So...I was thinkin'. And I was like "Ehhh, what the fuck. Let's write something today." So here's today's drabble:

Basically, in the DoM, Harry trips, and falls through the Veil. He returns a couple seconds later, but he isn't "all there." He is murderous, and really doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone, especially the law.

All combat in the Veil Room, as the Unspeakables had aptly named it, ceased. First, Sirius Black had been pushed through the Veil by Bellatrix Lestrange (who was still giggling sporadically about it), then Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore's Gryffindor Golden Boy, had tripped on a rock, and fallen face-first through the Veil. Bellatrix guffawed at that, doubling over, tears of mirth streaming from her eyes. That was the only sound in the Department of Mysteries, until it suddenly ceased. Where Bellatrix's head had been only a couple seconds earlier, was just empty space. Immediately, blood spurted from the stump, and also the severed head, as her corpse toppled over, falling gracelessly down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. The combatants watched in utter shock and befuddlement (always wanted to use that word ^^) as a man stepped from the Veil. He was built, though not to the point of disgustingness or being a muscle-bound freak. He also sported a full beard, prematurely white. His hair was also prematurely white, with flecks of jet black intermingled. His eyes were really what set him apart. They were a sickly green, the same color as the infamous "AK" curse. He wielded no wand. Instead, he held a silver, ruby-hilted sword in his right hand, and a small Muggle pistol in his left hand. Using the afore-mentioned pistol, he fired a volley at the men and women cloaked in black. Whether or not they were wearing skull masks didn't matter to him. Three bodies dropped before the others ducked behind overturned tables. Unfortunately for them, they had never even seen a gun before, let alone fought against an opponent wielding one. The bullets tore through the wooden tables with ease and those who hid behind them screamed as bullets pierced their bodies. One of them, a blonde politician, screamed like a little girl as he was shot in his left asscheek. The white-haired man laughed rather maniacally as the blonde squirmed around, both hands gripping his ass, all the while hopping up and down in agony.
"Poor, poor little Lucy! Aww, did mean ol' Hawwy huwt your feewings?"
One of the black-cloaked fighters tried to make a run for it, while "Hawwy" was distracted by Blondie. The sword flew threw the air, impaling the coward in the head, crushing the skull as it imbedded itself in a stone column. Still keeping his pistol trained on the cowering, sniveling bastards that called themselves "Death Eaters," he scooped down to the floor and, seeming to sculpt it out of the stone floor itself, an assault rifle materialized in his right hand. He stuck the pistol into a holster on his belt and grabbed the rifle with both hands. One of the DE's peeked around one of the columns, and, seeming to not even bother aiming, shot once. The DE toppled backwards, a bleeding hole in his forehead.
Nott hid behind one of the columns, clutching to the crucifix around his neck as if it were a lifeline.
"F-f-f-f-father, H-h-hallowed be Thy n-name,
Thy k-k-k-kingdom c-c-come; T-t-thy Will be done-" he squeezed his eyes shut as the gunshots got closer and closer. An ominous shadow loomed over him.
"Shut the fuck up, you goddamn twat."
Gunshots rang again through the Veil Room, and Nott slid down the side of the column, blood smearing all over it on the way down. He gurgled for a moment, choking on his own blood, before the light of life left his eyes.
All spellfire in the Veil Room had ceased, and the survivors, those who hadn't fired spells against him, trembled at the sheer ease that he had brutally killed Britain's greatest magical terrorists. They turned, abruptly, from their inspection of the carnage, by the sound of his voice.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill everyone here," the man spoke quietly, but power seeped from his words.
Unfortunately, Mundungus Fletcher was not the brightest bulb in the world.
"Harry!? Is that you?!"
The man swept his hand swiftly in front of Dung's face.

So I got to thinkin'. At the time, I really wanted to read a gang!Harry, not a raised-by-Italian/Russian Mafia/ Yakuza. 'Cuz let's face it- there are WAY too many of those out there. So I was like, "Fine. If they won't make one, I will."

Harry Potter had fallen so, so far. He had been a top Auror for a couple years, until he'd taken a particularly nasty curse to his wand arm. As if to add insult to injury, it had been fucking Lestrange, too. Lost in his pain and rage, Harry had done something he'd sworn he'd never do: he'd shot an AK at Lestrange. It barely hit Lestrange, but it snuffed him out like a light.
Harry would never forget the look in his eyes. They went from a rich, ebony black to a dull, glazed-over shade, a shadow of their former selves.
When he saw what he had done, Harry's stomach had immediately emptied its contents on Lestrange's poor corpse.
"Fuck," he cursed as he wiped the bile from his lips. He vomited again. Fortunately for him, there was nothing more to vomit, so it was only bile. Unfortunately for Lestrange, his corpse had once again been the target chosen by Harry's stomach.
Harry wrinkled his nose at the taste and smell of the vomit, and spat out a wad of bile.
"Fresco; Scourgify."
He transfigured Lestrange into a

"Kill the spare," a cold voice hissed.

