Alternate Ending: Utopias (aka Voldemort's Happy Ending)

Never before had Harry been as thankful to land on his feet as he was at this moment. Looking around at his current 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, though his eyes betrayed his emotions.

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. "Mind your mouth, Malfoy. Do not forget your place… though perhaps it is too late for that now, Lucius." The continued glare promised a slow and painful death. 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.

Voldemort's lips turned upwards. "I am glad you agree, Lucius." The Dark Lord's wand leveled with the senior Death Eater. "This is what happens to traitors, Lucius."

A jet of green light struck Malfoy, causing him to fall backwards. He was dead even before he hit the ground. His eyes forever stuck open in terror after realizing that he had been outplayed. That knowledge would probably haunt the Death Eater even after death.

Harry's mouth opened slightly as he still stared down at the corpse of one of his greatest competitors for his father's favor.

"Lucius-."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. "Lucius has always harbored treasonous thoughts, though they have always revolved around solidifying his own power." He turned away from his still servant. "Only this time, he went too far."

Harry moved quickly to catch up with his father, who was heading nearer to the battle. He briefly felt a pang of pain with each of his rapid steps. His mind flashed back to his father's original orders, but he could not follow them. He was too headstrong to leave now.

Voldemort looked out of the corner of his eye at his son and did not miss the winces. He closed his eyes, blocking the image and continued on. Raising his wand, he prepared himself to duel with any fool that dared approach him.

"Stay," Voldemort stated. His voice was completely without edge. "There is little you can do. However, I will allow you to stay except this is as far as you come. You are too valuable to die here."

Gazing straight ahead, Harry nodded in agreement and watched as his father passed in front of him his wand at ready. His lips contorted briefly before he regained control. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of battle, which were slowly becoming more distant with each passing moment. In his head, he tried to ration his not being apart of the battle… not being by his father's side. He had after laid the foundations for this final assault. All those years in which he had spent eliminating threats were now being yielded. He deserved this break from all the death. Nonetheless, the feeling would not go away. He had been conditioned well, Harry thought derisively.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck suddenly stood up. Without hesitation, Harry turned swiftly avoiding the green light that was hurling toward him, promising a quick death. In response, Harry sent his own burst of green light at his assailant. He briefly heard the sound of someone floundering, trying to stay on their feet.

"Cree," Harry stated calmly, ignoring the pain that clouded his newly reopened wound. "How nice of you to come."

Reynard stepped out from his hiding spot, which had just been out of Harry's line of vision.

"Not bad kid… you almost had me."

"Your employer is dead," Harry replied, ignoring the assassin's compliment.

"Can't say that I too sad about that… however, it's unfortunate that I won't get my money from him."

Harry trained his wand on his opponent. "Why continue this, if you're not getting paid."

Cree smirked. "Pleasure… you're a bit like sport."

"A sport that will get you killed." Harry overlapped his last sentence with the Killing Curse.

A diminutive crater appeared behind the spot that had been occupied by Cree. Before long, Harry had to do a side step of his own. The air seemed to be charged with electricity as the two continued their rapid duel. Each combatant was feeling the strain of their pervious injuries from their earlier duel. Harry already reddened robes seemed to weigh more with each passing second.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Cree asked, between ragged breaths. "You seem to be having trouble breathing. Perhaps, you should let me end your suffering."

Harry concentrated his magic, bringing it all to a center point.

He smiled at Cree. "You're coming with me, if I go."

Before Reynard could even move, Harry unleashed his magic. To Muggle witnesses it would have appeared to have been an explosion of some sort, which rocked blocks away from its epicenter.

Voldemort stabled himself rapidly when the blast stopped. His opponent was not so lucky and collapsed to the ground. The Dark Lord did not pause as he severed the man's life-force from him. With that task done, he quickly turned to look in the direction from which the quake had originated.

"Harry," the name fell from his lips before he had taken the time to even think. His eyes shot toward the nearest Death Eater, who happened to be one of the Lestrange brothers. "Go in search of Marvolo; if he is still alive, take him back to the fortress. I will come when I am able."

