flexed her new, skinless fingers and looked at the boy appraisingly. Most present showed no sign of amazement at the overpowered form of sacrificial protection their youngest companion showed, nor the regenerative abilities of the sole female Harry.

Oh, how he hoped her name was Harriette!

"To think, I thought you were the odd one out in a crowd of obviously dangerous killers. But you're not exactly harmless yourself." Said his fellow regenerator, her smile revealing a set of needle-like canines. "I am Petunia Potter, daughter of Lily and James Potter. I take it you're their son from another... timeline perhaps?"

Several, I.E all, of the Harry Potters present choked on spit at the name. The second youngest, the one with the mirror sheen, shook silently despite clearly howling with laughter. Good to know he wasn't the only one who couldn't imagine a timeline where their mother would honor Petunia Evans in naming her daughter. Even the war-forged Lily with the dour face giggled at the idea, a giggle that set his teeth on edge.

Was there an aunt Petunia here? He hadn't quite gotten his pound of flesh out of her when he murdered her and her worthless spawn and husband.

"What?" The vampiric Petunia said glancing around hoping to be let in on the joke.

Shoggoth was close enough to the baby Harry that he was able to reach down and pick him up by the collar. And leave a little present in the folds of his clothes for later. The boys defensive protections made him the safest bet for his safety protocol. He'd have to keep an eye on the boy. Make sure he stayed safe.

There was one other Lily Evans there, and she hadn't laughed. During the short span of the interaction she closed the distance between herself and the youngest Harry. By now he had picked himself up and was rubbing his bum, again. Mother nature was a genius to have equipped children with such soft padding on which to cushion their falls.

The rest watched in silence as she approached him.

She kneeled in front of the boy, tucking her long skirt under her knees as she did so, and examined him closely. He backed away, clearly expecting a repeat of his interaction with the other Lily... or Petunia.

"I almost was." She eventually said, twisting the fabric of her gown nervously. "Your mother, I mean."

This Lily? This one was beautiful. The yellow and white dress hanging loosely from her frame reminded him of spring and picnics. Her ankle-length hair reminded him of cherry pie. There was a deep sadness about her, a sadness that could drown the Grey Lady. He suspected, even as she cautiously raked her hands through the child's hair, that were they to look beneath her dress they would find a lightning bolt scar emblazoned on her belly well she grasped it.

Little Harry hugged this Lily too. Pleading to go home. That it was time for dinner and they were supposed to wash up and eat with uncle Peter.

This Harry had known his mother in life, but it was not this Lily. Even though he suspected his many doppelgangers craved that same embrace he knew, just as they must, that it would be hollow. That it would be a lie.

No harm in letting this Harry and Lily live that lie for a moment.

He turned his attention from the other occupants and examined his surroundings.

Black stone floor. Black stone walls. Red metal ceiling. The entire place was disappointingly featureless save for the metal grooves he spotted on the ceiling. They crisscrossed across the dome above them like a spiderweb, but all radiated from the very center.

"Sorry to interrupt your heartfelt and unnatural reunion." Said a young man with flaming red hair in a buzz cut. He wore WWI fatigues and had an elongated French Lebel slung over his shoulder to match. "But I'd very much like to know which one of you has been screwing with the timeline?"

The stitching on his arm identified him as Officer A. Dumbledore. The goat head stitched below that told him that the 'A' did not stand for Albus.

"That's assuming this is time travel mischief at all." Said a Severus that couldn't be more of a contrast with the Severus of his world if he was designed as his own foil.

The bright clothes and short, stylized hair were bad enough. But the sight of a wedding band on his left hand and all around contentedness with life he exuded was too much to bear.

He simply had to kill this Severus. No doubt about that. Just on principle if not for the mere satisfaction. But could he manage a more brutal murder than he gave the greaseball of his own universe?

It was a tall order, but he'd give it the old college try.

"Please, Severus. Share your suspicions." A man resembling the Albus Dumbledore of his world implored patiently.

Something was off about him. His facial features weren't right. His nose wasn't bent out of shape and his eyes weren't the correct shade of blue. He also lacked a pair of half moon spectacles, but he himself had disposed of his own glasses long ago so that was hardly odd. When another, proper Dumbledore, stepped up behind him Shoggoth realized with a start that this wasn't Dumbledore at all. This was Grindelwald.

A universe where Dumbledore and Grindelwald played opposite roles? Yeah, he could buy that.

"I'm not as knowledgeable on the topic as other Unspeakables. But alternate universes do exist outside of branching timelines." Explained the Pretty Prince. "I propose this is a more reasonable explanation of our predicament."

"Much more likely." Said the sorting hat atop the sword-wielding Harry. "Timeline mischief wouldn't lead to such a gathering. Alternate timelines simply collapse, they do not merge and allow a meeting of wayward souls... usually."

The Harry wearing this hat nodded enthusiastically. Likely as mute as the mirror Harry.

"Precisely." Said Severus Light with a Granger-esque finger in the air. "Which means somebody has reached across the veil and snatch people from their own worlds. Somebody has gathered us here."

"That is correct, Severus."

They did not hear the voice. Not with their ears. It reverberated in their skulls like a concussive wave, tearing through even the most powerful mental defenses like a rogue bludger through paper mache. He knew the others heard it too, for he was not the only person brought to his knees by the discomfort of his occlumency barriers being torn asunder with such ease.

The ground beneath them lurched upwards sending those who recovered from the mental assault back to the ground as the ceiling parted like a blooming lotus. Stars peaked through the cracks of the sharp blades as the black platform they stood on rose. The light of the night sky revealing smaller grooves in the hundred meter high walls. Grooves the platform climbed with large, silver cogs that roared with the grinding of metal on metal.

He gagged when the first breeze of night air forced its way into his lungs. It was cold and foul, tasting of dust, ash, blood and decay. His skin tingled as the platform ended its ascent revealing the hell of this earth beyond the throng of sharp, crimson petals.

All about them the scattered remains of bodies, weapons and structures spoke of a war with no victor. Rusted tanks and fighter jets lay beside rotting chimera and dragons in the mountains of haphazard rubbish stretching beyond the horizon. Rifles and wands jutted from the earth as grave markers in the vast plains between the rotting hills and many more corpses rested without markers among them. Most long mummified.

Goblin beside Wizard. Pureblood beside Muggle. House-elf beside giant. Men beside women beside children. They stood at the center of a Himalayan mountain range made not of stone and ice, but flesh, metal and bone.

In the distance a single crater confirmed his suspicions about the tingling of his skin. It took all of his concentration, but he morphed the flora in his skin, and some of his own cells, into the radiation resistant Thermococcus. Morphing bacteria, or individual cells, into different species strained the ability of any metamorphmagus hut he wasn't just any metamorphmagus.

That should protect him up to thirty thousand Gy of radiation. He could only hope it was overkill.

He measured the reactions of his companions. Most were nonplussed at the carnage around them. Some were horrified. Others seemed to like it very much and he could see the inner workings of their minds planning to redecorate their own worlds to match this one.

It was once again the scarless one that drew his attention. The magic of his unique form of sacrificial protection bathed him in white light, likely protecting him from the radiation. The same light covered their mother, who held him to her chest and against her hips as she stood up. Whether she had similar protections or if he could share his with those he touched - Shoggoth couldn't tell.