"Avada Kedavra!" Wormtail shouted.

A flash of bright green, then the older of the two boys, a Hufflepuff by the color of his robes' trim, toppled over, dead. Panic flashed through the younger boy's eyes, and he drew his wand, hiding behind a gravestone. He peeked over the grave hesitantly. A red spell, most likely a Stunner, flew over his head.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted. The spell missed the pudgy man.

"Harry Potter…" the cold voice seemed to murmur incoherently from the small bundle in Wormtail's hands.

"Incarcerous!" Wormtail, in a rare show of intelligence, summoned ropes around the grave. They also wrapped around the young man on the other side of the gravestone. He levitated the grave, turning it around so that the boy could face him and his Master.

"Wormtail," the boy snarled.

The rather short, pudgy man smiled, showing yellowed, rotting teeth. He animated the statue above the grave of one Thomas Riddle, Sr., and used it to hold the boy in place, after summoning his wand. The teenager struggled against the grip of the stone statuary, but it would not yield in the slightest. A large, round cauldron simmered atop a blazing fire. The contents of the bundle, seemingly a hideous baby, were dumped unceremoniously into the cauldron.

Wormtail stuttered slightly as he intoned, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

He walked over to the boy, drawing a knife from his sleeve. Holding the young man's arm still, he made a clean incision into the flesh of the teen's arm. The boy cried out in pain as the knife dragged across his skin, exposing a tiny portion of the muscle underneath.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will revive your foe."

Finally, Wormtail approached the cauldron, visibly shaking. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will resurrect your Master."

He staggered back as the cauldron melted, a pungent, metallic scent filling the air. A newly resurrected Lord Voldemort rose from a fetal position, completely naked.

"Wormtail," he hissed. "Robe me."

"Y-yes, Master," a pale Wormtail stuttered, his right arm bleeding heavily.

"Your arm, Wormtail."

Wormtail presented the stump of his right arm, hoping that the Dark Lord would be merciful and end his suffering. Voldemort harshly grabbed the other arm, rolling up the sleeve, and pressed his yew and phoenix feather wand to the black tattoo. After a moment of seeming contemplation, he waved his wand, and a thread of silver shot out of the tip, forming a hand of silver, which attached itself to the stump of Wormtail's hand.

Almost immediately, figures began to appear from nowhere, quickly followed by the Crack! of Apparition. The were all garbed in black, a mask resembling a skull hiding their identities.

As soon as they landed, each of them kneeled in front of the Dark Lord.

"Ah, my loyal soldiers," Voldemort hissed. "It seems these past thirteen years have been quite comfortable for you, wouldn't you agree, Lucius?"

The blonde man removed his mask, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"M-my Lord, we searched for you as far as we could, but we could not find you."

The Dark Lord spat, his face morphing into an ugly sneer.

"Lies! You did not search for me, nor assist me in any way on my path to resurrection! Crucio!"

Lucius cried out in agony as the curse took effect, his entire body seizing up in response to the unexpected pain.

"I- I am sorry, my Lord! Please, I beg of you, forgive me!"

Voldemort ended the curse with a wave of his wand.

"Do not disappoint me in such a manner again, Lucius, or the consequences will be most dire."

He looked around him, noting the places where certain members were missing. He knew the Lestranges were currently incarcerated in Azkaban, and he expected Snape to be at Hogwarts, further gaining the trust of Dumbledore. The only other Death Eaters who were missing were Karkaroff, Barty Crouch, Jr., and Regulus Black. He sneered at the memory of the traitor.

When he had finished speaking to the Death Eaters, Voldemort approached the restrained teenager.

"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the supposed "slayer of the Dark Lord". Look how helpless you are compared to me."

His tone was smug as he walked up to Harry. He reveled in the screams of pain from the boy as he pressed his index finger to the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead. He stepped away from Harry and raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

It was, by far, the most agonizing thing that the teen had ever experienced. It felt like the cells of his body were tearing apart and reconnecting in an endless pattern. Though it seemed like years to Harry, Voldemort only held him under the Cruciatus for around a minute, as prolonged exposure to the curse could render the victim either insane or in a catatonic state. Frank and Alice Longbottom were perfect examples of the latter.

