Chapter Twenty-Four: Canta per Me ne Addio
The Floo commute ended with Jonas's stomach feeling queasier than usual. His young mind wondered if it had to do with the tears that had refused to stop. He thought back to Harry's words and quickly cleaned his face, and uneasily looked at his surroundings that were very different than those of the fortress. It reminded him more of the townhouse that his family had lived in before they had disappeared. In the living area, there was a red sofa along with an assortment of chairs.
Jonas did not hear any sounds as he stood in front of the fireplace. It was already late. However, it was obvious that someone was awake as the lights were still on. So the youth sat quietly on the sofa, leaning back into its comforting cushions.
His tired eyes rested on the Wizarding photos of the family. The one man looked almost exactly like Harry. 'Perhaps, they're related.' Jonas yawned widely as he thought. He lay across the sofa's length and closed his eyes, forgetting that he was in a foreign environment in which he was alone.
Dorian shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets in hopes of protecting them from the crisp air. His cap was pulled down covering his ears as he walked with Neville and Hermione, who had once again sought his help. He had listened wordlessly as Neville had explained to him the situation that the Order and Ministry were facing.
"We need everyone, Dorian." Hermione stated calmly. Her eyes, however, refused to meet his.
"I'm tried of this," he answered abruptly. Neville and Hermione seemed surprised at his sudden tone shift.
"Surely, you don't want Voldemort to win, Dorian? You're mother is muggle-born. Don't think that Voldemort will ignore her existence, simply because she is the biological mother of his 'son'." Neville stated candidly. "Harry can't always protect your family. Eventually, he will cross the line… either that or Harry will lose his value. Don't doubt, Dorian, that when that happens he will be discarded by Voldemort. It would be too risky for Voldemort to keep Harry alive, especially when Harry is the only person who can destroy him."
"Harry wouldn't allow himself to meet such an end, especially if what you told me is correct regarding that child." Dorian looked upward, admiring the stars that were so clear this evening. "He has something that needs his protection… I doubt that he would allow himself to die so needlessly."
Hermione frowned. Her eyes looking especially weary as she spoke. "Dorian, we do not know the relationship between Harry and this boy. It could very well be that the child was taken by Voldemort, and is simply being trained by Harry. There is nothing to show that Harry actually cares for the child."
"Harry could very well be training his replacement." Neville added despondently. "Voldemort has, after all, had great success with using children to carry out his different 'tasks'. It would not be surprising if he tried it again."
The house was coming into view, once more. Dorian found himself excited about the prospect of sitting before the fire with a cup of warm tea. His body really needed to unthaw in more than one way after this walk.
Beside him, Neville sighed, perhaps knowing that he had failed to convince his friend. "At least think about it, Dorian. Do as your conscience dictates."
Dorian smiled. "I have always done that… much to Professor McGonagall's distaste."
Neville chuckled. "We will see you later, Dorian. Perhaps by then, you will have reached your own decision."
"Either that, or the answer will be the same." Dorian quipped.
"Please, think about it." Hermione asked silently.
"I will." His voice relayed the sincerity he felt. "Well, see you guys around… at least I had better see you two around." His companions easily understood the hidden meaning behind the calm statement.
"You will." Neville stated, clapping Dorian on the back. "Come on, Hermione. Have a good evening, Dorian."
Dorian wished them the same, and then grasped the golden door. When he pushed open the door, the warmth that hit his chilled face was welcomed. 'The conversation with Neville and Hermione went too long,' he thought as he walked toward the kitchen. He was immediately thankful that his parents had left the lights on for him. Once in the quaint kitchen, he filled the tea kettle with water and left it on the stove, which his mother had refused to be without, until it boiled. He, then, poured the hot substance into a blue ceramic mug, in which he had already placed the teabag. For such a simple thing, watching the brown liquid mix with the water had always made Dorian marvel. When the tea was fully brewed, he swiftly removed the bag and then put in three spoons of sugar.
His eyes shifted to the clock that hung on the wall. The arms revealed that he had been talking with his friends for the better part of two hours, and it was already eleven thirty. Wrapping his fingers around the warmth of the mug, he walked absentmindedly into the living room. His mind was not on his destination, rather resting on the dilemma that had been handed to him. The points that Neville and Hermione had made were valid, and there was no way that Dorian was ready to just allow Voldemort to gain dominance. However, to stand against Voldemort meant he would have to fight Harry as well. Dorian was still not ready to do that. 'Not just yet.'
Carefully, he began to sit on the sofa not wanting to spill his tea. However, something did not feel right. Suddenly, he felt something that was not the sofa.
"Bloody Hell!" Dorian exclaimed as he suddenly jumped to his feet, dropping the mug, which promptly shattered into pieces when it connected with the carpeted floors, its hot contents hitting Dorian's clothes and the furniture in the room.
Behind him, he could hear the sound of movement as a small child moved to the far end of the sofa. Dorian looked into the wide-eyed expression of the child before something in his mind seemed to click. He matched the description that Hermione had given, regarding the child that had been with Harry. 'But what is he doing here.' Dorian's eyes shifted nervously around the room, but there was no sign of his older brother. Hermione's thoughts about the child came into mind. 'Could he possible be an assassin?'
