Death Touch Prologue

Annoyance

A cloaked figure stalked through the foreboding corridors of the aptly named Department of Mysteries. At first glance, this seemed to be a perfectly normal occurrence in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, but the cloaked figure was not an Unspeakable. In fact, judging by the bloody footprints forming on the cracked stone floor, and yes, even the blood spattered robes of the person seemed to indicate something rather more sinister at work.

On closer inspection, the figure was extremely cautious, head slightly glancing side to side at the numerous offshoots of the corridor, ever watchful for danger as he progressed. Holes and gashes were torn into the black cloak, and the steady dripping of blood could be heard from a limp arm, cradled slightly against the person's body. The other arm was raised to chest height in front of him, clutching a gnarled stick in a black spiked gauntlet, seemingly covered in slightly silvered scales. If one was Garrick Ollivander, the Wandmaker from Diagon Alley, one would have despaired at what was a once beautiful work of art, while at the same time, swelled with pride at having created an enduring masterpiece that had clearly seen momentous events either good or ill.

Indeed, Ollivander had said at the time that it was the finest wand he had ever crafted, over 200 years ago, when he was but a mere young and fresh-faced adult in the Wizarding world, as opposed the ethereal and mysteriously wise man he was in later years. Sadly, he had never come close to reproducing such a masterpiece again. It would be some comfort to the old man that one of his creations still endured, even past his lifetime.

The man stumbled slightly as his right leg suddenly spasmed in slight pain. To anyone familiar with him, they would bet that he was now scowling slightly in anger at his body slowly failing him. He had obviously been through the ringer, and was quite obviously not in the best of conditions. He huffed a silent laugh at himself as his anger gave way to morbid amusement. If only Mad-Eye could see me now!

He stopped for a moment, glancing around him for some sort of confirmation of safety before drawing back his cloak slightly to look at his mangled leg. Mangled seemed to be an understatement, as he wondered to himself how he had kept going for so long without noticing. His combat trousers that had extremely durable dragon scales woven in from the now extinct Ukrainian Ironbelly, were obviously out of commission, now offering probably as much protection from harm as the thinnest piece of cloth. Even the defensive runes and charms had long since broken, leaving it nothing but a tattered mess of useless armor. He wheezed a slight hysterical chuckle at the almost blood soaked leg, with burns and gashes ripped into it, even exposing some bone in places. This was nothing, he hissed inside his head. This wasn't enough to stop him, he had too much to do to stop now! An almost absently cast localised Numbing Charm put the pain out of his mind, as he forced himself forwards once more. He needed to get back on the hunt again!

An almost inaudible growl rose in his throat as he remembered exactly why he was here. He had dreamed of this chance for years now, and now he was finally going to make the bastard pay! That monster was going to suffer for all he had done, and even as his mind supplied the treacherous words of 'You're a monster too…' his countenance simply darkened further, as though he was going to let such a paltry thought prevent him from delivering a well-deserved reward for his prey. If he enjoyed being the monster for a change, so much the better, he thought. In fact, he thought wryly, he had been a monster for many years now. It was only fitting that one monster should be ended by another.

He smiled darkly to himself as he reminisced about the bodies he had left strewn all over the department. Each and every one had died screaming, burnt alive or torn apart, and as many gruesome ways he had thought of ending them had been used. In fact, he hoped that the stone would be permanently stained red with all the blood he had spilt, and the smouldering stench of burnt flesh would forever remain. He steadfastly ignored the emptiness he felt in his chest, locking it away in the back of his mind. A weakness he had never truly been able to get rid of, was his tendency to care about life in general. He simply refused to accept he could do that under the circumstances. But he could try and fake his enjoyment as much as he wanted. He was sure he could keep lying to himself for longer still. He had to, for his fragile sanity's sake.

A shimmering light could now be seen ahead at the end of the long corridor. In actual fact, the corridor was one big circle, and he had made sure his enemy had only one place to go, having torn through each and every room, watching the people run and scream like frightened children, as he mowed them down mercilessly. The ones who fought back were simply outmatched by his prowess, even with the advanced weaponry they wielded. Watching someone obsessed with killing people as horrifically and painfully as he could simply ignore the damage he was taking without a single flinch was utterly demoralising. It was inhuman, they thought. Then they simply thought no longer.