The child pointed skyward to the most unsettling feature of this world yet.

"Who blew up the moon?" Auror Draco asked aloud, drawing the attention of everyone else to the sky.

The moon wasn't merely destroyed, it had shattered into a billion pieces. Its shards circled the earth like the rings of Saturn, only less uniform. The pieces of debris ranged from a quarter the original size of the moon, to particles that looked like specks of dust this far from them and blended in with the smear of light forming the milky way beyond.

All of the pieces seemed closer than the moon he knew and this was likely cause for concern.

Without its original mass the moon's remains could not resist the earth's tyrannical gravity. Luna's remains would scorch what was left of the earth's surface for centuries to come, as even now the night sky was alight with an endless shower of shooting stars. A permanent meteor shower.

Once they got over this meteorological feature Shoggoth noticed other astronomical bodies beyond. For a moment he thought they were the other planets of the solar system and that they'd somehow drifted closer to earth.

One was close enough for him to make out the shape of South America on its face. Another earth lay just over the horizon with Antarctica facing them, though he wouldn't have normally been able to tell with it's scorched and ice-free land mass. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of other earths circling the one they stood on. Each visibly suffering from one apocalyptic end or another and each bathing them in reflected light like a different phase of the moon.

A graveyard of Earths.

"This world is fucked." Said Severus Light.

"Correct again. That's two for two, Severus."

The voice wasn't as painful for him that time, his normally automatic mental defenses abandoned after the first assault. A few others clearly didn't learn that lesson and collapsed at the sound in obvious pain.

His companions who hadn't already drawn their wands did so now. He noticed that he wasn't the only one who rejected the tool right-out, and made a mental note to keep his eye on the Harry with the sorting hat and the sole Fleur. He made a larger mental note when the Pottermort pulled out two wands. Brothers.

Duel-wielding wands was supposed to be impossible. Yet that seemed the least impossible thing about this whole situation.

The thing flashing into existence with a halo of white light like a wrathful archangel was of much greater interest.

It might have been a man. Once. As it was now, a dementor more resembled a human being. Its arms and legs were both twice the length of normal human proportions. His body, emaciated in the extreme, held no signs of bone beneath the surface. Even with a collapsed and twisted rib cage area. It's entire body was like ivory with a dark purple sheen, like blued steel, or mother of pearl.

Near as anybody could tell, it was just fat, muscle and tendon beneath the surface. But his face, or lack thereof, was the worst. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. No ears. It wasn't even the right shape, but thrice as high and half as wide as a normal head. Almost indistinguishable from the neck.

As the creature descended Shoggoth saw rippling across its gray skin, like veins sliding underneath the surface, or maggots trying to crawl their way out. It was nearly upon them when they realized exactly how large it was. Ten meters in height, at least.

Shoggoth snapped his mouth shut when he noticed the slack jawed expressions of his counterparts and realized he shared it. It was safe to assume none of them had ever seen anything quite like their host either. He had certainly never felt anything like it before. The aura it radiated spoke of eternities forgotten.

"I am the Amaranth Sentire. Partitioned unto me are the responsibilities and privileges of the Marquees of the Veil, the Marquees of the Void and the Marquees of the Flow."

No one flinched that time, but they did hesitate. Most glanced between their fellow guests, the self-identified Amaranth Sentire, and the apocalyptic hellscape around them.

"Have any of you deduced why I brought you here?"

The Auror Draco caught his bearings first and stepped up with a very Gryffindor bravado.

"For your amusement." He said, not asked, said as he brandished his wand.

The Sentire twisted its head, as if to express a human gesture of confusion.

"Why, pray tell, would you think that?"

Auror Draco waved to the carnage around them.

"Some of those corpses and ruins look awfully fresh. You can't possibly want our help. If you're powerful enough to break the barrier between realities there is nothing we have to offer that you can't do yourself. I just added two and two."

The others, convinced by his words, readied for battle. Pointing wands, rifles, claws and swords at their gracious host. Baby Harry hid his face in Widow Lily's shoulder.

He did nothing. Remaining planted in the same position he'd been in since this entire ordeal began. Same as the Sentire. It wasn't fighting time. Not yet at least.

"An astute observer, but not the cleverest deducer. I do have a task for you that I cannot achieve myself."

He waved a hand to indicate the literal mountains of corpses.

"Those who failed me in the past litter this wretched, ruined landscape like a carpet of moss and lichen, forming layers upon layers of sediment."

If the Sentire had planned to defuse the situation, then he wasn't much of an astute observer himself. Harry Potter, all Harry Potters, reacted rather poorly to orders given under threat. Veiled or otherwise. So did the inconsequentials by the look of it.

"What a lovely ultimatum." Said the quarter-Veela he'd ignored up to that point.

She repositioned the silver enslavement shackles on her wrist to a more comfortable position as she cracked her neck.

"Here's one for you. Hand over whatever master key to the multiverse you used to drag us here so we can go on our merry way. And then I'll kill you." Said Fleur, pulling her filth encrusted hair into a knot.

Shoggoth morphed his sinuses from that of a bear into that of an animal with less sensitive nostrils when she got near. She reeked of urine, menses, semen, stale weed and mold. Her thighs, stomach and arms were certainly crusted with the stuff, as was the ostentatious belly dancing outfit and boots she wore. He wondered if these were her first lucid moments in years, and if she'd been freed from the magic of her goblin-forged chains through her transportation to this place.

"Reverse the order of your offer, and you have yourself a deal."

The tension dissolved in lieu of confusion as he mentally deconstructed Fleur's sentence. Simplifying it to 'Let us go and then I'll kill you' before reversing the offer.

"You wish to die?" Clarified the duel-wanded Pottermort, his voice equal parts the hissing Voldemort and timid Harry that he himself used to be.

Things started clicking into place.

"Yes. I crave death. I have for eons, and I was ancient even then."

Shoggoth took stock of their world again. There were millions of bodies out there, at least. To amass such a collection of felled foes, this 'Amaranth Sentire' would have had to collect a group such as them every day for centuries, if not millennia.

A part of him wondered. Did this creature deserve it? Did it really deserve eternal rest? Release from it's suffering? Or did it deserve to be left in what was in all likelihood a hell of it's own creation?

"I make you the same offer I've made to so many others. Take my life and you may have, what Miss Delacour so appropriately named, my key to the multiverse."

He raised a massive arm into the air and in his open palm appeared what Shoggoth could have mistaken for a remembrall. The warped perspective of the giant undying THING holding it made the sphere look much smaller than it was.

It was upon realizing that the object must be the size of Arthur Weasley's Ford Anglia that he knew it was something far more significant than a vague foretelling of things to come.

The master key vanished with a flick of the Host's wrist.

"Or as I like to call it. The World-Turner. As you can see, I have made this offer to many before you. None have succeeded. Will you fare better? Will you give me RELEASE?"

The gathered all assumed their battle positions. Fleur once again caught his attention as her back erupted with scaly feathers and her hands lit with bright, blue fire. Shoggoth's disgust with the woman's hygiene vanished as he groaned an 'ooooooh' at the sight of the wandless magic.

He wanted her. He wanted her bad.

"I hope you live to see victory beside me." He mumbled low enough for Fleur to hear.