"Who are you?" The child asked quietly.
Dorian smiled inwardly. "You're in my family's home… one would think that that question belongs to me."
"Jonas." The boy reached beside him, causing Dorian to freeze. "Are you 'Potters'?" Jonas asked, holding out a letter.
"I am one of them." Dorian answered, grasping the envelope. He faintly recognized the handwriting belonged to Harry. After a brief pause, Dorian tore open the envelope and pulled out a sparsely written letter.
'I have a favor to ask. It is a relatively easy task, in which you only need to watch the kid. I can't do it anymore, as events are about to get 'interesting'. Stay away from trouble, if you catch my drift. I am not in the saving people business, and it would be doubtful that I would be able to help if you were to get involved. You have been warned. –Harry
It is unlikely we will meet again.'
Dorian read the words mutely. 'Another attack, uh.' He thought numbly.
"I, suppose, you will be staying with us for awhile." Dorian stated more than asked. "We have plenty of room. I will clean up this mess first and then in the morning I will introduce you to my mother and father."
"Did Harry say when he was getting me?"
Dorian's jaw went lax. "No, he didn't. Just said it might be awhile… he couldn't guess."
"Oh." The boy looked disappoint, and sighed. "He didn't tell me, either." Jonas swung his legs so that they dangled off the sofa. "How do you know Harry?"
Dorian looked away, his hazel eyes looking far-away. "He was my brother."
Harry's eyes felt heavy as he stood beside his father. Last night he had spent a large quantity of his time at the tavern, before arriving outside the fortress at around twelve. He had then spent half of an hour tearing down the drawings that decorated his room, shoving them into the dark recesses of his dresser. It was the only way he was going to be able to sleep that night. After hours of trouble sleep, he had woken and gone to his father, thankful that he did not have a hangover.
"You are certain that the Order is having a meeting today?" Harry questioned, staring at the information in his hand. "This had better not be guess work." His eyes turned into glare as they leveled on Lucius Malfoy.
"I assure you, Marvolo, that this information comes from within the Order itself." Lucius usual drawled voice explained. The smug look on his face caused Harry's stomach to turn with suspicion. "As a matter of fact, a house elf that serves the noble House of Black came to my dear wife with this information. You can trust him, as house elves are more loyal to the house than their master… and I can attest to the fact that this particular house elf bears no loyalty to its owner… a filthy blood traitor."
Voldemort eyed his son. "I have no doubt in this information… the house elf has proved off use before when Severus hadn't."
Harry silently conceded to Malfoy. "You want to carry out this attack with so many of them assembled and during the day." He stated contemplatively.
"We want as many members of the Order that we can get in one place. It will leave less to form a resistance. They will also be more overconfident when they think they have the upper hand."
Harry nodded. "Then use the crowded streets to serve as a restraint on them… they won't want to harm innocent lives."
"It is the perfect plan, my Lord." Lucius complimented.
"Save you flattery." The Dark Lord said absently, waving his hand as if to erase Malfoy's words. "Harry, I have assembled a taskforce of eight Death Eaters to accompany you on the primary attack of the Headquarters of the Order. Remember you are to draw them into our net… use the populace as a means to an end. It will be justified in the end."
"As you wish, father," Harry bowed. "Have the Death Eaters meet me a few blocks away from the target." Harry pointed to the mentioned location on the map that draped the table.
"It will be done." His father's eyes rested lightly on him for a moment. "After you 'deliver' our message to the Order, you are to send your men to antagonize them. You, Harry, are to first go to this location to pick up a few things that will be useful to you, and then you are to come directly to me. I will not take accuses if you miss our meeting."
Harry smirked. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." With the words just out of his mouth, he turned and left the main room. He had places to be. Besides, there was no time to be overwhelmed with sentiments.
Time's continuous movements were slowly making Harry nauseated. He pulled his robes closer to his person, as he prepared himself for his entry. Harry would enter first as he did not have the Dark Mark branded on his arm. A slight smile graced his lips as he played images of his entry through his mind. It would be stupid, but humorous all the same. Beside him, Harry heard a Death Eater approach. Turning, he did not recognize the face of the one who had approached him.
"You're new." Harry stated. His voice maintained a bored quality.
The man shrugged, his bizarre brownish, red eyes seemed to burn. "My talents were seen as useful for this sort of task. Needless to say, I find this whole endeavor to be amusing."
Harry frown deepened further. He could recognize the insane glint in the man's eyes; he had seen it often enough in Death Eaters but never to this extent. "Who recruited you?"
The man brushed his hand through his auburn hair. "His name escapes me… I make it a habit to forget those who help me when I take a step up in the world. I find it gives me less of a conscience later on."
"Hmm," Harry murmured. "And what is your part in this mission, Mist-."
"Reynard, Cree." The man stated. "My job is to wreak havoc wherever I go."
'Why is this creature here?' Harry asked incredulously, but of course no answer would come. "I trust you will follow orders."
"To the tee," The man stated, putting on his Death Eater's mask as if to emphasize the point.
Harry's eyes changed to the different Death Eaters who were more recognizable. Among the group, he recognized both Crabbe and Goyle seniors. The others, though familiar faces, only brought blanks to Harry's mind when he tried to remember their names.