As he neared the room, he called out cheerfully with a slightly maniacal chuckle. "Hellooooo in there!"

The frightened whimpers of someone could be heard, as a slight shuffling sound was also noticeable. As he stepped into the room, he caught sight of his final target, whimpering and dragging himself as far away as he could. The futility of the whimpering man's actions had yet to be realised.

The man looked like he had seen better days. His once white lab coat was stained with blood, and two bloody stumps where half his legs used to be were oozing slowly, leaking his life away.

"P-Please!" he whimpered hysterically, blue eyes wide in horror as he took in the menacing visage of the cloaked figure. The green eyes he could see were glittering with madness and rage and unholy anticipation. At his words, the cloaked figure smiled a dark toothy smile, steadily widening as the 'amputation-victim' flinched even more violently and scrambled away even more frantically.

"Please?" the cloaked man replied mockingly. "I agree, it would be my pleasure to… help you." He ended darkly, his grin reaching Cheshire cat levels.

"P-Potter!" the man pleaded once more. "Spare me!" he called out frantically as he suddenly bumped up against a wall, leaving no way out anymore.

Harry simply looked at the man with that damnable grin not fading in the slightest.

"You'll die soon enough anyway." He replied nonchalantly. "Why don't we talk a while?"

"I'm s-so s-sorry!" the man replied, shutting his eyes to get away from the sight of that mad grin. Unfortunately it seemed to be burned into the forefront of his mind, not letting go of his thoughts for a single moment.

If he had opened his eyes, he would have seen that grin disappear in a flash, replaced with furiously gritted teeth, as Harry struggled to reign in his temper.

"Ssssorry!?" he hissed in reply, slipping slightly into his Parseltongue, as he did when he was angry beyond belief. He growled, feet thudding heavily against the floor as he advanced menacingly on the man, who was now curling up into a ball as far as he could, eyes screwed shut in fear.

"YOU DARE APOLOGISSSSSE NOW!?" Harry roared, the room shaking in his utter fury. Black streaks of energy poured out of his body, ripping and gouging chunks out the floor and the walls, wherever they struck, yet miraculously not touching the object of his ire. After a few moments of the earth-shaking loss of control, Harry visibly steeled himself, drawing back his magic tightly under his control, but still straining and itching against his skin, ready to be let out at a moment's notice. As he gazed down in disdain at the whimpering man who had soiled himself yet again, his eyes grew ice-cold.

In many ways, this was worse than the thunderous fury of mere moments before. A palpable sense of dread pervaded the room, as every surface became like ice to the touch, frost forming around Harry's feet. The startling cold shocked the man into opening his eyes, before locking eyes with green once again. He wished he had never looked. It was if he was staring at Death's eyes.

Harry finally spoke once more, hissing slightly as he struggled not to roar in fury once more. "You really are a coward aren't you, Jack Schnee?" As each word slipped past Harry's lips, the room grew colder, until it was comparable with the dreaded cold that came with Dementors.

"Did you hope I would grant you a quick death, regardless of whatever you tried to say?" Harry continued mockingly at him, as he twirled his wand in his hand.

"Don't bother answering coward." Harry continued. "I can see your pitiful mind inside and out."

Jack simply whimpered once more, as a stabbing pain suddenly flared inside his head, along with a vindictive smirk from Potter.

"I just want to know why." Harry stated icily. "Oh, I know why, I just want to hear you ssssssay it!" he hissed once more.

"I-It wasn't meant to be this way!" Jack cried out, desperately trying to look away from the freezing gaze of Harry's eyes, but unable to do so.

"Yessss, I do believe so… Jack." Harry replied menacingly. "I believe you intended for only those with Magic to die. Ssssuch a sssshame that you messssed with the wrong forcessss of nature."

"Why, if it wasn't for me, all you humans would be living happily on a world without evil, evil magic!" Harry continued delightedly. "You really did mess with the wrong person when you inflicted your magic-eating virus on us all." Harry mused wistfully. "Harry didn't like it when his family died screaming in agony after all!"