Rabastan Lestrange nodded before turning toward the ruined city blocks, where the sidewalks had been reduced to rubble. Numerous times he stumbled, tearing his robes in the process. After several minutes, the Death Eater reached the epicenter. His jaw went lax, while his eyes bulge from his face. Never in his life had he seen such destruction of this scale.

Before him lay a crater that extended into the earth two meters. Almost to the edge, Rabastan noticed to the edge of the crater there was a body, which was scarred badly from the explosion. Without even having to check for a pulse, Lestrange knew that the man was dead. He could also tell that the body did not belong to Marvolo. His eyes shifted nervously across the crater before noticing another depression in the center of the larger one. He saw another figures crumpled form. The Death Eater slide down the ridge and ran to the young man's side, knowing from the black hair that cover the young man's head that it was Marvolo. Delicately, Lestrange turned him until he could see the battered face. He was not a healer, but he knew that the prognosis was not good.

Grasping the young man's arm, he apparated. Once at the fortress, Lestrange instantly called for the healer, a stout man called Faron. Secretly, Rabastan was thankful that he was not in the man's shoes, especially since the life of their Lord's son was in his hands, and his death would unacceptable.

"Do you think you can pull him through?" Rabastan asked casually.

The brown-haired man shrugged, raising his wand. "There is no other option."

Rabastan surveyed the injuries again. "It might be the crueler option to keep him alive."

"Hmm," the healer murmured. "The Dark Lord would not see that option kindly. No, no… he wouldn't. So instead, I have to bring this Lad from the verge of death."

"Best of luck, Faron."

The healer ignored him and set on his work.

"Yeah, the only reason he is still alive is, because he created a shield at the last moment, shielding him from the majority of the blast."

The healer moved to his potion store. "The shield didn't take it all… most of his bones are broken… there is internal bleeding and-." The healer paused as he stretched toward the top self, pulling down a blue potion bottle. "Besides that there are all the external wounds. In all rights, he should be dead."

Rabastan shrugged. "I'll leave you to your work."

He got no reply, but he hadn't really expected one.

Rabastan simply waited for the Dark Lord to return. Looking at the grandfather clock that stood in the sitting room, where Death Eaters often waited in until the Dark Lord called for them, Lestrange guessed that the battle had been going on for two hours now. He also understood that it couldn't last much longer. He snorted when he thought that Marvolo had perhaps helped their cause further with his explosion. He now saw what had always fascinated his sister-in-law, Bellatrix, about the boy.

With the only thing to do, Rabastan spent most of his time musing about their situation. He understood that they would claim the day. The Order and the Ministry were too unprepared to win. It was only a matter of time. In the background, Rabastan became astutely aware of the constant stroke of the old grandfather clock. Its silver pendulum glinted in the magical light.

A loud popping sound greeted Lestrange's ears. He turned slowly to see the Dark Lord looming before him.

"Where is my son?"

"Currently with Faron. He's trying his best to heal his injuries." Rabastan paused. "How is the battle, my Lord?"

A thin smile spread across the Dark Lord's lips. "It is won. Their armies have fallen, and what remains has been pushed into hiding. The temporary Minister of Magic has signed the surrender pact."

Relief flooded through Lestrange's body. "That is excellent, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded. "I need you to apparate to the Ministry and collate our forces, Rabastan. After I check Marvolo, I will return."

Voldemort brushed passed the Death Eater and continued on his way to Faron's quarters, which would soon be flooded with some of the wounded, though the newly captured St. Mungo's would take the majority. Opening the door, Voldemort peered into the dimmed room. He made out the healer's back first as the man leaned over a table, examining something. Faron's back stiffened, and he spun around when he noticed the Dark Lord's presence.

"How is my son?"

The man's face went unnaturally pale.

"I'm-m doing everything that is in my… power to heal him." The man seemed to choke on his own saliva. "I can't give any guarantees… that he will make it." Faron broke off before plowing forward rapidly. "The damage is too extensive… it will be a miracle, if he makes it past a few days."

