Dresden Files, Harry Potter 1. Ch1: Fade to White

_**Beyond Grave Peril**_

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

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_**Chapter One:**_ Fade to White

A dark-clad figure stood in the middle of a lavishly decorated room his right arm outstretched and a wand clutched tightly in the gloved hand. Wisps of dark smoke curled upwards from the wand tip alongside an occasional bright spark, glowing with the same terror-inducing shade of green as the dreaded curse it had spat out mere seconds previously.

Lord Voldemort's lifeless body was sprawled on the shiny parquet not two yards from the black-robed wizard. The Dark Lord's bald head touched the edge of the thick, rust-coloured carpet that was mostly hidden under a huge wooden table in the centre of the large room. The apartment itself was done mainly in rich colours of dark red and the deepest black.

The bright flash of sickly green light had died out seconds ago, but the invisible wind continued to howl while threads of oily darkness rose up from the Dark Lord's corpse, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape. Cruel, red eyes shone like hot coals amidst the cloud of inky shadows and the spectre's mere presence seemed to draw all warmth and light out of the large room, cloaking it in cold twilight. "This doesn't end here, Potter!" screeched the apparition piercingly, each high-pitched word loaded with seething anger and impotent fury. "I will make you regret this!"

With those hate-filled words the shadowy spectre was gone and its almost Dementor-like presence vanished. The room temperature quickly returned back to normal and the magical lights, which had been flickering, shone brightly again.

Seventeen-year-old Harry Potter lowered his still-smoking wand. The echo of the softly spoken lethal words '_Avada Kedavra'_ seemed to linger still, and he felt inexplicably tainted. It was as if he was drowning in sin, like his hands were slick with invisible blood that couldn't be washed away no matter how hard he tried. The worst thing was the sheer, undeniable pleasure he had felt using the Killing Curse. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to cast the Unforgivable again just to feel the invigorating surge of sweet, if tainted, power rushing through his veins. He was slipping, the young wizard knew. Too many times, he had let the Dark Arts consume part of himself to destroy his opponents... And this time there was no 'glorious' battle to serve as an excuse, no honourable wizard-versus-wizard duel, just an old-fashioned sneak-attack.

Of course, the murderous bastard wasn't truly dead and this war was far from being over. Instead, Voldemort's thrice-damned Horcruxes guaranteed that his mangled soul would not depart from this world before they were all destroyed, which they unfortunately were not, despite the Order's best efforts. Scratching the back of his head and mussing his black, already unruly hair, Harry decided that at least Voldemort was now a bit deader than just a few moments ago. It _had_ to be an improvement.

Somewhere during this stupid war, the Dark Lord had finally done the sensible thing and sunk one of his soul-fragments into the bottom of an ocean in an unplottable and indestructible box. There was no way of ever finding that particular Horcrux – Harry doubted that Voldemort himself could find it if he suddenly needed to get his hands on it again. Moreover, if rumours were to be believed Bellatrix had made a Horcrux, too, supposedly using Neville's death to fuel the foul magic. The young wizard suddenly had a highly disturbing mental image where dozens of semi-immortal Dark sorcerers kept running amok across the countryside and reviving the ones that got offed almost as soon as their bodies went stiff.

This morning, just a few hours ago, Harry had woken after a rough night. Nightmares were becoming all too common lately; restful sleep had become a rare treat since Voldemort took over the Ministry. He had stared absently at the white ceiling where an intricate web of small cracks could be seen and wondered how he could find the remaining Horcruxes before the Dark Lord defeated the last bastions of resistance, when he suddenly had another vision. And not just any vision – he had seen Voldemort telling his base's location to one of his new Death Eater recruits.

After pondering his options for a short while, Harry had decided to do something both very drastic and very dangerous. Without notifying Ron, Hermione, Ginny or anyone else for that matter, he had tracked down the newly initiated Death Eater he had seen in the vision, Eddie Carmichael, and then promptly cut off the traitor's left arm freshly decorated with the fancy, soul-tainting, magical tattoo. The once Ravenclaw wizard hadn't put up much fight, and after the almost pathetically-brief duel Harry had Obliviated him, kicked the idiot into the nearest fireplace and then flooed him to St. Mungo's. Now 'armed' with the Dark Mark and having been 'told' the Death Eater base's location by the Dark Lord himself, he had Apparated into the manor with neither the multitude of lethal wards nor the obscure Fidelius Charm stopping him.

Harry drew his mind back to the present moment and the corpse of his apparently immortal enemy at his feet. He was wondering what to do next when the large, oaken door behind him opened with a loud creak that sent shivers down his spine and somebody stepped into the room. "My Lord–" the man started and Harry reacted in an instant, acting purely on instinct fine-honed by the war, where he was the enemy's number one target. He spun around, a brilliant jet of scarlet light leaving his wand tip in a split-second and hitting straight between the rather surprised Death Eater's eyes.

The man's head exploded into red and grey splatter, the shower of warm and sticky goo staining everything around, including Harry's white mask and the black over-robe he had gotten just for this occasion. Well, actually they were Carmichael's and the young wizard didn't care too much as he had no plans of wearing those garments ever again. Harry had no doubt that when the Dark Lord eventually regained a body – hopefully a process that would take a very long time – the security measures would be tightened so that he couldn't manage this little trick again. Harry shrugged and ripped his gaze from the new, lifeless corpse carpeting the floor. At least he could laugh his ass off now...

Suddenly booming alarms went off all around the large manor, shaking the intricate silver instruments scattered on the large, chestnut-coloured, wooden table that dominated the richly furnished room and the large collection of crystal wineglasses on dark wooden shelves, and made Harry's ears ring. The briefest moment later, there was a distinct flash of spiritual coldness that signified an anti-Apparation ward powering up. And from the surprisingly oppressive feeling of the ward, he knew that it was a very strong one; there was no way he could burst through the magical barrier. Even attempting it would mean risking a severe, and possibly even lethal, splinching.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Harry as he lowered his wand. He had to admit, though, that it was somewhat amusing that while the Dark Lord's wards didn't react to a _freaking_ Unforgivable, an ordinary Blasting Curse was enough to set them off. Someone certainly had his priorities wrong...

Harry sighed dejectedly and refocused back to the matter at hand; a single flick of his holly wand and a softly spoken _'Incendio'_ sent a tongue of searing fire coiling around Voldemort's disfigured corpse. Destroying the snake-like body was a simple precaution on his part to ensure that the Dark Lord could not simply re-posses it, assuming that was even possible. The revolting stench of burning flesh filled the air, nearly causing Harry to throw up and making him wish he could just use a Bubble-Head Charm. It was a real pity that the spell somewhat obscured vision and severely muddled sounds, making it more than just unsuitable for combat.

Deciding it would not be a very good idea to be here when the cavalry arrived, Harry stepped over the headless body sprawled on the bloodstained floor, being careful not to step in the pool of crimson left from the beheading, and walked out of the Dark Lord's lavish sitting room into an oddly Spartan corridor.

Harry could hear a series of loud footsteps coming closer to his location and so he quickly regarded his surroundings, searching for something that could give him advantage in the upcoming fight. He found nothing except for a yard-wide chalk circle drawn on the floor not far from him. The few runes he recognised led him to believe it was some kind of Transportation Circle. It did not look like it was activated but he decided to avoid it nevertheless. It most certainly wasn't benign – probably an unfinished trap designed to teleport unwanted visitors into the heart of an active volcano or something along those lines. The corridor, poorly lit by a score of expensive, everburning torches attached high on the windowless walls, stretched away towards a sharp corner about seven yards from him.

The running footsteps become even louder and Harry kept fingering the grip of his goblin-brought shortsword hidden under his pitch-black over-robe in nervous anticipation, before drawing the magnificent blade from its plain scabbard with a nearly inaudible hiss of metal sliding against wood. Harry's heart raced, his breathing was unnecessarily sharp and he felt an unpleasant, churning feeling in his stomach. There would be more killing, more blood and gore...

A large group of Death Eaters came in a rush: a confused flood of guttural shouting voices and dark robes, attracted by the alarm that had rung through the whole manor. Harry crouched low and raised his wand to shoulder level, before slashing it horizontally, Dark magic singing in his blood. The many ruthless battles he had participated in over the last few months had taught him the utmost importance of the first strike. Harry was well aware that his spell repertoire was very limited compared to many and that he lacked any talent for combat Transfiguration, warding, and other highly complicated magic that the likes of Dumbledore and Voldemort seemed to throw around effortlessly. But on the other hand, he also knew what he _did_ have – speed and raw power – and more importantly, he knew how to use them to a deadly effect.

The first two Death Eaters went down in a storm of grasping limbs and severed body parts, blocking the hallway for a second and almost tripping those behind them, after a deadly arc of purple fire briefly illuminated the corridor and hurled boiled blood and small bits of partially scorched flesh across the walls and floor. Their agonized screams, while only lasting for less than a second, were terrible.

Not a long time ago, Harry might have even felt sorry for them but now he just felt numb and slightly nauseated. He got no joy from killing, but he had to do so over and over again; it was either him or them. He may not have liked it but a war necessitated a different set of morals; and if anything, Harry was a survivor. He had survived Voldemort as a small baby, he had survived ten long years with Dursleys and he had even survived six years of magical schooling, thwarting at least one assassination attempt each year. And he intended to survive this damned war, too. About a year ago, after Hogwarts' fall, Harry had come to a realisation that refusing to kill would only increase the total number of casualties and likely eventually lead to Voldemort's victory. Since then, Harry had had plenty of practice surviving...and _killing_.

The remaining Death Eaters speedily sent a barrage of low-to-mid-level Dark curses and hexes at Harry, who gracefully dropped onto the floor, letting the phosphorescent light blossoms zoom over him. The lethal spells hammered against the walls all around him, detonating with loud bangs and filling the air with grey stone dust and fiery sparks of magic. Quickly rolling over the dirty floor he avoided a streak of scarlet light that, instead of tearing a walnut-sized hole onto the young sorcerer's body, ripped up a few floorboards with a thunderous boom, showering the dimly-lit corridor with burning shrapnel.

Harry was already back on his feet, a lightning-fast swing of his silver blade deftly batting a brilliant ray of hazel light towards the ceiling. A jab of his holly wand accompanied by a muttered incantation sent a blazing bolt of green fire capering through his eyesight, an amorphous strand of purple and blue left hanging nebulously in its wake. Harry wasn't an expert swordsman by any stretch of imagination, but he certainly was becoming adept at deflecting incoming spells with his sword, or rather _Gryffindor's_ sword.

The one unlucky enough to be the recipient of the high-end Combustion Curse apparently didn't know of the spell's potent shield-breaking capabilities; the idiot tried to block it with a purple barrier instead of simply dodging it. Harry watched in morbid fascination, unable tear his gaze away as the deadly curse tore through the barely average _Contego_ shield, shattering it like a fragile piece of coloured glass, and instantly torched the Dark wizard. The man went down in a blinding flash of neon-green fire, nothing but black bones and a cloud of grey ash hitting the floor a second later. The Death Eater died so fast he didn't have even time to scream which was something Harry considered a blessing.

The air, superheated by Harry's spell, expanded with a great force. The blast of searing air billowed his robes and almost made him reel backwards, filling the dark hallway with thick clouds of suffocating smoke and a terrible burning stench. Harry made it a point to _not_ breathe through his nose, doing otherwise would probably cause him to instantly empty his stomach to the floor. He fluidly sidestepped the vibrant-yellow beam of a Flesh-Ripping Curse sent by the nearest Death Eater only to step directly into the path of a Lung-Collapsing Curse cast by another white-masked magician. The pulsating bolt of blue light slammed into his stomach with the force of a sledgehammer, blasting the wind out of him and sending him staggering a few steps backwards.

A burning pain surged through his chest and he suddenly found it almost impossible to breathe, the coppery tang of blood filling his mouth. Still, despite all this, he managed to non-verbally bring up a silvery shield to deflect two roaring curses back to their respective casters before the spells would have ripped him apart in an explosion of boiled blood. As two of the three remaining Death Eaters were forced to deal with their own rebounding curses, Harry swung his left arm, sending his goblin-silver sword spinning through the air, the large rubies embedded on its hilt glittering in the torchlight. The heavily enchanted blade went straight through the Death Eaters' shields like they hadn't even been there and a split second later it cut a white-masked head cleanly off the woman's shoulders.

Bright-red blood fountained freely from the torn arteries, staining everything around the decapitated witch with scarlet and the severed head arched through the air, the female Death Eater's long, ash blonde hair fanning behind. The headless corpse crumpled silently into a black heap on the floor and the head hit the parquet a second later, rolling a few feet on the bloodstained floorboards before stopping so that her face was facing Harry. Her lifeless eyes seemed to be staring at him accusingly through the skull-like mask's eyeholes.

The silver sword glanced a wall with a high-pitched screech and chipped of a few pieces of grey stone, before rebounding and clattering loudly to the parquet behind the Death Eaters, leaving large cuts on the dark floorboards. The brunette witch standing next to the victim of decapitation almost panicked as she was suddenly coated in hot blood. She was still wiping the sticky, red liquid from her terror-filled eyes and loudly muttering 'Oh God... Oh, merciful God' when an amethyst _Defodio_ slammed directly into her upper chest and violently interrupted the repetitive speech. The Gouging Charm tore a hole larger than Harry's fist through her thorax and showered the hallway behind her with crimson. Easily overpowering the earlier sulphuric smell, the sickening stench of blood quickly saturated the air.

Now as both witches were down, there was just one enemy left, but unfortunately, he seemed to be the most competent of the bunch. To make things worse, Harry was quickly slowing down, his vision clouding with an alarming rate due the lack of oxygen. The pain was severe and he felt like he could collapse at any moment now, his legs becoming wobblier with every passing moment. Somehow he got the impression that this was going to be his last fight, but nevertheless he absolutely refused to give up. If he had survived against the odds up to this point, he could survive this too...

Then the remaining Death Eater hissed something that Harry couldn't quite hear while slashing his wand vertically, the action unleashing a long-tailed jet of azure fire at the young wizard with a weird crackling-hiss. And Harry, having no time to bring up a good enough shield, simply sidestepped the high-powered spell. This turned out to be a very bad decision when the white-masked man's wand made the tiniest of flicks, causing the fiery filament to explode with a tremendous force just as it was passing Harry.

A large part of the hallway was briefly enveloped in swirling blue flames and an ear-splitting boom echoed through the shadowed corridors of Riddle Manor. Harry was promptly hurled against the hard, stonewall with a bone-shattering force and only the handful of protective spells he had cast on himself before coming here kept him from being immolated or ripped apart by the powerful, magical explosion. After the painful crash, he crumbled to the floor like a rag-doll. His dark clothes and hair were smouldering a little and the white, porcelain mask he wore was now blackened and covered in an intricate web of hairline fractures.

Harry was in great pain and a few agonized hisses and grunts escaped his bloodied lips as he lay on the scorched floor. He was badly burned and the sharp waves of pain told him that he had broken his wand arm slamming shoulder first against the wall. His lungs hurt worse than ever and he saw everything in duplicate. He closed his eyes, trying to refocus and clear his vision. It was very hard, especially because he was quickly running out of oxygen. Harry was slowly 'drowning' like a fish on a dry land.

A few wasted seconds later, he reopened his emerald eyes and lifted his head from the bloodstained floor only to hazily see the Death Eater standing victoriously a few feet in front of him, a wand levelled at his face, a continuous stream of angry red sparks escaping the wand tip. Harry experienced a brief moment of focal lucidity, his pupils dilating in dread and cold sweat running down his back as his gaze fixated on the offending wand, and if he had any breath left he would have cursed profoundly. In the Muggle way, mind you – not magically.

The Death Eater's gloved hand reached up and his white mask came off, revealing grey eyes and an aristocratic face Harry instantly recognised: Lucius _bloody_ Malfoy. A second later, the discarded, skull-like mask shattered against the blackened floorboards with a loud crack, scattering tiny porcelain shards into a wide area. This time the Dark wizard did not wear his customary sneer, nor did he look like he had crap under his nose; instead his face was a mask of pure hatred. His mouth was almost foaming, disgusting amounts of spittle flying with every laboured exhale, and Harry couldn't help but notice the fat tears falling unrestrained on Malfoy's cheeks. He looked more than a little mad and the reason for it was revealed to Harry as soon as the man spoke.

"You pathetic half-blood filth just killed my wife and son," snarled Malfoy through his clenched, sparklingly white teeth, hatred oozing from every barely understandable word. "The Dark Lord's orders be damned, I will kill you myself! _Avada Ke_-"

The man's words were cut off by a bloody sword tip protruding out of his chest, crimson slowly trickling from the wound and running downwards the blade. The Death Eater looked at the silver brand and the red dripping from its tip in a stunned silence for a few seconds before falling to the floor in a heap, the collapsing body missing Harry by a few inches.

The warm blood oozing from the hole on the man's chest pooled on the floor and the expanding threads of crimson soon reached Harry's prone form, quickly soaking through his dark robes. He spat a few drops of blood off his mouth and slowly rolled so that he was lying on his back, completely dismissing the fact that the action led him into another puddle of sticky blood. His wand slipped from his broken fingers, rolling a few inches on the bloodstained floor before stopping.

While he was trying to gasp for breath, his eyes locked onto the corpse right next to him. The bigoted bastard most certainly hadn't expected a simple Summoning Charm. Harry snorted amusedly, and then coughed painfully as the motion hurt like hell. Luckily, he knew the charm inside out and could cast it both silently and without any wand movements... Even his broken arm that had been sandwiched between the floor and his chest hadn't stopped him.

The world kept spinning around him, seemingly gaining more momentum with every passing second, and his ears were still ringing from the explosion. His lungs felt like they were on fire, his skin was one big first and second degree burn, and almost every bone in his wand arm was shattered, every movement causing jolts of piercing pain. Harry's feeble Occlumency skills could not do much more than to slightly dim the all-encompassing agony that threatened to engulf him in its black abyss. Once again, the young wizard cursed the fact that Snape couldn't even teach a fish to swim... Honestly, if it were not for Hermione, he wouldn't be able to do even the little Occlumency he could now.

Harry lifted his wand shakily from the scorched floor with his still working left hand. Fighting the dizzying waves of pain, he pointed the wooden stick at his chest. His hand trembled almost violently and his desperate attempts to vocalise the incantation failed miserably, producing only pained coughs and a few faint, unintelligible 'words.' In the shape he was now, he just couldn't scrape up enough concentration to do it silently. His strength was rapidly running out and a cold numbness was seeping deep into his body.

The spell he was trying to cast was called the Blood Refreshing Charm. Originally designed for diving, the charm eliminated the need to breathe by oxidizing blood and removing the produced carbon dioxide, making it an excellent spell for the situation he was in. If he could just get it to work, he might even survive to fight another day. The pain was fading, but it wasn't exactly a good thing as it was replaced by even more dangerous drowsiness. His eyelids seemed to weigh at least a ton...

Harry blinked confusedly as a soft, red glow filled the ravaged corridor, accompanied by the distinct smell of brimstone and weird sizzling sounds. He turned his head slightly and what he saw was far from reassuring – the runes that he had seen earlier were now burning brightly all around him, a steady flow of grey smoke rising from the arcane symbols. A fresh wave of panic rose within him. He was lying in an unknown, _activating_ runic circle! He had to get away and fast...

But it was already too late. Before he had moved an inch, the chalk circle flared up, enveloping the hallway in its blinding radiance. Wild torrents of burning magic roared through Harry's veins and his sight become even more blurry, dots of colour swimming all over his vision in a mad pattern. His senses were assaulted with myriad of impressions: the sharp scent of ozone tickling his nose, warm hands fluttering all over his skin and banishing the dreadful cold that had been invading his body, and an acidic taste of vinegar on his tongue.

The foreign power rushing wildly through his body and soul drew the last vestiges of his strength with it and Harry could only lie on the floor, helplessly waiting his life come to an end. He would have thought that in a situation like this he could be calm and accepting, but he wasn't. Panic, frustration, anger and despair were all that Harry felt, and he would have shouted his defiance had he been able to. The heat quickly rose to painful heights and he screamed soundlessly as he felt his body ignite.

He could vaguely hear a high-pitched scream before his world went white.


	2. Ch2: The Other Side of the Circle

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

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_**Chapter Two:**_ The Other Side of the Circle

Somewhere under one of the poorer parts of Chicago, a certain individual was performing a forbidden ritual – she was trying to breach the Outer Gates and summon an Outsider to do her bidding. She knew that the seventh law of the White Council, the world's greatest conclave of wizards, forbid such practices under pain of death, but she wasn't about to stop now as she was so close of fulfilling her goals. Besides, if she succeeded, the aforementioned Council would not be a problem for long.

She forced her excitement and nervousness to the back of her mind as she begun uttering the last seven quatrains of her incantation, the complex spell spilling from her lips in a continuous stream of syllables. She had finally found all of the information and items she required to attempt this highly complicated summoning. It had taken her a full four hours to draw the three-layered circle and the multitude of elaborate symbols that now glowed dimly before her. Prior to that, there had been three months of collecting components, scouting for a suitable location and waiting for a good opportunity. However these were but blinks of the eye compared to the fifteen long years of painstaking investigation, research, and practice that had allowed her to truly begin her quest for vengeance and justice.

Legends scribed in the margins of ancient tomes and whispered amongst practitioners of the Art claimed that beyond the known world were beings of almost unsurpassed power, whose mere presence was enough to bend reality and send most mortals into throes of insanity. It was said that reality itself was a far-too-frail cage to truly hold these mighty beings and that God himself had exiled them into the dark edges of the multiverse, imprisoning them for all eternity in endless, bleak darkness.

Now the prison was in a process of being broken; each chanted word was like a small pick chipping the sturdy stonewall that separated their dimensions – slowly but surely. It was only matter of time until the mighty barrier would break under the unceasing efforts of the strong, female warlock.

She had always known that reality was a fragile thing, composed of a host forces beyond the ken of most mortals and immortals alike, awaiting only the hand that knows and eyes that see. She knew, she saw. And thus, the power beckoned her. Tonight she would finally answer.

The runes carved onto her staff flared into life with brilliant reddish-orange light as she reached both inwards and outwards, tapping greedily into every source of magic she could find. A loud cackle filled her ears and red lightning snaked alongside the long wooden cane as she channelled the wild power of the storm raging outside as well as her own seething anger and almost unholy thirst for vengeance into the spell. The barely controlled power surged near painfully through her body, and her staff vibrated almost violently in her hands, quickly gaining heat – like it was a pipe used to channel liquid fire. The revolting stench of brimstone filled her nose and the wooden shaft burned agonisingly into her palms and fingers but she knew better than to let go – doing so would invite disaster. The backlash would make Pompeii look outright tame...

Gathering her will she pushed the immense build-up of searing power into the carefully prepared circle, causing the complicated line works and symbols drawn onto the floor to glow brighter, and igniting the ethereal purple flames that began fanning over the whole circle. The large gold mirror in the centre of the summoning ring started to glow as well, albeit with a pure silver light. Her breath fogged slightly in the bright light, making her archaic words nearly visible as she chanted. The wind howled in her ears, gaining more speed and force with each spoken syllable, and her vision was obscured by bright sparks of magic rising from the flickering pool of amethyst fire. When she came to the end of her long string of quasi-Latin, she felt the magic tear at her will, as if the thrumming threads of blazing power were trying to force itself of the restrictions she had put on them.

Just as she thought she couldn't hold the spell a second longer and that the mystic energies she sought to control would reduce her to a greasy spot on the floor, all individual threads of searing power suddenly snapped together and the dimensions were bridged, the majority of Circle's energy dissipating into the vast, lightless void.

Then with the final howl of wind and a blinding blast of light, the swirling flames rose higher and the mirror burning with the brilliance of midday's sun shattered into thousands drops of molten glass supercharged with leftover magic. The lethal shower of burning droplets clattered harmlessly against the invisible but far from intangible barrier created by the Circle and a human-sized figure appeared in the middle of the smoking frames. The sudden materialisation was accompanied with something that looked like an explosion of liquid shadows.

The inky darkness dispersed almost instantly and the figure stood still, oily tentacles of dark smoke curving slowly upwards around its body, briefly forming into a helix before slowly dissipating into the air. The Outsider was not raging against the magical barrier like the demons of Nevernever were required to do, nor was it trying to threaten or cajole her like the fairies of Seelie and Unseelie. It just stood there almost unmoving, only slightly turning its head to look at her.

She was somewhat disgusted with the fact that the demon seemed to be checking her out... And not only that – the soulless Outsider demon had dared to assume a human shape, and considering the quality of the highly detailed clothing the thing had created as it materialised, she was willing to bet that the body hidden under the concealing robes was perfectly and undistinguishable human, even if the spirit that inhabited it was anything but. In a way, the Outsider was the very image of a fallen angel, a dark malice shrouded in a pure shell. But on the other hand, she certainly did not want to see the demon's true form and so she, perhaps, should be just thankful about it.

The Outsider's entire attire spoke of wealth...and a sense of style that went obsolete at least two hundred years ago. It was wearing flowing, dark robes of some velvety material and a gleaming white mask that concealed its features. A few locks of unruly, black hair dangled over the skull-like mask and she could see the demon's emerald eyes glinting behind the eye-slits. She immediately turned her gaze away – not wanting to know what the Outsider could do to her mind if she was foolish enough to meet its eyes. The pitch-black over robe with silver and deep green trim hung wide open, revealing a high-necked dark-green under robe with hems and the collar richly embroidered with thick golden threads woven in a highly complicated pattern, and a wide burgundy coloured leather belt that went twice around the Outsider's waist. An empty, black scabbard hung on the gold buckled belt and she briefly wondered what had happened to the blade it used to contain. On the gloved, human-like hand that peeked out under the long black sleeve the demon had a small wooden stick, which reminded her of a blasting rod, except it was much thinner and a bit shorter.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by a soft swish of the Outsider's dark robes. The demon seemed to be highly disoriented, which was made even more evident as it lifted its gloved hand in front of its eyes, flexing the fingers. Somehow, she got an impression that the Outsider hardly believed its eyes. Perhaps it hadn't been summoned ever before? It wouldn't be inconceivable as summoning Outsider was an occurrence only slightly more common than a Denarian celebrating Christmas.

Then an unthinkable happened; the Outsider seemed to stumble, taking a step backwards and somehow going straight through the supposedly impenetrable Summoning Circle. Her mouth dropped wide open and her blue eyes widened in utter terror while her face lost all of its colour. She couldn't understand how the demon be was strong enough to break through the magical barrier that could keep an archangel in... No, it was even worse, she quickly realised and gulped loudly. The Outsider had not even broken the Circle – it just casually slipped through the barrier like it wasn't even worth its notice. Moreover, to think that the Outsider had managed to do this without her feeling anything... Her breathing quickened as paralysing fear churned her innards. How strong was it! Was it immune even to Circles? Had she accidentally summoned one of the Dread Lords instead of a 'common' Fell Knight?

She held her wizard's staff protectively in front of her, the arcane symbols inscribed on the dark wood glowing with bright, fiery orange light. She clutched the wooden device so tight in her trembling hands that her knuckles went white. She knew that if the demon attacked, she could do nothing to stop it as quick and dirty evocations had never truly been her forte. Sure, she could easily decimate any normal human or even a vampire of any Court in a few seconds, but Outsiders were notoriously magic resistant and any spell that was capable of destroying it would probably kill her too at this distance and, unlike the demon, she wouldn't just eventually reform. No, fighting was not really an option here...

Cold sweat ran down her back and she was taking slow steps backwards, away from the freed demon. She pondered her options, quickly deciding the most sensible action and then promptly acting on it before the Outsider could recover from its stupor. Abandoning her pride, she ran for her life, hoping that the demon wouldn't follow her outside into the magic-dissipating downpour.

She couldn't have her revenge if she was dead, after all.

* * *

Magic roared through his veins and his vision went white. Harry could feel himself detach from his body to become something intangible. He lost all his physical senses but gained...awareness that was much more acute than anything he could have ever imagined. Time and space lost their meaning as he fell through the endless void.

Something struck him. He could only describe it as chanting given a physical form, except that nobody actually spoke the words. Still each inexplicable syllable was fire-branded directly into his consciousness, the words scribed in thousands of forgotten alphabets taking up an arcane orbit around his mind.

His world exploded into a realm of pain, or at least he thought it would have been pain had he been able to actually feel anything. In shades of shrieking red, endless black and brilliant yellow, the cosmic forces underlying the multiverse made themselves known to him, enveloping him in a cascade of swirling colours.

Then it was over and his senses returned to him. It felt like he was suddenly set on fire only to be then doused in ice-cold water.

Harry blinked as he regarded his new surroundings in total amazement. He was standing in the middle of a shadowed room filled with foreign magic. It wasn't anything like the calm, almost soothing power that permeated the Hogwarts corridors. No, this energy was blazing, vibrant and somehow much more..._solid_, if something fully intangible could be called as such. Harry wasn't exactly sure whether it was even magic or something else entirely...

A dark-clad woman was standing a few feet from him, breathing heavily and leaning on a staff as if she had just recently exerted herself. She was looking at him expectantly, but for some reason kept avoiding his gaze. The woman looked like she was from Nordic descent; she had fair hair, light complexion, greyish-blue eyes and she stood an inch taller than he did, but that could be attributed to the black high-heels she wore.

She was also a witch – the long wooden staff that was engraved with blazing runes made that abundantly clear. While History of Magic lessons had pretty much skimmed over alternative magical foci, the young wizard knew that staffs had been widely used before modern wands were invented near the end of the fourth century. Harry briefly wondered why the woman was using an inferior and antiquated tool instead of a proper wand.

A few oily threads of dark smoke were slowly spiralling upward around him, already in the process of dissipating, and a quick glance down told him that the floor beneath him was sheathed in purple flames that were also quickly flickering away. The flames seemed to be completely illusory, however, as they did not burn him or radiate any heat. Another thing that caught his notice was a weird gold rim surrounding him vertically, like a thin doorway, but without the wall.

The most peculiar thing, however, was that the pain was gone and could stand and breathe without any problems at all. He felt very tired physically, mentally, and even magically, and his whole body was stiff and aching, but he was in no real pain. Harry breathed in deeply and enjoyed the blissful feeling of air flowing into his lungs, despite said air being almost uncomfortably hot, before lifting his right arm that should have been broken into his eye level, slowly flexing his fingers and making circular motions with his supposedly broken wrist to just see if everything was working. It was – the arm that had been badly fractured was now inexplicably healed just like his lungs.

At this very moment, the magical flames died away and Harry noticed that he was standing in some kind of runic circle. Already shocked and confused, this was all that was needed to send a wave of panic coursing through him. He stumbled a few steps backwards, almost managing to trip on the sword that had been lying on the floor just behind him, and it felt like he had stepped through something ice-cold and partially solid.

Warmth and magic were suddenly drawn out of him and he shivered, a soft hiss escaping his lips. It felt like someone had stuck dozens of icy needles deep into his flesh and the next few seconds made it clear that he had just accidentally done something he certainly shouldn't have as the edges of his vision seemed to blur and the trembling increased tenfold. Harry managed to take a few shaky steps before collapsing to the dusty concrete floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

He felt weak and utterly spent as he lay on the floor waiting for the dizzy spell to pass and some strength to return to his trembling limbs. Harry seriously hoped that the witch he had seen wasn't on Voldemort's side, because if she was, he would soon be an ex-wizard – a _dead_ wizard to be more exact. It was not like he was in any shape to fight if she decided to attack; Harry could hardly lift his wand, let alone duel a fresh opponent. The young wizard turned his head resting against the floor to look at the thirty-something woman, but she wasn't there anymore and he could faintly hear her running-steps going further away from him. Harry blinked in confusion. Why was she running away?

The only conclusion that made any sense to him was that the circle was not supposed to transport him here and the witch had just gotten scared when she saw a man wearing Death Eater garb appearing out of nowhere. Harry sighed as he stared at the unpainted concrete ceiling that hung three yards above him. He knew that something must have gone spectacularly awry_._ It was not exactly Voldemort's style to simply kick the intruders out from his base without harming them – yet alone _healing_ them in the process. The Gryffindor wizard smirked weakly with no real mirth. He really did have all the luck; improbability was always with him in both good and bad...

It took him a few minutes to regain enough strength to stand up. As he almost absently dusted his dark robes with his free hand, he noticed something very odd: the robes were in a pristine condition discounting the small amount grime and dust from the floor. He could see no bloodstains, no rips, no cuts, no burns... Nothing! No visible trace of his recent fight against the bunch of bigoted Death Eaters remained... Even his skull-like mask was somehow whole and untarnished again – Hell, it probably looked better than it did when he had stolen it. The teleportation must have fixed his clothes too...

Harry looked around, searching for any clues about his current whereabouts. He was clearly in some sort of basement – the bare concrete floor and the multitude of pipes attached on the brick walls made that more than obvious. Interestingly enough, the room was lit by a score of paraffin lamps scattered on the walls, strangely put on one of the horizontal pipes. It certainly wasn't the safest idea, especially not when the witch obviously hadn't even bothered to apply measly Sticking Charms on them to keep them from falling; one of the lamps had already dropped and shattered against the dirty floor, spreading nearly half gallon of burning paraffin oil on the grey concrete.

