Disclaimer: As much as I wish it were true, I do not in fact own anything dealing with the Harry Potter empire. Those rights belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic Books, as well as others that I can't seem to remember at the moment. Please, don't waste your time attempting to sue me; I am a high school student, you'd get jack.

Summary: Another prophecy made by Sybil Trelaney predicts the end of the Dark Lord once again. But, Harry's not the one to kill him! A sixteen year old secret is brought into the light, and no one is prepared for what happens next.

Pairings: SS/OC, HP/DM, SB/RL, HG/PP.

Authors Note: This fanfiction will omit the events of Book 6 & 7 of the Harry Potter series, therefore, THIS FANFIC IS NOT CANON! Please, do not complain to me about this, it's how I want the story to be, and since I am a fanfiction writer, I can do whatever I want with this story. Please, give the story a chance! I doubt you will regret it, since I have a totally amazing plot in the works. Now, there will be an original female character brought into the story that will have a significant role, but PLEASE, just give me a chance to develop it before you through it away. Now, technically, this is my first fanfiction, but I feel as though I can deliver my intended plot, so please bare with me. I plan to update at a minimum of once a week, and reviews would be lovely, but not necessary. I will of course welcome any critic, as long as you're not super mean about it.

Chapter One

The burst of fire from the fireplace woke up Molly Weasley from her bed in the middle of the night. A quick glance to the clock proved it was 2:37am, and her glance to the other side of the bed suggested it was her husband. She sighed softly; Arthur had been working so hard as of late, with the Dark Lord working at full force and his Death Eaters causing problems all over Europe. She sat up, swung her legs over the end of the bed and slipped her feet into her faded fuzzy pink slippers, before grabbing her night robe and making her way down to greet her husband. On her way down the stairs, she heard a conversation going on; Arthur wasn't alone. She walked down the rest of the way, and through the kitchen, to get to the living room, where Arthur was having an apparent argument with none other then Albus Dumbledore.

"You don't even know the validity of this yet, Albus! I won't have you putting Harry through that if it doesn't check out!"

"Arthur, I understand your concern, but it still needs to be done." the Headmaster replied, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose briefly. "I wish I had known before. I wish none of this ever had to happen. But think of what this could mean, Arthur. Harry is the only one who can locate Voldemort's lair; I need his help to check the validity of the claim."

Molly paused, leaning against the door frame. The fact that Albus hadn't noticed she was in the room yet was very disconcerting; he must be exhausted. She took in his appearance: his dirty, wrinkled robes, mangled hair, and tired eyes. The poor man obviously hasn't slept in what looked like days. This war was aging him quickly, and the way it was going, she wasn't entirely sure he would live to see the end of it. The entire Wizarding World put Albus Dumbledore on another level; really, he was only human, and humans can only handle so much.

"Don't you think I understand that Albus! I want to believe that this war is over just as much as everyone else. But honestly, what if your informant is wrong? Then you have led Harry to his death, and I won't allow that!"

"What's going on Arthur?" Molly said, making her presence know as she made her way over to her husband, her hand taking his.

"Molly, what are you doing up?" he asked, turning to face his wife, smiling a very forced smile.

"The floo. I had really just gotten to sleep, it's no trouble. Please, what's wrong?" she asked, before turning to Albus. "What's going on?"

Albus sighed, his face grave. "I have found from a reliable source that the Dark Lord is dead, killed in his own lair. I have already asserted that this source is reliable; however, I do not know how to get to his lair, only Harry can do that. I need his help."

Molly's eyes widened considerably. She turned to her husband, who was staring at Dumbledore, before turning her attention back to the elder wizard.

"Who is this source then, Albus? If you really think this is legitimate, then who is your source?" Arthur asked. Molly could tell by his expression and posture he was definitely loosing the inner struggle of trying to deny the significance of this claim. She rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand in a soothing manner, to remind him of her presence. He gripped her hand tightly, as if to communicate his inner anxiety. She smiled softly to herself, her focus now completely on Albus.

"Sybil." he said simply.

"You're kidding, right? The woman's a crackpot! You want me to risk Harry's safety because of what that crazy woman may have seen? I won't do that! That boy has become a member of this family, and as such, he won't be subjected to harm because of some unbalanced woman's perceived "vision"."