An insane glint slowly grew in Harry's green eyes as he continued. "Harry didn't understand why he was able to fight off the virus, and no one else could. In fact, the virus went unnoticed at first. Just a little harmless illness after all! It would soon blow over they said!"

"Then Harry watched as his wife breathed her last. Oh poor Harry!" he added mockingly. "He especially hated it when his first son died too, and was left wondering just what deity had cursed him so!"

"Then his younger son faded away in his grief, leaving Harry with his precious little daughter." Harry added, eyes dimming slightly in pain. "He tried so, so hard. Researched everything he possibly could, but nothing could be done."

Harry's voice broke slightly as he continued. "Little Lily Luna was ever so sweet. Even while she was being slowly tortured to death by the virus, eating her magic away. 'D-Don't cry Daddy', she said. 'Daddy will make me sad too if he cries.'"

"Harry watched his only hold on his humanity slowly wither and fade away. She was nothing but skin and bones near the end. Yet she still hung on. 'Daddy still needs me' she told me. But one day, the pain became almost unbearable. 'Make it stop Daddy!' she cried."

"Harry held her in his arms, carefully soothing her as best he could. He read her favourite bedtime story while holding onto her for dear life. Harry watched as his precious daughter finally drifted off to sleep. Harry knew she would wake up again though. She always did."

Harry's eyes had glazed over in his remembrance, as he absently restrained the now snivelling Jack Schnee in an Immobilisation Charm. He slowly put his wand tip to the man's forehead as he continued.

"Harry didn't want to see his precious Lily's eyes clouded in pain anymore. He took his wand off the bedside table, watching her sleep peacefully for the first time in months. It was a sign, see?"

"He placed his wand against his precious daughter's forehead, as he broke his final promise not to cry. He gently caressed her forehead lovingly."

"Then he decided to use it."

Harry looked through Jack, as though he was not there.

"Goodbye Lily, he said. I love you."

"Avada Kedavra" Harry whispered brokenly.

Eerie green light flared throughout the room ending the life of Jack Schnee. His body hit the floor with a dull thump, the sound reverberating around the room. As the light faded, Harry Potter's eyes could be seen as the same shade of deadly light.

/

Emerald green eyes burst open as a blaring sound rang inside his head. Harry Potter quickly stood up out of the chair he had dozed off in, before glancing out of his window into the massive thunderstorm whipping around the cabin he lived in. He shivered slightly, before gathering his bearings once more.

The wards had just been breached.

He didn't know how, or why, but something odd was going on. Striding over to his door, while fingering a serrated knife in his right hand, in case of trouble, he flung the door open wide, to see a bloodied figure crawling across the ground sluggishly, seemingly unaware of what was going on around them.

He knew his wards did not do that to the person. Even more importantly, there was no one capable of breaking his wards. They were still intact, so how had this injured person gotten through his Fidelius? Muttering under his breath about the possible ramifications, he stepped outside in his plain shirt and jeans, straight into the storm, quickly craning his head around to check for other intruders. He knew his wards said there was only one intruder that had breached the wards, but he had learnt to be careful. As he reached the figure, a flash of thunder illuminated the area, eerily lighting up his face, set in an emotionless facade, and outlining several scars.

They also highlighted the injured… woman, which he could now see. Red-headed with blue eyes that seemed to be slightly unfocused at the moment, wearing a skin-tight suit. He could also clearly see several weapons such as combat knives and handguns strapped to her legs, raising his interest in the unknown woman. She focused on him for a split second, attempting to say something, but fell limp as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Harry grumbled at his misfortune, before scooping her up and carrying her inside his cabin. He took one last look outside, spotting nothing out of the ordinary, before shaking his head and shutting the door firmly.

He hated unknowns.

AN 07.08.14

So yeah. My muse was well and truly dead so I decided to give it a kick-start and write something it wanted to write.

Shame I can't make it write what I want to write, my FT fanfic for example. Patience on that though.

In any case, this is a fic I've had in the 'idea stage' for a long time, so I decided to write up the first chapter of it. Yes, you eventually learn how he gets from the Department of Mysteries to his little isolated cabin. Eventually. Probably won't be too frequent for updates here. Will try when the mood strikes me. Enjoy this for now. Will get written to completion at some point as always.