A single jab of Harry's holly wand snuffed the brightly burning flames and a thin film of frost spread over the floor and the pieces of the broken lamp. Normally he would not have even felt the minuscule amount of magic spent on as minor spell as the Freezing Charm, but now the drainage was easily noticeable. It was an all too clear sign of that he was scraping the bottom of his magical reserves.

Harry absently twirled his wand in his fingers as he pondered his next move. Unless he was still in England or somewhere near it, he couldn't just Apparate back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Or at least not until he had rested. He didn't really feel like performing an intercontinental Apparation in his current shape, or in any shape really.

Harry took a few steps towards the runic ring and lifted the silver sword from the floor, being extra careful not to touch still dimly glowing lines of the circle. He had had more than enough magical accidents for one day already. Then he sheathed the deadly blade slowly and with utmost care. It simply would not do to accidentally cut himself because of shaky hands as the goblin-made weapon had absorbed the venomous qualities of a basilisk when he had used it to kill the great serpent hiding under Hogwarts. That incident made the goblin-wrought blade one of the most deadly swords in existence; even the tiniest scratch from it was lethal unless proper medical attention was administered immediately.

According to Hermione, the sword was made by the legendary goblin smith and warrior Ragnuk the First and that it was a very special blade even before it become infused with the deadly basilisk venom. She said that the goblin-silver weapon would never lose its razor edge or become dirty and had an ability to absorb magical substances into itself. To make things even better, Godric Gryffindor had enchanted the sword almost as soon as he had acquired it; giving it the capability to resist and cut magic. All in all, it was an excellent weapon if you managed to get close enough to your enemies.

The basement had only one door and it was currently wide open. Harry could see narrow, metal stairs leading up behind the small doorway. The rickety-looking stairs had probably once been red, but now the paint had mostly chipped off and the metal beneath was badly corroded, a thick layer of rust covering much of the surface. The green walls of the stairway seemed to be in an equally bad condition. It was clear that water had damaged them too as there were large, darker blotches scattered on the upper part of the walls.

With almost painful slowness, Harry dragged himself up the creaking stairs, his tired muscles aching with every laborious step he took, into a dirty room with a large crumpled boiler that looked like it had not been used in years. Harry could hear the wind howling and the sound of thousands raindrops striking against the ground coming from the door on the other side of the cramped room.

Harry walked past the badly-dented boiler, his gloved hand reaching out for the blackened, copper doorknob and twisting it sharply. The lock opened with an audible click and Harry pushed the door wide open, exposing himself to the raging storm outside. The sounds of rain increased tenfold, and strong, wet winds billowed his outer robe and fluttered his black hair. He took off his stolen Death Eater mask and just stood there for a moment, letting the cool wind brush refreshingly against his face and allowing his eyes to adapt to the lack of light.

The dark street opening beyond the doorway did not look even vaguely familiar. Most of the streetlights were dark but even without them Harry could easily see that the wet asphalt was badly broken on many places. From the bad shape of the shady buildings towering around him, he could tell that this was certainly not a prestigious part of whatever city he was in, but beyond that he had no idea. He sighed tiredly and pocketed the porcelain mask.

He quickly cast an _Impervious_ upon himself and stepped into the downpour, the heavy rain sliding down his fine robes without wetting them in the slightest. After putting his wand back to its holster attached on the underside of his right arm, he drew his black outer robe tighter around his thin body to shield him from the cold wind and rain. The heavily charmed wand holster was an authentic Auror model and had cost him over a hundred galleons, but as it has already saved his life for more than once, Harry wasn't about to complain about the very high price tag. Besides, that price had been nothing compared to the cost of the enchanted contact lenses he wore. Harry had a bad feeling that he had really been ripped off with those...

He wandered the dark streets aimlessly for a few minutes, looking for any clues about his whereabouts. It didn't take him long to guess the country he was in. The few signs glowing with neon colours told him that he was somewhere in the USA as many them prominently featured the Star-Spangled Banner. This wasn't exactly good news as he knew next to nothing about American wizarding culture and society, and he was in the need of wizarding transportation back to Britain. He didn't want to even try to Apparate across the Atlantic Ocean and he had no Muggle money to buy an airline ticket. To be honest, he had hardly any wizarding money with him either, but that could be remedied easily enough once he got into a wizarding bank.

Then he heard a creak coming from his left. Harry spun on the spot and looked around, his hand instinctively reaching under his robe, towards the sword handle. The young wizard almost expected to see burning buildings, skulking Dark wizards or possibly even the Dark Mark lighting the sky with its sinister glow. He saw nothing of the sort – actually, he saw nothing threatening or alarming at all. The whole dark street, however, was shrouded in a deathly silence sans the sounds of the storm, and somehow it was far more unnerving than burning buildings, roaring explosions and blood-curling screams. As an honorary Auror he had heard far more than his share of those...

Then the creaking sound came again and this time Harry managed to confirm the cause – an old-looking, wooden signboard swinging slowly in the wind. He looked at the plaque more carefully, reading what it said in silvery letters: _McAnally's Pub and Grill_.

The pub seemed to be mostly below ground level, although there were many small windows just above street line, inviting beams of light filtering through the bars into the dark alley. Harry walked down the few stairs leading to a sturdy wooden door. There was another sign above the doorway: ACCORDED NEUTRAL GROUND. Harry had no idea what it meant, but as it didn't sound exactly hostile, he opened the door and stepped inside, light flooding into the young wizard's eyes and temporarily blinding him.

He blinked furiously to clear his vision, and what he saw was encouraging. The pub had low clearance and ceiling fans, a combination that could be fairly dangerous – although Harry with his slightly below-average height had nothing to fear. There was no television, no electronics, no jukebox, but he could see an old dusty piano standing in one corner. There were thirteen stools at the bar and thirteen tables scattered in the room. There were also thirteen mirrors on the walls. Thirteen wooden columns, carved with likenesses from magical creatures and arcane symbols, majority of which he could not recognise. Harry smiled tentatively. The place certainly looked like a wizarding pub and it had even a feel similar to Leaking Cauldron. Could he really be so lucky as to stumble into United States' wizarding world after only ten minutes of searching?

He was walking towards the bar when a lone, dark-haired woman sitting in the table he was just passing by spoke, her words just above a whisper, probably to not disturb the few other patrons, "You don't have any reflection and neither are your clothes wet despite it's raining outside. How curious."

Harry turned his head towards the nearest mirror, and interestingly enough, she was right; he had no reflection. Indeed, the mirror seemed fairly certain that he did not exist – showing anything and anyone but him. He looked around and the other mirrors seemed to agree with the one near him. They had to be magical!

Harry turned towards the woman and his lips curved in a weary smile. "It certainly seems so, no?" Deciding that she could be a good source of information as any, he slumped on the seat opposite her.

The woman just cocked her raven eyebrow and took a sip of her drink. "Indeed, Mr-"

"Black. My name is James Black."


	3. Ch3: Into the Summer's Heart

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Three:**_ Into the Summer's Heart

"...and then I had a nasty encounter with a bunch Death Eaters," Harry said, spinning his tale of half-truths, "which pretty much forced me to leave the country. I'm lucky I found this place before I ran into any troubles with local Muggles."

The raven-haired woman tilted her head and spoke, "I have wanted to ask for some time now, but what exactly are Muggles?"

Harry's smile fell and he blinked. The young wizard suddenly knew he had made a cardinal mistake. Despite that the woman believed in and knew something of magic and, according to her word, worked for Midwestern Arcane – a paper he had originally assumed being American equivalent to Daily Prophet – she apparently wasn't a witch.

And now Harry had foolishly blabbered some truths she wasn't supposed to know. Minor, almost meaningless truths, yes, but truths nevertheless – truths that would soon appear in a _bloody_ Muggle newspaper! That is, unless he did something...

Harry sighed tiredly and gave the wand holster strapped to the underside of his right forearm a mental command. The charmed holster reacted immediately, shooting a wand out into his waiting hand and he pointed it at the woman sitting opposite him, his hand hidden under the table so that nobody could see the movement.

"James," the woman started, calling him by the alias he had given her a few minutes earlier. James Black was the name he usually used when not wanting to use his real name for a reason or another. While it was pretty easy to track back on him, it had a useful benefit of not setting off any lie-detection charms; James was his middle name and as Sirius' heir, he had the right to use the name Black. "You look distracted."

With a little effort Harry managed to smile wearily at her. It was a decidedly fake smile, and he didn't expect the female reporter to be fooled for a second. "It's nothing– _Obliviate._"

There was a faint flash of pure white light and a blank look spread over her pretty face, her eyes glazing for a moment as the spell washed away her memories of the conversation. The Gryffindor wizard casually re-holstered the holly wand and rose from his chair before the Obliviated woman managed to recover from her magic-induced stupor, leaving the table in hurry.

He stopped in his tracks barely a second later, his heart missing a beat and his emerald eyes widening in surprise. He sucked in a breath, the act releasing a faint hiss. "Bloody hell," Harry exclaimed to no one in particular, his voice barely audible.

A large man stood in his way, having apparently just walked in, and pointed a thick wooden rod at his face, the smoking tip hovering mere inches from his nose. Dozens of small runes covered the rod's surface, blazing with a fiery-orange light and releasing wisps of white smoke, like an overly large cigarette. The sharp smell of something burning filled his nostrils.

Harry slowly lifted his hands in a placating gesture, showing his palms to the other wizard. "Um... Can't we negotiate this?"

"I don't think so, Warlock," the tall man snarled and more light coalesced around the offending rod's tip. Harry could feel the searing heat radiated by the weird wand-imitation against his face and he almost gulped in his nervousness. The thing was like a branding-iron. "What the hell did you do to Susan?" the other wizard asked after a second of uncomfortable silence, his tone telling Harry that the man was desperately trying to control himself.

"I didn't harm her," he said in a rush, not wanting the enraged wizard to get antsy and accidentally blow his head off. "I just Obliviated her. I thought she was our kind and accidentally told her something I shouldn't have, but then I noticed she's a Muggle and I had to do something. I didn't know she..." Harry trailed off at the blank look of the other man. "You didn't get a word of what I just said, did you?"

"I got enough," the older wizard said angrily and the rod tip, held far too close Harry's face for his comfort, seemed to ignite, a thick rope of black smoke curling towards the low ceiling and joining and mixing with the white wisps rising from the burning runes. "You did something to her mind, didn't you? Are you fucking insane? Don't you know what messing with people's minds does to them and you?"

"Eh?" Harry said and blinked, feeling quite perplexed. "When correctly performed, the Memory Charm has no side-effects. Besides, it's you who's off his rocker. You must know that this conversation is a direct violation of Statute of Secrecy?"

"Hell's bells," the wizard cursed loudly. "I don't know what the hell you are babbling about, boy, but I do know that using magic to mess with a human mind carries the death penalty."

"Death penalty from using a Memory Charm?" Harry repeated disbelievingly. "Bloody hell, you Americans are bat-shit crazy!"

"Harry," the woman he had spoken to earlier, started, causing both wizards to swivel a look at her. "Are you saying that the boy did something to my mind?"

"Yeah, I think so," said the tall man holding the glowing baton at Harry's face, his dark eyes burrowing into the younger wizard's emerald orbs. After a few seconds of stare-down the older man added, "And he's no boy. He's not even a human... A faery, I think."

"Eh..." Harry exclaimed softly, unable to form a good reply for a statement as ludicrous as that. Faeries were tiny humanoid creatures with insect wings and he was at a loss how someone could actually think him as one. The large man was obviously insane and thus prone to do something very stupid... And as 'stupid' in this case meant the other wizard blowing his head off his shoulders, Harry rightly felt that he should act first.

He exploded into motion and the other man reacted in an instant; a wrist-thick lance of magical flame leapt from the glowing rod, only to miss Harry's face by mere inches. If it weren't for the _Temperis_ Charm that Harry had put on himself before going after the Dark Lord, the searing heat radiated by the spell would have still been enough to sign his hair and burn half of his face to extra crispy even though the blazing bolt of scarlet energy just went by him. Now it was just an uncomfortable flash of burning heat.

There was a flash of silver as Harry drew his sword and slashed it upwards, the gleaming goblin-made blade cutting straight through the rune-carved baton held by the older wizard. Both pieces of the destroyed rod immediately caught fire as the now unrestrained magic burst out in a brilliant pyrotechnic show, showering both wizards with fiery sparks.

Before the smouldering piece of enchanted wood hit the floor, a heavy boot embedded itself on Harry's stomach. The protective Cushioning Charm put on his robes spread the impact time and area, so that he hardly felt the blow. However, this didn't actually lessen the force behind the kick or change the fact that he was much lighter than the other man.

Harry's feet left the floor and he was hurled backwards, hitting the floor with a dull thud. A second later he was back on his feet, his wand shooting into his waiting hand from the charmed holster. He pointed the holly wand at the other wizard and was about utter the incantation that would reduce the man to a greasy spot on the floor, before he realised that he didn't have enough magical juice left to conjure even a small amount of elemental fire nor did he really even want to kill the man, insane though he might be.

As the crazy man dropped the now useless piece of smoking wood and drew a heavy revolver from his black leather duster, someone yelled, "This is neutral territory! If you want to fight, then take it outside!"

Harry turned his head slightly to look at the speaker, being careful of not letting the enemy wizard out of his sight even if a Muggle firearm was totally useless against any sorcerer worth his or her wand. She was an old woman dressed mostly in red, sitting alone in the corner table with a large keg of ale. He didn't know what the woman meant by 'neutral territory,' but decided that this stupidity had already gone too far. He was tired and aching, and he didn't really feel like continuing a pointless fight. Closing his eyes, Harry called up a destination, focusing on it with all his willpower and summoning the last vestiges of power remaining in him. He moved with deliberation and turned on the spot, vanishing with a soft pop.

He briefly felt the familiar crushing squeeze of Apparation before something gave out and the pressure vanished in an instant. While normal Apparation felt like being whisked through a too-small pipe, now it was like the 'Apparation tunnel' had simply been too tight, or the barrier too thin, for him and thus ripped apart.

Harry re-materialised mid-air with a loud bang rivalling that of an old, black powder cannon, thousands of bright sparks of leftover magic dancing around his flailing form. He spun randomly in the air as he fell down, as if thrown by an invisible hand. After a few seconds of the nauseating flight, Harry hit a pool of water with a loud splash and was instantly submerged in the warm liquid.

It took him a moment to re-orient himself, but once he discerned what direction was up he quickly swam to the surface. His heavy robes were not exactly made for swimming, but as _Impervious_ kept his clothes dry, they didn't impede his movements too much.

Once he broke the water surface and felt a cool breeze against his face, he gasped greedily for air, enjoying every breath he took. He sheathed Gryffindor's sword because swimming with a blade in hand was an exercise in futility. The emerald-eyed wizard swivelled his head and took in his surroundings. He had meant to simply Apparate outside the pub, and this was certainly a wrong address. He was now taking a swim a large garden pool, surrounded by a ring of tall trees that seemed to reach high into the heavens. Their heavy branches and innumerable deep-green leaves blocked majority of the sky that was a starry blanket of dark blue. A bit further, stood tall trellises that had trained creepers thick with multicoloured blossoms that came in every shape. Half dozen sapphire fires were burning mid-air and illuminated the maze of pathways, seemingly not suspended or fuelled by anything.

However, what mostly caught his attention was not the beauty of his surroundings but the fact that the pool he was in glowed with its own light. Hell, the liquid positively burned with fiery, inhuman power. "Oh, crap," Harry exclaimed just before the foreign magic burned through the _Impervious_ Charm, the glowing liquid instantly drenching his dark robes and washing away the multitude of minor charms and enchantments he had carefully laid on them. Then it touched his skin...

Pure flame filled him, the joyous heat of full summer, and he exalted in the sudden, overflowing life of it. The massive surge of vibrant, fiery energy replenished his depleted reserves to the brink in a blink of eye, blazing power unfolding and expanding inside him. Heavenly warmth surrounded him and his aches were banished, renewed strength flooding into his limbs. His senses went on overdrive; everything was vibrant with colour, sounds were far richer, and even smells become sharper and more distinct. Everything was somehow so much more real and he was part of it all.

He felt so blissful that it was agony. He basked in the vibrant, warm power that seemed to spring from life itself, but there was simply too much of it. Far too much. The wild power rushing into him needed some outlet before he would explode of it. Pointing his holly wand towards the star-filled sky, Harry bellowed, "_Fiendfyre!_"

Intense searing power rushed through his arm into the wand that quickly gained heat and vibrated violently in his hand due the ungodly amount of energy he pushed into the Dark spell. A gargantuan pillar of cursed fire rose from his wand tip, and exploded upwards, roaring with fiery power. There was a strong gust of searing wind and for a few seconds the conjured flames rivalled the midday's sun in their intensity, bathing the thriving garden in uncomfortably bright light.

Some spells were 'delicate,' so that the caster's power played hardly any part in determining the spell's effectiveness, it being ascertained more by skill and proper focus. However, other spells depended very much on raw power. _Fiendfyre_ definitely belonged to the latter group and so it served as an excellent escape vent for the unearthly power that was flooding into him. Using the brief moment of respite the sudden output of humongous amount of magic had gained him, Harry quickly scampered out of the glowing pool of fiery power that threatened to consume him. A quick Drying Charm banished the clear, luminous liquid out of his robes, hitting the carpet of grass in a sudden flood. The raven-haired wizard sighed in relief and took a moment to adjust his dishevelled clothes.

A quiet snap was the only warning he got before a large, green wolf-like creature came from the thick bushes. The beast had eyes that were pupilless pools of orange fire, and its deep-green fur looked like it was composed of innumerable blades of grass and its tail was a writhing mass of vines. It opened a mouth filled with rows of brown root-like teeth and growled in deep bass, large amounts of yellowish-green drool dripping from its open maw. Then the beast dashed across the small clearing towards Harry, trailing drops of saliva that glittered in the moonlight. The thing reached Harry in a second, its deadly jaws searching for his throat.

Harry had barely any time to react before the green-furred canine slammed into him, its large front paws blasting onto his chest with the force of a sledgehammer. The young wizard fell backwards, smashing into the damp ground, driven by the weight and momentum of the unnatural monster. His left hand rose almost in its own accord and the silver shield-ring on his index finger flared up with bluish glow, shining through the thin glove and depleting the small amount magic stored in it, a small shield swirling into existence just in time to stop his throat from being torn apart by the snapping jaws. The beast's dull claws ripped Harry's robes and gashed the flesh below as it furiously tried to gouge his insides out, warm blood quickly soaking parts of the green under-robe.

A heartbeat later Harry's wand tip came into contact with the beast's belly. "_Everbero!_" the wizard shouted, pushing the maximum amount of magic into a Bludgeoning Hex, overcharging it with the blazing power that filled him. The spell hit the huge wolf-thingy with a such force that it easily shattered the green beast's ribcage, crushing its lungs and heart in the process and blasted the poor creature over ten yards straight up. Hot blood splashed all over Harry's face and chest, painting him with black and filling his mouth with its metallic tang.

Just as the critically wounded canine hit the ground accompanied by a sticky rain of warm blood, two similar beasts appeared out of the maze of bushes, and unsurprisingly, instantly rushed towards Harry. This time he was ready, however, and the mangy beasts never managed to reach him. A flick of Harry's wand lifted the first wolf-like creature up into the air, gurgling and flailing around as an invisible force tightened its grip around its throat, while an area banisher sent the other green beast flying across the clearing with a faint flash of yellow light and a violent gust of displaced air.

As the plant-coloured beast hit the ground, rolling around a few times, a single jab of Harry's wand sent a scarlet _Reducto_ sailing through the air towards it. The large wolf-thingy easily sidestepped the rather lethal curse and again rushed towards the wizard, who calmly directed his next spell at the ground before the beast. The charm exploded the moist earth beneath the green-furred beast, blasting it high into the air, causing third degree burns and ripping apart its both forelegs.

Just as Harry thought the battle was over, even more wolf-plant-hybrids begun to arrive, probably alerted by loud explosions and bright flashes of light. Cursing mentally, Harry whirled his wand in an elaborate loop before slashing it downwards, a transparent purple dome surrounding him in a split second and halting the furious charge of three more beasts. The spell was the full-dome version of _Contego_ Charm – a very useful spell in a situation like this.

The pack of magical beasts quickly encircled him, hissing, barking and growling. Their fiery orange eyes stared at him hungrily, burning with unnatural anger and fury. The two wounded beasts were quickly back on their feet, their wounds healing ridiculously fast, broken bones mending and snapping back to their proper places while greenish flesh resewed itself in front of his wide eyes. At least one of them was truly dead, hanging limply in the air, its neck snapped by the overpowered Strangling Curse.

Harry pondered his options. There were five, large wolves...or whatever. Most likely too many for him to take at the same time without getting torn to shreds. They also were much faster than he so fleeing wasn't really an option unless he Apparated, which didn't seem to work very well at the moment considering how he ended up in here in the first place. While hiding behind the shield was quite appealing at the moment, it wasn't truly an intelligent decision as he had no idea where he was. For all he knew he could be in a Death Eater base...

Then one of the beasts exhaled a large cloud of green..._spores?_ The misty vapours washed over his shield, coating it with a thin layer of green and causing small vines to grown on the surface. These tiny mould-like vines quickly grew in size, becoming progressively larger with every passing second. Harry cursed as he realised the growing plants were draining the strength from his shield, slowly turning it into bloody fertilizer...

Deciding that playing for time served no purpose, he dropped the shield and exploded into motion, the vines collapsing and forming a circular heap around him. The weird green monsters lunged at him with furious snarls and barks. The first of them got a full blast of the Disintegrating Hex and subsequently exploded into a cloud of fine dust. Harry dived under snapping jaws of the second, doing a somersault on the damp ground. He was instantly back on his feet again and spun on the spot, his heels digging into the soft earth and his dark robes whirling.

A quick slash of his wand sent a large arc of purple fire at the three nearest assailants and two of the canines were instantly torched and cut apart, as the fiery spell exploded through them, pulsating with the stolen power. On the places where the amethyst flames touched the ground the moist, dark-green grass was quickly combusted while all plant-life around the burnt spot blackened and withered away in seconds. Such was the life-sapping power of the Darker cousin of ordinary Bluebell Flame.

Harry's boot rose and connected with the snout of the beast that hadn't yet recovered its balance after sidestepping the fire spell, sending the wolf-like creature trailing backwards. Unfortunately the kick didn't really harm the supernatural hound even if it had his whole strength behind it, but at least the blow kept the mongrel away from him for a second.

Diving into his left, Harry avoided a furious lunge of the green-furred beast that had cleverly sneaked behind him. If it weren't for the fact that it had stupidly snarled as it attacked, denoting its awfully low intelligence or at least plain sucky common-sense, he would have just become its personal chew-toy, now it just bit off a large piece of his black outer-robe. As Harry rolled on the wet ground, he discarded his holly wand and drew a ruby-encrusted sword from its plain sheath, slashing it at the nearest wolf-thingy. The razor-sharp blade cut deep, but surprisingly little blood flowed. He suspected it was because of their tremendously accelerated healing factor. Well, it didn't really matter as the beast would soon succumb to the poison anyway.

Jumping back to his feet, he slashed wildly around with his leaf-shaped blade in an attempt to keep the pair of canine beasts away from him. Releasing a furious yell, Harry charged at the nearest beast, his robes billowing and his sword dancing wildly; Hacking, thrusting, and slashing with much more desperate fury than any actual skill. One good thrust rammed his softly glowing blade right down an unfortunate beast's throat, the bloody tip of his sword protruding out of its back. The creature collapsed and Harry quickly yanked his sword back with a disgusting, wet sound, before spinning and cutting a wide circle around him to discourage the remaining wolf-like creature from coming too close. The spinning motion sent dozens tiny droplets of black liquid arching through the air, and they glittered like exquisite onyxes as they fell downwards.

The last beast was staggering around, the deadly venom coursing in the monster's veins sapping its strength and muddling its thoughts. In a few seconds, it collapsed to the floor of dewed grass in a heap, the prone body twitching slightly, leaving Harry as the only one left standing in the dark garden. He breathed heavily and he dropped to one knee, leaning towards the sword he stuck on the ground and resting his forehead against the cool, ruby pommel. After a few seconds he lifted his head and refocused on the bloodied carcasses of the wolf-like beasts that finally looked properly dead, discounting the very slight twitching, but Harry assumed it was...natural.

Now as the fight had ended Harry took a moment to stare the sword in his hands, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the changes on it. The thing actually glowed with flickering golden light, ethereal flames fanning over the silver blade. It was somewhat surprising as he had never seen it do so before... And he had no idea what it meant or what had caused it. Even if the sword had absorbed something from the pool or the plant-like hounds, it shouldn't display any outward signs of it.

He picked his wand from where he had dropped it mere moments before and flicked it casually, conjuring stream of icy water from his wand tip to drench the small fires flickering around him. A quick _Episkey_ healed the bleeding wounds in his chest, and reduced the sharp pain to a mere itch. Then he cast an elementary Cleaning Charm at Gryffindor's sword, washing away the many bloodstains that the burning heat the goblin-wrought blade now radiated had turned into black, smouldering spots. After turning the scabbard fireproof with a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, he sheathed the flaming sword, hoping that the fourth-year charm would last until he had time to think up a more permanent solution.

A small movement at the edge of vision was the lone sing of impeding danger he got before a bolt of searing fire zoomed trough the air, lighting the lush garden in its brilliant, orange hue. If Harry hadn't had a wand ready in his hand, he would have never managed to bring up a shield before being transformed into a human torch, but as he had, the fiery bolt exploded against a silvery screen with a loud hiss, sending thousands upon thousands of brilliant sparks travelling slowly towards the starry sky alongside with curling wisps of thick, dark smoke.

The magical flames died quickly and darkness descended again, cloaking everything in dark shadows, and once his vision was clear of the purple after images, Harry could finally see properly what he was fighting against – it was a woman. A pretty, young, and pretty naked woman...with furry cat-ears on the top of her head, sticking out of the waist length white hair that flowed lightly around her in the cool breeze, luminous amber eyes, and a long white tail, that swished behind her agitatedly.

The young wizard, however, paid hardly any attention to her feline accessories as she had some other far more interesting _feminine_ accessories. Harry's gaze was pretty much locked onto the woman's very ample bosom that heaved mesmerizingly with every breath she took. Even in a grave situation like this, he could appreciate their gravity-defying roundness and the soft-looking, pink nipples. The only thing the woman wore, discounting a few delicate pieces of gold jewellery, was a thin, see-through, white silk robe that hung wide open, almost as she was inviting him to ogle to his heart's desire.

"How dare you drink from the Summer Wellspring, Wizard?" the feline woman hissed in outrage, baring her sharp teeth. Despite her obvious anger, every word was perfectly pronounced and echoing with power. Even her furious hissing managed to sound musical. "How dare you defile Summer's heart, the Garden of Elysium? How dare you turn Summer's power against its loyal minions?"

"Um..." Harry started sheepishly, but kept his wand trained at the incomer. "It was sorta an accident."

"Accident! You call _this_ an accident!" the cat-woman raged, spittle flying from her mouth with every syllable. Bright green sparks danced around her clawed hand as she made a few sharp gestures, the action unleashing a huge torrent of emerald fire at the wizard.

An amethyst shield sprung into existence a split second before the column of swirling flames reached him, blasting against the softly glowing barrier with an inhuman force and ferocity. It was the strongest shield Harry knew, but still he only just managed to keep his balance. His feet slid along the carpet of dewed grass as the force of the spell bore down on him, and it took every iota of his magical weight to keep the barrier up. Terrible heat seeped through the purple shield, and Harry felt like he was swimming in his own sweat. The furious woman continued to press, forcing him further backwards under the overwhelming weight of the blazing green fire. Despite his best efforts, the shield rapidly diminished under the relentless onslaught of inhuman power, getting dimmer with every passing moment. It was sure to break soon...

There was another flash of foreign magic, one he felt rather than saw, and the blazing threads of power that composed the heart of the stream of emerald fire that hammered and burned against Harry's shield unravelled, the spell exploding with earth-shaking boom. The shockwave of fiery power was too much for his weakened shield to handle and it collapsed a second later, shattering like a thin panel of coloured glass. Surrounded by thick clouds of dark smoke and cascading purple sparks, Harry stood amidst the destruction, a ring of burning grass circling him.

"Peace, Lady Yurine. No more blood needs to be spilled on the blessed soil of Elysium. I will take care of this intruder personally. Please return back to...whatever you were doing to be dressed like that."

A few yards behind the feline lady now stood another woman. She was flanked by a violent looking centaur hefting a huge silver axe, and a tall man who had his pale hair braided and wore close-fit mail of some glittering black metal that made him look rail-thin and deadly. Like the cat-woman, she too wore white, although a lot more of it. She was dressed in some kind of thin, body armour that emphasized her gentle, feminine curves. Over the armour of white and gold, she had a bottle-green cloak with intricate white patterns woven to the trim. Standing at about five foot ten, her long, flowing white hair gently draped over her shoulders and curled at the end of the locks, complementing her soulful emerald eyes perfectly. Harry guessed she was about his age, perhaps a bit older.

The cat-like woman sniffed haughtily, her amber eyes glinting with suppressed fury, but obeyed the softly spoken command and walked silently past the group of battle-ready newcomers, quickly vanishing into the maze of pathways.

The green-eyed woman looked at him for a few seconds in silence, as if she was contemplating something, before she spoke in soft tones, "You are not a mortal wizard... I sense no other power emanating from you than what you just stole from the Wellspring. But yet, you must have great power to force your way through the numerous wards and enchantments guarding this sacred place. I wonder... Are you an Outsider, a creature of the bleakest void?"

Harry blinked. "Well... I certainly don't belong here."

The young woman's lips slithered into an amused smile, showing him a row of sparkling white teeth. His heart fluttered a little; she really did have a nice smile... "I wouldn't be so sure of it," she said and tilted her head slightly. "You have already accepted Summer into you. You have embraced our power, filled yourself with it... And you rejoiced in it."

"You mean that pool-_thingy_?" Harry asked, feeling and looking quite confused. He finally lowered his wand, letting the glowed hand fall to his side. "I assure you that my being here is purely accidental."

"That may be so, yet you did take our power," she said calmly as she sauntered towards him with measured steps. Her hips swayed almost hypnotically and it took some mental effort of the young wizard's part to return his gaze at her face. "You owe one to Summer for that, and another one to me personally as I saved you. That's two favours, don't you agree?"

"Eh... Yeah, well... I guess I do." As soon as those words left his lips, he felt something twist inside him and he lost his balance, staggering a few steps backwards. The fiery power he had got from the ...Wellspring... thrummed for a second before settling down again.

Then he felt a warm hand touching his cheek and he froze, the white-haired woman's fingers sliding gently alongside his face. When his attention had been away for a second she had swiftly eliminated the distance between them. "You accepted Summer into your being..." she murmured and her vertically slitted emerald-green eyes looked directly into his. Their eyes were exactly same shade of green, Harry idly noted. "Your word is now truly your bond, _Lord_ Potter, and I will hold you on our bargain."

"Wait! What!" Harry stuttered, his eyes widening, surprised that she knew his name and confused of everything else she said. He couldn't have just accidentally sealed a magical pact, now could he? At least he truly hoped he hadn't... "Who are you?"

She invaded his personal space, one perfect hand touching his shoulder. Her warm breath tickled his ear as she leaned forward and whispered, "I'm Aurora, the Summer Lady. I'm sure our partnership will prove to be extremely gainful for both of us." She let out a small silvery laugh, the sound piercingly sweet. "I, however, do sense that you have something to do before you assume your new duties. I bid thee farewell for a short moment."

Before Harry managed to say anything, his world was sent spinning as the lush garden melted away...

* * *

Aurora scrutinized the dead scrunt hanging mid-air, its neck snapped by an invisible force. The Summer Lady easily sensed her Court's power used in the spell, but could not feel even the barest trace of the Outsider's own magic. She focused, narrowing her eyes, and the world inverted, becoming black and white, while previously invisible threads of magic suddenly become visible, glowing with all colours of a rainbow. Strings of Summer's blazing power bend around something invisible, forming a simple but very elegant magical structure. The spell didn't just harden air as she had she had seen some human wizards doing, instead it created a small force field. Much more sophisticated...

Her nimble fingers flashed through a complicated motion and she whispered a single word of power, the Outsider's deadly spell dispersing in a shower of azure sparks and the dead body collapsing to the ground with a dull thud. As she looked down, she saw something that caught her interest.

"Ectoplasm? Here?" Aurora murmured, kneeling and scooping the few droplets of greenish-yellow goo that stained a few blades of grass into her finger. She lifted the delicate hand in front of her feline eyes that glinted with inner power. "Oh, yes... The Outsider had bled... Most interesting."