Voldemort glared at the healer. "You will heal him." A wicked glint appeared in the Dark Lord's red eyes. "Remember that your lives are now linked."

"Y-yes, my Lord," Faron muttered.

Looking toward one of the bed, Voldemort caught his first sight of Harry since the beginning of the battle. He briskly crossed the distance between them. Gazing down on the still form, he took in the bruised and swollen face that held many cuts. He could only imagine what the rest of his body must look like.

"You are to fight this, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "If you don't, I will never forgive you." And before leaving the room, Voldemort hissed. "Carry on, Healer."

10 Months Later

The hollow sound of his feet and of those four others, who were walking behind him, echoing against the broad wood boards was eerily pleasing to his ears, especially after all the time he had been stuck at the fortress. This was a welcomed change. He was finally doing something for the Utopia that his father was beginning to shape.

Harry raised his wand and with one blast sent the door before them shattering into numerous splinters. He and the other Death Eaters stormed into the room wands raised. They were prepared for any form of resistance that the traitors might offer.

Sweeping across the room with his eyes, Harry knew that there would be no such resistance. These resistance force here was too green to provide any… except for perhaps Longbottom the one that Dumbledore had trained, believing that he was the 'boy who lived'.

"This meeting is a violation to Law Seven, which restricts such treasonous meetings, especially with such a felon as Longbottom here, who has tried on numerous occasions to supplant the Dark Lord's government." Harry spoke loudly, noticing that as he did so the occupants had begun to tremble. "As such, you have committed high treason." Harry paused, continually eyeing those in front of him. "A crime that warrants death without reprieve."

One of the rebels rose quickly and tried to escape. However, he was stopped by a single slashing hex, which emitted from the wand of a Death Eater who stood beside Harry.

"Round the rest up," Harry ordered. "You know what to do."

"Harry-." Neville began before being roughly cut off by one of the Death Eaters, who was pulling him toward the wall.

"Stop!" Harry ordered, causing the Death Eater to frown. "I wish to speak with the Blood Traitor."

Neville was drug over to Harry, and the latter nodded to the Death Eater to leave.

"You have got to stop this, Harry," Neville pleaded. "You are the chosen one, Harry… you have to end this bloodshed."

Harry smiled sadly at the man across from him. "You still believe that hogwash, Neville? Don't you know that the prophecy was shattered those seventeen years ago?"

"You're right… it was." Neville stated. "You once promised that you wouldn't kill me… it would be like killing yourself."

"There is a difference this time, Neville." Harry paused. "This time my father wants you to die."

"So I guess this is it then, Harry?"

"You were foolish to not go into hiding… to leave the war in the past." Harry looked at where the Death Eater's had finished lining up the dissenters and then proceeded to carry out their sentences. He, then, turned and walked toward the entrance. "I will give you a few seconds, Neville. If you can escape from my Death Eaters, you will live. I won't interfere."

Neville stared at Harry's retreating back, his jaw gaping at the other man's words. Without second thought, Neville began to attempt his escape.

Harry kept walking, ignoring the spells that were being fired behind him. It did not matter if Longbottom lived or died. He would eventually be caught again, and there would be no second reprieve.

The young man snorted. That was the funny thing about Utopians… they always had a side that no one saw. Harry always saw that nonexistent side as he carried out his father's justice, punishing those who were still caught in a absent past. Harry pushed back the shouts and smirked. It was funny; he was still in the killing business. He could never escape it. He would never get to enjoy the Utopia that his father had created. No, but he would forever be enforcing it, protecting it from those Witches and Wizards who still held Albus Dumbledore as a great hero.

It didn't matter, Harry often repeated in his mind, because if he were given a Utopia, he wouldn't know what to do with it anyways. He had seen to much carnage to ever grasp a paradise of his own.

Raising his wand, he began to perform an Apparation that would take him to his father's side at his newly crafted fortress, which was grander then the old. The Death Eater could report to him their whether Longbottom had escaped or died.