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort canceled the curse. Harry panted, his body still on fire with pain. Voldemort floated Harry's wand to the boy, before challenging him to a duel.

"Bow," he hissed. At Harry's refusal, he intoned another of the Unforgivable Curses. "Imperio!" "Bow, boy! Did Dumbledore teach you nothing?!"

Even though his mind resisted, his body gave into the curse.

"Fuck you," he cursed through gritted teeth. Voldemort and the Death Eaters laughed.

"The mighty Potter, finally beaten by the Dark Lord!" Lucius Malfoy taunted.

With a surprisingly large amount of effort, Harry's hand rose to a visible level, middle finger extended in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy's face reddened in indignation and he drew his wand, a Cruciatus on his lips, before Voldemort turned and almost casually threw a Cruciatus at Malfoy. He gritted his teeth, trying not to scream from the agony, but it escaped him anyways. He drew a sigh of relief when his Master ended the curse.

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "You are trying my patience. Refrain from doing so in the future."

Returning his attention to Harry, his own wand rose to eye level, and he bowed, as was a common courtesy in Magical dueling.

Voldemort threw curse after curse at Harry, each fouler and darker than the last. Harry ducked and bobbed, hiding behind graves when they were nearby. A Blood-Boiling Curse skimmed over his head, creating an acidic substance upon striking the grave behind Harry. The bottom half of the headstone melted away within seconds, but an inscription remained, "Hostis est ultimum occidi illi Mors." Under that, was a surname Harry recognized, yet he couldn't quite place: Peverell. He glanced to his left. The Tri-Wizard Cup lay on its side, next to the dead 'Puff.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Harry cursed as another curse sailed overhead, this one the sickly green color of the Killing Curse. He leapt for the Cup, landing in a heap on top of Cedric's cold, dead body, just before the Portkey whisked him away, back to the grounds of Hogwarts Castle.

Harry Potter, age thirteen, shot up in his bed, scar throbbing, and the dream vivid in his mind. He reflected on it for a moment, before deciding to write a letter to Sirius, telling him what had occurred. His hand went up to his scar, and his fingertips came away red, covered in blood. The warm liquid dribbled down his face, landing on the oversized tank top he wore. He wiped the remainder of the blood with an edge of the bedspread. He fished out a notebook and a pen, and began to write a letter to his Godfather.

To my favorite Dogfather Padfoot,

How are you doing?

Is Buckbeak with you?

Are the Cloak and the Map coming to good use?

Where are you? Wait, don't answer that, in case this is intercepted by someone.

Last night, I had a strange dream. It was almost as if I were the person both in the events and watching at the same time. Here's what I can remember:

Two boys entered a graveyard. One was probably a year or two older than me, and the other was around seventeen or eighteen. I think he was a Hufflepuff, by the color of his robes' trim. I couldn't tell the color of the other person's robes.

Wormtail was there, holding something that looked like a really ugly baby. I think it was Voldemort. The baby said something like "Kill the spare," then Wormtail used the Killing Curse on the older boy.

Wormtail and the younger boy fought for a little while, but Wormtail was able to beat him and tied him to a grave. He dumped the baby in a cauldron, then he used a ritual, I think that's what it was anyways, using "bones of the father", "blood of the enemy", and "flesh of the servant". He levitated some dust out of one of the graves for the first part. For the second part, he cut the boy's arm and took some of the blood. For the last part, Wormtail cut off his own hand.

After adding all the ingredients to the cauldron, it broke apart and Voldemort came out. He took his wand from Wormtail and summoned a bunch of people. They kinda reminded me of the Ku Klux Klan from America, but their robes were black, instead of white, and they were wearing skull masks over their faces. They taunted the boy, then he and Voldemort dueled, and some of the people joined in later. The boy ended up escaping, but just barely.

The dream ended there. When I woke up, my scar was bleeding. It's never done that after a dream.

Do you have any advice?

Love and good luck,

Prongs, Jr.

Harry folded up the letter, and tied it to Hedwig's leg.

"Get this to Sirius Black. If he writes a reply, can you take that, as well?"

If looks could kill, Harry would have died ten times over from the glare that Hedwig gave him. He laughed good-naturedly. "All right, Hedwig. Just wanted to make sure."