"You are to wait, until I return." Harry stated, quickly working his glamour charm, taking the most common form of Nymphadora Tonks. 'It's only fair.' Harry thought to himself a sick smile refusing to leave his face. "You know where you are to be," Harry said before leaving the Death Eaters.
He walked calmly down the sidewalk. Occasionally, people would stare at his hot pink hair, but it was only to be expected. The female Auror most likely always attract this amount of attention. Turning down the street, Harry removed a piece of crumbled paper that had been partial burned, written on it was the location of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. As he read over the paper, ahead of him a building appeared. The house-elf had been quite useful after all.
Harry grasped the doorknob and pulled the front door open. When he entered the house, he could already hear the meeting that was occurring in the kitchen. Taking his wand, he removed the glamour charm and proceeded forward. 'Attack the order and the ministry will respond… and then we have them all in one spot like fish in a barrel.' Harry paused before he opened the next door. He cleared his face of all expression and simply drew in a breath as he pushed open the door.
He leaned against the doorway and watched calmly as McGonagall's face took on a look of sheer horror. Others soon turned, following McGonagall's line of vision. Numerous gasps filled the large room as members instantly recognized Harry's face. He, personally, recognized the faces of the remaining Weasleys, except for the daughter who was not present, Lupin, Black, Tonks, Longbottom, and his friend Granger. Many wands were leveled on him immediately.
"You all look so surprised." Harry whispered, keeping his face a blank slate.
"Why have you come here?" McGonagall's voice carried across the room to him. "What does Voldemort want?"
Harry's eyes moved about the room. "This place hasn't changed much, I suppose. Though there are less people here then when I was brought here. Not surprising really, the Order seems to have taken a drop in members. Most are dead, probably." Out of the corner, Harry continued to monitor the wands that were trained on him.
"Say your message before you die you, insolent whelp!" Moody roared, rising to his feet. The chair he had been seated in landing on its back. "Speak!"
Harry waved his hand aimlessly and yawned. "What do you think he wants, Mad-eye? What has he always wanted? Except this time, he is about to achieve his goals."
"You don't sound overly thrilled, Harry." Sirius said, his features betraying his thoughts of hope and dread.
The door frame became uncomfortable and Harry straightened himself. "It's not my goal... nothing but motions anymore, really."
"Then way?" Sirius asked blatantly. "Stop this!"
Harry closed his eyes, a crazed smile covering his face. His emerald eyes glinted with flames when they reappeared. "I will stop when I am dead."
The first shot came from an unknown member of the Order. After the events of what would occur in the kitchen, no one would ever know his identity as everything spiraled out of control. Just as quickly as the spell had propelled toward Harry, it was sent clear across the room as it impacted with Harry's invisible shield, which slightly rippled on impact.
"Is that the best you can do?" Harry asked. "And you always believed you would win this war? You are so naïve!" The last sentence came from clenched teeth as Harry raised his wand and sent a blast of his own, causing the debris from the floor to shoot into the air.
More spells were being thrown his way now. Harry knew that his shielding technique would only last for a time. Besides, it was not his mission to eradicate the entire Order of the Phoenix at this moment in time. Though, personally, Harry believed that it would have sent a more powerful message to kill them here at their Headquarters, but that did not lead the Ministry and Aurors into a haze of crossfire.
Casting aside a bright purple spell, Harry bowed slightly to the disgruntled Order members. "I was only the messenger," he stated over the chaos that surrounded him. "We are waiting … you have been informed."
Harry spun on his heels as he lurched out of the kitchen, using his shield to protect his back. There was silence behind him when he exited the door. Harry knew that they were shocked by what had just occurred, but he also understood that they would come. Once outside, he instantly apparated back to his Death Eaters. Many of which were leaning idly against the brick wall behind them.
Harry glared at them, bringing them instantly to attention. "Taskforce B, the Order will by now searching the surrounding area for me. You know what to do… make sure they find their way, but not before the Ministry arrives."
The small pops were all that Harry needed to know to be sure that they had understood their orders. He, on the other hand, was to meet with his father rather than harass the Order members. Raising his wand, Harry apparated to his next point: a run-down factory, which was a mere minutes from where the bloodbath would occur. At this spot, Harry would find a mask to shield his face to prevent himself from being singled out. There would also be a set of his customary daggers, waiting for his use.
The interior of the factory was filled with broken glass, dust, and cobwebs. The machinery was sparse and in between. Their metal surfaces were covered with the orange-ish tinge of rust caused by the leaks from the unkempt roof. His eyes swept the rather large room, noting that there was no one waiting for him not that he had been expecting anyone. Harry step forward toward one of the machines and looked beside it. His equipment was there just as his father had told him it would be. However, Harry could not put down that sense that he had tuned to perfection over his short life, in which he could tell that something was dreadfully amiss. It felt as if someone was watching his every move. His eyes surveyed the area once more before he began to place his daggers within his robe.