"My Queen, are you sure this is wise?" the tall man next to her asked, his voice a musical bass. "Even if the Outsider is bound, his geas will last only as long the stolen power remains strong within him. It will fade soon and so will you power over him. Even you cannot cage a Dread Lord, milady. You saw how your Glamours failed the moment they touched him – I doubt he even noticed them."

The Summer Lady stood up, straightening her dress, and turned her head to look at her adjutant. "Lord Talos, I think Summer will remain with him always... Besides, I doubt I will need any magic to control him." She licked her full lips before continuing, "You saw how he acted like a blushing virgin... And perhaps he really is. It could prove highly amusing."

The man bowed. "As you say, my Queen."


	4. Ch4: Past the Point of No Return

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Four:**_ Past the Point of No Return

There was a brief sensation of nothingness before his feet hit the ground. The sudden feeling of vertigo had caught him unaware so he lost his balance when his feet struck against earth, his knees giving way under him, and collapsed on the bed of yellow flowers in full bloom, snapping fragile shafts and crushing delicate blossoms under his weight. A flowery smell filled his nose as he lay on the soft earth and he could hear the sounds of traffic and the faint whisper of thousands upon thousands of leaves shaking in the light spring breeze.

Harry quickly scampered back to his feet, absently dusting off his dirty robes, and took in his new surroundings, clutching the holly wand tightly in his hand in preparation to ward off any possible enemies that might try to sneak up on him. Nobody seemed to be after his blood at the particular moment, though. All things considered, it was only moderately reassuring.

He was standing in the middle of another, very different, garden. The only other person nearby was an old man standing over ten yards from him. Their gazes met for a second and the young wizard could practically feel the other man's disapproval. Harry didn't know whether it was because of his unkempt appearance or the fact that he was standing on a bed of now-crushed flowers. The Potter scion flashed a wide smile at the older man, who then turned around, apparently not deeming a young ruffian in a weird costume worth his attention. Harry's overtly cheery fake-smile left his lips the moment the man turned his back at him and made way to a much more serious expression, his mouth compressing to a thin line.

Harry stood there for a long moment, the wet breeze fluttering his ripped and blood-stained robes, before he turned his attention away from the departing man. Unlike Chicago and the weird garden he had visited a few minutes earlier, it was relatively sunny here; meaning that he was probably on the other side of the globe again. At least that was good news, even if also somewhat disturbing. Also unlike the earlier place that looked like it had been patiently and lovingly tended for innumerable centuries, this one was much more haphazard and less lush, and that made Harry assume he was in some sort of a community garden. Somehow, the place even felt eerily familiar to him and he was almost sure he had been here before, but he just couldn't place it.

Of course, that might be just because he was currently far more concerned about '_why_' and '_how_' than '_where._' The white-haired witch had somehow Apparated him here...wherever this place was, after saying something about his needing to do something before he could start his...duties. Somehow Harry doubted he wanted anything to do with her, very pretty though she may be.

After walking around a little, Harry was stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto the small pond next to his feet. He stared stupefied at the glittering surface that rippled slightly in the cool breeze, startled to notice that he had no reflection. Apparently the mirrors in the pub hadn't been enchanted after all...

Harry cursed loudly and his fingers tightened almost painfully around the holly handle of his wand, a few angry red sparks escaping the tip. He could almost feel the headache coming. Nothing had made any sense after the incident with the Circle and he was growing highly irritated...and when he was irritated he tended to blow shit up. Trying to calm down, he walked towards the nearest building hoping that it could offer more clues about his whereabouts. Then, as if on cue, he caught a glimpse of an old movie theatre through the thick plants. Something clicked in his mind and he recognized his surroundings: the Phoenix Garden – he was in London! He was right next to St Giles Passage and Stacey Street, north of Shaftesbury Avenue and east of Charing Cross Road, where the Leaky Cauldron was located.

Happy that things seemed to finally be going well, Harry quickly re-applied the bunch of protective charms that he used to keep on himself, adding a weak Notice-Me-Not Charm to the mix to dissuade Muggles from paying any attention to his walking in wizarding robes in broad daylight, before striding towards the nearest exit. Casting the multitude of defensive spells on his person was his morning ritual, and something the vast majority of wizards and witches did during these dark and violent days under the constant threat of Death Eater attacks. Of course, his selection was a bit more comprehensive than most...

He walked out of the community garden into the crowded London streets, his pace quick but unhurried. It took him only a minute to reach the place where The Leaky Cauldron was located...or to be more exact, the place where it was supposed to be. But instead of facing the shoddy bar, Harry found himself looking at a small flower boutique.

Harry's eyes scanned the shop's front and a small frown crossed his lips. The raven-haired wizard was seriously starting to get annoyed. He knew it was possible that they had just changed the entrance to the Diagon Alley... He knew there had to be a rational explanation to all this. Or at least he sincerely hoped so, because things were starting to look like an excerpt from a bad horror movie. You know, the moment when nothing seemed to make sense anymore; just before the terrible secret was revealed to the main character and the zombie-apocalypse began...

He briefly visited the flower boutique to be absolutely sure that Tom hadn't just decided to...renovate the place while he was away. Unfortunately for Harry, he had no such luck; it really was just another Muggle shop. Luckily his magic hid him from the shop attendant as the young brunette woman looked far too upbeat and chirpy for him to handle at the moment without Transfiguring her into a poodle or something. The Notice-Me-Not Charm didn't really make him invisible; rather it made him so ordinary-looking that even the most searching gaze could slide right over him. To the vast majority of Muggles and even some weaker wizards and witches, he was literally beneath any notice. After a minute of pondering his options, he exited the shop and jogged all the way to the nearest wizarding location he knew, the Ministry Headquarters.

It took him almost a quarter-hour to reach the place. Breathing heavily, he entered the lone phone booth, pressing the phone against his ear and tapping in the correct code that would let him inside. Seconds passed by and nothing happened. Harry stood there for a few minutes, before finally putting down the phone with an audible click.

Harry rummaged his pockets and found a few Muggle coins amidst the much larger amount of wizarding currency, which he then put into the machine. Then he slowly pushed the buttons in a different sequence, carefully entering the Grimmauld Place's phone number. Harry bit his lip as he waited, praying that someone would answer... Then he heard the click of a line opening and a raspy woman's voice spoke to his ear, "Elizabeth Boulton speaking."

He almost blurted out 'What the fuck!' but somehow managed to _not_ voice his thoughts. His reply ended up being a bit more polite, "Err... Are you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Um... no," the voice answered after a moment. "Who are you?"

Harry closed the phone and slumped against the wall. It seemed that he wasn't in his home after all... He was seriously starting to consider that the Circle incident had thrown him into another world, dimension or whatever they were called – Hermione could probably tell him the right word, but as she wasn't here, Harry wasn't very concerned about semantics. The idea of travelling into a parallel reality sounded stupid, but as wizards were able to travel in time too, it probably wasn't a too far-fetched scenario as, supposedly, time and space were pretty much the same thing. Or at least Einstein had said something to that effect, fuck if he knew. If it weren't for the fact that everything looked familiar, he might have thought that he was in the future or past. Still, he quickly checked the date from the nearby kiosk selling newspapers just to be absolutely sure. At least accordingly _The Times_, there hadn't been any temporal mishaps.

He walked all the way to the nearby Hyde Park, his thoughts running a thousand miles per minute. When he eventually arrived in the large park, Harry sat down on the nearest free bench, wondering what the hell he could do now. For a moment he contemplated whether he should try to Apparate into Grimmauld Place, but eventually decided against it as trying to Apparate into a location that might not exist was highly suicidal. And even if it existed, he would probably not be keyed to the wards, making the attempt doubly ludicrous. Despite what others might think, he didn't actively seek death; it sought him. Thus far Harry had been winning their little competition, but death only had to win one round...

Then an idea came to him; if he couldn't find wizarding world, maybe it could find him. Standing up and pointing his holly wand at the nearest tree, Harry intoned the deadliest curse he knew, "_Avada Kedavra._" The muttered incantation was followed by the howl of an invisible wind and a faint flash of light, the twisting bolt of miasmic energy striking against the tree trunk and exploding into a small ball of sickly-green fire. The protective magic woven around Harry diverted the shower of burning shrapnel, blasting them away from him with renewed speed.

Harry studied the small blackened spot that now marred the trunk, wisps of dark smoke curling upwards from it. When striking against a soulless tree the Unforgivable was unable to function properly and snuff all life out of the target, instead the spell simply bled out the tainted energy it contained in a rather unspectacular detonation. The scorch mark was smaller than his palm and quite pathetic as far as Killing Curses go – He could hardly muster much killing intent towards a tree, and so the spell wouldn't have caused more than a nose-bleed even if he had actually hit someone with it. Had the spell been at his full power, the lethal curse would have blown the old tree into smoking splinters. Now he would just have to wait for the cavalry to arrive. This was, of course, assuming that Auror Corps still existed.

Minutes passed by and nothing happened. Harry frowned, becoming more irked and unsure with each passing second; the normal Auror response time was about four minutes, and so they were either terribly slow today or...he really was in another world or something. Despite sounding highly improbable, it was the best shot he had, discounting the idea that he had simply gone mad. While he had never been any paragon of sanity, that did still sound a bit overt. Harry tried to remember if one of the Death Eaters had hit him with a some kind of Confusion Curse, but he couldn't recall any such occurrence. Which, on the other hand, didn't actually prove anything if he really was Confunded...

Even more minutes ticked by, and Harry decided that, due some malfunction in the Ministry's detection spells, the Unforgivable could have just been undetected. He lifted his wand again, re-casting the deadly spell. The flash of sickly green was quickly followed by an invisible _Imperio_ and the faint red jet of a Cruciatus Curse.

The instant the third curse left his wand, Harry knew he had made a mistake in casting so many seriously Dark spells in a rapid sequence. Sweet torrents of black magic surged in his veins, bringing pleasurable sensations and clouding his mind in a euphoric haze. His eyes closed and he inhaled loudly, his mouth opening. Casting Dark magic had felt nice even before this, but now it seemed like he had crossed some invisible boundary and the Siren's song of the Dark Arts beckoned Harry like never before. He had to fight the sudden urge to cast even more Dark magic just to feel the exhilarating rush of sweet power again, and for a moment his heart pounded wildly against his ribcage and he trembled like a drug-addict in a dire need of another fix, but the raw, magic-induced need passed quickly, leaving behind only a distant feel of longing. Harry reopened his eyes to see people quickly leaving the area of the park where he was, leaving him alone in his thoughts. While his magic kept the Muggles from really noticing him or paying any attention to what he was doing, they still could sense the aura of utter wrongness in the Dark Arts he had just unleashed, and unconsciously fled from it.

It was an interesting phenomenon that Dark magic always felt wrong to anyone else but the caster...and almost paradoxically, Muggles seemed to feel the effect even more clearly than wizards. In fact, there were many Muggle-deterrent wards that worked by saturating the boundary with Dark magic. While the profane energy did keep Muggles and non-magical animals away, it tended to have rather bad side-effects on nearby flora, fauna and those unlucky enough to actually come into prolonged contact with the boundary.

Then, without any warning, Harry felt a foreign pressure envelope him as an invisible hand lifted him into the air, his feet dangling over a yard from the ground. Wind was forced out of his lungs in a rattling hiss as the spell tightened its hold, totally immobilising him with its almost painful embrace. The crushing pressure was quickly followed by another sensation: a cold tickle spreading all over him. Harry shuddered as coldness and numbness seeped into him and, in seconds, the invisible force that held him vanished and he landed into a low crouch.

"I applaud you, Warlock," said a feminine voice behind him and Harry quickly spun on his heels to face the speaker. His tattered robes swirled at the sharp movement and his wand rose to deflect whatever spells she would throw at him next. About fifteen yards from him stood a dark-haired woman of average height, her long grey cloak fluttering in a sudden gust that washed over the park and sent thrash, fine dust and fallen leaves flying. Harry's attention was immediately drawn by the three foot-long, thin-bladed sword in her hand that shone with soft azure light. He could see air warping around the sword, distorting and bending the blue light it emanated so that the blade seemed to burn with cold, liquid flame.

"You managed to corrupt my spell without any incantation or apparent magical foci," the woman continued, lowering her glowing blade so that the tip touched the ground and sunk into it with a sharp hiss. "And you did it fast. Not many are capable of doing it even half as quickly as you did."

While the achromatic cloak concealed most of her physique, he could tell that she was lithe and athletic. Most of her hair was tied into a neat braid, with a few raven locks left hanging on the sides of her face, framing it nicely. Her face had an ageless quality that made discerning her actual age very hard. Harry guessed that she was thirty-something, but she could easily be a decade older or younger.

"I'm assuming you are not an Auror?" Harry said after a moment, training his wand at her, the eleven inches of holly still smoking faintly after the Unforgivables. "Looking at how things have been going lately, that would be far too much to hope for..."

"You are right, Warlock. I do not know these Aurors you speak of," said the woman evenly, her tone perfectly neutral despite the fact that she was obviously quite hostile towards him. "I'm a Warden of the White Council."

Harry tilted his head lightly, his eyes narrowing. He had no idea what this White Council was, nor did he really even care. "If you are not from the law-enforcement office, then why did you attack me?"

"Child, I just told you I'm a Warden," she said patiently, as if she was talking to a little boy. "I _am_ a law-enforcer. And for why I'm here, I sensed the black magic you unleashed and came to investigate. Now, may I ask for your reason for doing so?"

Harry almost snarled, a few bright red sparks escaping the wand tip and spewing towards the ground; he didn't like the witch's condescending tone at all, and thus his reply was not perhaps the most thought out: "Why should I tell you anything? This day is already fucked up enough without you adding to it."

The grey-cloaked woman looked at him for a moment before speaking, her brown eyes hardening, "Then I will take you in by force, Warlock."

He couldn't help it; a small laughter escaped his lips. It started as almost inaudible snorts but quickly acquired nearly maniacal quality. "Does everyone want to fight me today?" Harry said after the laughter had subsided. He lifted his left hand, showing his palm at her. "No, don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question."

The witch and wizard faced each other, standing on the opposite sides of the clearing, the gentle breeze fluttering their clothes and hair. Harry's expression betrayed his anger and frustration, while the grey-cloaked woman's face was serene – a fact that annoyed him even more.

Then the witch moved, her sword cutting through the air in a wide arc. The air hissed, whistled, twisted and rippled in front of her, forming into a dozen razor-sharp blasts of wind. A casual twist of Harry's wrist moved his wand in a well-practised motion, magic pouring out of the tip and calling forth a shimmering, silvery barrier to intercept the wind blades that struck against it with tremendous force. The wand trembled in his hand with each jarring hit, ripples travelling along the gleaming shield, and for a short horrifying moment Harry thought that his hastily-created _Protego_ couldn't hold under the pressure.

Luckily the low-level shield withstood the barrage and deflected the blades of hardened air, scattering them to the four winds. Some of the shimmering coils even careened back at the witch, the rest of them slashing against the surroundings. The large bench next to him was ripped apart in a series of loud crunches and cracks, filling the air with sawdust and tiny shards of wood. The violent winds howled in his ears for a second that seemed last for an eternity, and Harry could actually feel the earth shaking as the nearly-invisible blades tore into it, gouging deep gashes as they went by him, and kicked up bucket-loads of soil and small stones. Trees were cut into pieces, causing them to collapse around Harry in tall heaps, his luminous shield diverting any branches that would have otherwise struck him.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise as her own magic was turned against her, but she recovered with the speed of a seasoned veteran. A gloved hand left the shaft of the glowing blade and she made a sharp, agitated gesture, whispering something that Harry couldn't quite hear. The cutting winds dissipated into harmless puffs of air that only succeeded in billowing her grey cloak.

Harry wasn't too fazed by the show of wandless magic; while it was not a very common skill – especially at the level of proficiency she was displaying, he had seen it done before, and so he pressed on, his wand moving in a blur. She had thrown lethal magic at him, and so he returned in kind, and a second later the woman was forced to dodge as a twisting bolt of ruby-red light buzzed past her ear like an angry wasp. The young wizard watched in growing annoyance as the witch moved with sinuous grace, avoiding his furious barrage of curses, hexes and charms, sometimes by mere inches. Occasionally she stopped to cut an incoming spell apart with her sword, reducing the deadly sculptures of magic to harmless pyrotechnic shows.

Harry decided he needed something stronger, something she couldn't just dodge or cut up with her glowing blade. "_Infurnacio!_" he intoned harshly and his hand bucked as a huge torrent of swirling flames burst forward from his wand tip, the Wellspring's searing power turning the modest fire-spell into a bus-sized inferno that travelled the distance between the two combatants in a split second. Then the low roar of flames was drowned by a howling wind storm, a freaking cyclone forming around the witch and blasting his fire back at him, fanning the swirling flames into a huge wall, almost as tall as the trees around him. A heartbeat later the veritable tsunami of fire came crashing down on him, but not before a quick Flame Freezing Charm robbed the blazing conflagration of all of its searing heat.

The woman, who was currently standing in a bad-ass crater carved by her own spell and surrounded by a swirling cloud of dust, stared in evident surprise as the flames washed over Harry and the tall trees behind him without burning them to cinders. "Illusionary? But I felt the heat..." she murmured to herself in apparent confusion, and was almost caught by surprise when Harry didn't subscribe to any momentary cease fire and promptly sent an amethyst _Defodio_ at her, followed by a score of other equally lethal curses.

The volley of spells detonated with loud bangs against the witch's olive green shield that sprung into existence just in time to intercept the barrage. Harry raised his eyebrow while his wand continued to spit almost continuous stream of spellfire; he had never seen a shield with such a colour before. The protective screen seemed to work by not absorbing or deflecting the hostile magic as most shields did, but by breaking the offending spell's structure, causing the blazing curses to detonate into multicoloured sparks of leftover magic. It was an interesting approach to an ages-old problem, but he didn't have the time to contemplate it any further as he was forced to dodge into his right, a single blade of wind zooming past him, less than an inch from nicking his triceps.

The attack was quickly followed by nearly a dozen others of its kind in blindingly rapid succession; far faster than Harry could clap his hands. The wizard cursed loudly – the woman was apparently able to cast spells through her own shield and that made things a lot harder. A flick of Harry's wand batted away the nearest few wind blades rushing at him, scattering them into random directions, and he jumped over two more, a piercing whistle filling his ear as the final one of the barrage gashed a thin red line across his cheek, cutting a few errant strands of his messy black hair as it went by and almost taking a piece of his ear.

"_Fusillade,_" Harry hissed angrily while slashing his wand vertically in a wide arc. Fire blossomed at the tip, and suddenly the air between the two combatants was filled with a volley of bright orange-red streaks. The salvo of pyroprojectiles – supercharged with fiery power burning within him – hammered against the witch's green shield with weird hissing-whistles, bursting into large blasts of swirling fire at the contact. For a moment it looked like she was bathed in intense flames...which really wasn't too far from the mark. It didn't matter too much if the actual spells couldn't get through the shield when heat and a few random tongues of fire could...

The woman screamed in pain as the air around her superheated and magical flames licked her cloaked form. Harry's moment of victory was, however, interrupted violently when he suddenly found himself hurled backwards through the air, picked up by a fierce and very localised gale that was probably strong enough to rip smaller trees from the ground. He was thrown over ten yards back, smashing against the ground with a dull thud and then rolling a few yards more until his momentum was finally killed by a tree standing in his way. Something broke, and it wasn't the almost two-foot-wide tree trunk.

Harry lay on the soft carpet of grass, his world spinning. The Potter scion groaned softly, tasting the coppery tang of blood on his lips, and blinked furiously to clear his blurry vision. He felt decidedly sick, a steady flow of warm blood trickling from his mauled nose and running down his cheeks and chin. If it weren't for the specialised Cushioning Charm, he was sure he would be dead, his face smashed and head cracked against a _bloody_ tree. Even now he got his nose broken and the makings of a terrible headache. Bringing his wand tip near his injured nose, he hissed through clenched teeth, "_Episkey_." There was a faint flash of blue light and Harry cried out in pain as the healing magic forcibly straightened his broken nose and then mended the ruptured cartilage and broken skin. His face no longer looked like it had been hacked with a mallet; instead he looked like someone had just run over him – _repeatedly_.

Harry stood up, ignoring the feeling of weakness and nausea as well as the legs shaking under him, and faced the witch again. She was literally smouldering, wisps of dark smoke surrounding her. The grey cloak she wore sported many smoking burns and her skin was red and partially blistered. Her magical sword was no longer glowing and he could see tears of pain streaking her scalded cheeks. She was trembling heavily and looked like she could collapse at any moment now. The witch actually appeared even worse than he felt and Harry was strangely satisfied by the fact.

He pointed his shaking wand at the sword-wielding woman, yelling the first incantation that came to his mind, "_Stupefy!_" She dodged even though his aim was seriously off and the blazing red bolt would have missed its target by many feet even if she had stayed perfectly still. The sharp movement, however, lost the witch her balance and sent her staggering around. Her movements were jerky and sluggish – a far cry from her earlier fluid grace.

Then the silvery sword fell from her suddenly limp fingers, clattering against the scorched earth, and her body followed a second later, hitting the ground in an unmoving heap. Harry blinked owlishly, his abrupt victory stunning him.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness washed over him and he threw up, the churning feeling twisting his stomach finally reaching its peak. Blood and bile mixed into one nauseating puddle on the green carpet of grass as he fell on his knees and emptied his stomach to the ground. The taste that filled his mouth was acidic and utterly disgusting, almost enough to make him throw up again.

He just knelt there for a moment, using his hand to keep him stable until the dizzy spell passed. A few scarlet drops of warm blood fell down his gashed cheek and then joined the stinking pool on the ground. Just as he was about to stand up, Harry witnessed a weird phenomenon: the puddle of bile was slowly losing its colour and texture, becoming more and more transparent and uniform until it was all gelatinous goo.

"What the bloody hell..." he muttered slowly to no-one in particular, his green eyes widening. There was something very weird happening here, and Harry wasn't sure if he really wanted to know exactly what – it was almost bound to be something exceedingly bad. First the mirrors and now this...

Harry straightened up and looked quickly around, feeling somewhat nervous and apprehensive as he witnessed the widespread destruction the brief wizarding battle had brought. There was no way that two sorcerers could demolish an acre of public park in the middle of a bright day without being noticed, and so he thought it might be in order to get his ass out of there and fast. He didn't really fancy spending rest of the evening in a Muggle jail. Of course, the police couldn't stick any charges on him... No Muggle judge would ever believe he levelled a small forest's worth of trees or burned a woman using only a short wooden stick.

Paying one last glance to the unconscious witch sprawled on the scorched ground, he ran away, dashing through the crowded London streets, people instinctively giving him the way. He didn't have any particular direction in his mind. There were many wizarding places located in London he hadn't checked yet, but as he had never visited them through Muggle methods, he didn't have the faintest idea of where they were physically located.

Eventually he just stopped running and walked into some random alleyway. Harry sat down and slumped against the pleasantly cool brick wall. He knew he was screwed. If he really was in another world as it seemed, then the grey-cloaked witch had to be an Auror-equivalent of this reality, and that meant he was a hunted fugitive now. And considering what the American wizard had said about a Memory Charm carrying the death penalty, he didn't even want to know what they did to those who smacked up one of their own. Harry didn't expect they would show any shred of mercy if they ever caught him...

He didn't really have too many options left. Harry was in a desperate need of knowledge and that white-haired witch, Aurora, was the only magical person he knew here that wasn't instantly hostile towards him – In fact, she was a bit too friendly... But on the other hand, her habit of casually violating his personal space was absolutely nothing compared to some of the more rabid fangirls he had met.

Harry sighed loudly and stood up. He applied a bunch of healing and cleaning charms on his mauled face, the bleeding gashes and dark-purple bruises vanishing in seconds. A few other spells temporarily repaired his dark robes and washed away the sweat, dirt and blood, making him smell like wild flowers. It had taken him only a few flicks of a wand to make himself somewhat presentable, although he might have preferred a bit more manly scent... While the six years of Hogwarts' education didn't really help much in his fights, it sure came handy in other situations.

His last attempt at Apparating had been far less than a stellar success, but Harry had no idea if it was just a singular incident, or did it signify something deeper, like that Apparation simply didn't work properly here. He was not that well versed in magical theory and he had no idea what – aside specific wards created just for that purpose – could hinder Apparation. Deciding to take a calculated risk, he gathered his will and pictured the lush garden he had visited not an hour earlier. Harry twisted on the spot and vanished with a sharp pop.

* * *

She lay in her luxurious bed, her blonde hair sprawled on the soft, pink pillow. She grimaced as she watched her burned hands. All of her hard work had been wasted. The Outsider demon had escaped the circle so easily she could hardly believe it. Red-Moon-Stalker had proved to be much more powerful than she had anticipated.

Suddenly the room went dark and she could feel cold seeping through the thin silken covers, her breath fogging and the glass of mineral water on the bedside table freezing in seconds. _Magic_, her mind screamed in alarm. Someone was using magic in her home, somehow penetrating the Threshold and her many wards. Worst of all, she couldn't even feel the magical power being thrown around.

"The Outsider," she exclaimed fearfully as the terrible realisation dawned at her, the woman's voice barely above whisper.

Someone chuckled faintly behind her, the sinister high-pitched sound sending cold shivers all over her body. She spun around, throwing the silky covers to the floor, and her hand rose, red power cackling at her fingertips. A vaguely humanoid shape, seemingly formed of liquid shadows, hovered in the air next to her large bed, its vaporous form in constant flux. Despite the otherworldly demon's terrible eyes that shone with malicious inner power, shining like hot coals in the twilight of her bedroom, she didn't hesitate a split second.

There was a brilliant flash of piercing light and her vision went white for a second, the blazing threads of red lightning leaving her hand and tearing the opposing wall apart in a thunderous explosion of sulphurous fire and burning shrapnel. The shadowy apparition moved with speed and fluidity far surpassing that of any corporeal being, easily gliding away from the jagged strands of scarlet lightning, while the smouldering pieces of wood and concrete tore through its smoky body seemingly without harming it.

Before she could recover from her foci- and incantationless magic use, one nebulous hand struck like a snake and sunk into her chest. The ethereal fingers tightened around her heart, and for a moment it felt like blood had suddenly frozen in her veins. For the first few seconds she experienced agony like no other, her pained screams echoing through the whole apartment building, but then her mind went mercifully blank. She collapsed and her scantily-clad body fell to the floor with a dull thud, threads of dark shadows curling around her as they slowly entered her through every orifice.

In seconds it was over and the woman re-opened her eyes. They were no longer the cool bluish-grey domes they had been, but burning pools of blood-red with snake-like slits for pupils.

"Potter," she hissed sibilantly, the sound plainly unnatural from coming from human lips. "I will see you dead."

* * *

There was a brief sensation of intense pressure and he felt something part before him, before he re-appeared with a sharp, whip-like crack, hundreds of golden sparks dancing madly around him. Harry quickly checked if he still retained all his body-parts and he almost sighed in relief as he realised the Apparation had been fully successful even if it had felt significantly different than usual and had new light-effects.

"Returning already?" a musical voice commented from Harry's left before he had time to survey his new surroundings. "I didn't think you would have finalized your personal business quite this soon – whatever it was." She smiled radiantly at him as she stood up from the beautifully carved bench of some dark wood she had been sitting on. The young woman had discarded the white body-armour she wore when he had seen her the first time, instead she had on a gown of flowing yellow silk, laced through with veins of white and gold, a belt made from a twisted braid of silken threads of emerald and bronze circling her slim waist. "Nevertheless, I'm glad."

Harry couldn't help but smile back at her even though he wasn't exactly sure why he did so. "I'm happy that you are happy, Aurora, but I have been wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?"

"Oh," she exclaimed softly and tilted her head slightly, brushing a few curly locks white hair from her pretty face. "Feel free to ask anything, Lord Potter. I will not promise I will answer, though."

Harry didn't waste any time – he seriously needed the answers she could provide. He had to know if his suspicions were true or just a ridiculous theory. "Have you ever heard of Aurors or Voldemort?"

She lifted one perfect eyebrow at his question, but seemed to ponder it for a moment anyway, licking her full lips. "I have never heard of Aurors, but 'voldemort' is French for 'flight of death.'"

"Eh... It is?" Harry exclaimed blandly, not really caring the entomology of the snake bastard's fake name. Besides, he was rather preoccupied by the other implications of her words; assuming the witch wasn't a total recluse, she would have heard of the Dark Lord if he existed, implying that his outrageous hypothesis could be true... "I didn't know that."

Aurora walked closer to him and offered her slender arm, which the Potter scion took after a second of hesitation. Perhaps he was just getting paranoid, but tying his _wand_ arm with hers didn't sound like the best idea. Not when he had been attacked in this very garden just an hour before... She almost dragged him into the maze of pathways and the pair walked in uncomfortable silence until she spoke, "I take it you have never studied languages?"

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed and quickly glanced at the beautiful woman walking beside him, decidedly aware how her hip and shoulder sometimes pressed against him. "Never had the time or indication. I can speak some Latin, though, but it's not like I have ever systematically studied it." He didn't think it would be a very good idea to mention anything about Parseltongue as he had no idea of what kind of reputation the ability had here.

"By the way, what is the White Council?" Harry knew it was an abrupt change of direction, but he didn't really care. It was not like he could say much about the subject of languages anyway; it certainly wasn't his area of expertise.

"They are currently the strongest faction of human wizards in existence," she told him after a second. "It's not too surprising that an Outsider such as yourself is not aware of them as they have been here barely over a millennia. There are other similar groups, of course, and some of them are much older, but none of them even approach the sheer power of the Council."

Harry was silent for a moment. There it was, the final proof: He was fairly certain that no White Council existed in his world. If these guys really ran around killing people for merely _Obliviating_ too curious Muggles, they would be rather hard to miss – with such a level of fanaticism and insanity they couldn't be anything but public knowledge. Besides, now when he thought about it, the wizards and witches he had seen here wielded their power quite differently than he did – they didn't even seem to use wands! "I see... And Wardens are their enforcers?"

"They are," Aurora answered promptly, confirming Harry's suspicions, before she turned her inquisitive gaze from a small crystal-clear pond with a score of blooming water lilies at him. "Did you already meet one?"

Harry sighed tiredly, closing his eyes for a second. "Yes... One of them is going to take a prolonged sick-leave."

"Ah... I understand," she said evenly and Harry was relieved to hear no outrage in her voice. In fact, he somehow got an inkling that she was actually very pleased that he kicked the Warden's athletic ass, which, on the other hand, was pretty disturbing. "I feel I should warn you, though; their 'justice,' as they call it, is swift and merciless. They _will_ endeavour to hunt you down and execute you for what you did...and are. They can be unbearably zealous and self-righteous sometimes."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah... I thought they might try to do that. I will just have to keep my distance."

"You should not underestimate them. Their mastery over the unseen forces is impressive; avoiding them could be far harder than what you might think. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

She abruptly stopped walking, forcing Harry to halt mid-step, and turned to face him, her green cat-like eyes burrowing into him. It was the first time he truly noticed her vertically slitted pupils, briefly wondering what kind of creatures the witch had in her lineage. "Unless you align yourself with another powerful faction."

Harry just looked at her, cocking his head slightly. He assumed that she was about to propose something and he wasn't disappointed; there was a moment of silence, but then the white-haired woman spoke again, "Lord Potter, I have a deal for you. If you fulfil your obligation to me and pay your debts in full, I will grant you the protection of Summer Court and give you free lodging and upkeep for as long as you serve me. To sweeten the deal a bit, I will also grant you access to the Summer Wellspring. What say you?"

He blinked in surprise. Her offer was unexpected, but not really unwelcome as he needed means to sustain himself while searching for a way back to his home dimension; while he didn't have much he would really miss about his home, he couldn't leave his friends fight Voldemort alone. Besides, if she could really keep those crazy White Council wizards from coming after him like the Spanish inquisition, it would make things much easier...

Despite everything, he was about to decline the offer as he didn't know anything of this 'Summer' or her intentions. He had already rushed heedlessly into danger far too many times, and he didn't really fancy any repeat performances – people close to him tended to die in those. Worse, they usually died for nothing, just like Sirius. However as he refocused back on the woman, Harry could see the hopeful expression on her face. He froze.

Harry had never been one to deny his help from people in need, and the fact that she was stunningly gorgeous and currently clinging to his arm didn't make things any easier. Of course, the rational part of him said that her unearthly beauty was just a reason more to decline her offer. Somehow, he never got around doing it.

"I... I agree, Aurora," he mumbled out, the fateful words leaving his mouth without consulting his brains. Once again, Harry felt the foreign power move inside him. But unlike last time, the feeling was more like gentle warmth surging through him in spiralling paths rather than a sharp burning jolt twisting his innards. The Summer's fiery power seemed to...align with his own magic. Sure, it had bent to his will before, allowing him to throw high-powered spells left and right despite that he was supposed to be out of magical juice, but now it almost felt _his_. Harry nearly shuddered as he thought the sheer amount of raw power he would wield once his magic fully returned to him in a day or two...