She turned her back to him, and, after a few seconds, took off into the skies. Harry sighed and plopped on the tiny, moldy cot. For the next few minutes, he engrossed himself in an intense staring contest with the ceiling. He sat up, slipping his trainers on, and exited No. 4, Privet Drive, closing the door as quietly as possibly. His relatives wouldn't care if he left, so long as he didn't disturb them. He walked quickly in the warm late June air, not heading in any specific direction. As he walked, Harry thought about the dream. It had seemed so vivid, almost as if it were one of his memories from when he was a baby. When his musings ended, he was in a part of Surrey that was less than reputable.

Harry walked at a brisk pace, not really watching where he was going, so absorbed in his thoughts. The dream still puzzled him. Why did the boy seem so familiar? He was interrupted from his thoughts by a foot that nearly tripped him, courtesy of his 300-pound cousin. Dudley and his gang of hoodlums laughed, and Harry walked on, lifting his hand so they could see the raised middle finger. Their laughter stopped and they advanced on his turned back.

Dudley spoke, "Where do you think you're going? Get back here and get your arse beaten, you freak!"

Harry walked on, as if oblivious to his cousin's raving. Said cousin didn't enjoy being ignored. Not in the slightest. So, he did the first thing his single brain cell told him to do for attention. He ran up to Harry and kicked him in the back. Harry stumbled at the blow, and turned around. He leaned into Dudley, getting in his face, and hissed, "What the fucking hell do you want, you goddamned arsehole?!"

Shocked that the "freak" knew such words, Dudley stepped backward, away from Harry's angry face. At that moment, Harry had never been more glad that he was roommates with Dean Thomas. He was both amusing and creative, and was easily one of the most vulgar characters at Hogwarts. Harry continued on his walk, shoulders slumped, and Dudley went back to his friends.

By the time Harry had finished his walk, the sun had begun to set. The reds, yellows, and oranges were accented by the darker purple of the sky above. As he approached No. 4, Privet Drive, he noted that Dudley's shoes were thrown in a heap by the front door.

Shiiiiiittttt, he thought. Dudley would no doubt have told his parents about Harry's reaction, and Vernon would overreact, as usual. He would likely at least attempt to hit Harry, if not, outright beat him. The latter was more likely. Harry slipped his shoes off, and, as quietly as he could, opened the door. Unfortunately, his uncle had been waiting for him. As soon as Harry entered, his face turned a rather impressive mix of red and purple.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!? We feed you, we put those fucking clothes on your back, and this is how you pay us back?!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did I do this time?

If it were possible, his uncle's face would have gotten even redder at that statement.

"You tried to get our son fucking arrested, that's what, you fucking retarded freak!" Vernon shouted, spittle flying into Harry's face.

Harry grimaced and wiped the spittle out of his eyes. In all honesty, he was rather tired of his uncle's shit. He sighed inwardly. Of course Dudley would have blown the event way out of proportion.

Fucking cock-suckers, both of them, Harry thought. Damn it, Grif. Wait! Where the hell did that come from?

"Get out! Get out! Get the hell out of my fucking house with your freakishness!"

Something in Harry snapped then. "Fine! If you want me out so badly, I'll fucking leave! Don't expect my help when Voldemort comes calling." Behind him, Petunia paled. She knew enough of the magical world to know the weight behind that name.

Petunia attempted to make amends between her husband and the teenager. "Vernon, perhaps we can-"

Harry quietly intervened before she could continue, slamming that door as he flipped Vernon the bird. He had a dangerous edge in his voice.

"Really, I've had quite enough of you and your shit. First, you throw me in a cupboard and leave me there to starve to death. Then you beat and abuse me any way you can. Harry paused, gathering his thoughts. So if you don't mind, I'll end this fucked-up relationship with a 'fuck you, but have a nice death'!"

Vernon's ham-like fist flew towards Harry. However, Harry ducked under the punch, drawing his wand and sending off a Levitating Charm. He floated away from Harry, flailing his fat arms and cursing his ass off, before Harry hit him with a Petrificus Totalis and a Silencing Curse as well. Petunia hid in a corner, trying to make herself seem as small of a target as possible, should he turn his wand on her.

"Stay out of my way."

"Potter, Harry James. Twenty-eight years of age. Auror. Deceased. Cause of death: Inferi." Minister of Magic Percival Weasley smiled grimly.

"Good. Were you able extract his memories?"

The cloaked Unspeakable in front of him nodded.

"We were. Here they are."

He handed Percy a vial filled with a viscous silvery liquid.

"Fuck!" Harry Potter cursed, casting a ward against the waves of undead swarming toward him. "Sectumsempra! Sextaclus! Pen'alpus Envardan!"

Harry had been sent to investigate reports of undead wandering about near the ruins of Malfoy Manor. The reports had been surprisingly accurate. Charred and likewise mutilated corpses were wandering around the ruins of Malfoy Manor and the nearby crypts.