Harry bent down to pick up the last remaining item. As his hands grasped the Death Eater mask, sheer pain spread through his body. He had no control of his body movements as the blast knocked him forward. His body seemed suspended in air as he felt himself continuing to soar through the air. The dreamlike sensation was brought to an instant end when the wall and Harry connected. He hit the ground roughly coughing in pain. His eyes slowly rose to see a Death Eater standing a fair distance away from him. Anger shook through Harry's body.
"Take off your mask!" He shouted
The Death Eater shrugged before complying. The face was acutely recognizable as the Death Eater, Cree Reynard.
"You don't seem too shocked, Harry." Cree stated. "And you haven't even known me long."
Harry mind worked fast as his mouth tried to form words. "Wh-o hired you?"
Cree shook his head in dismay. "Tsk- tsk…You're an assassin, Harry! You should know that one never betrays a client." The assassin took long stride, bringing him deadly close to Harry. "My client is just someone who has lots to gain by your death, no matter which way this war turns out. One could say that he is merely covering all his bases."
Harry looked away, his clouded mind desperately trying to find a way out. His mouth opened. "Then I will have to force you to reveal your client… before I kill you!"
Forcing himself to his feet, Harry lunge to his right with his wand ready. He could hear a spell barely miss him as he sought cover behind a lone machine that had been apart of what Muggles called an assembly line. Bits of the metal disintegrated as another blast hit.
"Come, Harry!" Cree was undeniably smirking. "You shouldn't be hiding… what would your father say, if he saw his little assassin hiding like a scared rat."
Another blast hit the archaic machine, causing it to creak with distress. Behind it, Harry reached into his torn and blood-stained cloak with his left hand and removed a glinting dagger. In one swift move, he rolled out from his hiding spot and heaved the dagger at his attacker's throat. Shock flashed through Harry's body when in return he saw another dagger hurling toward him. The edged blade grazed his cheek before it continued past him, hitting the floor with a clang.
Harry's eyes quickly caught Reynard, and realized that his dagger had mostly missed the target, though there was a very small trickle of crimson trailing down the contours of his neck.
Cree smiled wickedly, his white teeth appearing so perfectly. "Come, Harry, is that the best you have."
Harry shrugged as he inched slowly to the left. "At least my moves are original," Harry hissed. "You're nothing more than an imitator."
"Tsk, Harry" The assassin retorted, inching to the right. "It's a competitive market… it does one good to check out the competition. When you see something you like, emulate it. You should feel honored!"
Harry snorted. "And how would that work?"
"How should I know, Harry?" Cree raised his polished, mahogany wand. "All I know is that you're not dead… at least not yet!"
Two beams connected in the air as the two combatants cast their spells at the same time. Rather then remaining connected, the two beams ricocheted off each other, explosively hitting opposite with walls. Debris sprayed the room, causing both combatants to move to avoid the clumps of broken up brick and concrete.
"Isn't this fun, Harry," Cree shouted over the noise.
Harry's face remain scrunched in concentration as he quickly shifted to his right to avoid a spell that Reynard had sent in his direction. In return, Harry screamed out the Avada Kedavra, filling it with his wrath. A rusted out conveyor belt that stood between him and his enemy disintegrated at the power behind it.
"Come now, Harry," Cree said a lopped sided smile taking precedence on his face. "How are you going to find out who the traitor is, if you kill me?"
"You, bastard," Harry said, sending Cruciatus Curse in response. "I am going to make you suffer."
"The Dark Lord would be so proud," Cree said with mock sincerity after sending Harry's curse harmlessly to the side. "You have finally assumed his enjoyment for the slow and painful bleeding of someone's life. There is actually passion behind your curses."
"Shut up!"
The atmosphere in the factory darkened considerably as Harry's power began to flux. He didn't even bother to raise his wand, because he did not need to. A spiral of fire careened at the startled assassin. Only at the last moment did it register in Cree's stunned mind to drop to the floor.
Harry watched as the fire plowed over Cree, though it was now harmless as the latter had erected a shield. Pain returned to Harry's back, reminding him that he did not have long before the blood loss would begin to affect his reflexes. He raised his wand, his mouth parting to say the magic words that brought death with a brief flicker of green light. Reynard's shield could not save him from the Avada Kedavra.
When Harry's mouth formed the 'ka' sound, he suddenly froze. His wand dropped to the cement floor. The piercing pain in his stomach area had stopped all sound from exiting his mouth. Reynard's wild throw had actually hit him near his left hip. The assassin arose and glanced at Harry.
"Who would have expected that to hit, aye?" Cree rose to his feet as Harry's hand grasped the dagger. "I wouldn't pull it out, if I was you," Cree advised him as he lifted his wand, leveling it with Harry's head.
Harry sneered. "You're going to regret this."
"Somehow, Harry, I don't think I will." Cree continued to move forward. "To get off a lethal Killing Curse you need that wand, and you won't be able to get it in time before I kill you."
Harry stiffened as he fought the urge to give into the blood loss that was slowing his mind and body. "I can beat you to my wand." Before he even finished, Harry began to move.
Over his heartbeat, Harry could hear Cree starting to shout the killing curse. His hands grasped the wand, and he rolled a hard right. Inches from where his wand had laid, there was a small crater, but Harry did not have the time to think about how lucky he had been. He had to move before his aggressor could get off another blast. The word 'flank' came to Harry's mind as he ran dodging in between what cover he had to work with, trying to get behind Reynard. However, Cree guessed his tactics and begin to follow after him.