A brilliant smile came to the Summer Lady's face and she leaned towards him, drawing Harry from his thoughts. "Very well, my Emissary," Aurora whispered to his ear, her warm breath tickling his ear and sending cold shivers down his spine. "Your first task is to bring me the famed Arthame, the enchanted ritual dagger that once belonged to the human Sorcerer-King Solomon."

Only a few seconds after the deal, Harry was already having a bad feeling about it.


	5. Ch5: Key of Solomon

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Five:**_ Key of Solomon

He woke up to the bright sunlight shining from a large window.

Harry groaned softly and lifted his head from an open book, blinking furiously to clear his vision. Harry had spent the majority of the evening and night reading books from the many bookshelves in his new room. While he could have simply asked Aurora, he had decided it would be better if he didn't make a fool of himself by asking stupid questions. Besides, he was probably supposed to know all this stuff and so it would arouse suspicion if it become clear he didn't. He certainly didn't need any more problems than he had already.

Anyway, the books had proved to be highly illuminating. Apparently Summer was one of the two Faerie Courts and Aurora one of the three queens of Summer. Those two pieces of information were the most important things in the wealth of knowledge he had acquired; everything else was secondary. Those two things signified very well how _royally_ he had screwed up.

Faeries here were probably even trickier and nastier than in the Muggle books he had read as a child, and that was saying something. At least it seemed that he had had the luck to make a deal with a Summer fae instead of Winter. Of course, there was a distinct possibility that everything he had read about Summer being nicer was simply propaganda.

While Harry was fairly certain that Aurora would get much more out of this whole affair than he, he still held hopes that he wouldn't be totally fucked over. To him it was of no consequence how much the Summer Lady profited from their deal as long as he advanced his own cause as well ‒ assuming, of course, that her aims weren't truly malicious. He didn't think that was the case, however, and she likely just needed him, and the Arthame, in the elaborate game of one-upmanship between the eternally-warring faerie courts.

Harry threw the green blanket off and sat up on the bed. Turning on the spot, he threw his legs over the edge of the four-poster bed, his toes touching the cool parquet. He stood up shakily and took his wand from the bedside table and waved it lazily, dispelling the radiant ball of pure white light that hovered four feet over his pillow. The luminous sphere vanished with a soft pop and cascade of silvery-white sparks. It had served as his reading light last evening and he was fairly surprised to see that the spell had lasted overnight. It probably had something to do with the Summer Fire mixing with his own power. From the two fights and the brief experimentation last night, Harry knew the fiery power greatly augmented his magic, especially spells dealing with fire, but somehow left him unable to cast even a passable Cooling Charm; forcing him to drink his water lukewarm.

Harry yawned. Perhaps a long, hot shower would wake him up better...

* * *

Elaine's knuckles drummed against the oaken door for the fourth time. It was starting to seem that the new Sidhe Lord wouldn't just open the door and let her in. The female wizard sighed tiredly and her fingers reached for the dull copper doorknob, twisting it sharply. The old-fashioned lock opened with an audible click and she pushed the large door wide open, stepping in uninvited.

She immediately knew it was a bad move.

Elaine let out a small yelp of surprise as the gravity that usually kept her soles tightly on the ground reversed and she suddenly fell upwards, her feet leaving the floor. Before she could realise what was happening she was already hanging upside down in the air, something invisible coiling and tightening around her with a soft hiss. A split second later she was totally immobilised; unable to move even a finger.

The large wooden tray filled with food slipped from her hands as her arms were forcefully slammed and bound against her sides and clattered against the shiny floor, glass shattering and floorboards denting. The bottle of vintage wine distributed its valuable contents on the floorboards, the deep-red liquid mixing with the steaming spaghetti sauce slowly spreading from the cracked and overturned plate. Newly baked bread quickly soaked in the puddle of wine, turning into wet paste. The silver knife had sunk into the wooden floor and was still vibrating from the impact.

She closed her eyes and breathed in as deeply as the constricting spell allowed, clearing her mind and opening her senses to the magic surrounding her. Elaine immediately became aware of the innumerable strands of Summer Fire tickling her skin and humming faintly around her body as the spell held her helpless mid-air.

In the middle of the luxurious room stood a man of average height, wearing only a bottle-green bathing robe, water still trickling from his messy hair after a shower. The man was rather handsome, but not exceptionally so; in fact he looked more of a human than the Sidhe Lord he was. His skin was quite pale and his features fine-boned and delicate, betraying his Sidhe heritage, but his hair lacked any otherworldly colour common amongst fae, instead being black as a raven's wing. His eyes were of the exactly same shade of striking green as the Summer Lady's, but without the cat-like pupils that most fae had. She guessed she wasn't looking at the High Sidhe's true form, but his human guise.

The deceptively young-looking man made a lazy motion with his wrist and a short wooden stick shot out from the sleeve into his waiting hand. Then he lifted the thin rod and pointed it at her, speaking a single word of power, "_Finite._" The spell that had held her suspended in the air simply ceased to exist, like it had never been there in the first place, and she collapsed unceremoniously to the floor.

"Sorry about that, but you should have knocked instead of just barging in," the man said amusedly as Elaine stood up, using her hands to brush spilled food off her clothes with rather poor results; she only succeeded in spreading the greasy stains. "In fact, you're lucky I didn't ward this room with something nastier."

She pulled her gaze from her dirtied clothes and looked sharply at the Sidhe sorcerer. "I did knock, you just didn't answer."

There was a moment of silence before the fae spoke, "I assume you were bringing me some breakfast... Or actually, it's probably lunchtime already, right? Hmm... I am sorta hungry. Lets see if the food is still salvageable..." He waved his wand, muttering silent incantations under his breath, and the tray rose from the parquet, twisting mid-air so that it was upright again. His next few wand movements repaired the broken glasses and bottles, and a few seconds later they were lifted by an unseen hand and deposited on the wooden tray hanging in the air. The plate of spaghetti followed, the painted porcelain mending in front her eyes. Soon the floor was clean again and the food in its proper containers.

The man ignored her wide-eyed expression and looked at the foodstuff critically, "The floor was pretty clean and so it should be all right. I've eaten worse...but the bread is still wet with wine..." He jabbed his wand at the pieces of bread and they dried instantly, red mist briefly rising from them, before another flick of the wand vanished the chromatic wisps.

Then he turned his attention back on her and she quickly closed her hanging mouth with an audible click. The Sidhe pointed his wand at her and before she could react he had already uttered an unknown incantation, "_Scourgify._"

There was a dim flash of light and she was suddenly surrounded by pink bubbles, the stains on her clothes disappearing. A faint but rather pleasant scent of lavender filled the air.

"Sorry, Miss. I thought you were a witch and could do that by yourself. My mistake, you have my apologies."

His condescending words and tone sent a wave of fury across her, but she reined in her instinct and spoke evenly, "Ah... I'm a wizard." Dammit, but she was no two-bit witch and the faerie Lord insinuated that she was even lower than that... A girl's gotta have her pride, after all.

The man blinked in apparent confusion, cocking his head slightly as he looked at her in askance. "Don't you sorta lack proper endowment for that?"

She gritted her teeth and her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms, but said nothing; Elaine knew without a shadow of doubt that anything she said now she would later regret. While she certainly didn't like her talents and skills being questioned, there was not much she could say to the Sidhe Lord; not after that dazzling show of power and fine control.

"I think we started off all wrong, although I really don't know why," the man spoke after a moment. "The name's Harry Potter," he said with a small smile and offered his hand. She blinked but shook it anyway, the magic in his touch tingling her skin like static electricity. His giving his name had pushed her off balance. It displayed utmost arrogance of a Sidhe to give what might possibly be his full name to a human wizard. By just knowing a part of his Name she could Summon him or target him with a huge number of rather nasty spells, but his actually saying more than one of his names aloud to her was simply..._ridiculous_. It was like letting her to put a shotgun loaded with cold iron to his head... And this man had cheerfully done so. Also, now she knew he was, or at least had been, a Changeling. Otherwise, he wouldn't have a human name.

"I'm Elaine," she said after a brief pause, not wanting to appear impolite. Truly, as long as she owed Summer a huge debt it wouldn't be very wise to antagonise a High Sidhe. Such things had a habit to come around at the worst possible moment...

The Sidhe looked at her, appearing as if he was debating something. Eventually he seemed to come into a some kind of conclusion. "Hmm... You wouldn't happen to know anything about King Solomon?"

"Why do you ask?" she asked suspiciously, answering his question with a question.

"I'm looking for a certain late possession of his – an arcane tool," he explained. "Considering that it's still missing, I doubt it's stored away in some dusty human museum, so I'm a bit lost as to how to begin my search."

"Why don't you visit a library or something?" she snapped and then almost slapped her hand on her mouth. Elaine mentally berated herself of acting out of annoyance and quickly continued, "But if ordinary humans don't know about the item you are searching for, then it would likely be futile. What about _Clavis Salomonis_? I have never seen the book myself, but I know it's a text about magic written by Solomon himself."

"Thanks," the Sidhe Lord said, sounding pretty un-Sidhe-like and flashing a small smile at her. "I will try to find that book."

Then the man made a rolling gesture with his wand and the food tray sailed slowly across the room and landed on a table. "Do you want some?" he asked, motioning towards the tray with his other hand.

"Ah... No thanks, Lord Potter. I have already eaten." With those words and a quick bow, more like a nod really, she hurried away from the weird faerie Lord, backtracking her steps until she reached the door.

* * *

Harry paid the driver and stepped out of the taxi onto the Chicago streets.

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Harry cast a Point-Me Charm to locate a copy of the book. Truly, the taxi driver had given him weird looks as Harry had them follow the lead of his wand across the city.

The holly stick spun in the air, eventually stopping and pointing into one direction like a compass needle. Harry looked at the direction and saw something that looked like a bookshop dealing with occult. He had tried to locate the Arthame using the same spell, but unsurprisingly it hadn't worked. If Aurora couldn't find it by herself, it had to be pretty well hidden.

On the short way down the lane to the occult store, Harry had to step twice over collapsed trash cans and he could count four drunkards. He shook his head lightly. If the place was this bad during a sunny day, he didn't want to be here during a night.

It certainly wasn't a very prestigious location for a bookshop...or any shop, really. In fact, the area seemed barely fit for human habitation. The neighbourhood was a bizarre blend of the worst a large city had to offer marching side by side with the erudite academia of the University of Chicago.

One of the drunks sitting on the street reached towards him as he walked by, grasping a hold of the hem of his robe. Now as she had her hand extended, he could see the countless needle-marks on her arm. The young wizard grimaced – not drunkards, _druggies_.

"What are you?" she asked, her voice hoarse and eyes dull. "You're all wrong... You shouldn't be here!"

Harry yanked his robe from her hand and looked at the delirious girl for a moment, disgust and pity battling within him. Her dark hair was unkempt and dirty – just like her clothes and general appearance. She probably wasn't old, but life had used her hard. Compassion won.

He reached into his pocket and drew a thick pile of notes given to him by the Summer Lady – all of them were hundreds – and tossed a few of them to the woman. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut up as Harry's wand pressed against her forehead. "_Imperio._"

A bland look spread over her face and Harry re-sheathed his wand. "Get something to eat, clean yourself up and try to act like an upstanding citizen and proper witch...I mean, woman. Rethink your life and decide if you really want to live like this. Also, buy some new clothes, yours are nothing but rags."

He walked away, leaving the Muggle to handle herself. The Unforgivable would fade away in a few days, depending mostly on her willpower and desire to struggle against his commands. Hopefully she would be able to drag herself out of the streets... He sighed dejectedly. Harry wasn't stupid; He knew that it was more than likely she would fall instantly back to her old ways the moment the spell ended.

The door chimes tinkled as he went in, and there was another chime from somewhere behind the counter. Harry took a sharp breath as the Summer Fire burning within him suddenly diminished greatly, turning from a blazing bonfire into a flickering candle. He almost shivered at the sudden loss of metaphysical warmth. Harry cursed inwardly; he should have checked for wards before walking in. In hindsight, it had been rather stupid of him to assume the shop being a Muggle establishment just because it wasn't in any magical location.

The proprietor had one arm on the counter and one out of sight under it until he peered over his reading glasses at his face. He was broad-shouldered, unshaven, and heavyset man who looked to be in his fifties. Placing the magazine he had been reading on the counter, the man focussed fully on Harry and spoke, "I'm afraid I don't know you, sir."

"Well... I don't know you either," Harry said flippantly with a faint smile, quickly recovering from the vanishing of the Summer Fire, "but I don't think that's very unusual as this is a shop, after all."

The man arched his eyebrow and cocked his head s little. "More unusual than you might think, but yes, how may I help you?"

"I need a book called _Clavis Salomonis_," Harry said curtly. "Do you have one?"

"Ah... The Greater Key of Solomon," the man said sagely, nodding to himself. "An excellent text concerning Circles and Summons. Supposedly written by King Solomon himself. Let me get it for you."

The shopkeeper reached behind him without looking and snagged a key from where it hung on a peg on the wall behind him and walked to a door a few yards in his left. He opened the door with a metallic click and went in for a half minute. When he came out he had a large book in his hands.

Placing the old, leather and iron bound tome on the table, the shopkeeper opened it and took out a yellowing piece paper from inside the cover. The man briefly looked at the card and said, "Nine-hundred sixty-five."

Harry gave him the money and pocketed the grimoire, the arcane text shrinking to fit into the much smaller pocket. He was expecting his change when a part of the ambient magic permeating the book store vanished, some unseen constructions of magic rumbling down. It was the metaphysical equivalent of a cold breeze blowing against his face; both refreshing and alarming. "What was that?" Harry asked as he scanned his surroundings and his hand surreptitiously reaching into his black robe, the fingers coiling around the haft of his sword. If the ominous feeling came from falling wards as he suspected, it would probably denote an immediate attack.

He was not disappointed. Or actually, on second thought, he was.

The shopkeeper opened his mouth to answer, but was silenced when the front door was slammed wide open and a mass of Inferi poured in, in their all decaying glory. To make things even worse, their appearance was instantly followed by an oppressing flash of spiritual coldness that signified an anti-Apparation ward powering up.

"Oh bloody hell," Harry exclaimed softly. His hand rose and he called his wand from the enchanted holster almost by pure instinct, red light blossoming from the tip. A loud explosion of super-heated blood and scorched flesh followed as a sizzling filament flashed through the first Inferius' face before hitting the one behind it, causing yet another deafening bang.

Harry's next flick of wand and a snarled word caused numerous, brilliant orange threads of thrumming fire-magic to spin and tighten around the third zombie, and a second later it erupted in a fiery geyser of immolated flesh and burning blood. The violent blast of searing air was enough to billow Harry's robe and throw the nearest Inferi around like rag-dolls.

Killing Inferi was almost too easy when they came from one direction only, and Harry was all but ashamed that it took him many seconds to realise they had to be just a diversion. Out of sheer paranoia he jumped to his left and not a second later, a blazing curse sailed by him. Missing him by less than a foot, it blasted into a bookshelf and showered burning pieces of paper and wood around.

Quickly diving behind another shelf, Harry whipped his wand and tore one of the prone zombies in half with a powerful Ripping Hex while he was still in the air. Dark, almost black, blood splashed everywhere from the lacerated wounds and pooled onto the floor, the upper half of the undead monster still slowly clawing its way towards him, drooling blood with every movement. It was rather disgusting...and even somewhat comical, in a very morbid way.

Then a wide arc of pulsating purple fire blasted through the nearby bookshelves, setting them aflame, and cutting apart the last two standing Inferi. Harry was buried under a veritable flood of smouldering books as the broken shelves collapsed. It wasn't very nice, but if he hadn't been lying on the floor the powerful curse would have killed him instead of burying him under blackened books.

"_Perite!_" Harry cried out and an Area Banisher hurled the rubble away from him like a miniature tornado, the tremendous pressure blast collapsing most of the few still standing bookshelves not pressed against a wall. The shop's windows exploded outwards, raining glass shards on the hopefully empty street.

Quickly rolling over the dirty floor he avoided a streak of azure light that, instead of tearing a fist-sized hole onto the young sorcerer's body, ripped up a few floorboards with a loud sizzling hiss and set them alight, bright lightning snaking briefly around the smoking shards. Harry could distinctly smell the sharp stench of ozone left behind by the super-charged Shocking Hex.

He jumped back on his feet, dashing to his right to avoid the next barrage of Dark magic, and finally got a sight of his assailant. He instantly recognised her; she was the witch from yesterday – the one who saw him come into this mad world. Harry had no time to wonder why she was after him, however, as the witch hurled a rather nasty Explosion Curse at him – the very same spell Pettigrew used to kill thirteen Muggles. Despite its sheer explosive power, the curse was not a very hard spell to block and so he decided to 'appropriate' it. Aligning his wand in a sufficient angle, Harry summoned a simple _Protego_. The blazing curse was deflected with a loud clang, sailing through the air and hitting an Inferius right into its torso.

It was like a Muggle demolition charge had went off right next to him, burning pieces of flesh splattering against his shimmering shield. Despite he had closed his eyes in time, he was still blinded for a moment and his ears rang horrendously, drowning all other sounds. Not that he would have been able to see through the thick cloud of dust and smoke, anyway.

Shooting curses blindly where he thought the witch might be, Harry staggered around, hoping that luck would favour him over his opponent as it become obvious that the witch was doing the same. After a few seconds of aimless and apparently futile barrages, both duellers ceased their attacks, instead opting to conserve power. Silence settled down on the occult store turned battlefield, except for the crackle of flames.

Then the floor creaked faintly behind him and Harry spun around, a hazel Annihilation Curse leaving his wand in a split second and promptly turning everything it touched into fine powder. The spell made a faint whooshing sound as it ate through the zombie's chest like an army of starved termites. What remained of the Inferius' body collapsed a heartbeat later. Harry cursed in his mind. The witch now knew his location and there might be even more living dead hiding in the smoke...

Wind whistled and something barely visible went by him, distorting air and gashing a bleeding cut on his shoulder. Whatever spell it was, it had cleared the path between the two sorcerers. "_Immolatum_," Harry snarled as his wand whipped towards the woman, dark smoke and almost painfully-bright green fire bursting out of the tip. The blazing dart of all-consuming elemental fire burned blue and purple after-images into his retinas, the stench of sulphur mixed with something sweet filling his nostrils.

The dark-clad woman didn't even bother to bring up a shield, instead the very powerful and obviously Dark witch casually back-handed the roaring curse away from her, sending the blazing bolt spiralling towards the ceiling, which it hit a second later. Neon-green conflagration spread across the wooden panels and rained fiery sparks upon the two duellists.

Then the woman's thicker rod was already pointed at him and, as she spat out two sinister words, the runes carved on the wooden device lit up with a yellowish-green glow. A twisting bolt of sickly green light blossomed from the end of the rod and sped towards Harry, who instantly swayed to his side. Invisible wind howled into his ear as the life-snubbing Unforgivable went by him, the bookshelf behind him exploding with green fire. Apparently the dreaded Killing Curse existed in this world too. Harry knew he shouldn't be too surprised about the fact as they obviously could use Necromancy...

"_Contego!_" Harry yelled, brandishing his wand that was still trailing grey smoke after his last spell, and a purple shield swirled into existence, intercepting the foul beam of inky darkness that the Dark witch had almost lazily tossed after the Killing Curse. The long-tailed jet of liquid-looking shadows splashed futilely against the shimmering amethyst barrier, but the clearly Dark curse didn't dissipate like it should have, instead it divided in two and slid towards the edges of the shield. Harry cursed inwardly and frantically pumped more magic into the shield, willing it to take a spherical shape. Thankfully the advanced shield expanded faster than the other spell slid along the barrier, fully enveloping Harry in a heartbeat. However, the shadowy spell just coiled tightly around the protective dome, releasing a continuous, sizzling hiss as it did so. It was slowly eating through the shield like some magical acid.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Roared the woman again, her face a mask of hatred and glee, the two foul words releasing another deadly jet of magic at the wizard. Harry's eyes widened in horror; the Unforgivable would tear straight through his shield and he couldn't drop the protective spell and dodge because of the shadowy threads circling him...

There was a flash metallic light as the Gryffindor's sword left its plain scabbard, the magnificent silver blade sheathed in golden flames slashing vertically across the purple barrier and cutting through the writhing strands of pure darkness. Harry dived forward through the opening he had just made, the Killing Curse fluttering his unruly black hair as it passed barely an inch over him.

He somersaulted on the floor and was instantly back on his feet again, the Summer-empowered blade slashing through the air and cleaving an incoming spell in half. The two unravelling smidgens of yellowish light went by either side of him in spiralling paths, releasing ominous hiss as the fetid magic dispersed.

The sickly-yellow Flesh Rotting Curse was quickly followed by a twisting spear of reddish-orange light that left a wispy trail of fire behind it. Harry twisted his torso sharply, his robe billowing out and the fiery spell burning two smoking holes into the pitch-black fabric, coming within a hair's breadth of hitting him as it flew past. His hand rose and a sharp jab of his wand sent a vicious Cutting Curse aimed at the older magician's neck. The woman quickly flicked her wand-imitation and the red filament was redirected towards the floor, the spell burrowing deep into the concrete below the wooden floorboards with a loud crunch.

Then the witch abruptly sped up her spellwork and suddenly the air between them was full of streaks of coloured lights. Barely avoiding the first three blazing curses, Harry was forced to bring up an amethyst barrier to shield himself from the almost continuous stream lesser spells. He gritted his teeth and steeled his will as the holly wand vibrated violently in his hand, forcing the shield to keep its shape despite the onslaught of magic crashing against it. What the individual curses and hexes lacked in raw power, they more than made up with sheer quantity and his _Contego_ shield was quickly rupturing under the relentless barrage.

The Potter scion exploded into motion, the purple shield shattering and streaks of multicoloured light passing through the spot he had just vacated. Harry swirled his sword, hitting a Heart Stopping Curse with the flat of the blade and batting it away, and brought his wand down in a slashing movement, unleashing a pulsating arc of deep purple fire.

The witch sidestepped, not even trying to shield against the curse and gracefully letting it rocket by her, while a complicated motion of her rod hurled dozens of small silver darts at Harry.

The deadly projectiles hit an invisible shield with loud gong-like clangs, all but two of them rebounding into random directions at the contact. One of the two that managed to puncture the shield missed Harry by over a foot, but the other went straight through his wand arm, eliciting a pained scream. The conjured dart easily overcame the specialised Cushioning Charm capable of stopping bullets and the spell-reinforced fabric of his robe, bursting through soft flesh and shattering bone with a loud crack. The wall behind Harry stained with thousands tiny droplets of vivid crimson and the wand fell from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering against dirty floorboards.

His green eyes watered and an agonised hiss escaped his lips, but the wizard otherwise ignored the piercing pain radiating from his broken arm. With the fifth step, Harry finally reached the Dark witch and raised his flaming sword, intending to cleave the bitch in half.

Bellowing a nonsensical war cry, he brought his sword down but he wild swing never landed. The witch whispered a single word of power, the tip of her rod lighting up with a faint scarlet glow that quickly grew into a brilliant halo as more strands of light burst out and coalesced around the wooden stick, and brought it in the sword's path. The blasting rod and the sword met with a loud crack-hiss accompanied by an explosion of fiery sparks.

Then a wave of the woman's hand and a wandless Banisher sent Harry flying across the room, smashing against a tall bookshelf and toppling it. Gryffindor's sword slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a loud clang. The golden flames died in an instant.

Harry quickly rolled off the fallen bookshelf, barely avoiding the searing torrent of Cursed Fire that instantly consumed the wooden shelf and the Muggle books, and snatched his wand from the floorboards. He could see multiple demonic shapes becoming more and more defined in the swirling reddish-orange flames as the magical fire spread and grew in intensity.

He was forced to draw his attention from the ravenous flames as a bolt of green light exploded out from the witch's pointed rod. Harry's wand moved in blur and the Killing Curse detonated against a slab of conjured marble, the force behind the spell fracturing and blackening the white stone. His next spell blew up the piece of marble with a thunderous crack, sending a deadly shower of sharp stone shards at the witch, who waved her rod in an elaborate loop.

Bluish light enveloped the woman, swirling around her and catching the projectiles, holding the stone fragments within it as if the air was suddenly made of jelly. Then the distorting light died and the pieces of marble fell with faint clatters.

By this time Harry had already repaired his arm and Summoned his sword, the enchanted blade igniting in his hand and bathing the shop in its warm golden hue again. The lacerated wound hadn't been very complicated, nor had the spellsilver conjuration left any inhibiting magical residuals, and so a simple but rather painful _Episkey_ was able to mend the bone and reknit the flesh... Well, at least temporally.

"Intending to fight with a sword like a filthy Muggle?" the witch drawled, as she stared the blade with clear distaste. She sniffed haughtily and lowered her rod, blazing threads of destructive energy still crackling around it. "Or perhaps you wish to emulate the goblin thrash that made that blade... If that's the case, then you might as well give your wand to me."

Harry blinked owlishly and his mouth hung open. The nutty Dark witch desired his wand? It was rather novel; nobody had ever wanted to murder him for a wand before... "What?" he exclaimed after a moment as he stared incredulously at the blonde woman, the word leaving his mouth without conscious thought.

"You destroyed my wand and the Elder Wand; yours is the only proper foci in this pathetic little world."

"Voldemort?" Harry muttered disbelievingly, the woman's true identity suddenly dawning to him. "What the bloody hell are you doing here? Don't tell me you came after me..."

"Stupid boy," Voldemort snarled. "I would have happily let you rot here without any interference, but alas, my desire to see you die led me to be caught in the Circle when it activated."

"So... I burned the fabled Deathstick... Boo-_fucking_-hoo," Harry remarked after a brief silence. "If I remember right, Bellatrix incinerated my Hallow with _Fiendfyre_...while Neville was still wearing it. I say we are still far from even!"

"Very well then, Potter," Voldemort said in his..._her_...customary hiss and lifted the blazing rod. The witch's lips slithered into a faint smile. "I can pry it from your cold fingers too. In fact, I prefer it this way; you have been a thorn in my side for too long already."

"Or perhaps," a third voice joined the conversation, "you will just exit my shop and continue your argument outside." The shopkeeper had risen from behind the counter where he had taken cover when the fight begun and was now pressing a shotgun barrel against Voldemort's back. Harry drew in a sharp breath. Why did the stupid moron decide to intervene in a wizarding duel when he could have run the fuck away while they were still fighting? There was no fucking way he could protect the Muggle from the Dark Lord...

"See, Harry. This is why I dislike Muggles," Voldemort said and turned around. The crude Muggle-made weapon roared as it spit out a lethal shower of speeding metal balls, but Harry wasn't sure if any of the projectiles managed to penetrate the magical defences undoubtedly woven around the witch. 'Her' hand flashed, flesh parting and searing as Voldemort's magic-empowered rod carved its path through the shopkeeper's torso and showered her with copious amounts of boiled blood. The man collapsed on the desk and his pump-action shotgun clattered against the floor in two parts, both pieces smoking and partially molten. As the witch turned to face Harry again, he could see a small bleeding wound on her side, but if she even felt it, she showed none of it. "They don't know how to act with their betters."

She rolled her wrist and the fiery halo that surrounded the rod quickly ebbed away. Seeing this, Harry finally recovered from his stupor and flicked his wand, amethyst light exploding from the tip. A brilliant beam of purple energy lanced forwards, barely missing Voldemort as she jumped out of the spell's way. The Gouging Charm hit the oaken desk behind her, tearing a fist-sized hole through it and raining sawdust on the two duellists.

A quick jab of the witch's rod hurled a burst of innumerable burning arrows towards Harry, forcing him to erect a silvery shield. The flaming projectiles were deflected into random directions with a sharp staccato of echoing clangs. Voldemort fluidly evaded the three of them rebounded back at her and flourished her rune-etched rod, something oily and sickly-yellow spurting out of the tip and forming into a sleek spear that rocketed towards the younger magician.

The high-level conjuration tore effortlessly through Harry's hastily created _Protego_, but the wizard was already on the move. He easily sidestepped the gleaming spear and trained his wand at the witch. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Voldemort made no move to dodge the spell; instead she caught the Unforgivable with the tip of her rod, the long-tailed jet of sickly-green light coiling around the wooden device. Then she gave it a little flick, hurling Harry's spell back at him. As he frantically dodged the Killing Curse, he was woefully unprepared the Cursed Fire burning nearby suddenly animating and jumping up at him.

Harry screamed in pain and surprise as a huge serpent composed of ravenous orange-red fire coiled around him, his wand flashing through a set of complex motions. Only the multiple layers of defensive magic around him kept him from being instantly immolated. As it was, the protective spells bought Harry the second he needed to cast the counter-curse, enabling him to escape a certain death and suffer only minor, if extensive, burns. The magical flames died in an instant, leaving behind only a plume of dark smoke and a few orange sparks.

Then there was a faint flash of yellow light and Harry found himself being hurled across the room, slamming against the wall with a dull thud and slumping down in a heap. The jarring impact sent his wand flying into the dusty corner, the Gryffindor's sword sinking into the wall behind him. He lay on the floor and groaned softly. The pain was quite severe; not only did he feel decidedly sick, his skin was a one big burn. After a moment, Harry lifted his head from the parquet and looked at the gloating Voldemort.

"Any last words, Potter?" she asked in a sibilant drawl and lifted her smoking rod. Harry's eyes focused on the small, burning dent cut by Gryffindor's sword, wisps of black smoke and occasional fiery spark rising from it. "It seems that your persistence was a simple fluke, after all. This time you won't be saved by the ancient blood magic, nor will there be any cosmic accidents. This time you will truly die. _Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a brilliant flash of sickly-green light and her rod exploded, the damaged channelling device finally breaking under the strain. Vivid red and pieces of charred flesh stained the scorched walls and what remained of Voldemort's half-exploded body collapsed a second later.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence until Harry burst out laughing. The laughter was hysterical and decidedly maniacal, lacking any real mirth. The wizard who just a second before had been scared shitless could barely bend his mind around the sheer absurdity of the situation. He stopped laughing only after it got too hard to breathe due to heat and the noxious smoke permeating the air.

Harry looked around. Voldemort's wraith was nowhere to be seen, but he couldn't say whether it was a good thing or not. The building was badly ravaged and happily burning, but it was probably for the best as he and the Dark Lord..._Lady_, or whatever, had unleashed a shit-load of Dark magic here. He decided to let it burn. The place was tainted and flames would purge it.

He stood up shakily, waving his hand and using the charmed holster attached to the underside of his wrist to call back his wand. The holly stick sped through the air and slid directly into the wand-holder. After sheathing his sword, he checked he still had the book, and with a final, remorseful look at the dead shopkeeper, Apparated away.


	6. Ch6: Courtly Dances

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Six:**_ Courtly Dances

_Among the innumerable hordes of lesser creatures inhabiting the vast Netherworld stand apart of a few groups of stronger beings that should be called upon only in the direst need, for their power is considerable and their minds, utterly inhuman. Foremost of these dangerous groups are grotesque Greater Daemons and the unearthly Sidhe. Many foolish Summoners have lost their lives and very souls to the mighty Sakhr the Deceiver, whose forked tongue has a forked tongue. But more than the fell demons, one should be wary of the deceptive fey. This is because a wise man can always tell that the foul Hellbound seek only to spread their righteous suffering upon virtuous mortals, while the aims of the capricious Sidhe are manifold and unpredictable; some beneficial to humanity, some utterly destructive. Look at the false muse, Leanansidhe of Unseelie. She's a whore, thief and murderer, yet she uses her eldritch powers to provide great inspiration to all kinds of mortal artists and craftsmen._

Harry put down his quill, being careful not to spill the dark green ink, and leaned back on his luxurious armchair. Despite all the anti-nonhuman crap in the book, the young wizard still wasn't sure whether King Solomon had been a racist or if the man simply had had a much better defined sense of self-preservation than he. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, rolled his stiff wrist and flexed the somewhat numb fingers, trying to regain some manual dexterity after long hours of diligent writing. The large wooden table in front of him was filled with piles of paper and a few open Latin textbooks; visible proof of Harry's attempt at translating _Clavis Salomonis_. Sighing tiredly he reached for the aforementioned book and drew it closer, his eyes focusing on the next paragraph.

_While many Sidhe and most Daemons will answer willingly even to an inept and weak call, controlling these beings is another matter entirely. When dealing with the repellent Hellbound, losing control means instant death and eternal damnation, while with the inhuman Sidhe it likely results in a lifetime of servitude ‒ sometimes a very short one. To safely contain and command beings far stronger than oneself, special measures are needed; only the most magically strong and iron-willed Summoner can hope to bind a Lord of Nevernever with a Circle alone. Crafting a Seal is the best way to achieve total dominion over an otherworldly being. Seals are made by trapping the tiniest sliver of a fae or demon's essence into a symbol of magic, and thus can be used to give the right resonance to a Circle, almost immunising it against that particular creature's powers. A Seal can be made to simultaneously hold essence fragments from many different beings. My own Seal, made into the form of an iron and brass ring, can command over a hundred wicked demons._

He closed the leather-bound book he had been reading with a sharp snap and lowered it on the opulent, partially-gilded bedside table, next to a silver goblet filled with some crystal clear, softly bubbling liquid. Translating the ancient text from Latin to English was a difficult and tedious undertaking for someone with his less than prodigious language skills.

