I'm going to keep this as short as possible. This is a copy of my other story, All She Wanted, only a male Harry. And I'm not doing this because of a rude review made by an anonymous person (can you imagine? If you're going to insult me, don't do it anonymously. I'll just delete your nasty comment). But to you, you nice little flamer, I have to say I'm not a twelve year-old girl who is incapable of seeing through a male's eyes. I just happen to believe there aren't enough male heroes out there, and when there are female heroes, people just mock them for crying too much, etc. Okay? You don't believe that? Then fine. You don't have to. Press the back button. You don't need to read my stories. I made this male version because some people prefer a male Harry rather than female. I prefer female, but if you're not willing to read a genderswapped!Harry, this is for you. (P.S. I think I cleaned it of its female references of Harry, if not, tell me.)

Harry shuddered, eyes widening marginally. He aimed his wand higher, between Voldemort's eyes, and held back another shudder. He felt so angry, oh so angry. How dare he keep him from that monster, the woman who murdered Sirius. She crawled to her knees behind Voldemort, grinning madly, a high cackle forming in her throat.

Voldemort had raised his hand to wave Harry's wand away, but stopped, hesitating for a moment. Unsure why, Harry had stood there in silence, watching the man who murdered his parents and his prey, Bellatrix.

"You're a fool, Harry Potter," His slithering voice said, a mocking touch to it. "That you so blindly follow your dear Dumbledore like the mangy mutt you are." Bellatrix's laughter increased much to Harry's ire.

He gripped his wand tighter, glare darkening on his face, but still said nothing.

Voldemort sneered. "Why do you fight me?" He asked, curiosity light. "Is it because you wish to avenge your parents? Friends? Or is it because Dumbledore has you wrapped around his old little finger?" Voldemort took a small step forward, hands still hanging by his sides.

Despite how much Harry wanted to stop him there, both verbally and physically, he didn't.

Voldemort continued. "Do you fight for the public? Because they have put so much of their faith in you in the past? To save the innocent, naïve lives that care nothing for you now?" An odd smile made its way on his face. "Dumbledore hasn't told you about the prophecy, has he? How we're destined to fight, and in the end, only one will live? He's been keeping it from you for fifteen years now, Harry." His words dug themselves in Harry's heart, burrowing deep and tearing him from inside out.

No matter how much he never wanted to say the words, Voldemort was right. Dumbledore hadn't just been hiding from him personally, ignoring him and keeping things from him, but he was keeping a prophecy from him. A whole prophecy about his life and maybe even his death. Didn't Dumbledore trust him?

Although Voldemort thought Dumbledore was forcing him into it, he was wrong. Dumbledore had kept him from all of it. And it made him mad, but he was partially right that he was fighting for the public. He was also fighting for hisself. But did he want to fight anymore?

"Stupid boy." Harry realized too late that he had been too caught up in his thoughts and was immediately shot at, getting hit square in the chest with the crutiatious curse. He cried out as he felt many knives piercing him over and over again, gasping for breath between whimpers and cries of pain.

Finally the invisible knives' pain disappeared, but the ache in his limbs remained.

Voldemort walked toward him, finally coming to a stop by Harry's side. He leaned down fractionally and watched him with hateful and calculating eyes. Harry couldn't find it within him to care. Perhaps if he didn't fight back Voldemort wouldn't harass him too long and kill him quickly. It was all over for him, there was no way out, he thought to hisself. His wand had gone flying once he had been hit by the curse. He was wandless, hurting and pretty sure he didn't want to fight. Voldemort had done all of this perfectly; making him rethink who he was fighting for. After all, he was fighting for people who didn't care for him. People who kept mocking him. For himself. But what life was he living that was so great? All he had going for him was his friends. His godfather was dead. His parents were dead. Every year at school he ran into trouble. His aunt, uncle and cousin couldn't care less about him. When would he be free of this pain?

Suddenly Voldemort whipped around, the sound of someone entering through a fireplace breaking not only his, but also Voldemort from their twin trances.

"It was a mistake to come here tonight, Tom. The aurors are on their way."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Fighting, aurors, camera shots, the daily prophet…he didn't think of any of them. He listened to Dumbledore's story. He played along with his friends, eating and giving them fake smiles. He knew they could see through them, but they didn't push him too much, appreciating his privacy for the time-being. Even on his way "home" to his aunt and uncle's with his cousin wasn't enough to pull Harry out of this trance he was in. The moment he was back at the house he began packing a light bag of clothes and other necessities that he would need. Harry snuck out of the house when everyone was sleeping and left. He didn't turn back to glance at the house, even while knowing it would be the last time he saw it. He just kept walking.