Harry ducked beneath a machine and started to turned, while sending a cutting spell at his pursuer. The man behind him screamed in pain. Harry briefly looked to see that there was a clean hole through Reynard's left shoulder through which blood seeped. Seeing an opportunity Harry took it, wiping out two daggers with his left hand. The first hit the man in the thigh, while the other Cree successfully managed to dodge, though he was missing a bit out of his robes afterwards. With his right hand, Harry began the next wave of his assault with his wand.
The tables turned quickly on Reynard as he frantically tried to create shields that were strong enough to withstand the onslaughts that Harry was putting forth. Each time he made one, it was just as easily dismantled.
The two were soon locked into an aggressive duel with the stakes higher than before. If one should falter, that dueler was dead. Superiority was passed often between the two as they neared the wall to the far left with its long rows of windows. Vaguely, Harry could make out the sounds of the battle which was now occurring in London.
Due to his split second of distraction, Harry was slow to raise his shield. Fortunately, what he did manage to construct was strong enough to take the blunt impact. However, it did not stop Harry from being pushed into the wall.
Cree's feral eyes glinted and yet another spell pounded Harry into the wall.
"You're going to die, Harry." Cree whispered, holding Harry against the brick with his spell. "You're going to die here… in this dump of a place. You'll be lucky if they ever find your body, though I suppose the stench will bring them here eventually." The man paused. "How does it feel? You're only going to hear two words before it's over... no, chances for a reprieve or escape just like your victims."
Concentrating his magic, Harry prepared himself. "It doesn't end here." He paused, his eyes briefly flicking toward the window directly to his right. "We will meet up again, Cree."
With a burst of wand-less magic, Harry dissolved Reynard's hold on him and flung himself out the window. The pavement was closer than to his liking as he had only been on the third floor. Holding tightly on to his wand, Harry apparated before he could hit the black pavement below him. Above Cree simply watched as his target disappeared. His client was not going to be happy, but then again the Dark Lord's heir was badly wounded. That back wound will kill him, Cree thought momentarily before leaving the factory.
Miles away Harry landed hard on his back. The sounds that greeted him alerted him that he was in midst of the battlefield. Trying to rise to his feet, he heard feet rushing toward him.
Please, let it be Death Eaters, Harry thought before he suddenly froze. What if it had been my father who hired the assassin? Seeds of doubts began to form. His grip on his wand doubled as he turned to look behind him. 'Damn' was the only thing intelligent enough that he could think when he saw two Aurors approach him.
"That's-," one began before the other cut him off.
"Stupi-," the second began his curse as he raised his wand.
Harry turned himself as he rose rapidly. "Avada Kedavra!"
The smartest of the pair dropped heavily to the ground followed closely by his partner.
"Morons," Harry muttered. "They shouldn't even be allowed to touch a wand let alone practice magi-." A moan broke off his sentence.
Only know did Harry take the time to examine his wounds. He gritted his teeth as he pulled pieces of his tattered robes away from the back wound. When his eyes took in the amount of damage, he involuntarily shuttered. He would need a drought to fix that. He ignored the cuts and bruises from his fall out the window, instead focusing on the dagger that still protruded from him. With on swift yet painful pull Harry removed it, causing him to flinch. Using his robe, he forced the bleeding to slow, before healing the wound with his wand.
Straightening himself, Harry took in his surrounding with more attention then he had before. His mind began to picture where his father was, and then he apparated a second time.
He was thankful this time to have landed on his feet rather than as before. Looking around at his surroundings, he was glad to see his father's familiar ominous form in front of him, his back turned toward Harry. Beyond the Dark Lord, the battle was taking place not that far away from the base of the hill.
"Harry, why are you late?" Voldemort asked as he began to turn at the small pop. "What happened to you?"
"I was attacked." Harry stated bluntly. "It appears that someone hired an assassin to kill me."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "It seems we have a traitor in our midst… in my inner circle, even. Who was the assassin?"
"A Death Eater, who accompanied me… called Cree Reynard." Harry slumped to the ground trying to pull his energy up.
"Cree Reynard?" A knowing light abruptly appeared in Voldemort's eyes. He knew who the traitor was… the same person who had recommended Reynard. Rage coursed through his body, even more so when he scanned over the wounds that had been inflicted on Harry.
"Is this Reynard dead?" He asked his son. He had his answer even before Harry responded by the look on the adolescent's face.
"I had to abandon that fight," Harry stated calmly.
Voldemort nodded briefly. "You are to return to the fortress. We can handle things here without your help."
Harry's jaw clenched. "I am not leaving your side."
The Dark Lord felt his eyes narrowing. Harry was daring to defy his orders… this was an unexpected development. Perhaps he has found his own balance, Voldemort mused.
Harry watched warily as his father just stared at him, accessing him as if he were an antique that he was considering to purchase.
"What do you think you can do, Harry?" Voldemort asked. Now he was placing him as his true equal. "We will win this battle. Already the Order and Aurors are being destroyed." The Dark Lord motioned his protégé over to his vantage point of the battle. "You're seriously injured… you will only be in the way."