She snarled at him as the rest resumed their own battle positions. Even the blackened, rotting teeth in her mouth could not assuage his desire.

What his Hermione doesn't know won't hurt her, right?

"Begin when ready."


They all turned to the speaker. Unsurprisingly, it was an elderly Harry Potter in red Auror robes.

"Just to clarify. You snatched us from our worlds, our families, so that we might kill you." The Host nodded. "And our reward in the unlikely event that we succeed is that we can return home? I'm sorry but I'm not feeling sufficiently FUCKING motivated!"

A series of chuckles and shrugged agreement erupted from the crowd as they all relaxed their postures and turned to the Sentire for his response.

"I am not offering to send you home. I am offering you the multiverse itself."

Perhaps he thought more highly of their intellect than was warranted because they all continued to stare expectantly at him. If the Host had lungs with which to sigh, Shoggoth was certain he would do so now.

"Worlds beyond number."

The World-Turner reappeared in his hand and all about them windows to other realities glimmered into existence. Millions, nay, billions of the circlets of light filled the sky for miles. Each like a television screen to a unique reality.

"Some of you have lost loved ones. Out there in the ether is a world where your loved ones lost you."

He saw his parents mourning over his miscarriage, and every other possible combination of a broken family. And not just his. The Dumbledores, the Riddles, the Prewetts and countless more.

"You can go to them and create from two broken families, one that is whole."

The images changed. Shoggoth saw in one his family, whole and happy attending his wedding with a stunning oriental woman with the physique of an athlete, and in another universe with Ginny Weasley. He saw a young Tom Riddle with his Merope, Marvolo, Tom senior and his grandparents attending his graduation of Hogwarts.

An equally young Tom Riddle beside him stared at that one longingly.

"Some of you have extinguished all darkness, or light, from your worlds that you spent your lives crusading against. There are infinite worlds where you can continue your paths of war and destruction."

He saw countless thousands of Voldemorts doing battle with Harrys and Dumbledores with Grindelwalds, and many unknown villains against many more unknown heroes. Victories meted out seemingly at random. In many of them darkness won, and given the chance he knew he'd go to these world and undo these outcomes.

"Some of you have reached the zenith of power as can be obtained in your worlds. But out there in other worlds are objects and knowledge beyond your comprehension, and they can all be yours."

In one window he saw a space-faring society, where the line between Muggle and wizard vanished. With great magic and technology they harnessed the black holes and white dwarfs in deep space to perform impossible feats of magic. Others showed worlds devolved into Dantean hellscapes far worse than the one they inhabited now.

"All of the benefits of time travel and more with none of the drawbacks. You may come and go between universes doing what thou wilt. For good or for ill, I don't care. So long as you give me what is MINE!"

The world-turner and the glimpses into other worlds vanished as they all returned their focus to the Amaranth Sentire.

"Are you feeling 'sufficiently fucking motivated' now?"

He could sense the host's pleasure at the tsunami of affirmatives they slung at him and couldn't help imagining a smile on his faceless visage as he commanded them.


Several things happened all at once.

The mirror Harry, Petunia and the undead Hermione disappeared. The first simply faded, the second vanished into a fine pink mist and the third crumbled into ash and dust. Sergeant Aberforth leaned against his rifle and, using it as a broom, flew into the air like a man holding onto a rocket. Most of the rest threw a volley of familiar green jets at their foe while putting distance between them.

Two very foolish companions of his dove right into the fray.

The part-Veela sprouted wings and, flying at speeds great enough to imbalance him with a forceful sonic-boom, took a swipe with claws of fae-fire as their hat-wearing counterpart appeared above the host's head and took an equally ill-advised swipe with the sword of Godric Gryffindor. The Undying One swatted both of them like insects as the torrent of killing curses fizzled against his skin ineffectually.

"Pfffft. Hah!" Shoggoth laughed as the Slave Fleur crashed into the black rock by his feet with a sickening crunch.

The sword-wielding Harry vanished at being struck, leaving the sorting hat behind to be slapped some hundred meters. For a moment he thought the boy had been vaporized by the strike, until he reappeared out of the hat like a rabbit by its ears.

What an adorable magic trick. He simply had to try it himself when he got home. When. Not if.

The hat-wearing Harry flew away as if pulled by the sword in a manner that reminded him very much of a certain Norse super hero and his star-forged hammer.

A groan turned his attention to the dying blonde at his feet.

Her shattered spine cracked like jingling keys as she tried to get up and continue the good fight, despite the missing chunk of skull near her brow. In any other situation he would have left her there to die, but the sight of a woman with the conviction and determination to fight on when on death's door always earned his affection and admiration.

"You still have some fight in you eh? Let's fix you up then." He said to her, still not moving from the position he'd been standing in since his arrival.

With one hand in his jacket pocket he morphed the other into a mass of twisting vines and muscle. The plant and flesh appendage creeped towards the dying girl along the ground at his command like macabre ivy.

She screamed as they wrapped around her broken ankle and shattered tibia like an anaconda. She screamed again as fangs sprouted along the length of devils snare and snaking tendons before digging into her skin.

Just then a shot from Officer Aberforth from high above rent an elephant-sized hole in the Sentire's chest. A hole that mended itself as if he were made of liquid metal.

Shoggoth noted a distinct lack of internal organs but tore his eyes away from the fight to focus on the operation at hand.

"Let's start you off with an infusion of uncut phoenix tears." He told her as he began pumping her veins with just such a liquid from the tear ducts he formed in place of venom glands at the base of each fang.

Her skin and bones mended with a quickness and efficiency no healer, magical or mundane, could ever hope to achieve. He barely had time to alter the venom glands of his fangs from phoenix tear ducts into hormone production factories before she finished healing.

The concoction of CRH suppressants, adrenaline, progesterone and estradiol now flowing through her system would be enough to send any woman, or man for that matter, into a blood rage in low doses. The doses she received now were ten times what could be classified as 'low' by any reasonable pharmacologist.

If this Fleur survived the battle she would suffer some intense pms and odd lactation from the aggression inducing hormones usually caused by pregnancy and menstruation, but he supposed she'd consider it more than worthwhile for the benefits she would soon reap.

She breathed a beastile growl as the last of her bones and flesh snapped back into place. Thick, white foam oozed from her lips like the drool of a rabid animal as her nails-turned-claws dug into the black stone they stood upon. Soon enough the beak and feathery wings of a fully-enraged Veela blossomed and her transformation was complete.

He would have given her further modifications but she shot off like a bullet as soon as her spine finished mending. She took half of his morphed arm with her.

"Oh hey Shoggoth, thanks for the blood rage!" He grumbled to himself sarcastically as the gust of wind she summoned upon her departure nearly blasted him off of his feet.

"Say nothing of it! First dose is always free my dear." He continued the one-way conversation as he morphed what remained of his arm into what he affectionately referred to as his 'bio-canon.'

He reshaped the tendons, bone and flesh of his injured appendage to resemble the arm canon of a certain femme-fatal bounty hunter from one of Dudleys old video games. Unlike her's, this thing was fueled by an internal network of dragon combustion gizzards, blast ended skrewt ignition glands and a whole lot of magic in place of alien bird technology.

He turned his attention from himself to the battle beyond.

He'd sat out of the fight long enough. It was time to show this bastard why you don't play god with the lives of others. Especially not a veritable god like himself.

