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Chapter Text

Elionas was the second child of Aaravos. A child of stars and magic. After the cruel death of his first all those thousand years ago he would not allow Elionas to become a victim of the Startouch council. Aaravos vowed to hide the babe’s existence from them.

He watched over the small child with love and adoration for Elionas was his little starlight. His wonderful shimmering blue-grey skin, a healthy colour for a startouch elf babe, with yet to be developed markings and constellations. A small tuff of white hair that had already started to fade into a midnight navy. Elionas’ hands, a deep midnight purple that started fading around his elbows, were a complete opposite to his father’s yet he loved them so.

Oh, how he loved the child as he rocked him back and forth. He loved his cute little horn bud and adorable giggles. They light up the immortal archmage’s revenge filled life once again.

The fragile calm didn’t last long. Aaravos returned to find an empty crib, his precious baby was gone, vanished into the unknown. All that was left was a sealed letter. Upon opening Aaravos was met with a demand. A demand to surrender or they would kill his baby, just like his innocent Leola.

Aaravos stepped into the lava pit known as Lux Aurea. There Aditi stood with Elionas in her arms looking at his baby, his precious starlight, with unbridled disgust. Such insolence! He wishes to wipe that look and every future look she could make from her face.

But before he could act, Avizandum appears along with his mate, Zubeia, and two other archdragons Rex Igneous and Domina Profundis. He can feel their combined magic as they attempt to cast a multi natured permanent sealing spell. They pull the whole you are to be imprisoned for your crimes of breaking the balance and teaching dark magic. As though they are justified to condemn him for helping humans be seen as equal rather than oppressing them.

Aaravos bristles, ready to forcefully break free of the magic when Aditi lifted Elionas and dangled him over a pool of molten lava. Aaravos lets out a desperate scream of horror.

“I surrender! I surrender! Please don’t hurt him, please he’s, my baby!”

A cruel smirk crossed Aditi’s face reminding him of his earlier wish to dispose of her. But Aaravos pushes that though to the side and yields. He is sealed within the small prison. Forced to watch as Aditi hands his precious baby to the Merciful One.

Aditi did not wish to soil her hands the abomination of Aaravos, so she handed it over to the Merciful One. The startouch council to handle the issue in their usual righteous and ‘heavenly’ way.

That night there was a large burst of light in the sky as a star burst. The next day the Merciful One informs her, the other elf leaders and the archdragons of the child’s fate.

Execution.

Aditi laughed. She approached Aaravos’ mirror not an hour later. She cast a spell to communicate with him so she could share the ‘joyous’ news, laughing at his misery.

“Your little monstrosity is gone.” She purred. “The council had it executed, and the stars will be cleaner for it.”

At first Aaravos was silents before he started shaking. It wasn’t long before Aditi got to watch the wonderful sight of him bawling his eyes out. She laughed again. And in her arrogance, she touched the looking glass.

She would regret that as when she touched the looking glass she felt as he consumed her magic using all his reserves to swallow her essence. Draining her. Till she fell to the floor a husk of empty magic, swallowed by the Fallen Star.

Unbeknownst to the rest the startouch council had lied. They had not delivered their justice like they so loudly like to proclaim they controlled.

In truth the child of Aaravos had vanished under their jurisdiction. Disappearing with a large explosion of a star to cover their mistake. They did not know where the babe went so they could only make a trial to execute it, for they could not lie.

This way they could simply tell half-truths and state to the elves and archdragons that the baby’s trial had ended in execution. The lower species would simply fill in the blanks themselves and believe the Startouch council had served their divine judgement.

The Potter’s baby had miscarried. A tragic twist but still a nuisance. Dumbledore had needed that kid to defeat Voldemort and play his pawn. Now his carefully made prophecy was useless.

So, he found the easiest solution, he used a tracking spell to find a baby magically strong enough to do defeat that pesky dark lord. This turn of events leads to him going to another universe and returning with some strange abomination.

The alien child had blue-grey skin and white hair. And most annoyingly a pair of horn buds protruding slightly from its skull. It most certainly wouldn’t do; he could never pass the child of as human. So, he pulled out the elder wand and cast an advanced Transfiguration to make it look human. Sure, it was painful for the thing to have its bones and skin remade, but it’ll live.

Dumbledore delivered the infant to the still grieving Potters making up a warm story of how the babe’s parents had died in the war, and he could think of no better people to blood adopt the child. After all it needed to look like them to pass as their baby. Then he left, left them to die as martyrs so he could properly mould his pawn.

Harry grew up with many names; boy, freak, monster, devil spawn. It’s not like they were wrong. The names made sense after all. Strange things happened around him.

Like the day when he dropped one of Aunt Petunia’s prized China plates. It shattered upon hitting the floor and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. It didn’t take long for him to start bawling in fear, Uncle Vernon was going to beat him so bad. He was only four, he might die from that.

Then something happened

The plate shimmered and pieced itself back together. Aunt Petunia yelped and looked at Harry horrified.

“Monster. He’s a monster Vernon!” She screeched. Harry looked down in fear of looking defiant and earning more punishment. Then he saw… His hands were a dark navy that looked almost black. His head ached, it felt heavy.

Next thing he knew Uncle Vernon had grabbed him by his head, not his hair but something on his head. When they passed the mirror in the hallway he saw them for the first time.