His father's words caused Harry's back to go ridged. "There is one thing that I have learned about battles: they can go either way… there are no guarantees." Harry pushed against the fatigue. "I will not leave."
Voldemort felt his eye brow lift. He had always found Harry to be intriguing, but at this moment he was even more so. The darkened heart, which beat within Voldemort, wanted to see how far the youth could be pushed before he crumbled. However, a larger portion of him wanted the youth to retreat to the safety of the fortress where he could heal.
"You would defy me?" The Dark Lord asked.
"Yes," Harry whispered, waiting for his father's retribution that never came. Instead, his father continued to take in his determined features.
Finally, Voldemort snorted. "Turn around," he instructed. When Harry complied, he set about closing the wound, knowing full well that it would not hold. He took away the pain that would return with force as soon as the wound reopened.
"Thank-you," Harry stated.
"There is no need for such meaningless things." His father replied shortly. Besides, he thought to himself, what I did was not in your best interests. "It is time we survey our situation more closely. When all is done, there will be a purge amongst the Death Eaters."
Harry looked at his father out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't hire the assassin, then."
"You know me better than that, Harry." The Dark Lord did not stop in his steps forward. "If I wanted you dead, I would kill you myself… not hire someone else to do it in my stead. I have that much respect for you."
Harry nodded not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he gripped tighter on to his wand, preparing himself for the first battle that he would enter with his father. He was bound to remember this day, though he could not vanquish that little seed of doubt that had been festering for days now. His encounter with Reynard had only caused it to sprout further.
A fool who had broken through the original net spotted the pair upon their entry into the fray. Harry moved to stand between the Auror and his father before killing him with one use of the killing curse. Without paying further attention to the cadaver, the pair moved on.
As they walked on, Harry could not help but to imagine how the peaceful London day had been turned into a nightmare. The ground was littered with corpses and not just of combatants but with civilians, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a busted porcelain doll, which had probably been dropped by a child when she began her escape from the battlefield. Its glass eyes seemed to follow Harry, and it bothered him. The dolls bright blue eyes seemed to bare that same twinkle that Dumbledore's eyes had once held. He shook his head roughly. Now was not the time to remember the old coot.
A Death Eater approached them still wearing his mask.
"Milord," the rich voice of the senior Malfoy replied from behind it. "They have dispersed and are using the surrounds to their advantage. They are trying to flank us. I suggest setting the city ablaze."
Voldemort's red eyes glared at Malfoy with contempt. "If I did not have uses for you at this moment, Malfoy, you would be dead for such impertinence." The continued glare promised a slow and painful death, and it was a glare that was very recognizable to all Death Eaters.
Malfoy visible stiffened, and his eyes gradually shifted to Harry. "Marvolo, it is nice to see you… you look horrible."
Before Harry could say anything, Voldemort responded. "Someone hired an assassin to kill my assassin. Isn't that curious, Lucius."
"Very much so, Milord."
"I will kill the person that hired him," Voldemort continued casually.
"As you should," Malfoy replied calmly.
Harry watched the scene. His father seemed to harbor suspicions toward the elder Malfoy, but then again he had not always taken what the slippery snake had said at face value.
Voldemort nodded his head. "Harry, this is where our presence will come into use. These fools have been grown on fear of me since their births… they will flee, and we will assume control of the Wizarding World."
"It's that simple?" Harry asked nonchalantly. "They will crumble just like that." Harry thought back to the light wizards that he had known beforehand and knew instantly that it wouldn't be that easy.
"No," Voldemort stated. "You have brought this up before, Harry. I am aware of the difficulties that will present themselves… it will take years to fully quash them, but we are putting one of the final nails in the coffin."
Harry nodded his head slightly. "I'm going to take out a few of them."
Voldemort almost stopped him, but instead gave him the go ahead. "Come back alive." The Dark Lord then turned toward Malfoy. "Hadn't you be going, as well?"
Lucius quickly bowed before leaving. He knew that his Lord was not in a generous mood. Besides, he had more important matters to attend to.
Harry looked briefly at his father before leaving. It would not be the last time they would meet. Harry knew it.
Traveling through the raging battlefield, Harry caught sight of a familiar face. It wasn't Tonks, who he badly wanted to see dead, but the old Auror would do. Raising his wand into his dueling position, Harry launched his assault. That first cutting spell would've killed his target, but that goddamn magical eye had alerted him.
"You, little bastard," Moody roared in his direction.
"Moody, you sure prove Constant Vigilance… in fact you are it."
"Come to die, Potter… wait I won't even dignify you by calling you a Potter!"
"That hurts, Moody." Harry smiled wickedly as he moved closer his wand just waiting to be used.
"I would wipe that smirk of your face, if I were you."
Harry laughed. "Does it remind you of one of your protégé's? I image for you it's exactly like seeing him standing right in front of you." Magic pulsed through Harry's veins. "That is why you hate me so much. You hate me because I am your old pupil's son, and I'm standing against you."
"You are pure evil just like Voldemort! You have hurt so many people." Moody's wand was now ready. "That is why I hate you!"