"So. Anybody else notice that the killing curse does jack with a side of shit to this guy?"

Severus turned to the foul mouthed Lily. So unlike the one he married it made him sick to think his own lily could have become this.

"It makes perfect sense." The mature Grindelwald offered. "If he could be felled so easily surely one of the millions he's fought before would have succeeded."

They'd escaped beyond the petal enclosure of the arena to the rifle and wand marked graves beyond. Hoping the berserking Veela and hat trick spamming idiot could distract the Sentire long enough for them to come up with a coherent plan.

The rifle flying soldier looked like the winning candidate thus far.

"Well I'll go try and give him something with a little more oomph." The war forged Lily said.

She opened her... arm to reveal an array of wires and hydraulic presses to retrieve a small silver and glass sphere. It looked to be filled with water and a single star at the center.

"Is that a sonoluminescence power cell?!" Severus breathed in amazement.

She blinked at him. Clearly surprised anybody would recognize it.


The man sighed longingly at the sphere.

"My division manager would NEVER let me attempt the creation of one. The estimates of a catastrophic failure put the damage output at two Kilotonnes. Have you ever used one as an explosive instead of a fuel source?"

She nodded and motioned at the device in her hands.

"This one does three Kilotonnes of damage. And can be triggered remotely." She said. "But its drained so we'll be lucky to get just one kilotonne."

Severus shook his head. An idea forming.

"Oh I think we can get it to do a bit more than that. I'm well read on their creation. With yours as a base we can create one with even more 'oomph' as you put it."

He turned to the crowd of five people around them. The Grindelwald and Dumbledore who could have been brothers would be his best bet, as he couldn't make heads or tails of the meditating glass-boy or the duel-wanded snake man.

"Gellert. Did you work with Fritz Haber during world war one on chemical engineering in your world?"

The man shook his head.

"The opposite actually. But if it's chemical knowledge you require, I'm your man." Said the kindly Grindelwald.

He nodded.

"Perfect. And Albus, are you musically inclined and skilled at sonic based spells?"

"I can play a ditty with the best of them." Said the equally kindly Dumbledore.

He nodded again.

"Good. Gellert, I need you to conjure a sphere of water made from pure deuterium and oxygen eighteen isotopes with impurities of radon two twenty two. Albus, I will instruct you on creating the correct audio frequencies and I will work on forming and maintaining the collapsing bubble of radon."

Both nodded at his instructions and rolled up their sleeves in preparation.

"And am I only good for providing this?" The war-forged Lily asked handing him the orb.

Severus shrugged as he took it.

"I mean, you can go out there and throw down to buy us more time." He suggested.

She Looked from him to the platform.

"Yeah, alright I can do that." She said before promptly advancing towards the battle.

Severus turns to the others fathered.

"Is my wife that crazy in your worlds too? No offense Lils." He added the last at the end to the woman holding a four year old.

The meditating boy actually gagged at that while the Lily, Albus and Gellert either laughed or tried not to laugh.

"You cannot begin to understand how funny that question is." Said Albus.

Severus turned to Gellert.

"No comment." He sidestepped before drawing his wand.

Severus and Albus followed suit as they set about their task, but they paused as the caught sight of each others conduits.

"That's a mighty fine wand you have there Albus." Gellert commented. "Nice and long. What is it, fifteen inches?"

Albus' eyes twinkled at the dirty humor but fed into it.

"Oh yes. Yours seems to be a similar length, Severus. And looks rather firm. What is it, elder wood?" Albus passed the joke forward.

Severus shook his head bemusedly, bit couldn't resist.

"Right in one. And it contains a single thestral hair. Its a one of a kind wand." He said as he glanced between the three death sticks present. "Or at least, it used to be."

"Would you faggaloons stop comparing shafts already!" The Pottermort demanded from beside a giggling Lily.

Very well. Funtime's over.

Shoggoth circled the Amaranth Sentire from afar, sending searing chemical and magical blasts from his bio-cannon at their captor.

Not much he threw at it seemed to do much of anything. Not screwt blasts, not dragon breath not even hydrofluoric acid. His plan had been to meticulously see the effects of different magical and chemical damage to the Sentire's body, but nothing seemed to cut, erode, burn or freeze him.

Simply massive kinetic force seemed to damage his form slightly, but he repaired himself as if made of water.

Was he going to have to get in there and punch the cunt? That didn't seem to work out so well for those who tried to close the distance before.

Ignoring the contradiction of a being who desired death defending himself so vociferously, he began to form a plan. It was risky but he was certain he could survive, or revive, from any physical damage the Sentire would do to him.

He just had to hope this foe would keep going easy on them by refraining from revealing what was undoubtedly an unimaginable repertoire of exotic magics.

He hoped his fellow prisoners were making similar observations and were coming up with plans of their own.

Draco felt like he was betraying Lady Bones by submitting to a head Auror of another world, but in such an unfamiliar circumstance he sought out familiarity. But why did the only other Auror present have to be Potter? And why did the bastard have to age with the grace of Sean Connery and Cary Grant's lovechild?

"Auror Malfoy, tell me, have you noticed any potential weaknesses in our assailant?" Head Auror Potter asked commandingly.

It was a pointed question. The kind of question superior Aurors ask when they already have an answer, but want to test and improve the observational skills of their underlings. To help them gain from an experience the proper experience to draw on later.

Lo, he may be a Potter, he was still a head Auror and his superior, as such Draco knew he would do right by him.

"Kinetic force disrupts his form but not his momentum nor focus." Draco said the obvious. "But he regenerates at an astonishing rate. So it doesn't do any lasting damage."

Potter nodded in consideration, kicking aside a claymore embedded into the ground so he could climb on top of a downed panzer to get a good vantage point.

"Fortunately we have a great deal of matter to work with. Worst case scenario launching tanks and other debris at him slows him down or stalls him long enough that our more intellectually gifted friends can with something." Old man Potter said, thinking out loud. "And that may be the best aid we can offer."

He turned to Draco.

"How far along into your training are you?" He asked. "Specifically, how skilled are you in collaborative reconstruction and reconstruction?"

Collaborative reconstruction and reconstruction are when teams of wizards alter a scene to cover up magical incidents. Such as repairing entire city blocks or altering a place to make a giant attack look like a proper hurricane took place. With larger objects it takes multiple wizard to lift, destroy or repair.

"They are excellent sir. What are we throwing at him?"

The feral Veela was down for the count, squashed like a bug. Shoggoth allowed a twinge of sadness at her loss, but maintained his focus.

The hat-trick Harry continued his best attempts at taking a swipe at the Sentire, retreating into his hat whenever swiped and the soldier Aberforth continued to harass their foe from afar. His bullet must be hyper-dense, either made heavier by magic after firing or made lighter until being fired.

He was simply waiting for his opportunity. An opportunity that came in the form of a flower petal falling from the sky. A big, red metal one with sharp edges.

It crashed, point first, into the distract Sentire and rent him asunder.

He wasted no time, charging towards the momentarily-incapacitated being as he performed his complicate transformation.

His arm became little more than a mass of cartilage and bone as every muscle, tendon and bit of skin transformed into a fang or thorn or one kind or another. He had baskalisk fang beside acromantula fang. Wasp stinger beside black widow venom gland. Every natural weapon of every animal on the Schmidt index along with the chemical products of all ten of the deadliest plants in existence. From aconite to belladonna.

