Harry Potter. The War of One

Somewhere in Scotland, a majestic castle with the silliest name was hidden from sight. Impossible to discover by any means available to a muggle, Hogwarts stood strong for hundreds of years.

Inside, there was a secret chamber where an ancient basilisk slumbered. A concealed door led to a smaller room with four magical portraits. Two men and two women, the famous Founders. Imparted with a shard of their soul, the portraits kept an imprint of their personality and knowledge.

But even the four didn't know that another portrait was immured in the wall.

It held an image of a wrinkled old man dressed in long robes. His white beard fell down to his knees, and hints of madness sparkled in his eyes.

The old man was singing the same song he'd repeated millions of times.

"For students of the teacher great

What say the winds of time?

With seven blessed, the cursed eighth

Will suffer for his crimes.

The quiet one will lose his mind,

The loud fool – his breath,

And one of genius' designs

Will someday end in death.

The other four will build a school

And there meet death's embrace.

They will defy her ghastly rule –

But in a closed space.

The child fathered by the four –

One slightly more than three,

Will one day… Oh!"

The old man shuddered, "It's time! It's happening!"

His unfocused eyes watched everything he'd predicted several centuries ago come to life. The portrait was charged with magic just enough for the greatest divination grandmaster in history to witness his prophecy come true on a cold Halloween night.

"Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

"Oh, silly James. Voldemort is far stronger than you!" commented the man in the portrait. He was powerless to interfere, but the scene was too heartbreaking to stay silent.

"Here, love. This will protect you."

The child cried as his mother scratched his forehead, drawing blood.

"Haha, how ingenious! Lily Evans, a worthy descendant of… Here he comes!" the old man bit his lip in anticipation.

"Please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead! Have mercy! Have mercy!"

A green flash, and the beautiful woman's body fell limp on the floor.

"What is that on your forehead, child? No matter. Avada Kedavra!"

"Ooh!" the old man had to squint, so blinding was the light that filled the room. Even though his portrait was many miles away from Godric's Hollow, he saw everything as if he was in the room. "Finally, Dumbledore, your time to act!"

In the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore was stunned for a moment when the numerous devices told him the Potters' house was under attack. A moment later, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and dived head first into the fireplace. Several portraits in his office woke up and began discussing the headmaster's unusual behavior.

When Dumbledore arrived, he saw a broken wreckage of a home. Somewhere inside, a child was crying and screaming. When the old wizard found little Harry, his eyes widened. On the baby's forehead, a lightning-shaped scar was oozing blood.

"It reeks of magic!" Dumbledore inspected the scar, "What could this mean?"

"Ha-ha-ha, you wish you knew!" the portrait laughed, "But you'll only find out when it's too late!"

Later, Hagrid came to take care of the baby as Dumbledore delved into the mysteries of Harry's scar.

Sirius felt his heart ripped apart when he learned what'd happened. He vowed to take revenge on Pettigrew without saying a word to the half-giant.

One day later, Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall left baby Harry at his relatives' doorstep with only a blanket and a note.

The old man in the portrait watched Sirius go to Azkaban with Pettigrew getting off scot-free. Watched Vernon and Petunia Dursley unwillingly take Harry in because of their fear of magic. Watched the magical world celebrate the end of war.

They thought the dark times were behind them, but the Dark Lord was still alive. Reduced to a ghost, a shadow – but alive.

The portrait cackled, "Ten years from now, you will enroll at Hogwarts, Harry. For seven years. And when your seventh year ends, I shall finally go to sleep. How did Ignotus Peverell put it, 'meet Death like an old friend?' Yes. She's been waiting for me long enough. But until then – my eyes are on you!"

And once again, he broke into song.

"For students of the teacher great

What say the winds of time?.."