Can't Understand this World

Spoilers: through Half-Blood Prince, End of Seventh year, which will remain a mystery to both readers and the author – Although, you should know I haven't exactly read the books recently, I'm trying to hold off so that I don't destroy the movie when I see it in theaters, but after that, I can guarantee that the facts will be a lot more accurate, so hopefully, I'll be able to edit chapter one on Monday and get it up soon after.

Warnings: Character Death

Summary: He shouldn't be here. Not anymore. This place… it was hell.

Notes: Based off a challenge at Portkey. I'll try to remember to put a link to it in my profile. Please enjoy and tell me what you think. – This is just a prologue, and then there'll be a chapter of mourning, and then we'll get into the really interesting stuff ;D

Prologue: The End of Battles

Harry watched impassively as the green curse hit Voldemort. The bony figure crumpled to the ground in front of him, and he stood there, staring down at his life-long enemy. He couldn't believe that it was finally over. He had been doing this - fighting him - for so long, what would he do now that it was over? Harry looked down at the prone figure, hearing the cheers rising up behind him, and slowly a smile started breaking out on his face.

A second later, he fell to his knees, grasping his head. His dirtied robes were getting even dirtier, but he didn't notice, instead focusing on the fact that his head felt as though it was about to explode into pieces.

'Thought you could get rid of me, Potter?' a voice hissed, vibrating throughout his skull. 'As long as you exist on this earth, so will I'

"Get out." Harry gritted through clenched teeth.

Voldemort's voice laughed mockingly at him. 'I'll never leave, Potter. And one day, you'll stop fighting me.' Harry felt his hand clench around his wand and knew that it wasn't him doing it. It had to be Voldemort. When had he learned to do that? Harry focused all his being on pushing Voldemort's presence to the back of his mind. He forced him behind one of his Occlumency shields, and trapped him within it.

'And I'll be able to take over once more. That will be a day truly worth celebrating,' the voice sighed whimsically.

Harry ignored the voice in his head, and the blinding pain that came with it, and instead tried to find a way out of his latest mess. Before he could even begin to think, he heard a melody of distant voices calling his name.

"Harry?" "Harry!"

'Oh yes. The mudblood and the blood-traitor.' Voldemort acknowledged.

'They'll die.' He commented offhandedly. 'But the most delicious part is that when the words are said, they will come out of your mouth. It will be your wand that ends the lives of your pathetic little friends.'

Harry felt himself freeze as the Voldemort's words rushed over him. He couldn't let it happen. He wouldn't let it happen. Not again. Scrambling to his knees, Harry reached blindly across the muddied grass for the fallen body of Lucius Malfoy. His fingers moved blindly across the ground before hitting the edge of a robe. He felt along the robe until he reached Malfoy's arm, and thus, his hand. Prying the cold fingers open, Harry released the silver snake-headed cane from the dead man's grip.

'Before I kill them, I suppose I could indulge myself in some … entertainment.' Voldemort reflected. 'Tell me, Potter, how do you think your little girlfriend will react as I slash her to ribbons?'

Harry clenched his hand tightly around the cane's head, feeling the silver teeth biting into his palm. He roughly wrenched out the long, silver dagger that had been kept within the hollow cane. It had been a recent development, Lucius' bloodlust. In fact, it was only learned of a month ago, when Arthur Weasley appeared on the doorstep of the Burrow after a two-week disappearance. He was cut deeply and in many different places. That day, he bled to death in his wife's arms, all the while reassuring her that everything would work out. A tag was tied around his wrist, reading "From Lucius, with care." That was what sent Molly over the edge and caused her to join up completely with the Order and even help with the training of the new recruits.

Harry roughly jerked himself out of his thinking and found that Voldemort was still prattling on. 'All those Weasleys to play with, it's almost a shame so many of them are dead.'

Harry forced the voice back again and instead focused down on the blade in his hand, just noticing that it had crimson streaks marring its surface. He swallowed harshly and couldn't help but wonder who was on the wrong side of his blade this time. He looked around at the bodies littering the ground around him and noticed a female figure lying near Malfoy. Curly hair brought back into a no-nonsense ponytail and devoid of all her normal beads and bracelets, there lye Professor Trelawney. He had never really liked her, but she proved invaluable towards recent events and he found that when she wasn't predicting his death, she was actually alright to be around. As Harry's focus wavered, Voldemort's monologuing came back into focus.

'And all those children you had fighting behind you. They could prove very useful. If I sacrificed them in a couple of ancient rituals, we could get me back to my old standards. Who knows, given time, this body may become just as powerful as my own.'

Harry's hand, still circling the dagger's hilt, rose. Before allowing himself to think twice, he sunk the blade into his chest, relishing in the way it slid through his flesh so easily. He had been stabbed before –and while it wasn't fun then either, this seemed so much worse. It burned its way through his body, quickly spreading to the point where he felt as though he was on fire. He wondered idly if the blade was poisoned.

'Potter' Voldemort snarled, 'We could have been great toge–'

Harry sighed in relief as Voldemort's voice cut off. He couldn't even feel him anymore. Actually, he didn't feel much of anything anymore. It was a nice change, he decided drowsily.

He became aware of voices and then that someone was trying to pull the blade out of his chest.

Quicker than he thought possible, his arm shot up and he covered the hand circling the dagger's hilt, effectively stopping its movement. He looked down at the odd picture the two hands made together, circles of blood-streaked flesh, before following it up the arm to a dirty, scratched face.

"Hermione," he slurred. "What you… doing?"

"Harry," Ron answered from his side, "We have to get you help."

Harry slowly transferred his gaze from Hermione to Ron, and realized that his friend was actually propping him up against his chest. "No," he said hazily. "This … good. No Vold … mort."

"You got him good, Harry," Hermione whispered, brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "He won't come back anymore. But we need to get you fixed up okay?"

She delicately started pulling again, causing Harry to tighten his grip further, unaware of the fact that he was making her wince. "Can't."

"Why not, Harry?" Ron asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

"He come … through me," Harry tried to explain. "Scar. Link. … Very bad."

Harry felt his head starting to drift forward to rest on his chest. His grip on Hermione's hand slackened before dropping off completely. "Gonna … go now," He mumbled as he faded from existence.

This was it, he knew. He was moving on.