Be bared down on his enemy with an arm turned to a bramble of thorns, stingers and fangs. An arm of death and pain.

Before he could reach the being with his wild haymaker it reconstituted it's form and turned it's attention on him.

It then proceeded to break reality. His mind understood what was happening even as he saw it. What once was one being was suddenly three overlaid on each other and inhabiting the same space.

From afar it might look like the Sentire had sprouted four addition arms, when in reality it had manipulated time so that two future selfs would appear at this moment. Bad then altered space itself to seemingly reduce it's size to match himself, when in reality he had crushed a cube of space around himself.

As the six arms worked in perfect unison as they struck him with Shoggoth understood that, despite his precautions and careful planning, he had still thoroughly underestimated their foe. And so the six simultaneous finger and palm strikes connected to his throat, solar plexus, both brachial plexi, groan and both temples.

The combined effect of these strikes disabled both arms, cut off his breathing, stopped his heart and disoriented his brain as thoroughly as a flashbang grenade.

He was dead before he hit the ground, but in his addled state he couldn't even understand what was happening to his body as darkness overtook him.

Hermione had always taken pride in her ability to focus. It was the most important skill for ritualistic magic, and necromancy was no exception.

But necromancy on the level she regularly performed required concentration beyond concentration. Raising armies skeletal warriors from the Paris catacombs, maintains control over the mutated shambling corpses of her own world? These all took single-minded attention.

And now she was attempting one of her greatest feats, with little to no preparation time and while on the clock. The Sentire's rather impressive battle with her tentative allies did little to sooth her nerves.


And now the hot, goth, pale redhead was here. Great.

"This really isn't a good time to socialize, Petunia." Hermione said as she continued to weave hand signs and arm motions over the literal mountain of corpses.

She was trying to catch hold of spiritual residue common to the dead present, some foci useful for mediumship so as to begin weaving her will into the dead matter beneath her bare toes. Just a smidgeon would do, but she was having no luck. Even with her natural sympatico with the dead, being a shambling corpse herself.

"You know Hermes, despite being a genius - and you are a genius - sometimes you need help. And I am offering some." The female counterpart to the man she loved told her.

Hermione studiously focused on her task at hand but allowed her snippy retort to leave her mouth anyways.

"And what skill do you have in necromancy that can possibly match mine? Or even supplement it." She said testily.

Petunia made that disgusting giggle sound again and broke Hermione's concentration completely. Oh how that laugh set every hair on her neck on edge.

"None." She admitted. "But I understand vampire blood is an excellent medium. Especially when given willingly."

Now she had Hermione's full attention.

"You understand correctly. Ill take all you got." Hermione demanded.

"And you shall have it. I won't even ask for a drink of yours in return. Aren't I nice girl-Hermes?" Petunia asked.

Hermione groaned.

"Please tell me I'm not actually a boy in your world. And my name isn't Hermes." She pleaded.

"Oh hush boyfriend of mine turned girl. We'll kiss up later and I'll call you whatever I want. Now bleed me dry!"

Shoggoth reawoke with a shock. A literal one, from the bioelectric nodule he had placed in his chest as a sort of organic AED.

"Did I just did again?" He asked himself rhetorically. "It feels like I just died again."

As he took in his surroundings the weird day he was having flooded back to him.

"You're all better now." Came the voice of an angel.

He looked up and stared into the beetle-black eyes of a redheaded child. she couldn't be a day over right. Her hair was matted, almost turning to dreadlocks in places. She wore a simple dress and had skin so pale as to be almost translucent. The kind of paleness that came from never having been touch by sunlight.

She was perfect. Unblemished. Not having a single scar on her face, bare arms, legs or feet. Nor dirt or dust.

Somehow her presence made him feel like he was in a dream.

"I couldn't help much. But I tried. Please be more careful." She said before turning around and walking away.

He suddenly remembered her. He had seen her in the crowd several times, but could only remember registering her presence while looking directly at her.

He nodded dumbly. It was only then he noticed the restoration of his body. The biomass of his arm he had lost to Fleur was restored, his body pristine and uninjured. And if he wasn't very much mistaken he had reverted to his long-abandoned image of messy black hair, green eyes and knobby knees.

His suit was still ruined though.

A loud rumbling, like the earth cracking in two, rang out like a symphony and Shoggoth turned to see the fields of the dead rising in a coagulated mass. A corpse titan made of human, beast and machine. Barely able to maintain a form.

As soon as he turned to look at it his mind felt like it was melting. Like the last few moments of reality had never happened. He couldn't remember, couldn't recall what he had been doing since regaining consciousness.

Had he just been staring off into space? The Sentire must have hit his head pretty hard to make his this disoriented even after his impromptu nap.

"Damnit Shoggoth!" He chastised himself as he slapped his cheeks. "Get it together man!"

He regained his feet and prepared to advance towards the battle. He had to try and repeat his attempt at stabbing the bastard with every deadly compound his unnatural body could produce.

Before he could take his first step the rampaging Veela he previously believe to be dead flew past him again, seemingly fully restored.

Huh. He must have pumped her with more phoenix tears than he thought if she could recover from being pancaked like that.

The mass of disparate corpses, mummified remains and skeletal remnants rose like a tsunami of the dead. The smell of rot and decay gave way to the smell of dust and stale air.

It was when she finally coaxed the disparate bodies into a proper flesh golem, one to rival a Kaiju, that a different smell wafted up from the depths. The golem stepped forth from the gap in the landscape made by its creation to reveal legs of fossilized beings as varied in shape and size as the still rotting ones above. The legs freely bled tar, unrefined petrol and flaking coal.

"Er, I was never the best at science and all that, but doesn't it take a rather long time for something to be fossilized and turned into crude?" Petunia asked.

"Yeah." Said Hermione. "Several million years actually."

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

Aberforth had since retreated from the battle to observe as he began to run low on his magically enhanced roundballs.

His modified rifle was capable of firing many types of rounds, but the two inch diameter pieces of of condensed lead with the mass of a tank round were the only ones that seemed to slow down this foul demon. Sadly, he only had a few left and his attempts at playing support as a sniper hadn't paid off yet, despite others trying to take advantage of it. He'd save the few he had left to cover his own ass if he needed to retreat and buy himself precious seconds.

From all the way up here he had a great vantage point to see the feats of magic being performed below. Feats that warriors were lucky to witness once in a lifetime. Seeing that nearly square kilometer corpse golem was a level of dark magic he would have preferred to remain ignorant of.

"Somehow I don't feel keep on actually winning this fight." Came a voice from his left.

Aberforth looked up to see the young man with the Hogwarts sorting hat and goblin sword. His jet blue eye swiveling in his head to keep track of the battle below.

"Not if it means sharing a key to the multiverse with monsters like this."

Aberforth could see the reasoning in that. If this battle did end in victory, then it would devolve into a battle royal between the survivors to prevent that kind of universe spanning disaster.

He didn't see the Amaranth Sentire do so, but he felt the being shatter magic in it's entirety. He turned back to witness the wrongness of the colorless energy erupted from the Sentires palm.