'Somebody or something is here, otherwise these Inferi wouldn't be here. That or really fucking powerful magic.'

There were dozens of corpses wandering about, wearing clothing from many different timeframes. Some were dressed in modern attire, both wizardly and muggle, while others were dressed in combat fatigues, faded red badges bearing Hitler's swastika on their sleeves. A couple skeletons were even dressed in Roman armor. Some wore clothing that had, at one time, been richly decorated Gaelic robes, but were now little more than tattered rags.

Harry drew his magic up inside himself before casting the most powerful spell he knew.

"Ego Vocabo Ignis,

Ignis Perpatuus; Flammus Inextinctas,

Calore; Ignis,

In Beelzebub Fiendfyre infyrnus!"

Harry watched as his creation, a dozen Giants made of Fiendfyre, lay waste to the ranks of the unsuspecting undead. Bones flew everywhere; rotting flesh was crushed and splattered all over. Harry cancelled his spell, and the Giants merged into one creature, one of indescribable beauty and yet unimaginable horror. Harry was forced to look away when the light from the creature threatened to blind him. The

"Avada Kedavra!"

Those two words echoed around the courtyard of Hogwarts School of Bitchcraft and Hypocrisy. Lord Voldemort had finally triumphed over that stupid f**ktard Harry Potter. Almost all of the late teen's friends had systematically either joined Voldemort or been killed off. The Darkest Wanker of the century let out a truly evil laugh, chilling both allies and enemies to the bone, which promptly turned into a long, hacking cough.

Harry Potter got up of the white floor, feeling woozy and disoriented. Wait, white? Yep, definitely white. Where the hell am I? he wondered. Suddenly a figure came out of the mist that surrounded him. "Professor Dumbledore? Is that you? What are you doing here?" The old man scratched his beard with a confused expression on his face. "Dumbledore? Who the hell is this Dumbledore? I am Albert Dildodorf, Head Tacher at Porcupineblisters School of Stupidity and Shittiness, Order of the Old Gay Dudes, First Class, and Chief Asshole of the Assholegamot." Al puffed up his chest, looking like a ruffled grouse in the process, extremely proud of his titles. "Tacher? What's a Tacher?" Harry, being the stupid dumb-ass that he is, was still stuck on the Tacher part. "A Tacher, my young friend, also called a teacher-" Harry interrupted Dildodorf's soon-to-be monologue. "So you're a teacher. Why are you called a Tacher?" Dildodorf, in his apparently infinite patience, explained. "I am called a Tacher because of a fucking spelling error from that goddamn piece of shit good-for-nothing author that's totally not writing this right now." Harry, still mystified, nodded. Suddenly, another figure appeared from the mist. He looked quite a bit like a young Dumbledore. He walked up to Harry and shook his hand vigorously. "Hello, I am Al-Wal Humblewhore, Headmaster of Dogshit Academy for Whores and Dick-Suckers, Order of the Shitty Stupid-asses, First Class, and Chief Manipulative Fucker of the Manipulative Fuckergamot, and an overall pornstar that was never really that great but thinks he was the fucking awesomest person in the whole damn world. Harry wiped his hand off on his trousers after shaking Humblewhore's hand. Harry, Dildodorf, and Humblewhore watched as two more 'umble'ores emerged from the mist. Two hours and thirty-seven more 'umble'ores and 'il'o'orfs, Harry was nearing the breaking point of names of he could remember. The next wave of 'umble'ores came, but even this wave, numbering over four billion, wasn't even close to a five hundred millionth this time- not even a five hundred millionth percent of the sheer amount of 'umble'ores in the White Space of Shittiness. Harry died again, this time of a heart attack, after seeing several hundred thousand 'umble'ores decide to have a huge orgy. Dildodorf and Humblewhore looked at his dead body, shrugged, and proceeded to shag each other to death.

Harry shot up from his bed, already having sweated approximately three thousand pints of water. My God, he thought. That was a horrible dream. Harry shuddered. Seeing eight hundred and forty-one thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two 'umble'ores fuck each other was not something he wanted to go through again.

Disclaimer: Me no own shit.

A/N: All the events of the HP series have been pushed up by ten years, instead of Harry and Neville being born in 1980, they were born a decade later, etc. Btw, first story, will ignore flames, blah blah blah. Anyways, on to the actual story.