Because most incantations were derived from Latin, all wizards learned the basics of the language as a by-product of studying magic and memorising hundreds of magic words. Well, perhaps 'derived' was a wrong word as in reality the process went the other way around. Incantations were arithmetical constructions designed to automatically bend magic into the form of a spell without any significant mental effort on the caster's part. Latin used to be the language of magic until Muggles took it up and twisted it, inventing new words and making up a grammar almost as incomprehensible as the original arithmetical calculations.

Thus far the text had barely mentioned the Arthame, but from the scarce information he had acquired, he surmised that it was simply a strongly enchanted athame that the Sorcerer-King Solomon had owned. What its powers were, he didn't know.

At the moment, however, Harry had far too many other concerns to be truly worried about the slow pace of the search. His first and foremost worry was Voldemort. While it was positive that the Dark Lord wasn't out there killing his friends, it didn't make things much better; the bastard didn't exactly lack people to kill in this dimension either. It was still his fate, his responsibility to end the Dark Lord...or die trying. Unfortunately it seemed that the older wizard was still light-years ahead him and Harry wasn't sure if he could ever bridge the humongous gap in skill.

He sighed dejectedly. Unlike his friend Hermione, Harry wasn't able to absorb new knowledge like a sponge, and by all accounts Riddle was even a faster learner than she. Luckily duelling was more than just spell-knowledge; otherwise he wouldn't thrash the brunette witch every time they practised wandplay...

Then there was the faint sound of a door opening and Aurora walked in, somehow slipping through the ward guarding the room without tripping it. Focusing on the young woman who had just entered his room, Harry took in the changes in her. It seemed that every time he saw her, she wore different clothes ‒ even when they met again just a few hours later. This time, however she had done a complete redo. She was breathtakingly beautiful, as always, but now her clothing was significantly more formal than he had ever seen, as if she was readying for an official ball. She wore a bell-sleeved, flowing gown of yellow and white silks. If it weren't for the high side slit and her bare shoulders, the dress could have been taken straight from the Middle Ages. Her normally pure white hair was now a warm golden colour and tied in elaborate loops and knots. A jewel-encrusted tiara circled her head and entwined artfully with the golden locks. Even her nails were all painted and shiny.

"You seem to be healing well," she remarked casually as she walked to him, her glossy white dance shoes clicking softly against the polished parquet. Harry found himself unable to look away from her as she moved across the room. She wasn't exceptionally 'bouncy' nor did her hips sway significantly more than what was normal for a girl with her measurements, but somehow her gait still managed to almost ooze femininity and sensuality. He couldn't help but notice the room suddenly felt a bit hotter; her very presence was almost intoxicating. "The burns are barely visible now and they will likely be completely gone before the evening, which is good."

Her mention of his burns brought his mind back to the present and he blinked owlishly, his cheeks reddening a little. She was right about his injuries, Harry noted absently as he turned his eyes from her chest and looked at his hands, which were only slightly discoloured. After many tries, faerie magic had eventually proved effective at repairing the damage Voldemort had caused, despite the fact that he seemed quite resistant to their power. Lifting his gaze to her pretty face, Harry expected Aurora to continue, which she promptly did. "I'm going to host a party this evening and wish you to attend."

His eyes narrowed and his posture stiffened a little. Harry could tell she wasn't really asking, rather she was stating how things were going to be. Well, it wasn't like he had anything else planned and it might be informative and even fun... Well, _possibly_. On the other hand, he had never really been a party-going person. "Very well..." Harry said resignedly, accepting for a moment that he would just have to go with the flow. "What kind of party are we speaking of?"

"A dance ball," she replied curtly.

"Dammit," Harry swore under his breath. He only knew a few wizarding dances and even in those he sucked. He had absolutely no inclination of making himself a fool in front of a bunch of prissy Sidhe blessed with preternatural grace.

Aurora seemingly ignored his outburst and turned to look at the sword in a display over his desk, taking a few steps and reaching for it. She drew the gently-curving sword from its sheath with a nearly inaudible hiss of metal sliding against wood, the blade silently igniting with golden flames.

"This sword, does it have a name?" Aurora asked as she watched the shortsword's flickering aura of pure Summer Fire, seemingly enraptured by the dancing flames. "It certainly deserves one... Especially now when a tiny portion of Summer is caged within it."

"Not really..." Harry replied after a moment. "Everybody just calls it Gryffindor's sword after its enchanter and first owner."

"Then we should give it a proper name," she said, tearing her gaze from the goblin-silver weapon and focusing at Harry again. "Names _do_ hold power after all. Personally I'm rather partial to..._Muneracchius_." A faint, mischievous smile played on her lips and she had left a dramatic pause before saying the name, as if it was supposed to mean something to him. Unfortunately, he had no idea of what she found amusing or what was so special in the pig-Latin name she proposed.

Deciding it might not be the most prudent move to admit not knowing a shit of what she was talking about, Harry just smiled and said, "I rather like it! So, Muneracchius it is, then."

"Good," she said and sheathed the newly-christened sword before putting it back on the wall. "You are going to need a new scabbard for it. This one is simply too plain, not worthy of the blade." She paused and elegantly smoothed some imaginary creases on her rich dress. "I'm going to take a walk in the garden and will return here to fetch you for the ball."

"Wait! Didn't you say that the party is in the evening?" Harry exclaimed and quickly glanced at his wristwatch. "It's only eleven thirty. How long walk are you going to take?"

She tilted her head a little. "Here in the palace time passes more or less with the same pace as in the mortal world, with only minor fluctuations possible," she explained. "In the Garden of Elysium, however, it is not so. It is the very heart of our domain and there time flows as the Queens of Summer will it."

Harry perked up. "You can travel in time?"

"Not at such," Aurora said. "I can fit eternity into a second or make aeons pass in an instant, but the past is still locked for me and the future only a one-way road."

"Oh," he said, feeling somewhat disappointed at the lost opportunities.

Aurora regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before smiling faintly and turning around, the hem of her yellow dress swaying. Before she left the richly furnished room, Harry had already turned his attention back at the books and his translation work.

* * *

The Summer Ballroom was immense, occupying a complete wing of the palace and soaring over four storeys high. The massive room was illuminated by thousands of brightly glowing glass bulbs set on the walls and ceiling, flooding light over every gilded detail. Lofty windows set with faceted panes ranged the run of one wall, the low-lying sun shining through the coloured glass and painting the hall with all the colours of rainbow.

The party had been going for over an hour and Harry was hanging in the sidelines, trying to avoid attention and trouble. Thus far it was working quite well. Sure, his walking into the ballroom with Aurora and the rest of her entourage had garnered some speculative gazes and a few circuitous inquiries, but he could easily deal with that. They were nothing new...even if the reasons behind them were now completely different.

Harry took a sip from the crystal glass in his hand and leaned against the wall. He absently eased his bottle-green cravat a little and opened the uppermost button of his white shirt. The whole affair was a bit boring, but at least the food and drink being served were excellent.

There was a small group of fae children huddled together near him, speaking in hushed voices as if they were scared of being noticed by their elders. Or perhaps they were simply more polite and intelligent than human children. Some of them were still toddlers, most a bit older. Of course, he didn't know quickly the nigh immortal Sidhe matured, and so they could conceivably all be older than he.

A young girl with two pig-tails snapped her fingers and a small flame appeared on the tip of her index finger, which seemed to surprise one of her companions. He took a step backwards, hitting a third one and causing the boy's grip to falter. A glass shattered against the floor with a loud crash, spreading glass shards and reddish liquid on the parquet. The children instant began arguing exactly who was to blame for the accident, the volume of their voices finally reaching and exceeding that of normal speech.

Harry took a pity on them. Lowering his pitcher on a nearby table, he walked to the bunch of squabbling children, the charmed holster spitting his wand into his hand. "_Evanesco,_" Harry intoned and the Vanishing Charm left his wand with a barely perceivable flash of light. Invisible flood of magic washed over the parquet and the floor was suddenly clean again, all glass fragments and the strawberry-flavoured juice seemingly vaporising into the air in an instant.

The kids were all staring him with their big, strangely-coloured eyes. There was a short pause as they looked at each other, before the fae children exploded into a chorus of exclamations. "That was cool!" "It wasn't a Glamour!" "Wow!" "Can you do something else?"

Deciding he could as well oblige them, he reached for his suit pocket and withdrew a single gold Galleon, flipping it high into the air with his thumb. The gold coin spun wildly through the air, making mad loops and sharp zigzags. The faerie children giggled, laughed, _ooh_ed and _aah_ed as he performed his magic, waving his wand in grandiose manner as if he was leading an orchestra.

An idle twist of the holly wand made the Galleon leave behind a trail of bright green sparks as it moved randomly over the kids' heads. "_Columbidae_," Harry whispered under his breath and he could hear sharp gasps coming from the bunch of young Sidhe. In a flash of orange light, the coin had turned into a pure-white dove. The Transfigured bird made a single circle over Harry and his audience before flying away.

The minor charms and mid-level Transfigurations were nothing but parlour tricks, something that every graduated wizard could do with ease, but Harry had to admit they were very nice tricks. The children certainly seemed to enjoy them, and Harry himself found it impossible to contain a wide smile. They really were adorable.

"Good evening, Lord Potter," A cool, silky-smooth voice said from his left. Harry sheathed his wand and quickly turned to face the incomer, his good mood vanishing in an instant. She wore a slender gown of dark green silks that hugged every curve of her voluptuous body and tastefully accented her femininity; displaying nothing, but hinting of everything. Her appearance was of the standard, if lovely, Sidhe fare: long, luscious hair, flawless skin, high cheekbones, and full, kissable lips. He recognised the woman as one the four Winter delegates invited to the party, and that made him instantly wary; he was allied with Summer which made her his enemy by default. Still, he had to admit that she was exceedingly beautiful and it took more mental effort than it should have to keep his eyes from roving all over her body.

"Yes?" he replied slowly, wondering what a Winter Sidhe like her could want of him...and how he could avoid whatever it was.

Her next words were surprisingly concise and to the point. "I have heard you are searching for the Arthame?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. She already had the upper hand and he didn't like it at all. Still, he tried his best to keep his tone civil. "How do you know that? And who are you, anyway?" He knew that he practically announced that she was right, but it wasn't very likely that she was just guessing in the first place.

"I'm Leanansidhe, High Lady of the Winter Court," she said with a small, elegant curtsy. "And how I know it is inconsequential. It matters not who told me. What matters is that I can tell you where the Arthame is."

That stunned Harry for a moment. This particular fae was being rather forthcoming; too forthcoming to not have a hidden agenda. Despite her being of Winter, he knew her word was good as faeries were bound to speak no outright lies. This left him with the question as why exactly she came to him with the information.

"And you are telling this to me because?" he asked, suspicious. He had no plans of getting caught in even more faerie webs of debt and obligation, and so he would have to tread very carefully. He had already tangled himself more than well enough. "You are certainly not doing this just to help me."

She smiled. It was a nice smile, if a bit predatory. "On the contrary, I honestly want you to acquire the Arthame. Not because you having it will help me any, but because of what you must do to get your hands on it."

"And what exactly is what I have to do, Lady Leanansidhe?" He asked sharply, knowing without a shadow of doubt that he was being manipulated. He didn't like it at all, but it was not like he could do anything else than to listen to her.

"To obtain the Arthame you must first have the Seal of Solomon, and the ring is currently in possession of Lord Raith of the White Court."

"The Seal of Solomon?" Harry repeated confusedly, before he remembered what he had read just that morning, and it dawned at him. "Are you saying that a demon has the Arthame?"

She nodded slightly and a tiny smile curved her full lips. "Indeed, the Greater Daemon Sakhr the Deceiver has it. And you will want the Seal when you try to subdue him. Otherwise you won't fare any better than you did against your own kin yesterday."

"Voldemort," Harry all but hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue. His wand shot into his hand, but the Sidhe Lady caught his wrist before managed point the holly rod at her. Her touch was freezing cold and felt decidedly uncomfortable even through the protective charms, but he showed none of it. He absolutely refused to show any weakness in a court of sharks. A few angry red sparks escaped the wand tip as he glared heatedly at the woman. "Is the Dark Lord your source, then?"

"I'm not your enemy," she growled coldly into his ear, her breath carrying the burning coldness of midwinter as it splashed against his cheek. Her hold tightened a little and Harry got the feeling that she could easily snap the bones if she wanted to. "And unless you wish to make it so, you shouldn't treat me as such." Then the female Sidhe let go off his wrist and he briefly saw the reddened skin of her palm as her hand receded. She had burned! But then again, his skin was deathly white and numb where she had touched him. It certainly seemed that Summer and Winter didn't mix well.

"I didn't think you would be foolish enough to start trouble here, but I see I was dead wrong. Enjoy the party, Lord Potter." With those words she was gone, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Harry sighed dejectedly and absently rubbed his numb wrist. He really had the talent for making a good first impression...

"I don't like that Lady at all," one of the boys sudden piped up as he stared at the Winter Sidhe's back. "She smells mean and cold." The declaration was instantly met with a high-pitched chorus of affirmations from the other children.

"I bet she's both," Harry mumbled under his breath before turning to face the kids. "I think I will go and get a bit of fresh air." Their faces fell in disappointment, but before they could protest at his decision, Harry had already flicked his wand and Transfigured the pig-tailed girl's small folding fan into a golden-furred puppy.

It served as an ample distraction, instantly capturing their undivided attention. While the kids squalled excitedly and almost squabbled for the right to pet the small and furry animal, Harry silently walked away. He didn't notice how a pair of emerald eyes followed his every movement.

* * *

Aurora was intrigued. The new Outsider was really something else; he was nothing like the usual Lovecraftian horrors his kind were. Of course, her knowledge of what lay behind the Outer Gates was very limited, but those foul beings that the Red Court was so fond of calling certainly were monstrous; they were worse than their vampire allies.

She despised vampires. She hated them with such heated fury that she sometimes scared even herself. Yet she knew she was right in hating them so. They were rabid beasts ‒ no, they were worse than that. They were decidedly aware of the anguish and destruction they caused...and callously revelled in it. Those loathsome leeches lorded the power they had over humans, thinking of them as simple cattle existing only for their pleasure, ignoring the fact that humans too were sentient and had their own dreams and hopes. It was unforgivable.

On the other hand, it was not like her own kind were innocent either. For centuries she had marshalled peace between the two Faerie Courts and for a moment she had been satisfied to see that the situation had eventually cooled down into something akin to the human Cold War. But the endless skirmishes hadn't truly ended; they had just merely been transported to the mortal world, using humans as unknowing pawns to wage endless war of which they weren't even aware.

And the war? It was fought just because it had always been fought. There was no other reason for it, no rational cause or explanation, and her inability to stop the needless conflict frustrated her to no end. She had decided long time ago that she would end the war between the Courts no matter the cost, but she had never even contemplated how high the price would actually rise. Aurora knew without doubt that to end the endless war only one Faerie Court could remain.

But if that was the sacrifice needed to finally put an end the circle of mindless violence, then she would gladly pay it. No price could be ever high enough. Any amount of destruction paled in comparison of what the warring Courts would cause given eternity.

Lord Potter's sudden appearance had played well into her hands. She knew he was a valuable piece the moment she had laid her eyes on him. Taking the amount of power he had drunk from the Wellspring and surviving it was not a small feat, and neither was piercing all wards and protections placed around the Garden. Had she required any further proof, the half dozen bloodied corpses of scrunts scattered around him would have provided it.

Simply having him to do her will was not enough, though ‒ she needed to secure his true loyalty. She wasn't stupid enough to think she could buy him over with just wealth and power alone. He seemed to have those in abundance, anyway. But seeing his reaction to her and other female Sidhe showed her where his weakness lay...and it was a huge weakness.

If she didn't use it, someone else would. There was no doubt of it; he was simply a too big a prize to be ignored. Of course, she could always put one of her many underlings on the job, but devotion by proxy was never as good as the real thing. She licked her lips. Perhaps it wouldn't even be too bad...

* * *

Harry's low-spirited pondering was interrupted as someone sat next to him on the bench and delicate arms circled his shoulders, drawing him into a sideways hug. "You shouldn't be so downtrodden, it's a party after all," Aurora spoke to his ear. "In fact, it's my party. Should I feel insulted?"

For the first time Harry noticed that she was literally hot, instead of just figuratively. The warmth of her touch went far beyond any normal body temperature. Not that he really cared; the Summer Lady's skin could be scalding hot and he still wouldn't even be uncomfortable due the _Temperis_ Charm. Without really thinking, he leaned against her inviting warmth and relaxed in her embrace. He sighed dejectedly. "It's not you or the party. I was recently reintroduced to my own inadequacy and just got reminded of it."

"Inadequacy," Aurora echoed, her voice soft and soothing. She tilted her head a little and looked into his eyes. "How so?"

"The Dark Lord threw me around like a rag-doll without even truly trying," he said and stood up, shaking her arms off him, and walked the few steps to the stone trail. Placing his palms on the cool stone, he leaned slightly over the trail, alternating between looking at the dark garden opening below him and the starlit sky over him. "If it weren't for the fact he managed to accidentally explode the body he was possessing at the moment, I would be dead. I have already seen him die four times... My luck will eventually run out."

"Harry," she said softly and he perked up. It was the first time she had called him by his first name. "Don't sell yourself short. With the amount of Summer Fire you have, I sincerely doubt this Lord Voldemort overshadows you in strength. Learn to use it and victory will be to yours, I'm sure of it."

She stood up and walked next to him. "And while destiny is sometimes cruel, bear it we must." Aurora sighed and turned her gaze towards the starry sky. "Like that abominable Queen Mab once said: Sky is our domain, but freedom is not ours to taste."

Suddenly the dark sky was alight with colour, beautiful ribbons of red, green and yellow light coiling amongst the sea twinkling stars.

"Northern lights..._Auroras_..." Harry whispered as he looked at the multicoloured lights dancing high in the sky. Then he turned to look at the noblewoman standing next to him. "They are beautiful."

A small smile found its way to her lips. "Thank you. Shouldn't we go back in?" She offered her slender arm.

Harry took it without hesitation and, together, they walked back into the brightly lit ballroom.


	7. Ch7: Tea and Strumpets

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Seven:**_ Tea and Strumpets

Wind swept trash across the dark alley and whipped dead leaves and dust particles into a frenzy. An aluminium can rolled forward in the road, reflecting the yellowish light cast by the single working street light. The whistling wind drowned the soft rasp of metal grinding against asphalt. Then a man appeared out of the blue with a sharp crack of displaced air, thousands of bright, golden sparks swirling around his black-robed form and briefly illuminating the back alley. The discarded beer can was crushed under a heavy, leather boot.

The green-eyed wizard scanned his surroundings and frowned thoughtfully. There was definitely something wrong with Apparation. It worked, yes, but it certainly didn't feel right. Also he couldn't forget how his first Apparation attempt had ended... That was the only time he had tried to Apparate to a location within the same dimension. All other times he had managed to Apparate successfully, which led him to his little theory: one could only Apparate between the mortal realm and Nevernever; that teleportation was impossible without crossing the planar border. Of course, it was just a half-assed theory with hardly any evidence backing it. But as this world lacked Ministry experts to put him back into one piece after a failed Apparation, he wasn't too keen at testing his hypothesis even if it was just a glorified gut feeling.

A wand slipped from Harry's sleeve into his gloved hand, and there was a soft creak of leather as his fingers tightened around the holly handle. With a few idle flicks, a Notice-Me-Not Charm settled on him and concealed the young wizard from Muggle vision. He didn't know if the spell would hide him from the vampires of the White Court or not. Normal vampires were able to casually pierce these kind of low-level illusions but he had no clue if these _living_ vampires could. Frankly, Harry didn't know what to think of them. The idea that a vampire could actually be alive was beyond ridiculous ‒ it was like saying that vampires _sparkled_ in direct sunlight. White Court vampires seemed more like bitchy Veelas than real blood-sucking, night-skulking nosferatu, except that they ate people. That was a big minus.

Aurora didn't share his indecision ‒ she absolutely loathed both living and dead vampires, that much was certain even from the one short conversation they had on the subject. Since vampires begun joining Voldemort _en masse_, Harry too had understandably acquired a moderate dislike of them. Of course, this world's vampires had never joined the Dark Lord and so he couldn't really transmit his antipathy to them. On the other hand, vampires here already had what Voldemort offered for their services in the first place; the ability to feed on any Muggle they desired. It was insanity. Harry couldn't understand why the White Council had let things deteriorate this far. Were they simply too weak or didn't they care about Muggles at all?

For some time he had entertained ideas of simply bargaining with the vampires for the ring. He had eventually abandoned those thoughts simply because he had nothing of equal value to offer them except his enchanted sword, and it was not something he could just trade away. He doubted that they would simply accept Muggle money that Aurora kept throwing at him. Besides, bartering with them was not the brightest idea to begin with ‒ vampires were notoriously bad business partners and he would be liable to be back-stabbed at the earliest convenience. Wizards were a step below them on the food chain, after all.

Harry's current plan was not burdened by any overt complexity: he would find a single White Court vampire and see if they could see through the Notice-Me-Not Charm. And if they could, he would then pick a fight to see just how hard their powers were to resist. After that he would interrogate and _Obliviate_ them. It wasn't like he was intending to attack their base with wand blazing and defeat them all in a straight battle, no, but he had to gauge their strength before dealing with a whole group of them. He was planning to sneak in, steal the enchanted ring, and then sneak out without anyone being any wiser. With his ability to Apparate, getting out would be absurdly easy; getting in and finding the Seal of Solomon was the tricky part.

Being extra careful in crossing the four-lane street as Muggles were pretty much incapable of seeing him, Harry reached the towering hotel that was his destination. Pushing the large glass and steel door open, he strode into the well-lit lobby.

He briefly glanced at his wristwatch and hoped that he wouldn't have to wait too long for his..._informant_ to arrive.

* * *

Natalia Raith smiled as her back hit the wall with a soft thud. Her newest lover ‒ if she could ever really call a weak kine as such ‒ rained soft kisses down on her neck while her hands slid under his shirt and ran up and down the muscular back, her manicured nails drawing red lines on the tanned skin.

His breath came in quickened pants and she could literally feel his desire. She too hungered for him, albeit in a very different way. It wasn't like she found him undesirable or his attention unwelcome. He, like most human males she associated with, was young, healthy and attractive ‒ full of vitality of youth. But in the end, the young businessman was just a buffet and business combined.

She hooked a leg behind him, her short skirt riding up her thigh to expose even more skin, and her arms slid around his neck as she drew him into a deep kiss. Her hips shifted in little hungry rolls with every tiny correction of her balance and Natalia revelled at the almost dizzying wave of blissful power that surged into her when their lips touched. The man in her arms shuddered a little, his eyes widening, but showed no other sign of even noticing that she was feasting on his life. She could hear his pounding heart as their tongues duelled and when she finally broke the kiss, he swayed on his feet a little, his breath gone.

It never ceased to amaze her how willingly and even eagerly humans let her to devour parts of their immortal soul. They literally begged for it; did almost anything for it. With a few sultry words, a promising wink and a brief flash of cleavage, she could get men eating from her hand. They laid their riches on her feet just for her to walk over them...and the mortal fools loved every second of it. Even when she ruined their fortunes and drained their life they still desired her. And that was the problem. It was simply too easy and ultimately so..._unsatisfying_. She hadn't felt the joy of hunt for ages and even all these business dealings were slowly losing their glamour. Feeding was feeding and money was money; both were nice, more than nice even, but neither ruled her life. She craved a proper challenge, a strong man that wouldn't turn to putty at the first flash of her vampire powers. But until that day came, these rich weaklings would have to keep her entertained.

Natalia giggled softly as the man scooped her onto his toned arms and carried her to the huge bed, gently lowering her onto the silken covers. She knew it was vain, especially because she was much stronger than the human could ever hope to be, but she certainly liked being pampered like a princess. Despite being a member of the infamous Raith family she was still a woman, with all the strengths and weaknesses thereof.

The miniskirt gathered around her waist when she rolled on the soft bed and beckoned her lover to join her. Arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward, she stretched on the bed, mussing the red sheets and pulling a seductive pose. His weight settled next to her and she quickly crawled over him, straddling his waist and rubbing herself against his erection. She smiled wickedly at the almost painful look of desire on the businessman's young face. In response, his hands slid up her thighs, trailing soft, tantalizing touches, and she barely registered the jerk of her silky thong being ripped apart. The little white garment, slick with her arousal, was carelessly tossed over a shoulder. Placing her hands on his bare chest, Natalia leaned down to kiss the man, her long, dark curls tickling his face.

Then the vampire's eyes fell upon a dark-robed figure sitting lazily on a cushy armchair on the other side of the room and her good mood vanished in an instant. The intruder's arms were crossed non-threateningly on his lap and an amused smile graced his lips. She didn't know if the freak was just a harmless pervert who got off watching other people get down and dirty or if he was here for more nefarious purpose. Whatever his reasons were, Natalia didn't feel like finding them out and, as such, decided to go for pre-emptive measures. Her hand slowly reached into her companion's black suit and surreptitiously drew his gun from the armpit holster.

The wizard couldn't even blink before she emptied the clip at him.

* * *

Harry felt decidedly voyeuristic but still couldn't help but smirk ‒ he was a teenage wizard with raging hormones, after all. Or at least that was his excuse. While the vampire wasn't up to Aurora's class, she was still positively stunning. Her fair skin and dark hair were a beautiful combination and more than a little reminded him of the first girl he had ever kissed. She had a dancer's body, the curves of her hips and breasts making a lovely outline, and her flowing black hair looked both silky and luscious. Besides, she had on decidedly less clothing than he had ever seen the Summer Lady or Cho wear. The vampire really wore her silky, white lingerie well but that was to be expected from a quintessential _femme fatale_. He was even further distracted when her knickers arched through the air and landed a foot from his shoe.

While he had assumed the woman would have company, with her being a supernatural sexual predator and all, he had not anticipated that they would start to tear off each other's clothes the moment they walked in. Thus it was no wonder that he was somewhat at a loss of what to do now. While he had entertained some perverted ideas of simply letting the pair continue and waiting until she went to sleep before Stunning her, he knew he couldn't do so ‒ it would be both immoral and disturbing in more ways than one. Then again, because of the Muggle he couldn't really just start flinging spells.

His pondering was interrupted when the sleazy vampire whipped out a gun at him. It happened so fast and suddenly that he had no time to react, his eyes barely following the motion. The Muggle firearm roared repeatedly, smoke and fire bursting out of its nozzle. The deafening bangs seemed to reverberate inside his skull and the rain of bullets fell upon him like a series of sharp slaps. Despite that he, rationally, knew he was almost impervious to small-calibre fire and in no real danger, his hand still rose to protect his face and he stood up in one violent movement. Something slammed painfully against his palm and his fingers tightened around the small object out of pure reflex.

Then the pistol clicked empty and Harry released the breath he didn't knew he was holding. His heart pounded against his ribcage and he was practically shaking out of pure shock. Drops of scarlet seeped through his clenched fingers and when Harry opened his hand, a blood-coated bullet clattered against the dark carpet. The vampire cursed softly and Harry found it hard not to smile. Catching a bullet with your hand, no matter how accidentally, was a cool feat.

He drew his wand took and a few slow steps forward whilst keeping his eyes locked on the woman. The vampire let the gun fall from her fingers in a placating gesture and it fell with a loud clunk. Needless to say, Harry wasn't very placated and it probably showed on his face as her pale eyes started flicking wildly around the room like a caged animal looking for an escape. As Harry moved, his wand flashed and a silent _Episkey_ mended the broken skin of his palm. His second spell was directed towards the floor and it vanished the bloodstains and a few of the bullets scattered on the carpet.

At this point the Muggle had turned around and his searching gaze travelled across the room. The businessman's eyes slid over Harry many times and the man was clearly having huge difficulties in focusing at him despite the fact that he now stood right in front of the bed. The man blinked repeatedly as he tried to clear his vision ‒ not that it helped. "I think I forgot my wallet in the bar," he eventually said, his pupils dilated and voice puzzled. The Muggle's eyes glazed and he licked his lips as he fully succumbed to the mind-bending charm. "Just wait here. It won't take long."

The vampire obviously did not agree, apparently greatly disliking the idea of losing her meat-shield. Her arms tightened around the man and stopped him on his tracks. "It's alright, Love. Please stay with me," she whispered lovingly in his ear and the man instantly ceased fidgeting, although his immensely confused expression remained. The soft words were said with absolute conviction and if Harry didn't know better, he could have sworn she was sincere.

"He doesn't see me, vampire," Harry said casually and pointed his wand at the embracing pair. "Nor does he truly hear me. My business here doesn't involve him and so you could as well ask him to leave."

Her eyes narrowed even as she gently played with the businessman's short, brown hair. He was now completely supine and leaning against the vampire's chest, his fingers intertwined with hers. His expression was somewhat disturbing ‒ Harry had never even seen a teenage witch with such lovelorn face and it was painfully clear that the man's will had been thoroughly broken. No wonder he fell so easily under his barely average Notice-Me-Not Charm, then. "Do you think I'm stupid, wizard?"

"Holding him hostage won't help you any," Harry bluffed and brandished his wand a little, a few bright sparks escaping the tip. "Killing you both is just as easy as killing just you."

"Technically, you are correct, I would think," she admitted with a dismissing wave of her hand. "However you White Council Wizards have strict rules about not killing humans with magic."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Are you saying they are permitted to kill by non-magical means? Anyway, I'm not part of that particular cabal, and so don't think I will stay my wand because of him."

"You lie," she spat. "If you were allowed to kill us both, you would have already done so."

Harry cocked his head. "Why are you even thinking I'm here to kill you?"

"Are you saying you are not?"

She was obviously not very convinced but as convincing her of that would be pretty counter-productive, anyway, Harry deigned it not necessary to answer. Instead, he whipped his wand and something invisible tore the Muggle from the vampire's arms, throwing him across the luxurious hotel room.

The woman's eyes took an eerie silvery-white glow and she moved with speed surpassing that humanly possible, kicking the bed's end for even greater pace. She reached Harry in a heartbeat, deftly batting his wand arm to the side and ramming her shoulder in his chest. As he was blasted backwards by the unnaturally swift woman, Harry caught a hold of her slim wrist, drawing her with him as he half flew, half back-pedalled. The vampire might have been supernaturally strong but she lacked the body mass to efficiently resist the movement and there was nothing for her to latch onto.

Harry's back came into a contact with the bullet fractured glass wall and it proved woefully incapable of killing his momentum. "Merlin," was the only thing the young wizard could say as he and the silver-eyed vampire went through the fourth floor window. He tried to grasp the thick curtain as he went by but his fingers just slid along the slick fabric. Harry's robe flapped in the wind as their tangled bodies fell down accompanied by a shower of glittering glass shards, both deadly and beautiful. Closing his eyes and bracing himself for the painful impact, Harry hoped that no-one was directly underneath them ‒ his magic would protect him, others might not be so lucky.

The impact was jarring, blasting the wind out of him, and it took him a few seconds to reorient himself. The woman, pumped up with the freaky vampire power, suffered under no such disadvantage and instantly took off, sprinting down the road faster than a human had any right to. It was almost unfair that she could do so while wearing _four-inch_ stiletto heels... The cowardly bitch had apparently decided that discretion was the better part of valour, which made things a lot harder as he couldn't let her escape to her kin.

Blinking furiously to clear his vision and desperately trying to catch his breath, he scampered back to his feet. Outstretching his hand, he used the wand-holder's magic to summon his wand, having lost it in the impact. Harry caught the wand from the air as it zoomed to him and twisted on the spot, vanishing with a soft pop. Blinking through the Garden of Elysium, his second Apparation brought him a dozen yards ahead the half-naked vampire.

He had a clear shot at the vampire but he hesitated, his wand wavering a little. There were simply too many witnesses and potential victims. He could hardly start a magical battle in city streets. The sexy vampire running around nearly naked was gathering enough stares as it was and not even the Notice-Me-Not Charm would stop things from becoming a public spectacle if he started spewing coloured ribbons of light from his wand and blowing shit up. There were limits even to the Muggles' ability ignore everything that happened around them.

She cornered with fluid grace and was running away from him again. The vampire stopped as she reached a dark-clad motorcyclist just starting his bike. With casual disregard usually reserved for swatting a bug, she lifted the man high into the air and threw him away, sending him rolling on the street until he hit the wall. She jumped on the bike and hit the gas. The powerful engine roared, tyres screamed and rubber burned as the bike shot into the streets.

Harry walked leisurely after the escaping woman, his black robe swishing with every step. He lifted his wand with a flourish but waited until the motorbike had accumulated some speed. Harry almost shook his head. Really, she had made it all too easy... "_Accio._"

The effect was instantaneous. The bike stopped as if it had hit a wall but vampire was not so lucky. She flew over the handlebar, spinning through the air and hitting the asphalt four yards away. Harry cancelled the Summoning Charm before it had dragged the motorbike more than a few feet to him and sprinted towards the prone woman.