Even from this distance he felt the nature of that energy, as all magic in his body screamed on in pain and danger. It was the feeling sentient fire would have if it witnessed a fireman turn on his hose. Or more accurately, sentient matter would feel if it witnessed the creation of antimatter.

"Antimagic." The hat said in awe. "The fundamental opposite to the enigmatic energy source of magic itself."

He was right. And like that high theoretical magic suddenly become not-so theoretical.

The waves of transparent energy, like heat waves over a tarmac made solid, slammed into the shambling golem of death center mass. It had no effect on the flesh and steel and other matter it was made of, but the magic which held it together annihilated with the antimagic instantly.

Good news: The explosive energy of magic and antimagic annihilating was multiple degrees less that matter and antimatter. The difference between the energy load of a bullet and a nuclear bomb.

Bad news: The reaction was still powerful enough to send a shockwave so great that Aberforth and his young skyward friend were nearly thrown bodily from their separate methods of flying.

Aberforth warred with his broom-enchanted rifle to stead himself and not plummet to the earth, when he did it was to see the devastation wrought by this beings use of strange matter.

A gash in the earth stretching to the horizon and almost a quarter kilometer wide. It stretched outwards from where the golem had been, and anything in its path would have surely been reduced to atoms.

Well that's two fewer competitors for the world-turner. It couldn't have happened to a nicer pair of ladies.

The poor folks still on the obsidian plate they had arrived on had also taken the brunt of the force. Blown into pieces. The Veela was most assuredly dead, but that shapeshifter still had a torso and head at least.

But now he understood what he was dealing with. This Amaranth Sentire was a destroyer of worlds, and he would continue to escalate the battle until they all stopped dicking around and started using the big guns on him.

"Caution to the wind then." He said.

He withdrew his trump card from his rucksack and made ready to use it. A single magazine with an undetectable expansion charm inside of it to allow the maximum number of rounds to be fired as possible.

How many rounds you ask? Well it was difficult to tell on account of this particular cartridge being designed to fire all of them at once. And these weren't your every day bullets. Each and every one was enchanted with a different spell. From jinxes to curses, from charms to healing spells.

That last one might seem counterintuitive, but spells have unpredictable and incredibly destructive effects when combined with other spells. There was simply no way of knowing what a healing charm in combination with a tripping jinx will do. Probably something nasty.

And that's the point of his hail Mary. He had to set his rifle to fire them all in a stream to ensure every single one struck the Sentire instead of as a wide spray onto a battlefield(as it was mean to be used.)

This was it. The most opportune moment to find a weakness in their foe.

Nothing, nobody, can perform that kind of magic and not be winded. He didn't care how ancient or inhuman it was. So now was likely the best chance to find some form of magic to harm it.

It was pure conjecture on his part, but surely their inability to harm the Sentire was due to some magical defenses. And the best way to get past such defenses was to drain the source of it. Which the Sentire had just done by performing that fest of antimagic. If antimagic was the source of his defensive or regenerative abilities then they would be lessened now, or possibly even paused.

That was a big IF though.

He leaned down over his trusty steed and braced himself as he took aim and pulled the trigger

He rarely got to feel the absolute pleasure of firing that trump card. The recoil. The magical energy backlash of all of those spells being fired at once. It was enough to make him pass out, and he almost did.

He managed to have the wherewithal to hang onto his steed and drift to the ground as he watched the storm of flashing omnichrome lights of spellbound bullets struck true.

Trying to focus on a self transformation could be difficult at times, even for an omnimorphmagi. Doing so while your body was going into shock from losing everything from the waist down and an entire arm, along with being disoriented from the concussive force of such an explosion, was nigh impossible.

And yet he was succeeding.

Rearranging his arteries and veins into a new circuit to stop the bleeding was the first and most important thing he did, before transforming some excess bone and cartilage into more blood for said system. Sealing the flesh wounds and the effected internal organs game next.

The bruising and cuts came last and even with them "healed" he still felt the echoes of their pain.

His plan to shank an immortal universe-hopping, reality-defying being of unlimited power had failed twice now, and he knew he wouldn't get a third chance.

He had enough awareness of his surroundings to bear witness to the mass of rave light bullets hit the Sentire dead center and erupt into a twisting mass of interacting spells. Transfigurations perverted by cursed, charms perverted by jinxes, all interacted and feeding back into each other until what what was the Amaranth Sentire became a fireworks show like no other.

Shoggoth knew better than to rest on his loreals just yet. No way that took their foe down. No room for such wishful thinking.

While he would like to sit their in awe of the feats pr his peers his shame wouldn't allow him. Here he was amongst allies who were performing magic not usually seen even once in a lifetime, and he was just dicking around.

And so he began his final, most absurd self-transformation of his entire life. One he had been able to do a smaller scale once or twice with mild success.

Each and every cell in his body was transfigured into the cell of a different tree or magical creature. An array of microscopic wand cores wrapped in microscopic honeycombs of wand wood. As many different cores as possible. As many different sheaths as possible.

By the time his transformation complete so too did the light show, and surely enough the Sentire rose from the great indent said display had created like a vengeful demon. He looked up to Sergeant Aberforth and wished him out of existence.

That's all Shoggoth could do to describe it. He had willed reality to bend as such that the soldier was never there. He couldn't explain how he knew it wasn't a simple vanishing charm, but something much grander. He simply felt a distinct wrongness, incomprehensibleness in the action, similar to the feelings he got from the similarly impossible devices and magics experimented with by unspeakables.

His hat-wieldng counterpart popped into existence just above the Sentire's head and took a swing, cleanly beheading him. Not that it mattered. Headless or not, he still wished him away. And so a second contestant was disqualified.

And that's what this was, disqualification. The Sentire wasn't fighting back, not really. Only fighting enough to encourage those he gathered to give their all in trying to kill him. And only killing them if their all wasn't good enough.

"Come over here you undying bastard, I've got my best waiting for you height here." Shoggoth growled, or more accurately whimpered.

The Sentire clearly heard him as he turned his eyeless gaze and approached.

"Do you have something more impressive than a little venom?" The Sentire asked rhetorically. "This will be the last chance I give you."

One chance was all he ever needed to show up these plebeians. To show this would-be god of the multiverse why he was the most feared gang lord in the world.

And so, with his body now a barely-living construct of wood and animal materials he manipulated the last part of himself. His brain.

Splitting ones brain right in half so as to allow both to function separately was ill-advised. Intentionally creating split personalities for both halves to consciously make use of the linguistic abilities of the frontal lobes was also pretty stupid.

But that was what it took to be able to concentrate on casting two spells simultaneously and combining them within his body in a suicide bombing to outshine any kamikaze pilots.

Avada Kadavra; Thought the left half.

Incendia Diabolique; Thought the right.

And so the green flames of the killing curse mixed with fiendfyre consumed him and his would-be killer. How's that for a magical feat?

Severus, Albus and Gellert finally finished creating their sonoluminescent bomb, using the wartorn Lily's power cell as it's core and reference. And not a moment too soon, as it was then that the entire arena erupted into green, undulating and animalistic flames exploring upwards for kilometers.

Avian, reptilian, aquatic and mammalian beast of fire all roared their desire to consume to sate their agony as they fell back to the earth. Their aura gave the same feeling to his magical senses as the killing curse.