Horns

There was a pair of small dark purple horns on his head.

Harry learned he was a monster that night and this was the first of many incidents.

By the age of seven, Harry had learned to always wear a hat and gloves. Just in case of incidents.

The horns and navy hands came whenever he got too emotional. He couldn’t control it. They would always disappear once he fell asleep or blacked out. But still, he could never be sure when they would reappear. He wore them even in hot summers, but it wasn’t a surprise to the neighbours even before he started wearing them, he always wore long sleeves and trousers to hide the bruises left by Uncle Vernon.

Harry was a quiet kid, the kind that no one noticed, the kind teachers forgot to call on or check on. In Harry’s mind this meant he was safe.

Harry had learned that the hard way.

A year ago, he had cried too loudly. Resulting in Vernon grabbing one of his small, malnourished horns and snapping it against the doorframe leaving it an excruciating bleeding mess.

He learned not to scream for fear what Vernon might do to his right one.

This pattern continued to even when Hagrid came crashing through the door on the Island the Dursleys had hidden themselves on. And when he dragged him to Hogwarts.

None of the other wizards had horns or blue hands. They were normal. They weren’t monsters. Not like him.

So, Harry stayed quiet.

He stayed silent when the Hat decided he was to go to Gryffindor despite there not being a brave or courageous bone in his body. He stayed quiet during the feast, the loud boy Ron and the bookworm Hermione. He stayed quiet during the lessons, the quidditch matches. On the accidental adventures that they dragged him on.

When they left him to fight whoever was threatening the Philosophers stone. Harry was scared, he was a monster, and he didn’t want to be there anymore.

Harry had killed someone.

Quirrell was now a crumpled heap of dust and ash on the floor. To think that was once a man, his teacher made Harry feel sick.

His navy monster hands trembled as Harry stood there in fear. Everyone would be horrified. He would be killed.

It didn’t matter that he had killed Quirrell in self-defence. He was a monster. He had stollen the stone from the mirror and killed the teacher trying to get it back.

Harry watched in horror as Voldemort’s wrath emerged, an angry and writhing mass of whatever made up the man. That snapped him out of his stupor.

Harry ran.

He couldn’t breathe as he bolted through the room not looking where he was going. Too busy making sure the wrath was behind him.

He glanced forward to look for a second only to realise he was headed straight for the Mirror of Erised.

Too late.

He slammed right into the looking glass.

But to his surprise it gave way. Instead of hitting the glass and smashing it he went through it. It gave way like he was falling under water. It was weightless and freeing.

Then…

He fell.

Harry landed hard at the base of a mountain range, knocking the breath out of his small body.

Harry didn’t know where he was. He wanted to cry but he was just so tired.

His body ached but he knew he had to pull his glove on. What if he killed someone else with those disgusting monstrous hands of his.

Shakily he started pulling them on.

Then he noticed the pinkies on his gloves were empty. His breathe caught. ‘Oh no’ he thought. He was more of a monster.

He only had 4 fingers.

He closed his eyes and wished the empty part of the glove would fill. He knew it would be pointless, but he was desperate.

Then it did. Harry stared at it in shock. He cried in happiness but that seemed to sap away any remaining energy he had.

General Amaya had almost retuned for her bimonthly report on the Breach when she found the small figure at the base of Mount Kalis.

It was a small child, unconscious and abandoned.

He wore strange clothes that were threadbare as they came and strangely made. Not in any style she’d seen before.

“Check him. Breathing?” She signed. A soldier walked forward and knelt beside the small boy. He nodded. The boy was breathing.

“Pick him up. We can drop him off with a medic in Katolis.” Amaya signed.

The soldier lifted the boy up. They were heading to Katolis anyway so what’s with one more for the hour left of the trip. They arrived later and handed the still unconscious child to the medic.

When Harry awoke up, he didn’t know where he was.

There were stone walls and wooden beams like the ones you’d see in medieval buildings illustrated in history books.

He sat up stiffly and looked around. It looked like a hospital.

He checked he still had his gloves. Yes, he did and the missing fifth finger was still magically there even though he now only had four.

However, when he patted his head to check he still had his hat he felt them.

His horns were still there.

That wasn’t right. They were supposed to disappear when he fell unconscious. Harry wanted to cry when the doctor approached him. The doctor informed him that he had passed out from exhaustion and when he attempted to ask what the price was, he had practically shoved him out.

Harry walked lost through the corridors when he smelled food.

His stomach rumbled at the smell of stew. He was so hungry.

He walked into the kitchens. The staff pause to look at him confused.

“Can I please get a bowl?” Harry asks quietly.

“Can you pay for it?” a lady asked, and Harry shook his head. She looked annoyed.

“But I can cook and clean, please.” He begged.

The staff shared glances and an older bold man with a stern look said, “You can work here for 4 copper coins a day and we’ll provide meals, and a bed how does that sound?”

Harry nods happily. “I can do that! What should I do?”

The lady tells him to go clean the pans and Harry happily runs over to start when the stern bold man stops him and tells him to grab a bowl and eat first. Harry wants to cry; they were so kind. He got to eat. He slowly nods and curls protectively around the bowl the old man gives him. He gobbles it down, he knows he shouldn’t but he’s so hungry.

He likes this place.

He must do everything to make sure they let him stay.