Author's Note: YES, I know I'm still writing Glass, but I figured, when I have writer's block on one, why not start on another that I can write on while I have WB? Let's hope I don't get writer's block at the same time. :( Anyway, I hope you enjoy...and I hope this story gets better reviews than the one I'm currently writing - Glass. I'm seriously considering taking that story down. Anyway, leave me a review, and I need a beta for both Glass and Granite! Thank you.
Disclaimer: Not mine, thanks.
Prologue
I can't say that I've ever killed anything really. Or at least, I hadn't. The spiders in my cupboard didn't really count...nor the basilisk. Monsters, the lot of them. When this battle started, I was pretty sure that my soul could come out unscathed, or at least, that's what I'd been telling myself for a whole year. I spent the year training, undergoing some of the most grueling and sometimes most gruesome teachings I've ever endured in my life. For Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus Lupin taught me. For those of you that think that Remus Lupin is a cuddly version of a very thin, larger teddy bear, I'm about to dissuade you of that notion. In fact, I believe that Moony would've done Alastor Moody proud. Remus either took a page from his book, or Moody taught him how to glare like that. Of which, I'm not sure.
My training in the grey areas and lighter areas of the Dark Arts was overseen by none other than Severus Snape himself. After the death of Albus Dumbledore, it took us awhile to get the letters that Dumbledore had written for us via belated owl post. By then, Severus had managed to make his way to Turkey. It took several members of the Order, and myself, nearly three months to track him down and lure him out. By the time he got finished teaching me what I'd needed to know, I could already feel a taint on my soul. It was something that concerned Severus, even as we moved on to Occlumency and Legilimency. Hell...it concerned me. It still concerns me.
I had a lot of other teachers, each teaching me unique forms of magic, most of them battle magics for the upcoming war at the time. I've never been so afraid in my life. Not of Voldemort, but for what I stood to lose. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Severus, even Draco, who ended up coming to fight for the Light after being scared out of his wits by the Dark Lord. We never saw that one coming. And I can remember...I can remember going into the fight and feeling this weird sense of numbness overtake me. That it didn't matter who I killed, who died...that those who fought against us all deserved to die for what they'd put us all through.
I don't know how many Death Eaters I killed before I reached Voldemort. Nor how many vampires, giants or werewolves that went down in the fray. All I can remember is steering clear of the Dementors. Blasted beasts. Then those red eyes. I had this notion once of where I could get eyes like that. They look so damn freaky and scary, that there must be a way to make them look cool. It was all I could do not to laugh at the stupid thoughts that had entered my head, my only way to stay sane as I stared at that pale skin, stretched taut over bone with few muscles. I can't say I remember much of our fight, but the one thing I do remember is the way he looked when he fell. The surprise etched over his features as he realized all of his Horcruxes were destroyed, and he? He was dead. Gone. A memory. He got more mercy than he deserved...
As the feeling of triumph surged through my veins, I watched his army fall to pieces. Apparently, whatever spell he was using to keep them in control had vanished at his death. Chaos ensued, and in the midst of trying to end a battle that was already won, I saw them fall. Watched them fall...felt my triumph die in my chest. Heads of red, one of the bushiest brown I'd ever seen. In a split second, they were gone. Once that hit home, very few Death Eaters made it out alive. Those that did? I'm still hunting. They killed my family, my friends...the only foundation in my life I'd ever known. They won't survive. I'll make them pay, howl for mercy...
God, in some way I'm just like him. In some ways, I don't give a damn. They stole Ron. They stole Hermione, and Ginny, and Fred and George. They stole life! Lives that were mine to protect! They stole them from me. Just as they took from me, so I will take from them. I'm falling into the dark, etching my name on a granite wall that holds so few before me. I can hear it calling, just from the deepest of shadows. Such a beautiful sound, like music. Yet I know that if I give in, they will have to save the world from me. I cannot be like him, even when my world is shattered.
Fates above? Is there no reprieve for me? Cannot you grant me the smallest of mercies? My foundation for a pound of flesh...take my heart if you must. I want them back. I need them back...can you not see? Please...
There's my bus. I suppose I should get on with it then? No smoking...damnit.
And the Fates listened...and decided that for such a young one to give so much and save so many, he required very little in return. When the wizarding world awoke the next morning, the headlines threw their world into happy chaos. Somewhere else? One dark haired boy remained sorrowfully oblivious.