"Now that there is some SERIOUS fucking magic!" Said the Harry/Voldemort fusion from where he was watching over what project the mirror Harry was working on.

Indeed it was. Severus had never seen anything like it. The marriage of the two deadliest spells in existence(to public knowledge) perfectly balanced and self-sustaining. A potentially world destroying piece of magic if left unchecked, or at least city consuming.

The flames spread rapidly, filling the entire fifteen kilometer circle of the arena and killing all within it. From the wartorn Lily to the pair of Aurors who had been so diligent in aiding from afar.

If he wasn't very much mistaken that just left their trio and the quartet behind him... no, there should be one other person. But for the life of him he couldn't remember. For some reason he felt like he should.

It didn't matter. The flames were advancing on them and even with three elder wands Severus was certain they couldn't form a barrier to stop and dissipate the flames. If it was regular fiendfyre? Maybe if it was just regular old fiendfyre, but there simply was no blocking or dispelling the killing curse.

... and yet the flames dissipated all the same. Written out of existence by the Sentires will. And who should be standing over him with the menacing presence of an alcoholic father over a baby than the Sentire himself.

"Seeing feats of magic like that, which even I have never before imagined, always brings me hope that somewhere amongst the spheres is somebody with the ingenuity and creativity to find a method of ending me." The Sentire said. "And your construction here makes me similarly hopeful. It is new to me."

Severus turn around at the sound of shatter glass to see the boy with the philosophers stone his chest creating a... he didn't quite have a word for it, a gateway made of shattered spacetime like a broken mirror? He and his companions wasted no time in charging through it and vanishing from this terrible place.

Lily, the Pottermore, the baby Harry and a little Red-haired girl he only now recalled the existence of now that he saw her. They were gone, and milliseconds later so was the only chance of escape as the portal closes.

Severus, Albus, Gellert and the Sentire all stood there in silence as they stared at the spot where they vanished. It was the Sentire to break the silence.

"... that is ALSO new to me. None have ever managed to leave my domain. I doubt any were capable or even interested in the prospect."

He paused and turned his head upwards to the other Earths orbiting the one they stood upon before nodding his head.

"They truly are gone. Back to another universe. Which one I know not, but I have an idea." He said ominously.

"Will you pursue them?" Asked Albus, as they were all still focused on maintaining the bomb and knew it would blow the moment they stopped

"Hmm. Not if this, what I can only presume is a fusion bomb, ends my life at last." He said honestly. "Is it radioactive radon condensed through the vibrations sonoluminescent in a sphere of heavy water?"

They nodded.

"Interesting. And not been tried before. Lo I have survived nuclear weaponry of all kind, who knows? Perhaps something about this configuration will prove different?" The Sentire offered as encouragement

Severus shared a look with his two companions. A look of despondency and loss.

"Come now. No need to be so nihilistic. You were worthy foes. I will give you as much time as you need to come to terms with your demise. Let go of the containment field when you are ready, and let us die together."

They needed only a few minutes of self-reflection before they did as told. And what a display of ingenuity it was! Fusion truly was the way to go with nuclear energy. The yield was such that a new sun, red and poisonous in light, sat upon the surface of the earth for several whole minutes. Irradiating the surrounding land with it's poisonous light.

It took with it so much of his lovely home. But the Sentire remained. The Amarinth Sentire ALWAYS remained after the battle. Alone. Alive.

Well, not alive. But remaining all the same. And so he sat there in the crater, his knees to his chest in some display of self comfort leftover from his humanity in a life long forgotten, even to him.

Universe: G Y A - 0 5 8 - 3 3 3

Location: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Great Ha

Date: October 30th, 1994

"But do not enter lightly!" Dumbledore warned the collective students of the three schools as he came to the end of his speech. "Once you enter into the tournament there is no turning back. You will be magically bound to compete."

He had the silent attention of everyone present.

". And I truly cannot stress enough the danger you will be putting your life in upon doing so..."

He was rudely interrupted when the doors to the great hall opened and in waltzed the boy who had, until now, been trapped in the Mirror of Erised since first year. And following behind him...

Yeah, even Dumbledore couldn't quite fathom the presence of another, younger Harry Potter being carried by a living, breath Lily Potter and escorted by an equally living, breathing Voldemort.

The terrified screams of students at the sight of the resurrected Dark Lord, many drawn wands and Severus nearly fainting beside him confirmed that he wasn't having a stroke.

"Albus." Lily greeted like they had last seen each-other just yesterday. "We have situation here."


Univers - 8 4 8 - 0 1 0

Location : Godric's Hollow

Date: December 24th 1986

At long last the Christmas eve wizengamot session was over, and her duties as the Potter retainer were over. And here she was, carrying carryout home to her son.

Seeing whole families celebrating these holidays this time of year, whole and intact, never made it easier. But such was the life as the widow of an ancient and nearly extinct house.

She returned to the sparsely decorated college and entered to find Peter taking an afternoon nap on the sofa. She rolled her eyes fondly before kicking the seat he lounged in, jarring him awake.


"I brought lunch. Ge get your godson to wash up and join us." She said.

"Oh right. HARRY! WASH UP FOR LUNCH! YOUR MOTHERS HOME! There, mission accomplished." Peter yelled/said as he stretched

She rolled her eyes again, but the fondness gave way to concern when there was no response. Not the sound of a four year old boy, charging down the stairs, not the thud of said four year old boy as he dropped everything he was doing to come down, not even a holler back. Silence.

Lily and Peter shared a panicked look before dropping everything and running up the stairs to Harry's room and what they saw turned their panic into... confusion.

In the middle of the room, where she would expect to find her toddler playing with his toys, was a hole. A gash in the air, in reality, as sharp as fragmented crystal.

So yeah, Christmas wasn't starting off so great.

"Should I get a stick to poke it?" Peter offered.

Lily did not appreciate her last living friends levity at a time like this, but she had to admit she had no better ideas in her panicked state.

So instead she took a deep breath and thought on what to do, and decided to do what anyone would do in this situation. Call Dumbledore.

A quick Patronus later and her message was sent. But in the time it took her to send the ethereal doe away the gash on reality had grown larger. From big enough for Harry to fit through, to large enough for her to fit through.

"I think it might be a good idea to get out of the house." Peter suggested.

Before Lily could even not the gash expanded to with such speed that it rocketed straight through the ceiling, floor and walls. All she heard as Peter tackled her to the ground was something big, metallic and heavy crashing through her home and reducing it to splinters.

They layed there in the uncomfortable position for several moments as they let the dust settle. The stood up, coughing and gasping to discover half of the Potter cottage missing. Its remains scattered in the long gash in the earth leading to the Muggle part of town.

It was as if a rocket ship's fuselage just fell from the sky and skipped across her front lawn into the shopping district. She could hear the scream and panics of people just over the hill even now.

"Lets go!" She commanded on instinct as she drew her wand and apparated down to the fissure.

Peter followed her obediently and bravely as they advanced on whatever invader dared to ruin their holidays, but all bravery left them as they reached the top of the hill and beheld it.

A submarine. What could only be described as an obsidian submarine of jagged design sat on the middle of town. It had a long, cylindrical body with silver recesses and an upside-down tetrahedron at its base. Not a solid one, but one made only of edges, with a sphere of similar make within it and a rod within said sphere.