Harry dodged the blast that was aimed at him. Even though he was unharmed, Harry cried out in pain. His hand absently touched his back wound and felt his warm blood coating his fingers.
"Ah, so you're already injured." Moody stated aloud. "I wonder who that was… they deserve a medal for inflicting that wound."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't sound too concerned, Moody," Harry retorted, flicking off the crimson liquid from his fingers. "This is nothing," he said as he lunged at the old Auror.
He sent a slicing curse at the Auror. Moody had the years of experience and as far as Harry could tell he was also uninjured. With his regular reflexes, Moody was easily able to sidestep the attack and issued forth an attack of his own. Harry ducked to the ground, completely avoiding the spell. However, every single move he made cost him a little in return, opening the wound further.
Harry pushed himself back on to his feet, sending a hex at the old Auror. This time, Moody found himself momentarily petrified, though it was not long enough for Harry's taste.
Moody's next spell hit the ground rather than Harry, as he was unable to fully raise his wand in time to strike the youth. However, the battered ground was enough to trip Harry up, who was already faltering. He landed on the ground hard at Moody's feet. He tried to rise, but his body had finally reached its limit.
"What's the matter, whelp? Can't get up?" Moody kicked Harry hard, causing him to roll onto his sore back. "Finally reached your limit, I guess."
Harry gritted his teeth against the pain. "It doesn't matter."
"That's right," Moody growled. "That is all you have been taught isn't, but I don't care. I'm a man of justice… and I think your date is a bit late."
Harry stared indifferently at the wand that was pointing at him. His eyes bulged when Moody suddenly went ridged and then fell backwards. Harry tiredly turned his head to see a very shaken Sirius Black.
"Hey, Harry," Sirius said, his voice anything but his normal cheerful tone. "Long time no see."
Harry remained still simply watching as Sirius approached him.
"You look like shit," Sirius continued.
Harry closed his eyes. "I've been getting that a lot today."
Sirius could not stop staring at his friend's battered son. "Seems like you shouldn't be here."
"I'll be leaving soon enough." Harry opened his eyes. "You should go as well… my father is coming."
Sirius frowned further. 'His father'… the man who took Harry in the first place. He had it half in his mind to stay and duel with the Dark Lord, but Sirius was not a fool, and he understood his limits.
"Best of Luck," Sirius finally said before picking up the stupefied and sleeping Mad Eye Moody. Sirius prayed that the old, somewhat eccentric Auror would not find out who performed the hexes on him.
Harry didn't even look to see them leave. He only focused on his father's approaching power. His father had known that the wound would not hold, but yet he had not told me, Harry thought to himself. Was this all a test? Harry tried to kindle the anger that he should be feeling, but it never ignited.
"Next time, I think you will listen to me when I order you to return to the fortress." Voldemort stated. "There is only so much wand healing that one can perform on such a widespread, deep wound. Though I must commend you, my son, you have learned your lesson well, though perhaps you have gone a little past the line."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, not even bothering to rise. He knew that his body would not allow it.
"Harry, you do everything in excess. Before you would leave at the slightest injury, and now you remain even when it is killing you to."
Voldemort moved beside his son and pointed his wand, mending the wound as much as he could. He then helped Harry to rise partially onto his knees.
"You will return home."
"I can-." Harry started
"You will obey me," Voldemort stated firmly. In the back of his mind, he wondered what he had created as he looked at the adolescent. "There you will-."
Harry never fully understood what occurred in those last few minutes. The only thing that he remembered clearly was when he was suddenly hurled to the ground by his father. The events that unfolded next seemed to happen in slow-motion. His father arched backward on top on him. It was only then that he noticed that a spell had hit the Dark Lord… a spell that had been meant for Harry.
"Father," Harry screamed, grasping his father's body. In the back of his head, he momentarily heard his father's voice before suddenly all went oddly quiet: Now you can live, Harry. Harry clung to the now empty robes as fiery tears, trickled down his eyes. He gazed at his surroundings when a sudden movement brought this attention to Neville Longbottom.
"You," Harry hissed through his clenched teeth. "I'm going to kill you!"
Neville stepped back when he saw Harry's face twist into something completely unrecognizable. He watched as Harry's top teeth bit hard into his lower lip, causing a line of blood to flow down to his chin. The tempestuous gleam in Harry's eyes eerily reminded Neville of Bellatrix Lestrange. The young wizard quickly wondered what had set Harry off, until he saw the empty robes still clutched in his opponent's hand. Voldemort is dead, Neville questioned silently. Who?
"I am going to make you suffer." Harry's voice was unnatural as if it were coming from somewhere else instead of his battered body.
"Harry, it wasn't me." Neville shouted, even though he knew that had he had the shot he would have taken it. "Stop this madness. It's over."
"No, no it's not over until you're all dead!" The wound that plagued him reopened as soon as Harry began to run rapidly at Longbottom. However this time, it did not hurt. Now the rage easily
Neville took up the defensive position as Harry wildly threw curses at him. His shields dissipated at the sheer force of the curse Harry released. Neville found himself soaring though the air. He landed roughly on his side. He glanced up to see Harry slowly approaching. Instantly, taking in Harry's ragged strides, Neville knew that Voldemort's assassin would not be able to keep at this for long.