"Arthur, I understand your position, but I assure you, while Sybil may not be as powerful as other psychics, both of her previous visions have been legitimate. I saw her vision through her penseive and evaluated the credibility of it. Please Arthur, you must understand the significance of this breakthrough. The Dark Lord could be dead. The war could be over. Everyone could be safe again; your children could be safe now."

Arthur sighed, his head rolling forward in defeat. Molly leaded up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, before detaching herself from her husband.

"I'll go get Harry." she said.

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Thank you, Molly."

Molly made her way back through the living room and entered into the kitchen before turning to go up the stairs.

The Dark Lord was potentially dead. The fear, anxiety, and death was potentially over. Her children could be safe. Harry could be saved from facing the Dark Lord. Somehow, it just seemed too incredible to wrap her mind around. She made her way up the second flight up stairs to her youngest son's room. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and opened the door quietly. It really wasn't necessary though; Ronald was the definition of a heavy sleeper. She made her way over to Harry's bed, and sat down lightly on the side.

"Harry, sweetheart. You need to wake up." Harry mumbled something unintelligible into his pillow. Molly smiled, and touched his shoulder, lightly shaking him. "Harry, you need to wake up now. Professor Dumbledore needs to speak with you right away."

Harry turned his head, bleary eyes focusing on Molly.

"Professor Dumbledore needs to speak with you Harry. It's very important." she repeated. She got up from off his bed as Harry sat up, stretching his arms over his head and rubbing his eyes before getting off the bed and moving to leave the room, Molly following behind him, as he made his way down the stairs and into the living room.

"You wanted to see me Professor?" Harry asked, his tired eyes focusing on the headmaster.

"Harry," Dumbledore started, moving towards the boy, "I need your help. I need you to take me to Voldemort's lair."

Harry's eyes widened, his tiredness suddenly completely gone.

"You want me to do what?" he asked with obvious disbelief. He didn't know where Voldemort's lair was. If he did, he would have confronted and killed the bastard already. He looked at Dumbledore again, and noticed that the elder wizard's gaze had shifted to the wall behind Harry; realization hit him hard.

The connection; the connection between himself and Voldemort would allow Harry to locate him. He was a little pissed at himself for not recognizing it sooner; it made perfect sense. And Dumbledore had conveniently forgotten to mention that to him. Harry glared at Dumbledore.

"Harry, please don't be mad. I didn't mention it because I knew you would act impulsively; it wouldn't do any good if you got yourself killed."

"Well, what the fuck do you think is going to happen when I confront Voldemort?" Harry asked, his fists clenching in anger.

"Harry! Language!" Molly said from the doorway.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley." he mumbled, still glaring vehemently at Dumbledore.

"Harry, Professor Trelawney had a vision. I believe it to be true, but I need to be sure. I need you to take me to Voldemort lair in order to confirm it."

"What do you need to confirm?" he asked, taking a deep breath in order to restrain his anger. He would have time later to be pissed at the headmaster. Right now however, it seemed that whatever Dumbledore had to say was important, so he begrudging gave the headmaster his attention again.

"Professor Trelawney had a vision that…that Voldemort was dead. I need your help to confirm it." Dumbledore said, his tired eyes staring intently at Harry.

It felt as though everything was moving in slow motion at that point. Harry couldn't focus on anything; everything had suddenly become blurry. It could be over. It could all be over. He wouldn't have to kill Voldemort. He could have his life back. He wouldn't have to die. He wouldn't have to die.

"Harry? Harry, are you listening to me? Harry?" Arthur shook him slightly.

"How do I locate his lair?" Harry asked, his voice oddly calm, his face vacant. Molly and Arthur exchanged worried glances. Dumbledore smiled slightly.

"It shouldn't be hard, Harry. You just need to focus. You need to open the connection up between you and Voldemort."

"But…if he's dead, how can I do that?" Harry asked.

"You just need to focus on him; everything he's done, who he is, what he is. Allow your mind to free itself, and you will be able to find him." Harry still didn't understand how the connection would work if Voldemort was really dead, but Dumbledore seemed to know what he was talking about, so he relied on the elder wizard's expertise and sat down on the sofa.