He knelt next to the moaning figure and placed his hand on the vampire's bare shoulder, her flesh warm and pliable under his fingers. Closing his eyes in concentration, Harry focused his will and called up a destination. The crushing pressure of Apparation settled on him as they were whisked deep into Faerie, the nearest portion of Nevernever. Golden sparks of leftover magic danced around the pair as they materialized in the lush gardens surrounding the Summer Palace and landed in a tangled heap.

Harry was spitting dirt from his mouth when the vampire splayed under him suddenly turned around. Her inhuman eyes were burning pale silver and her bloody face looked like it had been repeatedly pushed over a grater. Her flesh was quickly renewing itself in front of Harry's wide eyes but at the moment the hateful expression on her half-repaired face was simply terrifying.

There was a flash of red and his Stunner tore into the black soil, having missed the lightning fast vampire by a mere inch. A second later Harry found himself yanked up into the air as the vampire stood up and her fingers tightened around his throat. Coloured blobs splattered over his vision as the air was choked out of him. Harry's feet dangled a foot above the ground and he aimed a few sharp kicks into her groin and stomach but he could have as well kneed a brick wall; it had no effect whatsoever. The woman's other hand clasped his wrist, forcing his wand away from her, and applied such pressure that his fingers were quickly going numb.

"Interesting tricks you have, wizard," she drawled, her previously perfect teeth now stained with crimson. "But it's over now."

"I have to agree with you," Harry managed to gurgle through the choke hold, his eyes looking over the vampire's shoulder.

She lifted one, bloody eyebrow. "The old _'there's something behind you_' ploy, eh? Even if there, indeed, is something behind me, I can still-"

"Kindly unhand my Emissary, Miss Raith. Do it now. It's unbecoming to assault servants of the Summer Court within Elysium."

Harry found himself being tossed to the ground in no gentle fashion as the vampire turned to face the Summer Lady. She was sitting behind an ornate wooden table and taking small, elegant sips from the painted, porcelain cup in her hand. There was a whole pack of green-furred scrunts lying on the soft grass around the table, their fiery eyes fixated on the vampire and the vine-like tails twitching agitatedly. They made no move to attack but their soft growls and high-pitched whines weren't very reassuring.

He stood up and cleared his sore throat while at the same time massaging his aching neck. Although Harry couldn't see the red marks marring his neck, he could feel them all too well. He pointed his holly wand at the vampire's defenceless back and met Aurora's gaze for a moment. She shook her head once, the message loud and clear, but Harry continued the staring match for a few seconds more before finally sheathing his wand.

"Tea?" the Summer Lady asked and when the vampire didn't answer, she eventually continued more forcefully, "Please have a seat and enjoy some tea. Don't be impolite."

That seemed to do the trick and the vampire hesitantly walked to the table and sat down on one of the empty chairs. She wasn't even limping. Aurora clapped her manicured hands and a small army of glittering sprites came out of nowhere, bringing out more porcelain teacups, small plates and a steaming pot with them. The little creatures kept buzzing around the table, visible as hardly more than zigzagging motes of light. Their tiny wings beat the air madly as they moved, filling the cups and bearing more plates of croissants and colourful pastries. The Summer Lady turned to look at him again and made a beckoning gesture with her hand. "Ah, Lord Potter. Why wouldn't you join us?"

He did so. While the vampire sat with her back straight as if someone had rammed something up her ass, Harry leaned back lazily, tilting the heavily ornamented chair a little. Despite his apparent unconcern, he was careful not to choose a chair adjacent to the Raith woman. There was something to be said about the sensibility of willingly coming to the grabbing distance of a being capable of ripping man from limb to limb.

Even as he sipped his citrus flavoured tea, Harry never let his eyes wander far from the vampire. Her face had now fully regenerated, lovely once more although her torn clothes and the red splatters on her skin did inhibit her beauty somewhat. He shook his head slightly. The situation was getting a bit too absurd for him. He had brought her here to be questioned, sure, but he had never expected it to happen over tea and crumpets.

"What do you want of me?" the vampire eventually asked. Harry noted that she hadn't even tasted her tea or touched the newly-baked pastries. Perhaps she had heard the old tales about faeries enslaving mortals by offering them Glamoured food... He suddenly blinked and almost choked on his croissant, staring wide eyed at the seemingly innocent pastry in his hand. Harry couldn't help but to wonder if he had been a naïve moron...

A delicate hand grasped his shoulder firmly. "They are quite safe, Harry," Aurora said calmly, although she was clearly amused. "I wouldn't try anything so underhanded with you. Nothing has changed between us." She turned at the vampire. "And to answer your question, Miss Raith, we want nothing complicated."

Suddenly it was very warm but pleasurably so. His hand trembled a little and a few drops of the amber liquid splattered on the table. The Summer Lady's radiant beauty drew in his gaze, demanding his full attention, and he was instantly and utterly fascinated by this unbearably lovely creature. Her feminine allure and grace far exceeded mere words; she was the absolute perfection of muliebrity, desirable beyond reason. The band of yellow diamonds circling Aurora's slender neck sparkled as she flipped her hair in an elegant motion, the gorgeous white locks swaying around her. Harry's breath escaped in a soft, rattling hiss.

Delirious heat surged through him, filling his heart and...certain other body part with burning need. He wanted her so much that it was almost painful ̶ sweet agony he never wished to stop. Hypersensitive, Harry became decidedly aware of how his clothes pressed against his skin and he knew if someone were to touch him, it would feel really, really good. The young wizard's mind conjured up phantom sensations and vivid images of tangled bodies, warm touches, and sweet kisses. He licked his lips.

Then the coldness came; it settled over him like a silky cloak, tingling his skin and sending a shudder through his body. All the whilst cold clarity returned to him, his eyes narrowing. Aurora's high-powered Glamour had not been directed at him but he had still clearly felt its effect. Harry didn't know much about faerie magic but in his experience it was usually much more subtle than this. Apparently the Summer Lady went straight for the big guns.

The vampire's luminous eyes stared unblinkingly into the High Sidhe's green orbs as they pitted their power against each other. Their battle wasn't anything like a wizard's duel; despite the consequences of being equally dire, this was more about willpower than magic. For some unexplainable reason, his Outsider nature granted him a measure of protection against the sorceries of this world but it was far from absolute; if he focused more than a few seconds on either woman, some of their beguiling power seeped through his defences. Still, Harry could hardly avert his eyes from the pair. It probably wasn't due any magical effect but rather for the fact that two paragons of female beauty were making out three feet from him.

Harry's cheeks burned and he squirmed on his seat uncomfortably as his erection strained against his trousers. He had never been particularly into lesbian action but watching it live was another matter entirely. Besides, the two women in front of him would make the average porn starlet hang her head in shame; Aurora literally looked like what she wanted to and Raith was a born and bred seductress. As it was, they both looked like they had walked directly from wet dreams. And who knows, they very well might have...

Endeavouring to retain some modicum of sophistication and quell the primal urge to join them, Harry's wand moved furiously under the table as he cast a bunch on Calming Charms on himself. He tried to focus on icebergs, glaziers and frozen tundras...instead of supple flesh, flawless skin and delicate curves. Unsurprisingly, he didn't have much success.

The vampire's breathing turned ragged and small quivers ran through her, the generous contours of her body shifting in a delicious way. Aurora cupped the White Court succubus' flushed cheeks, her fingers sliding down her flushed face and then her neck. "My little pet," the Summer Lady whispered, her hushed words sweeter than honey. The tone sent shivers down Harry's back. "I would be pleased if you answered a few questions for me."

"Anything," Raith breathed, completely besotted, her voice and posture nearly worshipful. The vampire had lost and Harry could certainly appreciate the sheer irony of it. The vampiric mind-bender had just gotten a hefty dose of her own medicine. Still, watching her ecstatic face, Harry couldn't help but to think it was not right. Even the Imperius Curse, as bad as it was, just made the victim follow orders ‒ it didn't make her _want_ to obey. Direct control was simply..._cleaner._ It corrupted neither mind nor soul.

Harry conjured a quill, ink, and parchments and begun taking notes as Aurora interrogated the vampire about the Raith manor and the White Court in general, stealing only occasional longing glance at the pair. Minutes passed by and eventually she stopped asking questions, the soft scrape of Harry's quill ceasing soon after. He lifted his eyes from his work and the quill in his hand snapped in two when he saw the Summer Lady nibbling the other woman's lower lip.

"Aurora?" he questioned rather meekly, a faint blush settling on his cheeks again. If he didn't know any better, he would have though she did it just to torture him.

"Oh, yes..." she said breathlessly and released the vampire who slumped back into her chair, blinking repeatedly and looking utterly dazed. "I suppose we are done here."

She stood up and started walking away without saying another word. Harry watched the High Sidhe's abrupt departure for a few seconds in growing confusion before he quickly scooped the stack of parchments into his arms and dashed after her. Once he reached the Summer Lady, he fell in step with her. They walked in silence until he spoke, "Um... Don't those scrunts kill all outsiders not escorted by Sidhe?"

Aurora turned at him, her full lips slithered into a playful smile and she took his arm, drawing him close. The Summer Lady's body felt warm and soft next to him, and Harry could smell her perfume, a pleasant scent like that of a sunny field in full bloom. "Indeed. Isn't that a fitting end for a Jezebel? As the Romans said, _Ad b__ē__sti__ā__s_."

A shrill scream of pain echoed through the garden for a second before it was cut short. Birds fell into deathly silence and Harry could easily hear the wet, tearing sounds over the soft flutter of millions of leaves shaking in the soft spring breeze. He just stared the Summer Lady, his eyes wide.

For a moment, Harry was scared shitless of her. Of course, he still had his raging hard-on, too. He didn't know whether he wanted to run the fuck away or rip off her fancy clothes and ravish her on the spot. Not that he could do either. Some days a man just couldn't win...

* * *

"We have arrived, sir."

The taxi driver's deep voice brought his mind back to focus and his eyes snapped open. Rows of tall trees surrounded the winding road to the Château Raith and only a few golden rays of morning light filtered through the thick foliage to reach the sandy road or the slush carpets of dewed grass skirting it. Peering through the wide, moss-covered tree trunks, Harry could already see the large gates made of gleaming steel and white stone that guarded the entrance to the vampire mansion.

He yawned and rolled his neck. Shifting his position on the comfortable leather seat, Harry sat a bit straighter and reached into his over-robe, his hand withdrawing a porcelain, skull-like mask. He placed the authentic Death Eater mask onto his face and a second later felt the slight tickling sensation as the special Sticking Charm attached it securely to its proper place. Although this was the second time he had worn it, he was still a bit surprised at how comfortable the mask actually was. It felt like cool silk against his face and the spells woven onto it guaranteed that it didn't impair his sight, hearing or ability to speak in any way. It seemed that the Death Eaters had actually managed to create something practical. Did wonders never cease?

The car stopped a respectable way from the gates. Apparently the driver was a bit unnerved by the small group of large, armed men standing in front of it, not that Harry could blame him. The balding man turned to him, his curious eyes flickering over the black-robed, white-masked wizard. "Are you going to a party?"

Harry smiled behind his mask. "You could certainly say that. Although I'm not sure if they are in the right party mood. So, how much do I owe you?"

"You don't want me to take you to the manor?" the man asked, sounding a bit surprised. At Harry's nod, he simply shrugged and glanced at the meter attached under the CD-player. "Eighty-six dollars and forty cents."

"Keep the rest," Harry said, giving a single note to the driver, and stepped out the car, taking slow steps towards the bunch of heavily-armed guards and the rather impressive gate topped with a coil of razor wire. He took a moment to assess the threat they posed. The guards were presumably all Muggles; no wizard would bother carrying around an assault rifle or grenades, or wear bullet-proof vests, for that matter. Vampires might but he seriously doubted that they could actually stand the inconvenience of standing in guard. From what he had learned, these White Court fellows seemed to be a bit too sybarite for that.

Harry waited until the taxi made an U-turn and sped away before walking any closer, not wanting any witnesses for what was about to happen. Sure, he had not originally planned for frontal assault but the fact that Lord Raith wore the Seal all the time made sneaking around a bit redundant ‒ he would have to confront the leader of the White Court and his bodyguards anyway. Creating some diversion could only help.

When he was about six yards in from guards, they lifted their weapons, all of the rifles now pointed at him. Whether it was in warning or if they were really preparing to shoot him, he didn't know. Harry's eyes narrowed and his fingers practically itched to draw his wand. While he didn't think the assault rifles could kill him, they might still be able to harm; those guns packed a lot more punch than a pistol. Then one of them, the one Harry presumed their leader, spoke, "Stay right where you are. Take off the mask and announce your name and purpose."

Harry ignored the large man and took a few steps forward, the wand shooting into his waiting hand. Amidst the alarmed shouts, two things happened simultaneously: The guards' assault rifles roared full-auto, spitting death with a piercing staccato of ear-splitting bangs, whilst bright yellow light blossomed from his wand tip. Most of the buzzing bullets missed him by a wide margin and even those few that hit failed to accomplish anything more than bruises. They still hurt as they hammered against his robe, though.

Then Harry's spell manifested itself in an explosion of light and wind that shook the very earth under his feet; the spell had enough concussive force to carve a foot-deep crater under the guards and hurl them over a dozen yards from the epicentre, their flailing bodies spinning through the air. A few of them flew past Harry, one missing him by mere inches. The men hit the ground with loud thuds and rolled a few yards more until finally stopping in moaning and cursing heaps, their weapons now scattered into a wide area. Dust filled the air, reducing vision to zero and making breathing arduous, and Harry was bombarded by a shower of small stones kicked up by the powerful area banisher. While the spell was far from gentle, the guards shouldn't suffer much more than a few fractures and a whole lot of bruises. Not that Harry cared too much ‒ they were serving beings who enslaved and killed humans for living. Those Muggles were no better than Death Eaters.

When the dust cleared somewhat, he quickly strode towards the gate without giving the defeated guards another glance. A second later the metal construction fell under the weight of neon-green fire, molten steel hitting the ground in a burning flood. Wisps of dark smoke curled in the air for a moment before dissipating into the wind.

Harry stared at his wand, its glowing tip still trailing grey smoke and ghostly flecks of green fire. He had never been bad at calling fire but the Seelie magic burning within him made it a second nature. Not only that; it greatly empowered his other spells, too. Well, at least those that depended mostly on raw power; Summer Fire didn't exactly grant him any extra aptitude in delicate magic. There were no short cuts to skill and knowledge.

Walking through the burning gate, Harry stepped into the manor grounds proper. He could now see the actual mansion in the distance and was just about to Apparate when he caught movement in the edges of his vision. Harry's heart jumped into his throat at the sudden flash of yellow and he instantly spun around, his left hand whipping up in a warding gesture. A two-feet-wide, electric-blue shield flickered into existence by the courtesy of the charmed ring he wore and intercepted a long-tailed jet of sickly-yellow light. The deadly curse was swallowed with a small plop and effortlessly encased within the circular screen, leaving behind only the stench of something rotting.

Harry didn't know how he hadn't seen the vampire sorcerer before but there he was, crouched about ten yards from him. Luminous strands of necrotic power coiled around his hands and cackled faintly. Their gazes met and the young wizard found himself staring into those eerie, silver domes that burned with an inner power. He quickly tore his eyes away, not wanting to fall prey to the vampire's mind-bending powers, and the two warlocks moved almost in synch, both going for the kill. Harry whipped his wand, calling forth a blazing arc of amethyst fire, whilst the vampire unleashed another twisting ray of greenish-yellow light from his outstretched fingers.

The vampire sorcerer was forced to jump away from the bright filament of liquid flames ‒ an act that gave the initiative to Harry as he just had to shift his hand a little to absorb the handful of green death with another plop. All the while his wand flashed, sending a flurry of curses and hexes at the other sorcerer.

In a display of inhuman speed and fluidity of movement, the vampire sinuously danced around the blazing bolts of light, sometimes avoiding them by mere inches. Harry frowned behind his mask as the vampire kept averting explosive death and somehow even managed to move slowly toward him. He knew he would be in serious trouble if the vampire ever reached him.

With a sharp wave of his hand, Harry cancelled the spell-capturing shield and hurled the appropriated spells toward their original caster. The vampire was very quick on his feet and neither of the twisting jets of necrotic energy came even close of hitting him. This, however, didn't avail him too much as an enormous fireball erupted from Harry's wand and swallowed the vampire in a heartbeat, immolating and blasting him backwards. Accompanied by the cocoon of swirling flames, the meaty thud of the vampire slamming against the wall was drowned by the low roar of flames. The burning carcass hit the scorched ground a second later.

The air was uncomfortably hot and thick with the horrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh. Lowering his smoking wand, Harry stared at the burning body of his first sentient victim in this world with something akin to apprehension. Then the supposedly lifeless heap moved, rolling in the damp moss to quench the flames devouring him.

Harry blinked. Apparently vampires where a bit more resilient than he had given them credit for. Not that it mattered too much. In fact he was kind of happy that the sorcerer had survived; despite the man being a vampire he didn't want his death on his conscience. He had already killed far too many for his comfort.

He watched curiously as the still smoking vampire crawled towards the bunch guards that were lying flat on the ground, variegating between unconsciousness and groaning. When the vampire reached the nearest one and placed his blackened fingers on the Muggle's temples, the guard immediately screamed in terror. A few seconds later the man's back was arching and he started to claw his own face, his piteous wailing growing even stronger.

No longer feeling even remotely curious, Harry ran towards the pair, his robe billowing behind him. This particular White Court vampire was obviously not of the Raith lineage as he fed through fear instead of lust. Even though the end result was mostly same, the Raith victims at least had fun instead of being tortured. Motes of silver light played around the vampire as he regenerated, the burned and broiled skin swiftly regaining more healthy texture. The vampire drank on the Muggle's life to sustain his own and, no doubt, he would drink until nothing remained.

"I don't think so," Harry said coldly and lifted his wand, his face hardening with resolve. One that would kill his own allies to survive deserved no shred of mercy ‒ even that worthless and traitorous rat, Pettigrew, had just sold them out. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Invisible wind howled and the vampire's life expired in a flash of sickly-green light. The screaming Muggle slumped back on the ground and fell silent, his body still twitching slightly. Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry tried his best to ignore the euphoric feeling of Dark magic surging through him. He exhaled loudly. One more life snuffed out. Would it ever end? Did he even want to stop?

A few seconds later he vanished with a sharp crack and flicker of golden fire.

* * *

A jab of his wand Transfigured the jumping guard dog into a small kitten. The furry animal slammed against his chest and then fell onto the floor with a pathetic meow. Harry strode forward and resisted the urge kick the little cat now nibbling his robe's hem ‒ it would just be cruel.

His next flick of his wand Summoned the weapons from the guards' hands. Before the firearms even reached Harry, he had already turned them into delicious pumpkins. The vegetables fell with a splatter and sprayed the wizard's shoes and robe with their sweet juices. He stepped over the mess and two wand thrusts later the guards were hanging upside down in the air.

"So, which one of you will tell me where your king is?" Harry asked the pair of guards. Seconds ticked by and neither man seemed to be providing him with an answer. "Very well then. We can do this the hard way. _Stupefy._"

The bright jet of red light slammed squarely into the guard's stomach and he suddenly become completely limp. He then pointed his wand at the remaining man. Harry met his gaze and drawled dangerously, "Unless you wish to die too, you will tell me where Lord Raith is." It was complete bull, of course, but the Muggle had no way of knowing it.

"I'm right here, Sidhe."

Harry swivelled around, the incantation for a Shield Charm ready on his lips. It was not needed, though. A lean, handsome man was standing behind the doorway and looking at him intently, his gaze, cold and calculating. The White King had strong, appealing features and the same glossy dark hair as his daughter. The white-clad man looked to be in his early thirties even though Harry knew for a fact that he was many centuries old.

"If you didn't reek of Summer Fire, I might have believed your disguise as a mortal wizard," Lord Raith said conversationally. There was no hostility in his voice and he sounded almost bored. "It's a pity, though. A sorcerer of your calibre would have made a fine pet for one of my daughters."

Then the White King lifted his hand and Harry's eyes focused on the small metal cylinder in the vampire lord's open palm. It was a detonator, with the big red button and all. As if by a cue, Raith's long fingers coiled around the device and his thumb moved on the button.

"Sweet Morgana," Harry breathed just before his vision went white and the earthshaking roar of explosions drowned all other sounds.

Somebody had lined the walls with explosives.


	8. Ch8: Baptism by Summer Fire

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Eight:**_ Baptism by Summer Fire

They say that a name is an omen; that it's meant to be a revelation of a person's true self.

Whether that was true or not, Aurora had certainly always loved watching the rising sun. There was something intrinsically reassuring in witnessing the whole horizon bathe in light, slowly turning from scarlet to gold. All things were equal under the sun's nurturing, pure white radiance. None favoured, and none spared.

Glass rattled as the Summer Lady poured chilled water into her goblet. Tiny flecks of ice floated in the crystal clear liquid, reflecting sunlight like little diamonds. She took a moment to admire their cold glister before lifting the glass to her lips and emptying it in a single gulp.

She exhaled a plume of steam and lowered the goblet on the table next to the crystal pitcher. "So... Did you meet the Winter Knight?"

"Yes, he's a violent and vicious man," the Sidhe knight drawled, disgusted. "Corrupted to the core and just what Winter deserves."

Aurora let out a small burst of laughter and turned to face her adjutant. "Then, Lord Marshall, he's exactly what Winter wants. Nobility of character is not what they seek in their human tools. They want ruthlessness and controllability. That man may deserve Winter, but he's more than Winter deserves."

Lord Talos bowed his head slightly in acquittance. "That may be as it is. But, my Queen, I must insist that‒" He suddenly fell silent and glared at the small, luminous fae that had just flown in the room, her tiny wings buzzing.

She come to a halt in a respectable distance from the two High Sidhe. Standing only about four inches tall, the female sprite was small even by the modest standard of the Wee Folk. Her long white hair and yellow, almost see-through gown fluttered in the wind generated by the silvery wings. The slinky dress didn't even reach her mid-thigh, and she clearly didn't wear anything underneath. Nothing modest there. Curtsying mid-air, she hesitantly hovered there like an overtly large dragonfly, as if unsure of what to do next. The bright golden aura surrounding the sprite sorceress flickered, sometimes blazing while occasionally dying completely.

"Hello, little one," Aurora said kindly and beckoned the faery to come closer. The tiny sprite obeyed and, after getting over her initial nervousness and stopping making mad loops and zigzags, begun to twinkle furiously. "You wish to show me something?" A twinkle. "Hmm... Come here then. Lord Talos, if you would mind lifting that bowl from the upper shelf? Thank you."

The Lord Marshall lowered the tarnished silver vessel on the table and Aurora emptied what little remained the water pitcher into it. She dipped two fingers in the basin and then flicked them over the small sprite's eyes that were now closed in concentration. Twin drops slid down her rosy cheeks, merging on her chin, and fell in the bowl, sending ripples across the surface.

Muttering a few nonsensical words and waiving her hand rhythmically, the Summer Lady wove her magic and the water in the basin became deadly still. As the ripples abruptly died, the water surface reflected light like a well polished mirror. Then her lecanomancy took full effect and images started to appear.

Both Sidhe leaned over the shimmering bowl to witness whatever the sprite had seen.

* * *

"You are late, Dresden."

Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden looked at the short blonde woman for a moment, as if searching for a proper excuse, before answering, "Yeah, I know, but I had to take one stupid job just to pay the repair bills."

Murphy arched her eyebrow, tilting her head a little. "Did your car break down again?"

"No, actually. I met one faery in a bar, and he was completely ignoring the Accords, and I..." He trailed off as he saw that Murphy was desperately trying to contain a smile.

"Oh," she said softly, her lips twitching a little. "Did he try to kill you?"

He looked at her blandly for a few seconds before answering in a dignified manner, "He might have swung that gaudy sword of his at me."

Murphy snickered.

He decided to ignore her and surveyed the damaged building in front of him. The front of the burned store had been fenced off by police so that people wouldn't accidentally mess up evidence. Not that those few strips of black and yellow tape would stop anyone now as the authorities had deserted the place hours ago. Murphy was currently the only officer at the scene and even she wasn't supposed to be here still. Despite that the fire had been extinguished almost eight hours ago, distinct traces of smoke still lingered in the air.

Dresden spared a look at the short policewoman standing next to him, still recovering from her fit of laughter, before turning his eyes back at the blackened ruins. "So, Murph. Why am I here? I assume this is more than just a simple arson or an unfortunate accident."

The woman turned to look at him, the mirthful expression on her face vanishing in an instant. "The fire started at the occult store at the street level."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dresden said and idly waved his hand at the smoking remains of the shop. "It was one of the few credible stores dealing in occult in whole Chicago. But still, what makes you suspect that the fire was of supernatural origin?"

"The flames burned green and were exceedingly difficult to put out," Murphy dead-panned. "It took hours to stop the fire."

He blinked. "Oh, that might give a little hint..."

"You could certainly say so," she said and cleared her throat before continuing, "Also, remains of nine people were recovered from the shop. And they didn't die in the fire, they were all killed beforehand; from what we can gather from the charred skeletons, they were literally ripped apart. To me it seems that the shop was set on fire to destroy evidence of a mass murder."

Dresden sighed. "What about Mr. Bock, the proprietor?"

Murphy cocked her head a little as she looked sharply at the wizard, the few still working streetlights painting her blonde hair with yellow. "He was among the dead. Did you know him?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "I had only spoken to him a few times."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Murphy voiced her next question. "Do you know what or who could have caused something like this? Thus far we have no leads. We have no motive, no reason for the victims to come here, no witnesses, no murder weapon... Hell, we have yet to even identify the victims other than Bock. We have absolutely nothing!"

"It was probably elemental fire, phlogiston," Dresden said, and after seeing her questioning look, he clarified, "When wizards call fire, it's usually not real fire even though it looks like it; there isn't any chemical reaction happening, nor does it need air to sustain itself. Elemental fire is simply magical energy released as heat and light."

She sighed. "Great, just great. Do we have another Kravos in our hands now?"

"It's a lot worse than that," Dresden said, his voice deadly serious. "Kravos was a sorcerer of only moderate talent, and the one who did this is much better. Usually elemental fire burns through its energy reserves in seconds, leaving behind only the natural fires it ignited. To have it last significantly longer would mean that the caster kept concentrating on the spell and feeding magic to the flames...or made the spell to draw energy from around it to keep it going. Both are big-time magic."

* * *

The image turned into a swirl of waning colours and the Sidhe looked at each other. The sprite had grown bored and wandered off some time previously.

"Lord Potter has started to make waves," the Lord Marshal drawled. "It won't take long for the White Council to connect the dots. I wonder if he will drown in the swell of his own making."

The Summer Lady just arched one perfect eyebrow and smiled knowingly. "You underestimate him. Besides, a few dead humans and one beaten-up regional commander are nothing compared to the death of the White King. Now, that will open some interesting avenues."

Lord Talos' face blanched. "What have you done, milady? I thought you were forbidden to act against the Vampire Courts?"

"Oh... I merely nudged him in the right direction." Her smile turned outright vicious. "I never told him anything about attacking the White Court. In fact, going after Lord Raith was Leanansidhe's idea. Vindictive bitches are so delightfully predictable."

"So that's why you wanted him to attend the party... But why are you so certain that he will prevail against the vampire lord? He's a wizard, and Raith is supposed to be untouchable by magic."

"An _Outsider _wizard," Aurora clarified. "I doubt his Aegis extends to powers beyond our reality. Unless Harry somehow loses his magic, Lord Raith stands no chance."

The Sidhe knight shrugged. "It could happen..."

* * *

A pile of debris shook and then fell, exposing the dishevelled wizard buried underneath. Steadying himself with both hands, Harry slowly rose up to his knees. The shattered Death Eater mask fell in pieces, the fragments of blackened porcelain clattering to the floor, and revealed the bruised face below. A coughing fit shook his mauled body and he spat out blood, saliva and tooth fragments. Dust and blood stuck to his scalp in clumps and his tattered clothes were grey with dust and dirt. What remained of the walls were painted with crimson, carnage hanging from the many holes and cracks. Nothing was left of the two Muggle guards except blood and gore now staining the devastated hallway. The stench of gunpowder and blood was almost overwhelming.

He mumbled a string of rather obscene profanities but they came out as hardly more than incoherent whimpers. There was not a spot in his body that _didn't_ hurt and Harry wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor and groan. Warm blood trickled down from his left ear and he was fairly sure he had lost hearing from that one. Well, at least he still had the other one; it rang so badly that it couldn't possibly be ruptured.

He stoop up and faced the vampire lord. Dust and blood slid down his torn robe in a flood, unable to stick due _Impervious_. "You killed them," Harry snarled, his furious words slurred by blood and the missing teeth. "They fought for you and you killed them ‒ just like that! You were their master; it was your _bloody_ duty to look after them. Fuck, you even killed the kitten!"

"All things die," the White King said coolly and drew the sword that hung on his hip in one fluid movement. It was a beautiful Japanese blade, almost twice as long as Harry's own sword. "Some merely die more slowly than others. Passage of years will eventually fell the strongest of dragons and even the Black Court vampires with their vaunted immortality may be killed. Humans die with almost disturbing regularity. Why fight against nature in an attempt to save those who are already doomed?"

Harry bit his teeth and saw red. Seething anger and fury swelled in him at the callous words and he wasn't sure if he had ever hated anyone more. He practically shook with bottled hatred and his grip of his wand was painfully tight. Draco was an annoying pest, Bellatrix, a mad bitch, while Voldemort lived to be a bastard of epic calibre, but none of them had ever been quite this..._infuriating_. He silently vowed to kill this monster even if was the last thing he did.

The vampire lord levelled the curved blade at the Harry and took a few steps forward, walking leisurely and seemingly without care. A faint, sardonic smile curved Raith's lips as he spoke, "Perhaps you should worry more about yourself as your foci seems to have broken."

"Huh," Harry said intelligently and glanced down. To his surprise and horror only half of his wand remained, the explosion having apparently ripped away rest of it. Wisps of dark smoke curled upwards from the smouldering remains of a golden feather sticking out of the shattered stick.

Harry's mind reeled over the fact that his wand was broken. A wand was much more than just a symbol of a wizard's power – it _was_ their power. Still, he refused to just flee, defeated. Instead he drew the sword of Gryffindor – or _Muneracchius_ as Aurora called it – and it instantly flared up with brilliant golden fire, igniting dust particles that got too near and doubling its fiery halo.

The young wizard faced the white-clad vampire lord across the devastated corridor, his fury now mixed with a healthy amount of trepidation. By modern standards Harry was a pretty decent swordsman, meaning that he was significantly more likely to hurt his enemies than himself. Of course, it didn't mean he would last a second in a fair duel against the White King who had likely practised swordplay daily for many centuries. Good thing was that the fight was ridiculously stacked; Harry doubted Raith wore bulletproof clothing or had his sword coated in basilisk venom.

The vampire lord sprang into motion with the speed and suddenness of a coiled snake, his oriental sword cutting the air with a soft whistle. Harry tried to raise the sword in defence, but was far too slow and the vampire's blade drew a red line across his chest. It was a shallow cut but hurt like hell, as if someone had poured salt into the wound. Moving with serpentine grace, Raith spun around the wizard's shoulder and brought his sword down. Harry collapsed with a grunt as the curved blade struck the back of his knee, tearing through the spell-reinforced layers of cloth and biting into his flesh.

Lord Raith obviously didn't subscribe to any gentleman rules and wasted no time to attack Harry while he was down. Steel screeched and shattered as _Muneracchius_ intercepted the downward thrust aimed at the wizard's throat and cut straight through the vampire's sword.

The White King swiftly retreated to a safe distance, now a bit more wary of the Harry, and let him to stand up. Both combatants stared at each other, appraising and planning. Harry was bleeding and limping while Raith had lost half of his katana.

Then the vampire attacked again and their swords clanged together with such force that Harry lost his hold of _Muneracchius_. While the enchanted sword was sent spinning, Raith grabbed the wizard by his collar and slammed him face-first to the wall.

Thanks to the Adaptive Cushioning Charm, the impact hurt only his pride. Harry spun around and the tiniest flick of his hand summoned a bluish shied to take the vicious slash intended for his throat. Blue sparks flew everywhere and a loud sizzling hiss filled his ears as the vampire's sword carved a silvery gash across the protective screen. Thankfully the shattered blade penetrated only few inches and missed Harry's hand by a hair's breadth. Hiding behind the shield, he backed away from the vampire lord.

Then, as if things weren't already bad enough, they suddenly got worse. The light of his shield ring ebbed away and the electric blue screen separating him from Lord Raith vanished with it, dissolving into a cloud of dim sparks. Harry almost wanted to cry.