Disciplus Mortis (otherwise known as "Champion of Death")

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Hogwarts Main Courtyard

Tom Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as his alias, Lord Voldemort, snorted at his nemesis' choice of spells. What a fool Dumbledore was, telling his little bird-watching club not to kill, but to stun and disarm. "Harry, Harry, Harry," he addressed his foe, shaking his head. "Why do you resist? All it does is get what few friends you have dead and the others turn against you." He was speaking the truth. Neville, Luna, Fred, George, Colin and dozens of others were already dead. Ron and Ginny had joined Voldemort, taking the Dark Mark only a few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding. When the Death Eaters had attacked, the traitorous duo had joined them, personally killing Arthur and Bill. Fleur was now only a shell of her former self. Harry looked around him. Cho Chang was furiously dueling an unmasked Walden Macnair, Percy had his old bosses, Fudge and Umbitch cornered and was sending AKs their way, McGonagall and Flitwick were retreating from a team of five Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers. Almost all the other defenders were either dead or dying. "Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort sent a killing curse his way, but Harry dodged. He momentarily forgot, however, that the Granger mudblood had been dueling two Death Humpers behind him, and the curse hit her in the side. She fell, dead, then was torn to shreds by an Entrail Expelling curse. Draco Malfoy watched in horror as his mother, who had betrayed the Dark Lord with him, was smashed into a bloody paste by a troll's club. Harry turned back to Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra!" they shouted simultaneously. The two curses met, one filled with anger and hate at the world, and the other fueled by rage and a desire for revenge. An explosion rocked the area nearby as the curses both rebounded, erasing their masters from this plane of existence.

Limbo (or whatever the hell the white King's Cross place is called)

Harry woke in Limbo and climbed to his feet, ready for a fight, before he realized where he was. He looked around him and saw someone approaching him. She had deep, rich red hair and bright emerald green eyes. "Mum?" he choked out, wondering how in the world his mum could be here. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Potter, but I'm not your mum. The name's Thanatos." As the mist around them cleared somewhat, Harry was able to see two large black feathered wings. Harry remembered one of his history teachers in primary school mentioning Thanatos and the Olympians of Ancient Greece. Before he could ask if Thanatos was supposed to be a guy or not, she spoke, "As you can see, I am not male. My second-in-command, the Grim Reaper that's usually mistaken for me, decided that since you, Voldemort and Dumbles are all dead, the mortal world is getting boring. So he decided to release some of my least-favorite demons on the mortals. He also let Faggot and the Moldy Wanker out of Punishment. To make things worse, he took almost half of my men with him. Just with Fag out of Punishment, the world, balance, whatever you want to call it, will be-" at Harry's lost expression, she switched to Trollish, while rubbing her temples and cursing his stupidity. "Several lesser demons have been released on Earth, as have Dumbledore and Voldemort. They were sent back into their younger bodies by my second-in-command, who thought the earth was too boring with you three gone," she said this slowly, as if he were a five year-old. "Unfortunately, when they were released, my second-in-command, or Reapie as I like to call him, went with them. He could literally be anyone or anything, even an object."

"Harry James Potter, να αποδεχθεί τα δικαιώματα και τις υποχρεώσεις του να γίνει πρωταθλητής μου, ενσαρκωμένη θανάτου?"*

Without even knowing what he was saying, he responded in the same tongue. "Θάνατος, δέχομαι την ευγενική προσφορά σας. Θα πρέπει να είναι υπόδειγμα και πρεσβευτής στη Γη σας."*

"Στη συνέχεια θα πρέπει να είναι πρεσβευτής μου και είναι ένας φάρος της δύναμής μου για τους θνητούς στα παρακάτω επίπεδα. Σήκω, παιδί μου, και να πάρει τη θέση σας ως τον πρίγκιπα του θανάτου."*

Leaning close to his ear and putting a hand right above his heart, she whispered, "You'll probably notice a few changes when you get back."

A stream of magic flowed from Thanatos' hand and into Harry's chest. When enough power of her power had been sent into the boy, she drew her hand back. When Harry opened his eyes, they were a darker, more dangerous shade of green, and his hair, once an unruly raven's nest, was moderately neat. It was also darker than it had been before, morphing from almost brown to a dark obsidian black. The skin of his back boiled and bubbled for several seconds, before two wings, a similar shade to his hair, tore their way out of his back.

As he stood there, Thanatos walked up to him and pressed one finger to his forehead, exactly where the scar was. Well, that was where it used to be. With the Voldemort's horcrux out of his head, the scar had faded, and, when Harry had died, it had completely disappeared.