"Molly, do you think you could get Harry a cup of tea to help him relax?" Dumbledore asked, smiling at her.

"I'm fine, Professor. Really." Harry said, but Molly was already in the kitchen fixing him some tea, and most likely something to go down with it. 'Damn, she's fast.' he thought to himself.

Harry got himself situated on the sofa, pulling his legs up under him as he grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest.

'It could all be over...'

Harry just couldn't pull that thought from his mind. He felt overwhelmed by the severity of it all. Harry honestly never believed he would win in a battle against Voldemort. He clearly stood no chance. After his interaction with the Dark Lord in the grave yard during his fourth year, and the Department of Mysteries in his fifth, he knew for a fact that he stood no chance. Voldemort was on a different level; a level that surpassed himself, any common witch or wizard, even Dumbledore. Voldemort had managed to create a league of his own, and no one stood a chance of defeating him. So, if this ended up checking out, Harry knew he personally wouldn't ever want to meet the individual capable of that level of power.

Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore had started talking again in hushed voices, though if he tried he could hear everything they said; he just didn't give a damn at the moment. Sighing softly, he attempted to stop the rampaging thoughts inside his head and the overwhelming emotions coursing through his body. He really needed to focus.

"Harry, dear, I brought you some tea and a sugar cookie." Harry looked up at Mrs. Weasley and smiled, taking the tea from her.

"I'm not very hungry right now, Mrs. Weasley." He said, sipping the tea in small bursts; it was really hot.

"Alright dear. All you have to do is ask if you need something."

"I know that, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you." Harry continued to sip at his tea, trying without real success to clear his head. He finished his tea, and placed the cup on the end table, before drawing himself back up into his previous position. The tea helped a little. Just focus. All he had to do was focus for a few minutes.

Harry closed his eyes. The conversation going on near him seemed to disappear. He immediately thought of Voldemort. He thought of the reptilian man that emerged from the cauldron in the grave yard. He thought of the teenage Tom Riddle. He thought of the nightmares he had had about the torture sessions and murders he had committed, even those who had committed torture and murder in his name. He thought of his mothers scream, when Voldemort killed her 16 years ago; his first memory. He thought of Sirius, and his face as he fell behind the veil…

He suddenly felt very ill. It seemed as though his memory was turning black; black, almost like a dark cloud moving in front of his eyes. And then he felt pain. An immeasurable amount of pain, coursing through his veins; an agony ten times worse then the Cruciatus Curse. Before he could stop himself, he let out a scream. He was vaguely away that he had fallen off the couch, but nothing seemed real. Only an unbelievable amount of pain; his skin felt like it was burning, his eyes being ripped out, his body taking a terrible beating. And then, through the bleary eyes of another, he fell to the floor, a floor littered with blood. A dirty floor that he had seen before. He tried to focus through the pain, tried to look to see where he was, and why it looked familiar. He knew it was obvious, an answer he should know; he had seen this place so many times before. Why couldn't he remember? The pain was affecting his comprehension of everything. Harry felt himself quickly loosing his grip on reality.

Then suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the pain was seeming to ebb away. His eyes started to cloud again; the pain receding bit by bit. He couldn't stop himself from coughing however, he suddenly felt like he might be choking, so he shut his eyes briefly; he honestly didn't understand when they had opened.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was on his back on the floor of the Weasley's house, with Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley bent over him, and Mrs. Weasley applying a damp cloth to his forward. Only then did he realize how hot he felt.

He shut his eyes again briefly, attempting to catch his breath. The pain was mostly gone now, but his muscles ached, and his eyes still burned. He tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving in an attempt to regulate his body once again. Everything had just felt so real…

"Harry? Harry, are you alright, m'boy?" He heard Dumbledore ask him.

"Read my mind. Tell me where that is. I can't remember…" His words came out in breathy rasps, but he knew that the elder wizard had heard him, because he felt that slight tickle that one feels when their mind is being invaded.

"That's Riddle Manor. But, the Ministry raided that place months ago, there was no one there." Dumbledore said.

"Well then, clearly he relocated back. Why wasn't someone from the Ministry watching the manor?" Arthur asked, in a clearly peeved tone. Harry honestly didn't give a damn at the moment.