Swaying to his side, he somehow managed to avoid being skewered, and a swift jump backwards saved his entrails as the strike suddenly turned horizontal. Still, he was quickly losing and both combatants knew it. The vampire kept pressing on, not giving Harry time to Disapparate, and cut small slashes all over him. The White King could have killed him many times already, but for some reason didn't. Harry didn't know whether he should be affronted or thankful for the fact that Raith was just playing with him...

Driven by desperation, Harry waved his hand and yelled, "_Everbero!_" Unsurprisingly, nothing happened and the vampire's lips curved faintly. The Bludgeoning Hex was simple magic, but Harry could count with his fingers the times he had managed to produce more than a few sparks without a wand. And that was not from the lack of trying...

"You must be a rather strong sorcerer to withstand those mines fitted with iron," Lord Raith said as he leisurely drew a few more red lines across the retreating wizard's skin, "but it's not like you can penetrate the protections woven around me."

While the White King was very wrong in thinking that Harry's spell failed because of some arcane protection instead of him just being terrible at wandless magic, it didn't exactly make his position any better. Then his back hit a wall and Harry knew he was about to die, killed by a vampire in some far away dimension. He had nowhere to run, no time to Apparate away, and no wand to cast a shield with. While he could practically feel his magic raging within him, it was of no use; like a bomb without the detonator or a handful of bullets without a gun...

Then everything fell into place and he suddenly knew what to do. He had no time to learn wandless magic but did have something to make it easier. He closed his eyes, trying his best to ignore the impeding doom, and reached towards the flame burning deep within his soul, his clumsy mental fingers fumbling to grasp it. For the first time Harry intentionally called upon the Summer's might and the fire came alive within him, writhing and growing, fanning itself into a veritable firestorm.

Harry's eyes snapped open. "_Infurnacio!_"

What followed would plague Harry's nightmares for the rest of his life. His flesh boiled and sizzled as fire leaped from his outstretched hand. His glove was consumed in an instant and it took only a heartbeat for the shield ring to melt, red-hot silver falling down his blackened fingers that were soon hardly more than charred bones. All the while orange-gold flames, too bright to look upon, roared with unimaginable fury and surged forward to devour everything in their path. The spell wasn't controlled or focused ‒ not that it needed to be. The walls couldn't even hope to contain the sheer destructive potential of the tsunami of fire and exploded outwards in a shower burning shrapnel. And so did the next set of walls, and the next...

Harry dropped to his knees, fat tears falling down his cheeks, and cradled the burned hand against his chest. He clenched his teeth, but that didn't stop a pained hiss escaping his lips. Shivers rocked his broken body and he collapsed on the floor. Harry barely noticed how half the manor crumbled around him and almost buried him under a flood of burning debris. Hot smoke choked his breath and the resulting coughs expelled the little oxygen he had.

It took a few minutes, but once the suffocating clouds of grey dust and dark smoke cleared somewhat, he could see the blue sky above him and the burning mounds of rubble in front. With almost clinical detachment he watched as a hand burst out of one of the huge piles of debris, sending a few pieces of broken concrete rolling down the slope and eventually bouncing right next to him.

The bastard was still alive. The grasping hand wasn't even burned, sporting only a few scratches from the collapse. Apparently Raith hadn't been just bragging when he told about his magic resistance. Not that it mattered any...

Harry stood up and limped the few yards to his sword, moving with all the speed and grace of an epileptic rhino. _Muneracchius_ exploded into bright flames as his fingers coiled clumsily around its metal shaft. The climb to the emerging vampire lord was slow and excruciating, his muscles screaming in protest with every painful step. Blood loss was finally getting to him and he almost fell thrice due the increasing dizziness before reaching the top, just in time to see the vampire's head surface. Wasting no time, he unceremoniously thrust the flaming sword into Raith's face. Flesh sizzled and blood boiled as _Muneracchius_ pierced the vampires skull with ease. Its tip protruded out of the White King's occiput, reddish steam bursting out of both wounds. Then, just to make absolutely sure that the vampire would stay dead, Harry twisted the blade until he heard the satisfying crackle of bones.

"All things die, eh?" Harry questioned the dead king, teetering at the edge of unconsciousness. Scarlet dribbled down his chin and his voice was as unusually raspy and weak. "I guess we are doomed all right. But still, what a pathetic excuse..." He coughed, spitting up blood, and half sat, half collapsed next to the head now decorated with the silver brand. His numb fingers worked furiously to wrench the iron ring out of the vampire's fingers and it took only moment to secure the Seal.

Harry vanished with a sharp crack and a flicker of golden flames.

* * *

His eyes fluttered open. It was painfully bright and so he quickly closed them again. Mumbling something incoherent, he simply turned over and decided to not wake up just yet. He was just so damn tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep for at least a week more.

Harry shifted under the soft duvet to find a more comfortable position and his hand slid to the pillow. It was surprisingly solid and warm. Something tickled his nose and he sniffed. For some inexplicable reason the pillow was also scented. He mmm'd appreciatively and lazily rubbed his cheek against the pliable cushion. It was a nice flowery smell. In fact, the perfume reminded him of the Summer Lady...

His sleepy thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the realisation hit him and his eyes snapped open. It was as Harry feared ‒ there was no pillow. His head was resting on Aurora's lap and he would have jumped to his feet had her fingers not been idly toying with his raven hair.

"Good evening, Harry," she said, peering down and smiling warmly. Her nimble hands never stopped their play and it felt nice and strangely relaxing. In fact the whole situation was very...domestic, although he was understandably hesitant to use that particular word in conjunction with the Summer Lady. Perhaps he was just getting paranoid but the situation felt more than a bit staged. It was simply too storybook-_ish_; a beautiful princess personally nursing her victorious champion back to health... "You really made a mess of yourself this time. For a moment I feared the worst when you collapsed to my feet. Despite your debt and the Summer Fire you have absorbed, your very essence still rebels against the intrusion of my power, making healing you a very tedious affair. I barely have enough strength left in me to light a candle."

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he had barely heard her. "Huh?"

Harry followed her gaze and his eyes widened a little. His hand was still clutching what had thought as a pillow but really was the Summer Lady's knee. The fire-consumed hand was renewed; what had been tatters of charred meat clinging to blackened bones was flesh and blood once again. Sure, he had apparently lost most the feeling in the fingers, and yes, the skin was raw and covered by an ugly patchwork of scars, but it was far better than the alternative. He flexed his damaged fingers with some difficulty. It was as if he had suddenly acquired a severe arthritis.

She evidently saw the face he made and she was quick to reassure him. "Don't worry. The neural damage isn't permanent and the scars will fade with time." Aurora leaned over and her soft, white hair fell to veil them both. Harry could feel her warm breath on his face and when she gently kissed his forehead, he inhaled sharply. It was just a little peck, but he could still feel the moist heat of her lips lingering on his skin. "You did well."

"Ah... Thanks."

"Your thanks, while appreciated, are not necessary. I look after my own."

"Still, it's the polite thing to do," Harry said, smiling.

She laughed and the young wizard's heart skipped a beat. Then her expression suddenly turned serious and the charming smile was replaced by a girlish frown. Totally cute. "You lost your foci in the battle. What resources do you need to build another?"

"Build another?" Harry murmured before snorting loudly. "I didn't even make my old one. I don't know anything about the charms and potions involved in crafting a wand ‒ those are a wandmaker's family secrets. All I know is that the wood must come from an old living tree that has grown in a magical location and that the core material has to be taken from an intrinsically magical creature."

"What was your previous wand made of?"

"Holly and a single tail feather from a phoenix."

"_A_ Phoenix?" Aurora questioned. "I have only heard of _the_ Phoenix, and unfortunately she won't gift you with any of her feathers. This particular Wyldfae stays strictly neutral in everything concerning the Faerie Courts. She won't willingly aid an ally of the Summer Court."

"Then I will just have to use some random ingredients. By the way, I would like to get up, and so if you could‒"

"_No_," she interrupted sharply and her nails dug against his skull. "You were poisoned and lost a lot of blood. You need be rested and look your best when we go to meet my mother."

"Poisoned?" Harry half stated, half asked. "So his blade was both enchanted and envenomed too... I should have guessed. And what do you mean by meeting your mother?"

"Did you really think that the Summer Queen wouldn't feel the massive burst of Summer Fire you used to demolish the Château Raith?"

He blinked. "I didn't even think about it."

Aurora just sighed and Harry felt vaguely insulted.


	9. Ch9: Legacy That Spans Worlds

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Nine:**_ Legacy That Spans Worlds

The room was cloaked in darkness and the shadows cast by a score of flickering candles danced merrily on the walls. It was the comfortable kind of darkness, familial and decidedly non-hostile. Then the soothing silence was broken by a single whispered word, followed by a rather lacklustre flash of light.

"_Lumos_," Harry repeated, this time much more insistently. Still, only a few pale sparks escaped the wand tip and spewed toward the floor, burning out far before reaching it.

"This won't do either," the wizard said with a little sigh. He lowered the wand on the table and picked up the next on the row, idly giving it a negligent wave and clearly not expecting it to flare up in bright golden-white light ‒ which it did. The room was suddenly bathed in searing light and Harry yelped as the brilliant nimbus burned his sensitive eyes. His surprise was enough to cancel the spell and the invasive light receded, giving way to the shadows again.

"Excellent," the Summer Lady murmured lazily from the settee she languorously lounged on. She stretched a little, a movement almost overwhelmingly sensual and feminine, and twisted to look better at him. Resting her head on her palm, she gave him that enigmatic little smile of hers. She really was beautiful. Harry would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't attracted to her. There wasn't any singular attribute that especially caught his eye; rather it was the little things that added up to perfection. The youngest Queen of Summer was lean, but not to the degree of those anorectic models. She looked young, but not young enough to make a man feel uncomfortable for having less than pure thoughts. She had all the delicious womanly curves, but couldn't be called voluptuous. And although her skin was spotless and unnaturally smooth, she was neither pale nor especially tanned. Discounting her pure white hair, Aurora was what a girl-next-door would look like if she was a supermodel; not ordinary but _extra_ordinary. "I was starting to fear that none of them would suffice."

"I'm actually amazed that you somehow whipped out this many wands in a few measly hours," Harry said and lifted the wand in his hand, gesturing towards the table. Outwardly it was identical to his old one, but while his previous wand had felt warm and alive, this was simply..._hot_. It was a dead thing; just a spiritless funnel for his power. He didn't know what that meant or even if it affected his magic. Hopefully the wand would still live up to the old standards... "Do you know what this is made of?"

She took a single glance at the wand. "Rowan and a single hair from a High Sidhe."

"Witch Wood, eh... And a fae hair. I guess it's fitting."

Aurora rose up to a sitting position and crossed her legs, her short dress hiking up a few tantalizing extra inches of smooth thigh and letting Harry catch a brief glimpse of the white panties. It served as an ample distraction and the teenage wizard almost missed her next words. "Now, destroy the rest."

Harry snapped out of his lecherous trance and it actually took him a second to comprehend what she had said. Then he blinked. It was unfair that she could manage that Veela-like effect without even trying... "Why?"

The Summer Lady looked at him for a moment before speaking, "You might practice only evocation, but others will not be similarly limited. Those wands contain pieces from my servants and, as such, could be used in sympathetic magic."

"Sympathetic magic?" Harry echoed doubtfully, but nevertheless flicked his wand above the table. A hazy cloud of green light washed over the massive piece of furniture and silently reduced the gathered foci into piles of fine dust. "You mean voodoo dolls and stuff?"

"Yes."

"And that actually works? Well, crap. Perhaps I should be more careful with what I leave behind..."

Aurora's sweet laughter took him by surprise. "I don't think that will be problem for you, Harry." After noticing his questioning look, she clarified, "Displaced parts of your assumed vessel quickly dissipate when separated from your essence and you haven't owned the things I have given to you long enough for a significant bond to form."

"Oh..." While he hadn't really thought much about it, his mind being consumed by other matters, Harry did distinctly remember the odd incidents of his blood and bile turning into transparent goo and his sudden inability to use a mirror. Was Aurora right? Did that really mean his body was a fake? If the spell that had brought him here created a new body for him, it would indeed explain many things. Then the Summer Lady leaned back on the sofa and his thoughts went off tangent again. She lifted her elbows on top of the back and arched her back so that her full breasts strained against the thin fabric of her dress, the tips pointing visibly at him. While she could be doing all that simply to acquire a more comfortable position, Harry seriously doubted it.

"You are doing that on purpose," he accused her.

Had he expected vehement denials, or even a coy admission, he would have left sorely disappointed. She just chuckled again – her chest heaving most alluringly – and tapped the free cushion next to her. "You would like to join me here, hmm? Well then, feel free to do so."

While the war had forced some maturity on him and he wasn't about to blush and stammer, he wasn't quite sure how to react. Oh, he certainly knew what he _wanted_ to do – it was something ingrained in the male psyche, but he seriously doubted that giving in to his baser instincts would be a smart thing. Still, by just standing there, undecided and hesitating, he was practically admitting defeat. Harry had never been one to concede anything without a fight, and so he decided to act ‒ no matter how rash it might be.

He walked to the white leather settee and settled next to Aurora, being careful to leave a gap of few inches between them. She grinned, ignored his attempts to avoid contact and promptly threw her legs over him. They were a nice pair of legs, Harry had to admit. Especially now when they were covered just by thin, stay-up stockings that only served to accentuate their sleek form.

"I hope I'm not making things too _hard_ for you, Harry."

She sounded terribly amused and her playful smile was almost dazzling in its beauty. The wizard, on the other hand, grimaced; partly because her words hit home, and partly because the pun was just so bad. "You are enjoying this way too much."

"Mmmm... And you are not?" A pair of delicate arms snaked around him and Aurora's twin peaks pressed softly against his shoulder. He breathed in her flowery fragrance and her steady breathing fell wet and hot against the crook of his neck. She was practically snuggling him, warm and soft, and Merlin if it wasn't the best thing he had felt for ages. "Does this not please thee?"

Harry took a calming breath, which only resulted in him inhaling more of her sweet scent ‒ pretty much having the opposite effect. He didn't bother to deny Aurora's words. It would be pointless and just embarrass him further as the Summer Lady undoubtedly felt the proof to contrary pressing against her. Doubly so because Harry suddenly realised that his own fingers were idly playing with the hem of her short dress and slowly inching up. The velvet softness of her skin made the silken cloth feel coarse and harsh. He yanked his hands back as if burned. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" Aurora whispered into his ear, her voice thick with sex and sensuality. Why not, indeed. At that particular moment, Harry was finding fewer and fewer reasons to resist her. In fact, not resisting at all was progressively getting more and more tempting as instinct slowly eroded reason. His eyes widened in alarm when the Summer Lady leaned forward, but he could muster no resistance. She nibbled his ear and a shudder ran through his spine. "I shall‒"

Then someone knocked on the door.

Aurora let out a cat-like growl of displeasure, but stood up almost immediately. The sudden loss of warmth came almost as a shock and he shivered a little. Harry watched with mixed emotions as the Summer Lady straightened her dress and walked to the door. The wizard had no idea if he should feel disappointed or relieved. He settled for a mixture of both.

She opened the door and a small group of servants in their yellow liveries burst in, bowing or curtsying slightly as they passed her, carrying piles of clothing and...matte-black pieces of faerie armour.

"What is this?" Harry asked as the faerie servants carefully lowered their burdens to his bed in neat piles.

"I think we both would appreciate if you got hurt a bit less frequently," Aurora said lightly and waved her hand once at the servants, as if shooing them away. They hurriedly obeyed the unspoken command and left him alone with the Summer Lady again. "For that effect I took the liberty to commission a suit of armour to be made for you. Shall we try it on?"

Harry quickly weighed pros and cons in his mind. If he accepted the gift, he would get a nifty faerie mail, but end up in even more debt. Still, it would be just a drop in the ocean compared to what he already owed and he wasn't even sure if the debt really affected him in any magical way... "Sure."

He ran his fingers over the mail folded on the bed and it didn't feel nearly as coarse as he had expected. The links were unusually small and fine, but that was not what caught his attention. The surprising part was that they were not left open nor were they riveted ‒ every single black ring was perfectly solid, lacking any visible seams.

"_Revela_," Harry murmured, flicking his wand, and the scattered pieces of armour suddenly came alight in swirling colours. Contrary to what he had expected, there was no bright blazes ‒ only the hazy glow of natural magic. "They are not enchanted..."

"No," she agreed. "I don't know how our magic would mix with yours and decided to take no risks. You can enchant them how you see fit."

He nodded in acceptance, but as she continued to look at him expectantly, he quickly grew uncomfortable under her unwavering gaze. "What?"

"Are you going to take off your clothes?" Aurora asked, tilting her slender and shapely neck. A faint smile crept to her lips. "Or do I have to strip you myself?"

"You want to watch?" Harry teased.

"Yes."

The wizard blinked and then snorted, amusement curving his mouth a little. He really should have expected a laconic reply like that... Wordlessly, he slid the black robe off his shoulders and then let it fall on the floor. Harry casually kicked the piece of clothing away and started unbuttoning his shirt. It was quickly discarded onto the same pile, and so were his trousers and socks. Opening the clasps holding the wand holster to the underside of his arm took only a few seconds and tossing it to the bed, even less.

He turned to face the Summer Lady, standing there just in his underwear. "Satisfied?"

"Very." Aurora chuckled. "Don't feel too smug, though. I've seen better." She then thrust a folded piece of cloth and a pair of knee-length boots to his chest. "Put these on, and I will help you with the rest."

The dark green pants she gave fit him rather snugly; they were much more close-fitting than what Harry was used to. He was willing to overlook the potential fashion _faux pas_, however, as the trousers weren't nearly tight enough to be called long johns and because the thick, silky fabric felt cool and smooth against his skin. A second later he grimaced at how gay his thoughts sounded and quickly focused his attention to the boots.

They were made of leather of some kind and when he peered closely enough he could see thousands tiny scales. Reptilian skin, then. Tightening the shoelaces that went all the way up was an annoyingly long process but once finished, he was positively surprised; the boots were very soft and amazingly comfortable.

He was still admiring his new footwear when Aurora slipped his hand into a shirtsleeve. The vaguely oriental shirt was made of same silky fabric as the pants. She leaned on him, pressing her ample chest tightly against Harry's back, and he could feel her warmth even through all the layers of clothing. Her slender arms wrapped around him from under his arms and she practically drew him into her gentle embrace. It felt nice enough so that he barely noticed her wrapping the right side of the shirt over his body and overlapping it with the left side. Then she receded and her warmth vanished, only to return a second later when she had retrieved the next piece of clothing. The shirt was tied with a wide, black sash that went twice around his waist before Aurora knotted it on his back.

She knelt behind him to put on the greaves. They were of the same matte-black metal as the mail and heavily decorated with gold. The veins of the noble metal seemed to flicker in the candlelight. When the Summer Lady straightened herself, her hand slid up the side of his tight and her chest brushed softly against Harry's shoulder. The touches were feather-light but they still sent a shiver running through the young wizard's back.

The gold and black vambraces were of similar style and design as the greaves. They extended to cover the back of his hands, but not his fingers. They were practically a pieces of art and he probably would have studied them further had he not noticed something even more worthy of his attention. As Aurora was busy tightening the leather straps, it gave him an ideal opportunity to look directly down her impressive cleavage, only a few errant locks of luscious white hair obstructing his viewing pleasure. Harry wasn't stupid or naive enough to believe it was unintentional for even a second ‒ he just couldn't figure out why she did it. It was positively puzzling, but due his teenage hormones' urging, he was determined to enjoy it as long at it lasted.

Unfortunately, like most good things, it was over quickly. And no, that was _not_ a pun.

The next came the hauberk; the padded and reinforced jacket that was worn under the mail to provide protection against blunt trauma. It was surprisingly form-fitting and thin, weighting barely more than a thick woollen shirt. Aurora circled Harry as she adjusted all the straps and strings, her hips, shoulders, and breasts occasionally brushing against him as she worked. That too had no chance of being incidental, because if it was, then she was the greatest accidental cock-tease in all creation since, well, _ever_. He was seriously getting frustrated here, and Harry wasn't quite sure whether it was the good kind of frustration or not. He was betting on 'not.'

"I don't think anyone has ever found an elegant way of putting a mail on," Aurora said as she lifted up the armour. It dangled from her hands and scraped against the floor. "Just crouch down, raise your hands, and I will drop it on you."

Harry did as asked and after a short fight his hands found the right holes and his head emerged from the depths of the armour. It was light, wondrously so ‒ it couldn't weight much more than a dozen pounds. The black faerie mail, like the hauberk, was long enough to cover his thighs.

Her hands reached into his neck and straightened the collar. Then she zipped it up in one swift movement, and Harry blinked. A chainmail with a zip fastener in the collar? It was certainly practical, though, as the mail now snugly covered his neck.

His new sword belt was like the old one, just dark green instead of burgundy.

The final article was a robe. It too was black with the barest traces of green, but with yellow trim. On the right shoulder glittered Aurora's personal emblem: the yellowish-white Sun Circle. On the left side was sewed the coiling Summer Flame that represented the Summer Court as whole.

Aurora let the robe hang open and once she had finished the final adjustments, her hands lingered on his shoulders. She looked up to him and her lips hovered a few inches from his. So close but so far...

"You actually do look handsome," Aurora murmured appreciatively and for some reason Harry felt terribly proud, even if he would have preferred her not to sound so amazed. But before he could contemplate the Summer Lady's words any further, his mouth was covered by a pair of plump lips.

Unthinkingly, Harry kissed back as soft hands cupped his face. His own arms twined tightly around her slim waist and pulled her delectable body against his. She moulded to him and the only thing he could think about was the feel, the taste, and the scent of her. The tip of her tongue slipped between his lips and gently touched his. His mouth opened slightly, allowing her access. Their tongues began to play, first gently, and then more insistently. The kiss deepened, their mingled breath becoming heavy.

Then it was over and she leaned back, leaving a wide-eyed Harry gasping breath. The Summer Lady looked over her shoulder and, following her gaze, the wizard realised that his hands were fondling her perfectly round ass.

"Naughty boy," she whispered, smiling, and took a step back, his hands falling to his side. "I'll see you tomorrow." Then she just turned around and walked out of the room, casting him one final look and waving her fingers over her shoulder as she opened the door.

"Evil witch..." Harry mumbled fondly to the dark room.

His smug smile didn't fade for minutes, but when it finally did, he was left with a lot more questions than answers.

The most prevalent of these questions was how he was supposed to take off the armour...

* * *

Aurora's heels clapped loudly against the white stone with every step. Harry's gait, on the other hand, was unnaturally silent. The only sound to accompany his passing was the soft swish of his black robe. He wasn't exactly sneaking or anything, rather the Silencing Charms applied on his boots made making audible footsteps almost impossible.

Two rows of tall Sidhe knights lined the walls as the pair walked the hallway leading to the throne room. They were predominantly male, but that was to be expected of such martial calling. Dressed in their gleaming, spell-resistant faerie armour, the twin lines of seasoned, elite warriors surrounding him made an impressive sight. Even though their faces were impassive enough that they could have been carved of stone, their cat-like eyes were hard and full of suspicion. The Summer Fireblades witnessed the wizard's passing with silent vigil, their hands never straying far from the sword handles. Some of them actually went so far as to rest their gauntlets on a sword pommel. Despite all this posturing going on, the knights made no move to intercept him or Aurora.

The Summer Lady paid absolutely no attention to the armed retainers of her mother, her mind clearly on the upcoming meeting. Her face too, was perfectly calm and serene, lacking any traces of human emotion and giving no clue of what she was actually thinking and feeling. It was probably a good thing, Harry surmised; he was certainly feeling nervous enough for both of them.

As they neared the end of the long corridor, a pair of Fireblades opened the massive double doors leading to the innermost sanctum of the Summer Palace. A blast of hot air surged into the hallway, billowing his robe and fluttering his hair. Harry blinked. For the briefest moment he had actually felt the heat even through the powerful insulating magic.

"Once we pass those doors, bow," Aurora murmured, her voice barely above whisper. "Then thirty steps and bow again. Follow my lead and do not speak until she addresses you."

The Summer Throne Room was a circular chamber. It wasn't nearly as large as the Ballroom, but it was twice as impressive. The floor was polished, green stone, with beautiful solid gold engravings of impeccable craftsmanship ‒ possibly a runic construct of some kind. It was not like he could tell. The walls were covered with colourful, life-sized paintings of Sidhe lords and ladies, each of them exquisite enough to make Michelangelo weep. The two dozen pillars holding up the luminous golden ceiling were blanketed with thick webbing of ivy. The creepers were in total bloom, each of them covered in incalculable number of colourful flowers, and the air was heavy with the spicy scent.

On the other side of the room was an elevated dais and on this dais was a throne, and on the throne...

The Summer Queen was a stern-looking woman. Had she not appeared to be in her early thirties, the way she carried herself would have reminded Harry of late Professor McGonagal. While she was physically an older copy of her daughter, she displayed none of Aurora's softness and openness. Queen Titania of the Summer Court was an incarnate of power and authority, and she certainly didn't give the appearance of being hesitant to use either. Barely a few seconds into their meeting, Harry knew beyond doubt that she was the most dangerous person he had ever met.

She leaned back on the living throne of twisting vines and quietly regarded them, the oppressive silence broken only by the soft drumming of her fingers clashing rhythmically against the armrest.

_Click, click, click, click._

Harry straightened his back and stood as tall as he could, crossing his arms behind him. He tried to keep his face neutral and his breathing steady, but it was surprisingly hard under the Summer Queen's cold, heavy gaze.

_Click, click, click, click._

If she was trying to make them nervous, she was succeeding. Well, at least partly. Cold sweat ran down his back, but Aurora didn't look like she was very impressed or awed. In fact she seemed vaguely bored.

_Click, click, click, click._

Harry's eyes snapped back at the Summer Queen.

_Click, click, click, click._

"I gave you _no_ permission to act against the White Court, daughter," Titania's voice suddenly boomed, reverberating through the massive throne room like it was a physical thing and shaking the very stone beneath Harry's feet. She did not scream, she did not rage, she didn't even raise her voice, still her words hit him like a tsunami ‒ strong and pervasive, _inevitable_. "Yet you arranged the death of the White King himself... You have wittingly and brazenly violated my commands and possibly brought a war upon us. What do you have to say in your defence?"

"As you well know, mother, my geas remains unbroken. I have disobeyed no order of yours," Aurora said smoothly, not at all perturbed by her mother's anger. "What happened was an accident. Lord Raith attacked my Emissary, who then rightfully defended himself. No violence was initiated by Lord Potter, nor did he go there seeking the vampire lord's death."

Harry glanced at Aurora. While, technically, every word she said was true, it didn't quite happen like she implied. He hadn't started any fights simply because the other side was faster on the draw ‒ it wasn't exactly due a lack of trying. Not that he would ever admit that little fact to the monarch of the Summer Court...

Queen Titania didn't seem very convinced ‒ nobody with a shred of common sense would, but at least her voice lacked the hostile edge when she spoke again, "Then, may I ask, what was your Emissary's reason for visiting the Raith Manor?"

"He sought the Seal of Solomon."

"You sent him to steal the ring?" Titania murmured dangerously. "I never thought avarice one of your vices."

"I did not send him to steal the Seal, mother," Aurora countered swiftly and for a moment Harry felt cold dread clench his heart. Luckily she wasn't about to throw him to wolves... "Besides, he didn't steal it as much as he is returning it to its rightful owners.

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Aurora hadn't betrayed him..._yet_. That they were going to give the Seal away was news to him though. But then again, once they had used it to summon the demon lord, it would be only be a fancy magical trinket.

"Very well then," The Summer Queen said with a careless wave of her hand. "You are dismissed."

Aurora curtsied again, and Harry quickly followed her example, bowing deeply. They turned to leave when Queen Titania spoke again, "Not you, Lord Potter. We have a few things to discuss. _Alone_."

The Summer Lady gave him a brief, inscrutable look before walking away, leaving him alone with the strongest fae in whole Summer. Harry watched her retreating back, and the nicely swaying hips, for a moment before turning to face Queen Titania.

"Your presence here complicates things, Exile," she said once the doors closed behind Aurora, her voice no longer laden with the supernatural power. A small blessing. "Your return after so many years is not appreciated. Yet I dare not to strike you down where you stand ‒ doing so might incur retribution from the rest of your kind. I was just a young girl then, but I can still remember the days of your dreadful dominion and the horror of the Iron Grove."

"Eh..." Harry blurted out. He honestly had no idea how to respond to that. Apparently he and Voldemort were not the only wizards to find their way here, and she clearly had some previous negative experiences. It was unfortunate. But it could also be a blessing in disguise, Harry realised. If the Sidhe Queen knew of wizards like him, then, perhaps, she would also know a way back...

He was still thinking up a proper answer when the gravity suddenly increased manifold and he found himself kissing the polished floor, an irresistible force pressing down on his back. Tingling coldness spread all over him as his innate magic fought against the invisible shackles binding him, but Harry knew it was pointless. The woman in front of him was more than strong enough to hold the spell for all eternity if she so wished. Lifting his head a little he managed to look at the Summer Queen.

She glowered down on him from the elevated dais and her grimace was downright ugly on her otherwise pretty face. "Once you have acquired the Arthame and presented it to my daughter, only half of your debt remains... The half that you owe to Summer and not to the Summer Lady personally. You will steal the Arthame again, without harming Aurora, and then bring it to me. At that point you shall be free of all debt and obligation to the Summer Court. At that point you shall leave and never show your face again. Do we have an understanding?"

The way she said that implied that there was only one right answer. Wisely, he chose just that. "I understand," Harry wheezed out. "Perfectly."

After hearing the chocked words, the Sidhe waved her hand slightly and the constricting pressure vanished, letting him to breath once more. "Then begone."

Harry scampered back on his feet and was gone in a flash of golden sparks.

* * *

A cool spring breeze blew his messy black hair as he admired the sky that was a beautiful starry blanket of dark blue.

Of course, it didn't mean that he wouldn't have rather been sleeping in his own bed. Harry knew he had done many exceedingly stupid things in his life, but what was about to happen might very well top everything he had done before.

How often did one get to Summon an ancient Daemon Lord capable of casually wiping the floor with angels, and try to bargain with it?

Harry snorted. Apparently _too_ often. He already missed the satin bed-sheets...

Aurora sat against a large column of reddish stone, hugging a knee but keeping the other leg straight. She was seemingly deep in her thoughts. Her calmness, however, was only ostensible as she did have a bared sword resting on her lap, her fingers idly stroking the handle. The pillar the Summer Lady was leaning on and twelve other similar stones formed a loose circle that marked the boundary of the small clearing. The construction reminded him of Stonehenge...even if this was smaller and in the middle of an ancient pine forest.

He turned around to take a look at Elaine who was kneeling next to the big flat slab of granite that occupied the centre of the ring of pillars. The large stone table she was studying was painstakingly engraved with multiple circles inside each other and hundreds complicated arcane symbols. Harry was sure Hermione would have been exhilarated to see something like this, and even Ron should have found it cool.

"I'm ready," she told them and stood up, stretching her legs a little after all the crouching and kneeling.

"Good," Aurora said softly, and the sudden gale almost drowned her voice. It made her hair sway nicely, however. "We better get started then. But before we do, remember that Lord Sakhr's foul wisdom is the proverbial forbidden fruit; listen at your own peril. His words have corrupted and destroyed far stronger and older beings than us, you understand?"

"Crystal," Elaine replied and Harry nodded. Even he wasn't about to take anything said by a Greater Daemon nicknamed 'the Deceiver' at face value.

The witch picked up her staff and closed her eyes in concentration, her lips moving but no sound coming out. She was obviously doing final rehearsals of the Summoning ritual. Then she started for real and drew on the power gathered in the pillars fed by the two ley-lines crossing underneath. Some of the energy spilled around, tickling his skin and making the air to hum with ambient magic. Almost as a nervous reaction, Harry begun twirling the wand in his fingers.

"Hear me, Sakhr the Deceiver, the White Serpent of the Immaculate Order!" Elaine intoned with a strong voice and slammed her heavy staff against the stone, the Summoning Circle flaring into life with a pure white light. "I summon the Keeper of Forbidden Knowledge, the False Philosopher!"

The glow intensified and Harry could see motes of red light swirl within the Circle, rising from the stone like rose petals whipped up by a sudden gale. They started faint and few but quickly grew in number and luminescence, turning the Circle into a scarlet pillar of light. He could feel a terrible presence gathering, vast and inhuman, and he gripped his wand tighter.

"Come to me, Accursed One, the Corrupter of Eden!"

In a single heartbeat all the motes of light erupted in reddish-orange flames. Hellish fire conjured from the deepest pits of Downbelow exploded against the Circle, roaring with unimaginable fury and burning with such brilliance that Harry had to avert his eyes. Not having another direction to expand but upwards, the demonic flames rose into a huge spear swirling fire, reaching high into the heavens. The few thin lines inscribed on the stone seemed to be a far too frail cage to withstand such massive unholy power, but somehow the Circle held strong.