"What the hell is going on?" Peter put her thoughts into words.

"Let us go find out." Lily replied as she began the descent.

She knew ministry obliviators already had their work cut out for them so she hid her wand up her sleeve as they approached the crowd already gathering around the craft.

They arrived none too soon, as a previously unseen divot in the skyscraper-sized machine split from the craft with a hiss of steam, before lowering into a platform to serve as stairs. And at the top of the platform stood a man. A machine man.

He wore on his chest a two dimensional representation of the tetrahedral structure at the base of the craft. A rod within a circle within an upside-down triangle. His body was like a knight's armor, smooth, bulky but definitely thicker with joints of hydraulic presses and wires.

He scanned the crowd as he descended the thirty meter slope towards them. And once he was close enough to distinctly make out she knew this was no machine, but a human being in some kind of... power armor. James and Remus had been more into Heinlein than her but even she knew she was looking at something far beyond current humanities capabilities.

And then the machine man noticed her.

"Homo Arcanum identified." His metallic speech range out into the crisp winter air. "Subject: Lily Evans. Priority level : Nova, kill on sight. Protocol : Extermination."

And with his mandate clearly stated the machine man clenched his fist and from his forearm reupped a thick, curved blade of molten metal.

Albus, you better hurry up.

Universe: I G Y - 6 5 9 - 0 3 2

Location: Downtown London

Date : June 5th 2004

Mundungus fletcher guided the new guest through the brothel with aplomb, indicating some of the cheaper specimen's chained to the wall.

The guest was pretty far along in his infection so he'd prefer not to spoil any of the quality products, but he insisted on one of the upstairs stock. He tried not to stare at the thick, black pustules he would surely develop in the years to come as his own sickness advanced and he would no longer be able to work here, at the best job he ever had.

Whatever. A paying customer is a paying customer.

"Excellent choice my friend. You will find that half Veela are just as good as the real thing." He lied, on two accounts seeing as the whores in the room he picked were only a quarter Veela, and nothing beats the real thing. "If you will follow me."

They soon arrived in a room with three beds. One housed the younger Veela, another housed a black-haired beauty that many considered to be on par with her peers. The third bed was empty.

"What?!" Mundungus shouted as he advanced on the bed.

The older quarter-veela was gone. Her chains cut cleanly. Which should be impossible for the high quality goblin slave bonds, and yet here he was looking at his lost job.

"Where is she?!" The customer demanded before descending into a coughing fit. "Where is the flower? I came for the flower!"

Fletcher could at least save the sell and hopefully weasel his way into keeping his job. He'd have to worry about that later and focus on the business at hand.

"Why would you want the older sister? The younger one is right here, and I assure you, lol she may not be so well endowed as her sister, she is quite a bit tighter." He told the truth this time.

"No, you blithering idiot! I'm dying! I have days left to live and I'm giving you the last knut to my name to ensure my final moments are to my pleasure." The man demanded.

He made a fair point. Even going beyond the basic principles of the customer always being right, not having the item in a stock for man crossing off the only thing on his bucket list was just poor form.

He turned back to the beds to consider his options. He could probably get the metamorph to transform into the missing girl. High paying customers would sometimes ask for that when one Fleur wasn't enough for their tastes. But this was a tough customer and wouldn't accept this deal if he knew.

It looked like he'd need to get his boss here to obliviate him and then let him have at the metamorph in disguise.

"Where am I?" The voice of death itself asked from behind him.

Mundungus spun around so fast it left his head spinning and the customer did the same, falling over himself to get away from the man who appeared behind them without a sound.

Mundungus recognized him. How could he not? That ravens nest of black hair down to the shoulder; Those piercing green eyes, filled with the hate and color of the killing curse. He didn't remember the boy being so emaciated and pale, nor reeking of rot and dust.

"Dung? I never thought I'd see you again." The dark and twisted doppelganger of Harry Potter greeted. "Is this a drea..."

He stopped mid question as he took in his surroundings. The chained beds. The dried bodily fluids on the floor. The reek of the sickness and shame.

"Gabrielle Delacour." He identified the girl on the left.

"Nymphadora Tonks." He said, turning to the second girl before laying those terrifying eyes on him.

"Dead men." He finished catalogue the room and drew his wand.

Both Mundungus and the customer went for their too but the speed and visciousness of Potter was impossible to match.

"Lascera Trouchleae!" He called out and a golden ribbon of rope struck the customer in the jaw and the ceiling directly above.

With a twist of his wrist Potter used the ancient pulley spell to rip the customers entire jaw out of his face, and a great deal of plaster from the ceiling. He dropped to the ground choking on his own tongue and blood.

Before Mundungus could utter the first syllable of his own curse Potter cast, of all things, a modified switching spell at him. And he felt the excruciating pain of his flesh being exposed to air.

standing next to him was his completely filleted skin. All of it, hair eyelids and fingernails. He cast the switching spell again and now another human shape stood to his left. Every tendon and connective tissue forming a macabre mannequin.

"Depulso." Potter said lazily as he send what remained of Mundugus crashing through the window.

Appearing beside him was a macabre mannequin of tendons and connective fats exactly in his image, like something out of an anatomy museum. The second spell sent him through the third story window.

The last thing he saw before all went dark was his own organs, bones and muscles raining down to splatter on the road with him. Unable to remain cohesive without the tissues the connective strange man had removed from him.


This is a story I had half written and fully outlined for years but never got around to working on. I decided that this, July 13th 2021, on my 28th birthday, I ought to put it out there.

That's right, this is my birthday present to you. Enjoy. I will update this story every year on July thirteenth, and publish side stories discussing the histories of different characters every Christmas. This Christmas's backstory is entirely up for you to vote on.

The story from now on will mostly focus on the Harry Potter from the Necromancer Hermione's universe as he is now stuck in the universe that the slave/feral Fleur came from. I'm conflicted on if I should pair him with Gabby or Tonks. The former is 18 in 2004 if my math is right and the latter is around 30. Maybe both? We will see.

It will often switch around to scenes focusing on the Lily and Peter from Baby Harry's universe and the entire entourage in the Mirror Harry's universe.

1) Shoggoth, the omnimorphmagi Harry.

Gang lord, underworld criminal and serial killer.

Capable of changing any part of his body into that of any organism and has mastered this ability to the point that he can synthesize any biochemical, magical or mundane.

If this seems overpowered, it isn't. It comes with the downside that wands can't recognize his ever-changing signature so their

"I can literally piss phoenix tears and shit caviar-encrusted truffles. But put a wand in my hand and I'm useless."

2) Rosaline Snape. The memory-erasing redheaded child.

The daughter of Severus and Lily of another universe, who is protected by the "Sacrificial Cradle". The result of the Fidelious collapsing into the Sacrificial protection from Lily's death.

Her existence is completely ignored unless the cradle recognizing them as safe or beneficial to her, and forgotten as quickly as she leaves their presence

3) Sergeant Aberforth.

Platoon commander of the French front lines on WW2. Brother to the famous firearm innovator Albus Dumbledore and welder of his terrible inventions against Grindelwald and Fritz Heiber's machinations.

Two rivals toying with the marriage of magic and technology to devastating effects.

4) The Amarinth Sentire himself.

His origins, his story, his plan.

Vote now in the reviews.

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