"Harry, you're body can't take anymore," Neville begged. "Stop."
Harry didn't even bother responding, but rather raised his wand to send a Cruciatus curse.
Neville buckled in pain. Even in his pain, he notice Harry was on the verge of both physical and magical exhaustion. I only have to stay alive long enough. Even as he thought that, the curse lifted.
Harry fell to his knees and stared blankly at Neville. When did it become to hard to stand, Harry wondered.
"Kill me," Harry whispered suddenly.
Neville stared at Harry with bewilderment. He shook his head dumbly.
"It's my fault," Harry muttered. "Kill me!"
Neville somehow found his voice. "I can't… it would be like killing myself."
Harry laughed hysterically at his own words coming back at him. "Right now, I would," he stated. "I would do it myself, but I doubt I would be able to get off a killing curse."
Neville raised his wand. However, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it either. "That's ironic… I doubt I can either."
"Pity." Harry moaned as the pain finally returned. "I might not need your help, after all."
Neville did not know what to say. "Are you going to takeover things… when you heal?"
"You mean 'if'." Harry leaned backwards, resting on the ground. "It was never my goal."
Neville frowned. "So what now?"
"What, indeed." His hands tightened on the holly crafted wand. Before Neville could say anything, Harry was gone, leaving only traces of his blood behind as proof that he had ever been there.
Five Months Later
Neville felt uncomfortable as he sat at the table with Rita Skeeter. Her outlandish glasses made him stare at her more than he wanted to. He questioned his sanity. Why had he taken her up on this offer? He knew that she would only twist his words with her Quick-Quotes Quill.
"Ah, so you were there when You Know Who was killed?" Rita asked. "Was it slow?"
Neville stared blankly at the woman before him. That day they defeated the Death Eaters only seemed like it had occurred weeks ago not months. "He was dead before I arrived. I think he was hit with the killing curse."
"Ah, the fine ironies of life, don't you agree." The quill was moving rapidly over the page that Neville could not see. "Now Voldemort's assassin, who was later announced to be the son of Mr. and Mrs. James Potter, he was killed, as well, you stated after the battle. Between you and me, are you absolutely positive?"
Neville balked. "He was used as a tool by Voldemort-."
"A willing tool," Rita waved her hands dismissively. "But what were you saying?"
"Harry James Potter is dead… there is no doubt in my mind."
"But no body was ever found. Can you honestly tell my readers that you saw his corpse?"
Neville thought back to that day that haunted him, remembering vividly the wild look in Harry's eyes. "He was badly injured-." The scribbles of the pen cut Neville off abruptly.
"And?" Rita prodded.
Before his eyes, Neville saw Harry apparating away to God knows where. "I saw his body… he's dead."
"What happened to the body then?"
Neville stared at the pad that was suspended beside the blonde.
"It was probably destroyed… there was a fire that blazed in London." Neville answered quietly. "All that would remain now is ashes."
Rita snorted. "At least we can be thankful that he isn't a Phoenix, aye?"
"Yeah," Neville agreed. It would have been a fate too cruel, if Harry had survived that night, but Rita would never understand why he truly agreed with her. Hopefully, Harry died peacefully, Neville thought.
"Normally, I don't start with such important questions… but curiosity can at times get the best of me," Rita rambled. "I love my job; I get to meet a lot of interesting people. I have to say that you are perhaps one of the most unique by far… so naïve and modest. Next week, I have an interview with Lucius Malfoy about his heroic deeds. However, you won't see him, hiding them under modesty." Rita snorted. "Though his actions are still top secret… though I hear he played a big part. In few years, he might even be running for Minister of Magic."
"He won't have my vote," Neville blurted out. "Death Eaters never change." Secretly, Neville knew that Malfoy was up to something, and he was deeply curious as to how the Death Eater had managed to keep his soul intact and stay out of Azkaban.
"He is rather boring, isn't he?" Rita responded. "Now tell more about your heroic actions. My readers can never get enough of the 'Boy Who Lived'."
He state morosely at the bar of some small tavern in the Italian countryside. The red substance in his glass reminded him of a home that he could never return to. It did not matter though, he thought wanly to himself.
The door opened, causing the metallic gold bell to ring that sound that grated on his nerves. He didn't even bother to look up at the newcomer, until the young man sat next to him. The look in the man's eyes immediately alerted him to the fact that yet another one had come.
"I know who you are." The man stated coldly. "You murdered my family."
He didn't move, there was no need to.
"I'm going to kill you," the man continued.
If only he had a dime, every time someone said that.
The man pulled out his wand, and the few occupants of the tavern were now openly staring.
"You are just like the rest," he stated completely unconcerned. "They never learn."
The young man began to move his wand, mouthing words as he went, but before he finished a green light stroke him square in the chest. The man slipped out of his chair and landed on the floor.
The man he had attacked reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins and flipped them onto the dead man. "Here's for the River Styx."
Turning back to the bar, he tipped the bartender and finished his drink with one swallow. He briefly looked at the corpse before, leaving the tavern. After he was outside, he whispered to the man he had just killed, "Hatred can never save."