Elaine's eyes were closed in concentration and her hand was extended towards the Summoning Circle, the Seal blazing with reddish light on her finger. She was breathing hard and sweat had formed pearls on her forehead. Then the witch's eyes snapped open and she screamed the actual incantation that would hopefully force the demon lord to materialize, "_Appare! Appare! Appare!_"

The blazing vortex of soul-burning Hellfire collapsed upon itself, shrinking into a human shape as Lord Sakhr stepped fully into the mortal world. The profane energy finished its condensation and the reddish-orange light died, showing the demon's form to the onlookers.

The demon lord's gold-trimmed glossy-white robe hung wide open, revealing a high-necked blood-red frock coat and an Ascot-knotted cravat with a golden pin. He wore full, crimson breaches that disappeared in gleaming, black knee-length boots. A black belt circled the demon's waist and Harry could see a polished wooden sword-handle peaking under the white robe.

Hazy coils of red energy swirled and writhed at his feet like a mass of epileptic snakes, occasionally rising in miasmic tides and crashing against the Circle. The demon lord just stood there, motionless discounting the faint, rhythmic movements of his fingers. Bright strands of magic flickered in and out of existence around his hands as the nimble fingers continued their play. Then Lord Sakhr lifted his head and Harry could see under the demon's white cowl.

The White Serpent's face belied his true nature; a perfectly neutral expression adorned the demon's handsomely boyish features. His wild hair was sandy-blonde and his blue eyes twinkled in a way that reminiscent him of his late headmaster. Harry blinked. Sakhr certainly looked nothing like he had expected and the lack of evil red eyes, curled horns, scaly skin, and shark-like teeth was plain disconcerting – in a world that was just and right, ancient soul-eating demons wouldn't wear white nor would they look deceptively young and innocent.

"And I do hear you, _Elaine Lilian Mallory_," the demon lord said. His voice was a soft monotone; clear, even, and calm, discounting her Name that was spoken like a caress. The witch shivered and her face went white.

"B-but how..." she stammered.

"I have heard you since the first gasp of air... I bare witness to your birth cry, listened to your first words. I am confidant to all your secrets; every little dirty deed and desire. I know everything that has ever passed mortal lips since the dawn of time. That is the power of my _Intellectus_."

"Impossible!"

"No, it is not," Sakh said, his bland tone never wavering. "Your denial does not earn you forgiveness, wizard, nor does it justify your arrogance."

Lord Sakhr turned to look at Harry, seemingly not deeming Elaine worthy of any further attention. The demon lord's unnerving gaze was sharp and inquisitive, inhumanly so. But it was also clinical, _detached_. On further observation, his face was similarly inhuman. Even though physically indistinguishable from human, it held no trace of any recognisable human emotion. And he never blinked. Not even once.

"Now, Exile, I hope you allow me a question. Why are you serving the Lady of the Dawn? She is the most humane of the Sidhe Queens...and thus the worst of them all."

Harry snorted. "You are saying that she's the worst because she's the nicest of the bunch. That's some backwards logic worthy of the Dark Lord."

"Those who fear darkness have never seen what the light can do," Lord Sakhr said evenly. It was almost creepy, the way he spoke; lacking any inflection and emotion. Then he glanced at Elaine, and delivered the rest of his psycho-babble, "Her mercy shall destroy your kind."

"_Lies_," Aurora hissed. "He speaks nothing but words of deceit and manipulation."

"Lies?" Sakhr repeated. "Falsehoods are for those who are unable to handle the unabridged truth. I have never spared words just because the White God prefers ignorance and powerlessness from his subjects. It does you no service to blame me for your own inadequateness and ignorance."

"Lord Sakhr," Harry interjected, deciding to bring the conversation on the right track. "Do you have the Arthame?"

The demon was silent for a moment, as if appraising him, before speaking, "I do. But do you really know why you are here?"

"That should be obvious," the young wizard said, his eyes narrowing. "I'm here to get the Sorcerer-King's old ritual dagger from you."

"No, you were tricked here to die," Lord Sakhr countered. "I, like all Hellbound except the Fallen, am obliged to kill each and every of my Summoners. And I have become exceedingly proficient at it."

"Really?" Harry drawled with a healthy amount of disbelief in his voice. "And why would Aurora want my death? She's standing right there anyway."

The demon lord crossed his arms in front him and leaned back against the invisible barrier. Faint red ripples originated from where Sakhr touched the Circle and travelled across the invisible surface. A white-gloved hand rose and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his expression never changing. "Not the Summer's Queen Who Is To Come. It was that traitorous whore Leanansidhe of Unseelie who sent you to die to advance her own cause. Truly, despite my profound dislike of her, casual disregard of other beings like that is...delicious. If the Winterborn had souls, they would surely all come to us."

Lord Sakhr's piercing eyes focused on Harry. "But that fate can still be avoided ‒ the deadline has not yet caught with us. I will give you the Arthame to do as you wish if you agree to my demand."

"I propose an equal trade," the Summer lady spoke up before Harry even managed open his mouth. "The Arthame is useless for a demon, even powerful ones such as you, but the Seal of Solomon certainly isn't. The ring has been the bane of your existence since its creation and‒"

The demon ignored her. "The divine power burns in you veins, Exile. You have it, but you barely use it. I can show you what you could be, what you could do...if you simply let yourself become what you are."

"Just say what you want," Harry snapped, annoyed. Everywhere he went, people seemed to have plans for him. Even in another dimension he got no _bloody_ respite.

"A sidereal year of your time."

"I don't think so," Harry proclaimed quickly. The young wizard was just about continue his vehement disagreement when he saw a flash of silvery-white light through the trees. "I thought this place was supposed to be far from human settlement."

"It is," Aurora agreed, and flicked her hand, bright orange-gold sparks dancing around her fingers. Earth broke and belched with a wet hiss on half dozen places, while hay and grass grew in unbelievable speed, twisting to cover the emerging muddy figures. Then their eyes ignited with Summer Fire and the constructions came alive, snarling and barking. "Seems that we have unwanted quests."

"Unwanted does not even begin to describe these misguided fools," Lord Sakhr stated. "May I present you the Knights of the Cross."

The silvery glow was getting steadily closer and brighter, and it didn't take long for three figures to emerge from the woods; an old Japanese man, a Caucasian man, and a younger black man. They wore flowing white cloaks emblazoned with religious symbols, and each of them carried a sword blazing with pale silver fire.

"Are they Templars or something?"

His question was intended for the Summer Lady, but it was the demon lord who answered, "You are correct. They mindlessly serve a god who does not even care of them; both humanity's triumphs and failures are only entertainment for Him. Yet, like the good dogs they are, they are rewarded with the power to do His bidding."

The oldest of the three knights spoke, "You speak but lies, Lord Sakhr. You are not welcome here. Crawl back to Hell where you belong, demon."

"The White God is powerful, but He is just one of many. Do not presume that His patronage exalts you in any way. You are in no way superior to me, little mortal. But if you really despise me so, why don't you strike me down, then?" the demon lord taunted. Or at least Harry assumed so ‒ it was really hard to tell as Sakhr's voice was still soft and flat as ever. "Or are you, the one who carries the Sword of Faith, afraid to break the Circle? Have you really so little faith in your god's power to destroy me in a single strike?"

"I know it can," the old man said confidently. "I merely don't know if it will."

"Faith is to believe what you do not see; the curse of that faith is to see what you believe," Lord Sakhr stated. "Do not deceive yourself. I have slaughtered angels and Old Gods with my bare hands and fought archangels to a standstill. Are you actually arrogant enough to think that you can harm me with your pesky blessed swords?"

"He wouldn't give us a challenge for what we are not ready. And we would rather have the wizard there to simply banish you back than risk releasing you," the Caucasian one said, looking at Elaine. "So how it is, Miss?"

"No! I absolutely forbid it," Aurora said harshly, and the scrunts around her snarled and hissed, baring their root-like teeth. "You three Knights are to depart now. You don't know what you are interrupting. Please go."

"Lady, you don't really think you can scare us with a bunch of chlorohounds?" That was the third knight, who had up to this point remained stoically silent.

"Perhaps I should endeavour to frighten you, then..." Lord Sakhr quipped and turned to look into the dark forest. "I accept your deal."

Harry didn't know whom the White Serpent was speaking to, but it certainly meant nothing good. He was proved right when something black shot out from the darkness and flickered across the clearing, exploding the ground at the demon lord's feet and breaking the complex lines carved into the stone.

The Circle shattered a second later.


	10. Ch10: The Forbidden Apple

**Beyond Grave Peril**

By Random Shinobi

**Summary:** Even when stranded in a strange world, Harry continues to make waves. Friends are scarce, but there is no shortage of those who would like to see him drown in the swell of his own making. And what are the true motives of the beautiful Summer Lady? [HP/Dresden Files crossover. Not _Deathly Hallows_ compliant. Starts before _Grave Peril_.]

**Genre:** Action/Adventure

**Rating:** R (M)

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, then it might well belong to Ms. Rowling or Mr. Butcher. I only claim my OCs and plot.

Special thanks to _**snuggle the muggle**_ for her help.

* * *

_**Chapter Ten:**_ The Forbidden Apple

_He's an insidious corrupter. Lord Sakhr doesn't tempt you with power, wealth, or earthly pleasures; he offers his fell wisdom. Those misbegotten fools who say that there is no inherently evil knowledge know not what they speak of. He demands no reward for his services, knowing very well that weak mortals always end up misusing his foul gifts and in doing so, damning themselves. Knowledge is power, which is the catalyst of change, and there has never been lack of ignorant men whose desire for change exceeds their common sense. Many have tried to use his vile teachings for good, but nothing wholesome ever stems from a malign source. Eternity of excruciation awaits practitioners who believe otherwise._

_The White Serpent doesn't do what he does for profit or because he enjoys suffering; he does it because it is his despicable nature. Just as y__ou don't ask why a plague spreads or fire burns, you don't ask why the Daemon Lord does what he does. __He's not idealist _‒_ he's an idea; a mighty avatar of warped wisdom and malefic knowledge. Despite his tremendous inhuman intelligence, Lord Sakhr is only an evil automaton, mindlessly fulfilling his chosen purpose and brazenly ignoring everything else. He's a cursed, wretched being, worthy of neither your respect nor pity._

_He was originally one of the earliest spirits of intellect, if not actually the first. As time passed and more and more sentient minds emerged, giving birth to innumerable amount of his weaker kin, the older spirits not only grew in power but begun to specialise, narrowing their concepts. They become spirits of knowledge, spirits of logic, spirits of abstract thinking and so on. Sakhr, however, become the spirit of forbidden knowledge._

_Lord Sakhr will not rest until all the dark secrets and cruel truths of the world are his to tell. And share he will, with those most unworthy: the Hallowed Order of the Immaculate Serpent._

‒Excerpt from _the Key of Solomon_.

* * *

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

Smoking fragments of molten stone clattered harmlessly against him, but he hardly noticed them. All his attention was focused solely on the quickly disintegrating Circle. The wizard had already lifted a hand to protect his face from the unavoidable magical explosion, but as if to mock him, the Circle simply unravelled in a cascade of swirling colours that calmly flowed onto the demon lord's palm. The blobs of light formed into a luminous sphere and when Lord Sakhr closed his hand, the multicoloured orb faded into nothingness without even a whisper.

A pair of dark figures stepped out of the shadowy forest and stood at the edge of the clearing. The waning light of the Circle barely reached them, leaving the two in twilight. Both of them wore flowing, charcoal-black robes with wide hoods that hid their faces and almost melded their forms to the darkness behind them. The larger of the duo spoke from under his black cowl, "We did our part, O' Lord of Tindalos. It's time for you to keep yours." His voice had strange ethereal quality, as if there were two speakers slightly out of synch with each other.

"Do not presume to command me, wizard. I am in no way beholden to you," Lord Sakhr stated. His soft monotone never wavered, not even a little, and it was plain creepy how the demon failed to stress any word or syllable. "But you are correct; it would not do for me to renege on a deal ‒ not even one made with such insignificant and worthless creature as you. You shall receive the trinket you desire and I shall not wield my vast powers against you and yours, as agreed."

The demon lord extended an arm and the air above his hand shimmered, a black-handled dagger appearing out of the blue and dropping onto his palm. Harry instantly recognised the silver knife; it was the Arthame. Without a warning, the White Serpent's hand blurred, whipping back and then forth with inhuman speed. The enchanted athamé buzzed loudly like a crazed wasp as it flickered through the air, aimed with impeccable precision.

The black-robed wizard was fast with his magic. His hand whipped up in a warding gesture before the dagger even left the demon lord's fingers and a transparent golden shield swirled into existence. Not that it was of any use. The enchanted blade did what enchanted blades did best and pierced the defensive barrier without even slowing down. The shield unravelled in luminous strands of gold, and the dagger sunk into flesh with a meaty thud. The pained scream that filled the air, however, wasn't the earlier man's voice, but rather distinctively feminine. To Harry's amazement, the shorter figure had jumped in front of the Arthame and shielded the man with her body.

As if following a trend, Aurora too lifted her hand and pointed her fingers at the intruders. She made a few sharp motions and an enormous blast of pure Summer Fire bloomed forward. Hissing and cracking, the huge torrent a swirling fire streamed past Harry and swallowed the black-robed pair. The Summer Lady obviously wasn't above kicking somebody already down, but at this time he wasn't about to complain. Those two had freed the crazy old Daemon Lord, and totally insane things like that had the habit of making him feel a lot less charitable and chivalrous.

The air shimmered with heat and a scalding gust of wind blasted against his face and billowed his robe. The violent stream of flames she had called wasn't nearly as large as the blast he had used to destroy the Raith Manor, but it was still easily bus-sized and more than enough to turn a human into a pile of grey ash and blackened bones. When the golden-orange flames died, instead of a pair of charred corpses, Harry found himself looking into a shimmering portal and to the snowy landscape opening behind. Wherever the conjured flames had vaporised the pure white snow, the now bare earth steamed and smoked. Then the magical gateway collapsed upon itself and vanished with a soft, metallic hiss. Harry's last sight from beyond the rift was tiny plants and flowers sprouting from the charred earth.

"They escaped..." Aurora whispered. "They are in Winter now."

"Why do you not pursue them?" Lord Sakhr suggested. He was still standing calmly in the destroyed Circle, apparently utterly unworried by the three Knights, and their glowing swords of divine retribution, that had come to destroy him. The Knights themselves seemed understandably a bit hesitant to attack the ancient Daemon Lord, but were, overall, very stoic about the situation. "The female is gravely wounded and the scent of fresh blood is irresistible to many Winterborn. Who knows, unless you act promptly, the Arthame might end up in Queen Mab's possession..."

"Do you take me for a fool, demon?" the Summer Lady asked harshly, anger and disappointment seeping into her usually melodious voice. "I know better than to run into Winter wastelands after a pair of deranged wizards who might very well be in your employ. No, your life shall end tonight."

The demon lord wasn't even remotely impressed by her defiance and sheer gall. "I would suggest a more salubrious course. You are far from your domain, Lady Summer. Your power is feeble here; your flame flickering. Have you really deluded yourself to believe you can overcome a true Daemon Lord?"

"Of course not," Aurora agreed flippantly and pointed her gleaming sword at the Hellbound spirit. The tiny symbols etched on the silvery blade were now burning brightly and the whole sword practically thrummed with fiery power. "You, however, are not one. You are a mere shadow of Lord Sakhr possessing a hapless mortal who fell under his fell power. You are no Daemon Lord, only an _Eidolon_. And you will fall, by my hand or someone else's."

"If ignorance is bliss, then you have certainly achieved nirvana, milady," the demon, or whatever he really was, said evenly. "Anyone can make mistakes, but only a fool persists in her error. You seek to end suffering, but have forgotten that ignorance is the root and stem of all evil. I shall‒"

"Perish," Aurora dead-panned and turned Sakhr's own words into a death sentence. The echo of her harsh decree lingered ominously in the silence of the night for a moment before the last dregs of the illusion of peace were violently shattered.

The ground around the demon bulged and exploded upwards as hundreds spiky vines burst out from the soil. In less a heartbeat, the poisonous plants had Lord Sakhr completely surrounded and engulfed in a bone-cracking death grip. Aurora, however, clearly wasn't satisfied by just letting the demon to be poisoned, crushed, and ripped apart.

"_Al'far askan dar!_" Bright light pooled at her fingertips and surged out with a furious bubbling-hiss. She swung her hand and five needle thin filaments of white fire swept across the clearing, burning purple afterimages into Harry's vision and slicing through trees and stone pillars with ease. Acres of the ancient forest behind Sakhr crumbled down but the demon stood unharmed; his clothes were untouched and not a hair in his head scorched. Blackened and cut remains of the vines fell off him onto ground on burning heaps, many of the pieces still twitching.

There was a moment of stunned silence as everybody just stared at the demon, unsure as to what to do next. Then Lord Sakhr spoke, "While garish sycophancy is not a minimum requirement for not being obliterated on sight, I do not appreciate your inexpedient hostility. This vessel must remain unharmed until it has fulfilled its course and therefore your threat must be eliminated."

Sakhr tapped his feet against the stone and the broken Circle flared up with reddish light. A swarm of dark, misty figures burst out of the stone, solidifying mid-air into huge black dogs. The furious mass of fur, teeth, and claw crashed down like a heavy swell on a shore and howled loudly enough to hurt Harry's ears. The fires of Hell burned in their slanted eyes and the beasts' massive paws gouged earth as they rushed forward, serrated teeth bared.

Harry jabbed his wand and a score of slavering hellhounds was sent flying in a violent blast of wind, but there was many more of them and they just kept coming. The fastest of them was just about to bite off his head when the wizard flicked his wand, drawing a blazing arc of amethyst light into the air and hurling it forward. Fat drops of steaming blood plashed onto his face as the purple strand of sorcerous fire exploded through demonic flesh and bone, growing larger and brighter with every foul life it claimed. Life was power and the Dark spell feasted on it with a ravenous appetite, both the caster's and the victims'.

The weight and momentum of the charging demon-hounds smashed Harry against the ground and pinned him there. Their sharp claws slid along his fine faerie mail and they bit him everywhere as they tried to find a hole in his defences. He could barely protect his head and a second later cruel, serrated teeth sunk bone-deep into his thigh, red spurting out and staining the hellhound's muzzle.

Harry screamed and his wand lit up with an angry hiss, strands of red light coiling around the wood and forming a bright halo. A sharp twist of the wizard's wrist slashed the blazing wand through the heavy leg that pressed his wand arm to the ground. The limb literally exploded at the contact, splattering the wizard with dark blood, and the hellhound collapsed on him. It let go of his shoulder and howled like an emasculated hyena, the sound tearing his ears like a fire alarm. Harry wasted no time to sweep his blazing wand across the beast's torso, easily tearing open its ribcage and gutting the hellhound like a fish.

With his arm finally free, Harry struck at the one ripping up his leg and the sizzling magic shredded the hound's muzzle into ribbons of tattered, smoking flesh. Yelling an inarticulate war cry, Harry continued to press on and the hellhound's thick skull caved in with a mighty crack, driving bone fragments deep into the brain.

A flick of his wand sealed the bite wounds on his leg. Even though they now looked perfectly fine, Harry knew they weren't and could easily re-open; no healing magic he knew of could just shrug off wounds caused by Dark creatures. There was a reason why Snape limped for days after he got his arse kicked by Hagrid's cerberus. For all his many faults, the man was a capable wizard and if there was an easy cure, he would have used it.

Rising from the pool of steaming viscera and viscous, dark blood, he took in the changes in the battlefield. Elaine had fallen and lay unmoving, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Whatever had happened to her, at least she was still breathing, very much unlike the the two charred and smoking corpses flanking her. Aurora's scrunts were rolling on the ground with hellhounds. The green and black beasts were furiously ripping each other apart with wild abandon and absolutely no regards to what happened to themselves. As magical conjurations they lacked any real self-awareness and thus had absolutely no fear of death. The Summer Lady herself stood in the middle of a circle of hellhounds impaled by another batch of killer vines rising from the blood-soaked earth. The sharp-tipped red plants were slowly curling around their victims and squeezing out what little life remained in the flailing bodies.

Then the last black dog slumped to the ground with torrents of hot blood spurting from its neck severed by a glowing sword. The Knights were completely unharmed and not even breathing hard. Other than the bleeding and twitching bodies scattered around, the only sign of the slaughter they had partaken in was the dark blood staining their white cloaks.

Amidst all this rather one-sided carnage stood Lord Sakhr, looking unreasonably unaffected by the rapid demise of his minions. He hadn't moved from the broken Circle during the short fight and now he didn't even lift a hand in defence when the Knights rushed at him. Hell, the demon could have at least bothered to look at the flashing blades that were about to cut him apart. Instead, Sakhr looked at him, his face still impassive as ever.

Then their eyes met. Blue faced green, and Harry's world shattered. This time there was no Circle to insulate him and the Daemon Lord's dreadful presence washed over the wizard like a tidal wave of miasma, threatening to smother him under it's terrible, sickening pressure. An utterly alien mind touched his, sliding effortlessly through his Occlumency and leaving Harry beyond terrified. Unlike what the young wizard had expected, the demon wasn't driven by senseless fury, vitriolic jealously or even simple greed – and was all more horrifying for it.

Negative emotions, while _negative_, were still human; the total absence of them was anything but. The cold, machine-like, perfectly rational intellect he felt systematically dissecting and analysing his thoughts and memories knew nothing of good and evil, and understood even less of pain and pleasure. All those things were distant and utterly meaningless semantics to an immortal being that had never felt anything. The mind that touched his was so incomprehensibly foreign to human experience that it was hard to not categorically label the demon as evil. That would be a folly, however; _it_, for Sakhr certainly was neither he or she, was nothing if not pure – so horribly pure that it was beyond abhorrent. Even unicorns were spotty grey compared to it. Everything Lord Sakhr did was for a higher purpose and not a single selfish though tainted the demon lord's mind.

Of course, this didn't make the demon nice. In fact, it was probably the absolute opposite. Lord Sakhr was a saint and a paladin – unfortunately the demon just happened to have a moral framework so incomprehensible that it made the starfish aliens look positively familiar. There was nothing but pure logic and a sense of duty behind Sakhr's actions, it was simply that the demon lord operated with entirely different sets of values and premises with which to draw its conclusions. To compare their morality would be like comparing irrational numbers to oranges – you wouldn't even know from where to begin. If men were from Mars and women from Venus, then Lord Sakhr came from Andromeda...

"_The Arthame has been imparted to those with the necessary will to utilise it_," a foreign thought floated into his consciousness and, despite the gentleness of the mental probe, Harry felt utterly violated. "_The Summoner has been neutralised. Your existence: confirmed. My purpose here is almost finished and I can soon rejoin the collective. Your mortal intellect cannot readily envisage the sheer effort necessary to transcend the White God's bindings and channel even the most diminutive fragment of our true being here. Every moment I walk the mortal realm strains and drains us in a way you cannot comprehend. But before I depart, I will hasten to leave you with something to contemplate over._"

The demon's feather-light mental touch suddenly turned into a vice-tight grip and Harry hardly noticed when his knees gave in and he collapsed on the ground in a trembling heap. Utterly unconcerned by his discomfort, the demon poured in stolen memories and, with them, imparted the knowledge worth of hundreds lifetimes. Terrible scenes of unholy death and destruction played in his mind in every gruesome detail the greater demon could conjure ‒ which was likely _all_ of them.

No human words could truly convey the sensation of having your mind treated as a dumpster, but it felt approximately as if someone had stuck white-hot nails behind his eyes. Harry screamed from the top of his lungs and trashed against the ground, clawing his own face. His suffering stopped a few seconds later when a blazing sword separated the demon's head from shoulders.

He fell into a blissful oblivion.

* * *

"You swore to obey me, Harry ‒ _go!_"

The sharp words drove Harry out of his dreamlike stupor and he ran to the door leading to the spiralling staircase, but the moment his fingers tightened around the iron ring, he heard running footsteps on the other side. He turned to look at the Headmaster, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry obediently backed away, but drew his wand as he did so.

The door swung wide open as if someone had kicked it and Malfoy rushed in, a wand in hand. "_Expelliarmus_," the blond shouted and a bright, scarlet bolt erupted from his wand, illuminating the otherwise dark room. In the corner of his eye, Harry could see another, fainter flash of light, this time aimed at him. He moved out of pure instinct and the barely visible spell went by him.

Harry stared at Dumbledore, his mouth agape. He couldn't comprehend why the Headmaster had just tried to curse him. When his back was turned, no less. Luckily he managed twist his torso in time and the spell had only grazed the invisibility cloak billowed by the sharp movement.

Despite how proud he was of his Bludger-evading skills and Quidditch-honed reflexes, deep within Harry knew that the dodge was a total fluke. The Headmaster's aim had been a bit off, likely due his shaky, potion-addled shape. Even with that massive equalizer, it had been a very, very close call. Had he been a split second slower, he wouldn't be standing where he was. Well, actually he was still frozen in a low crouch, staring disbelievingly at the old man sprawled on the floor and unable to understand the reason for his betrayal.

He barely noticed how Draco walked past him and picked up Dumbledore's wand from the floor. It was only the Slytherin's voice that brought Harry back to present. "Who else is here?"

Harry blinked. Had Malfoy somehow noticed him? He decided it would be unbecoming to just stand there unannounced. Pointing his wand at Draco's defenceless back, the Slytherin crumbled with a flash of red light and a dull thud.

"_Accio wands._"

He snatched the pair of wands from the air, pocketed them, and turned his attention back to Professor Dumbledore. "Is the potion controlling your mind somehow?" Harry asked, his tone almost pleading. "Can I trust you with a wand?"

"Harry," the old wizard croaked. "Behind‒"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" A cheerful, almost ecstatic voice spoke into his ear and Harry nearly jumped up out of sheer surprise and terror. The Killing Curse, however, wasn't aimed at him. It was a surprisingly small blessing. The young wizard watched in dread as the spiralling jet of sickly green light flashed over his shoulder and slammed into the Headmaster, forever silencing him.

A hand slid around him, grabbing Harry's collar and slamming him face-first to the ground. When he turned around, he could see Bellatrix standing a few feet from him, her wand pointed at him. Her other hand loosely held his invisibility cloak.

"So, ickle Potty was skulking around under an invisibility cloak..." she gushed. "And attacking people from behind. I'm so proud!"

Harry didn't share her amusement. In fact, he was feeling particularly serious and unamused at the moment, and it just might have shown in his reply: "Shut up, you crazy bitch!"

"Ooh, anger!" Her smile just widened at his righteous fury, incensing him even further and making him almost shake with rage. "Can you do a proper _Cruciatus_ now?"

That was question that Harry too wanted to know the answer to. Luckily it was easily tested and Bellatrix had just volunteered herself. His wand moved in a flash, the foul incantation spilling from his lips. "_Crucio!_"

The demented witch just laughed and, with a tiny flick of her wand, sent the Unforgivable back at him. And it seemed that he had got the spell right. All his nerves flared up as he had suddenly caught fire or been immolated in a vat of acid. Harry's knees gave in and his thrashing body collapsed on the hard floor. The pain was unbearable and all-encompassing, but thankfully over in an instant.

"Huh... Judging by your lovely screams, it worked. Please tell me how mine compares, 'kay?" Before Harry could do anything her wand was pointed at his heaving chest. "_Crucio!_"

He screamed some more. And when she finally released the torturous spell and his senses returned to him, Harry found that he had lost control of his bladder at some point. Phantom pains twisted his limbs and he writhed in a pool of his own piss. He tried to reach for his wand that lay a few feet away, but Bellatrix casually stepped on his shaky fingers.

"Naughty boy," she said and cruelly twisted her heel, causing him to hiss in pain. "I didn't give you a permission to touch the wand. Don't you have any‒"

Harry's other hand whipped out from his pocket, bringing Dumbledore's white wand with it. "_Sectumsempra!_" he screamed, the vitriolic spell driven by anger, pain and humiliation. Bellatrix's wand was flashing even before he managed to finish the first syllable, but somehow she failed to deflect the spell.

The Dark Cutting Curse went straight through the witch's purple shield, tearing violently into her and splattering Harry with speckles of blood. The sheer force behind the spell threw Bellatrix across the room, and when her body stopped rolling she just lay there, gurgling and twitching. Pure desperation twisted her gaunt face as she tried to breathe but only succeeded in gurgling out blood onto her chin and floor. The red puddle under her grew larger by every moment he watched her. Harry knew she would be dead in under a minute, but he couldn't feel any real elation or even satisfaction, and his righteous anger was quickly waning, making way to a sense of...hollowness.

He had heard the old adage claiming that revenge was an empty thing, but only now, watching Bellatrix leak her lifeblood on the dirty floor, he finally understood it. Sure, he had certainly never wanted to be killer, but that was more because of ethical and philosophical reasons, than for some noble desire to not want his enemies die a painful death ‒ because that would be a lie. Yet in a twisted way, her impeding death would give him the confirmation he needed; it would prove that he might actually be able to do what people expected from him. If he could kill the Dark Lord's most favoured lieutenant and his sole apprentice, then surely, with enough reparations, he could take down Voldemort himself, too.

Harry discarded the wand he was holding and picked up his own. It had surprised him how well Dumbledore's wand worked for him, but he still far preferred his own wand. He had barely managed to stand up when the door burst open and several white-masked figures rushed in. There was a second of mutual surprise, but unlike the proverbial deer in the headlights, Harry didn't freeze.

"Potter! Stun him!"

He was already on the move and the red bolts of light went by him. Without slowing his pace, Harry scooped the invisibility cloak from the floor and dashed towards the window...and then through it. Glass shattered and the sharp shards ripped his robes and tore into his flesh, cutting dozens of small gashes.

Cold wind whistled into his ears and billowed his robes as he fell faster and faster. He flicked his wand and the spinning that had made him dizzy ceased as his free fall ended, his speed decreasing foot by foot until he halted completely. Harry just hung there, seemingly not suspended by anything. Then the spell ended and he fell the last few feet, landing in a crouch.

He ran until he was sure they couldn't possibly see him any more. It was only then he turned and saw something terrible: Hogwarts was burning.

"Many people would consider the sight you are witnessing as aesthetically pleasant," a machine-like voice comment from behind. Harry swivelled around and faced the white-clad Daemon Lord, his wand pointed at the demon's heart. "Why are you so horrified? You have already lived this once."

"Sakhr," Harry snarled. "Get out of my mind!"

The demon ignored him. "The Hogwarts Massacre was a turning point in your life and now you have reached another. Although you apparently cannot appreciate the symbolism, it changes nothing: A choice must be made."

Harry was about to reply when a wave of dizziness hit him. "Elaine..." He whispered, not really knowing why, and something triggered inside him. Facts, images and memories aligned in his mind, and he suddenly knew what Sakhr had done to her. The symptoms were perfectly obvious if one knew where to look. And he now did. "You took her soul."

"Correct."

Implanted memories swirled in his head as they were incorporated seamlessly into his own, and he found it exceedingly hard to concentrate on anything. It was like the whole world had gone off-focus, and for a moment he almost lost himself in the whirlwind of foreign thoughts and feelings. Still he managed to snap a reply, "Give it back!"

"No," the demon replied curtly. Harry didn't, or rather, couldn't protest as it took all his willpower and focus just to remain standing. His very being was under attack. To lose here, meant to lose his identity and become a schizophrenic amalgam of all those long dead people whose fragmented memories he now possessed.

After a while Sakhr spoke again, "Your people used to rule with indomitable will; for one resplendent moment you denied the White God and usurped a destiny that was not yours. You gave no quarter during your primacy, and asked for none during your decline and fall. To see you now... Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things, and your impuissance taints mine."

"Impuissance?" Harry repeated, still shaking a little, but suddenly feeling much better as the influx of foreign thoughts and memories seemed to lose momentum...if a bit insulted by the demon lord's insinuations. Every single wizard and witch was born with more raw power than the White Council charlatans could ever hope to have. But of course, Sakhr was right in that all that unadulterated strength meant very little without the skill and will to truly utilize it. And with the average lifespan being barely above that of a Muggle, not many reached anywhere near the top of their potential.

Sahkr had just given him the wings and the razor talons to soar high above his peers. It was insane and inconceivable, but if the demon absolutely insisted on performing an elaborate suicide like this, who was he to complain? A small smile curved his lips as he finished his reply, "Your grandiose vocabulary makes me think it's just a pathetic compensation for an insufficiency in the nether regions of your anatomy."

Unsurprisingly, the demon didn't take the bait. "I see the process has begun."

"Really? Your astuteness is simply astounding," the wizard drawled. The incessant flow of knowledge and minutiae was no longer an furious waterfall, but a calm river, stable and somewhat under control. He extended his will that was no longer caught in life and death struggle and, one by one, begun taking over the delicate treads power that connected their minds. "Nevertheless, I tire of our conversation as it's rather lacking on the wits department. Begone."

Sakhr's form flickered a little, before stabilising. "You have assimilated that much already. This is...unexpected and unprecedented. Perhaps your time in the Chrysalis World was not completely wasted."

"_**Begone!"**_

The dream shattered and Harry Potter opened his eyes in the real world...that suddenly seemed much less real.


End file.