An influx of knowledge flowed into his mind, but they were primarily memories. Most were Dumbledore's, but there were a few from Grindelwald and Voldemort. Harry saw a much younger Albus plotting with Grindelwald to take control of the world, making the Muggles their slaves along the way, then he felt Dumbledore's exasperation and annoyance when "dear old Gellie", as Dumbledore had taken to calling him, tried to take it by force through the Second World War. Harry saw the way Dumbledore had molded Tom Riddle into the perfect Dark Lord for him to defeat through subtle, but often Compulsion charms and potions in his food. Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Goat-buggering Too-Many-Titles-And-Way-Too-Many-Goddamn-Middle-Names Dumbledore created Lord Moldy-Balls! Harry realized.

Caterpillar-fucking marsupial-humping twat! I'm gonna fucking kill that souffle-shitting cock-sucker…

After saying many more swear words which we will not mention, Harry slightly calmed down. However, there was still more to come. Harry watched decades pass in only the space of a few seconds, looking in satisfaction at the army of blood purists he had created. After that, the orphaned Harry Potter came along, and he became just what he was destined to become, a tool, a weapon, in human form. He had only needed to feed Snape only a few Compulsions, to increase his hate of the boy's father, and, in extension, young Harry.

When the memories ceased, Harry's eyes flickered to a dark, destructive blood red. "Calm down, you'll have your revenge eventually," Thanatos scolded, annoyed at how emotional humans could be.

It was a fortunate thing that Thanatos had saved that Titan-spawn's life a few years back, otherwise Kronos wouldn't nearly be as compliant with her wishes. "Kronos, it is time." Thanatos said, chuckling inwardly at the pun.

Thanatos put a hand on Harry's shoulder and with a pop, they were in the bowels of Tartarus, in front of a circle of runes. Some of the runes were oddly shaped. To Harry, two of the runes that were side-by-side looked like a pair of mammary glands, and another that looked either like the Eye of Sauron or a vag-

Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry chastised himself.

Kronos had gathered eleven of his most powerful minions for the ceremony.

Thanatos led Harry to the center of the circle and stepped back. Kronos, Thanatos and the minions, most of which were short, faintly yellow and usually cyclopean, began chanting in a language known only to gods. To Harry it sounded like "Ha-ho-wa-hee-ha-ho-ho-ho, ha-ho-wa-hee-ha-ho-ho-ho…"

Harry also noted that the minions looked vaguely like Twinkies. After they were finished with their chant, Kronos walked up to Harry and shook his hand. "From this moment on, you'll now be known as Deathbait."

"Deathbait hoo ha ha!" The minions shouted in unison.

"Welcome Brother Deathbait!"

"Deathbait hoo ha ha!"

"Okay enough with the Deathbait!" Kronos ordered. One of the dumber minions, also slow of hearing finished, "Deathbait! ooh..ba..badoo."

Kronos sighed at the stupidity of his best minions. "The ritual's done, Thanatos, can we go now?"

The present Death God pouted. "Well, after you send him back into his previous body, sure."

Kronos sighed and snapped his fingers. "Done. Happy now?" Before anything else could be said, Harry was whisked back in time, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like the sound our favorite blue police box makes.

Harry woke with a scream of agony as the current soul was torn out of Harry's body and replaced with a new one.

A/N: This is a rough translation of the Greek above:

"Do you, Harry James Potter, accept the rights and responsibilities of becoming my champion, Death incarnate?"

"Death, I accept your gracious offer. I shall be your embodiment and ambassador on Earth."

"Then be my ambassador and a beacon of my strength to the mortals in the planes below. Arise, my son, and take your place as the prince of Death."

Notes:

Soul gems- containing souls that Thanatos doesn't want to deal with, list of human ingredients from Ed Elric

Water, 35 liters

Carbon, 20 kilograms

Ammonia, 4 liters

Lime, 1.5 kilograms

Phosphorous, 800 grams

Salt, 250 grams

Saltpeter, 100 grams

Sulfur, 80 grams

Fluorine, 7.5 grams

Iron, 5 grams

Silicon, 3 grams

And trace amounts of 15 other elements.

Previously

Before anything else could be said, Harry was whisked back in time, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like the sound our favorite blue police box makes. Harry

woke with a scream of agony as the current soul was torn out of Harry's body and replaced with a new one.

Present

Damn Death God, Harry thought as he experienced pain just as bad as one of Voldemort's Cruciatus curses. As Harry's soul replaced his current one, a magical backlash went through the house, sending the pots and pans in the neat, perfect kitchen flying and fracturing part of the gaslines underneath the house. The door to his room, the cupboard underneath the stairs was ripped open and the angry face of his uncle emerged.

"Just what the hell is happening in here, brat? Shut up, you goddamn freak!"