"People were suppose to be watching it. Then again, with all the corruption within the Ministry, it's really no surprise." Dumbledore said, his voice strained. Harry could tell by his tone that Dumbledore was trying to suppress his anger; Mr. Weasley was already on edge, and had been on edge, and he himself felt peeved at the Ministry's clear fuck up. 'But then again, that is what they do best: fuck-up,' he thought to himself rather bitterly.

Once he had his breathing under control, Harry moved himself gingerly to a sitting position before moving himself back onto the couch. Mrs. Weasley handed him another cup of tea.

"I think I'll take that cookie now, Mrs. Weasley." Harry said, looking up at her. This time, he didn't even attempt a smile. She nodded at him, and rushed into the kitchen to grab him a cookie. Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore had stopped their conversation, and were now looking at him intently.

"Harry, thank you very much for your help. Now, I need you to get yourself together, then go upstairs and change and get your wand." Dumbledore said. Arthur moved to the couch, and took the place next to Harry. He put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Harry swallowed a large gulp of tea and nodded his understanding. His blood and Voldemort's were linked; Dumbledore needed him to get past any lingering wards that may still be in place around the house.

"Here you are Harry." Mrs. Weasley said, sitting a plate of cookies on his lap. "You never did eat any desert tonight, and you hardly touched your dinner. Eat up." Harry grabbed a cookie off the top without even looking at it and nibbled on it, his eyes straying to the empty fireplace, and successfully tuning out the conversation going on around him once again. He just focused on getting some food in his system. He was definitely going to need his energy. Even if Voldemort was dead, like the scene he had just witnessed could have proved, he still needed energy; it wouldn't be good if he passed out on Dumbledore when they got to the Manor.

But all that blood on the floor…it couldn't possibly all have been from just Voldemort; there was just too much of it. So that would entail that someone else had bled too. But from the amount of blood, it looked like multiple people had been killed. Then again, he didn't exactly know very much about blood, so it could have all come from one person. Voldemort wasn't very human, after all.

Harry finished three sugar cookies and his tea before he put the plate down on the spot on couch Mr. Weasley had vacated, and the empty cup on the side table, before getting up off the couch; he slipped out of the living room without the others noticing; or rather, choosing not to notice. He quickly made his way up the two flights of stairs and crept back into his room. He looked at the clock on Ron's side of the bed; 3:52am. Apparently that vision he had lasted longer then he thought...He couldn't believe that just an hour ago he had been sleeping, actually sleeping, with the thought of impending doom in the back of his addled mind. Now, there was a very good chance that Voldemort was dead, and he, Harry, wouldn't have to kill Voldemort; or the more obvious outcome: Harry fights, and dies a horrible, torturous death.

He quickly changing into a baggy black t-shirt and jeans, slipped on a pair of socks, then rummaged around for his shoes before slipping them on and lacing them up. He grabbed his wand off the nightstand and navigated his way back down the stairs to the living room.

"Ok, I'm ready." This seemed to stop the conversation abruptly. Mrs. Weasley ran over to him, and tugged him into a fierce hug before she released him and kissed him on the forehead.

"You be safe now. Don't do anything stupid." Harry smiled a small, but genuine, smile.

"Don't worry Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure I'll just be seeing a dead body," he said. "Wouldn't be the first time." he added bitterly. He walked over to Dumbledore. "Let's get this over with."

As Harry walked away, Molly couldn't contain herself anymore; she started crying. What if Voldemort wasn't dead, and this was a trap for Harry. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to stay here, nice and safe in her house. She wanted to stuff him full of cookies so he wouldn't look at thin as he did. She wanted to hug him and never let him go; to tell him she loved him, and that he would always have a place here.

"Please take my arm Harry, and hold on tight." Dumbledore said. He knew how much Harry hated apparating, but there wasn't any other choice. Harry took hold of his arm, and they were gone.

Molly bursts into full on sobs. Arthur made his way across the room to his wife before enveloping her in a loving embrace, stroking her hair as she sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

"Don't worry, Molly. He will come back perfectly fine. Albus would never allow anything to happen to him. He will come back. He will come back."

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Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please, if you have the time, I would really appreciate a review of some kind. Have a happy day!

--Kade--