Vernon was about to slam the door to the cupboard shut, but found he couldn't move. He tried to shout about freakish behavior and beating the little shit to within an inch of death, but he found he couldn't do that, either. A bolt of black magic from Harry's hand smashed into him and his chest exploded, killing the muggle in a single flash of excruciating pain and covering the walls with gore. However, the hubbub downstairs had attracted the attention of his horse-faced wife, and she came down the stairs, annoyed at her husband and brat of a nephew. A small bit of the black magic acted like a blade and split her body in two horizontally, but not before seeing the extent of her nephew's freakishness, a pair of black feathered wings sprouting from his back. Harry stumbled out of Number 4 Privet Drive for the final time. As he turned his back on the house, fumes from the gaslines filled the house, and, within just a few hours, Number 4 Privet Drive was a raging inferno.

After climbing aboard the Knight Bus, he got to thinking, an extremely difficult thing to do while zipping across the countryside, dodging cars and hopping over buildings and trees the entire trip. By the time the Bus had reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was ready to vomit. Harry entered the dingy pub, making sure that the infamous lightning bolt scar was covered by his hair. He approached Tom, the elderly bartender and asked him how much a room was per night. "Three galleons and sixteen sickles," was his answer. Since when was a room at the Leaky Cauldron so expensive? Harry wondered that as he walked toward Gringotts. He approached the nearest available teller, who scowled at Harry, annoyed at having to deal with a wizard so late in the day.

"Good evening," Harry greeted the small magical creature. The goblin arched one eyebrow, surprised at courtesy from a human, let alone a wizard. "I would like to make a withdrawal from my account."

"Name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Key?"

"Umm… I don't have a key."

The goblin stroked his chin, as if in deep thought. "Well, there's another way to test if you're who you say you are…."

Harry perked up at that. He would need the money in his vault if he were to pay for room and board, clothing and anything else he would need. "Really? Can we do it now?"

The teller flipped his "open" sign to "closed" and walked around the desk. "Follow me, human." Not finding being referred to as "human" preferable, Harry followed Bloodhook down a flight of stairs, up another, around a corner, down a slide, and fell on his face, by a 5-inch diameter hole.

The goblin looked at Harry with slight disdain as he began to explain what the hole was used for.

"This hole will analyze the DNA in whatever body part is put in there. In case you're retarded, it'll tell us who you are. Make sense?"

"Uhh… okay."

The goblin smirked. "All right. Now stick your dick in there."

Harry looked closely at the hole. "Umm… Mr. Goblin, there's a problem."

The goblin grunted. "What is it, human?"

"The hole is too small."

A snort escaped the goblin, then a chuckle.

"Finally, a wizard with a sense of humor! Most just do as I tell them!"

"Are you shitting me?"

The goblin replied in a monotone, "No, I am not shitting you."

A few chuckles escaped Harry this time.

Challenge:

Harry Potter

intelligent

Starts young, he's a major trickster. He scares his relatives into leaving him alone. He has an avid computer interest and has been hacking as long as he's been able to use a computer. By fourth year, he has a supercomputer built by connecting several less powerful computers through a network. While he's at Hogwarts, the computer has been programmed to watch all stocks and buy and sell them at the most probable highest profit (not very taxing on the system). He has an agreement with his uncle that allows him to drain such large amounts of electricity and bandwidth for a percentage of his stock profits. He writes and refines programs while he's there away from Hogwarts, and spends an enormous amount of time trying to figure out what will allow electronics to work in magic infused areas. By fifth year, (he started studying at the end of first year) He's figured out that it takes very high powered currents to keep the electronics running. No amount of shielding or alloys work.

In fifth through seventh year, he designs more and more electronics throughout the time spent at Hogwarts and using them. First one he designs on the fly from several of his other projects was a unidirectional heat sensor to see if there was someone around corners. There's no screen, but it beeps if it detects a heat signature. It isn't too useful, but it warns them just before the Death Fuckers show up.

Disclaimer: I don't fuckin' own shit. I don't wanna fuckin' own shit.

Harry James Potter, age fourteen, was, to put it simply, not fucking amused. Some dumbfuck had decided to enter his name into the motherfucking Tri-Wiz Tourney. He rose from his seat as Albus Dumbledore called his name a second time. Suddenly feeling woozy, he stumbled up the steps, leaning against the Goblet of Fire. The flames flicked their way down the side of the Goblet, catching his robes on fire. The entire school laughed their collective ass off at the sight of him hopping up and down, trying to beat out hte flames. Unfortunately for him, his attempts to put out the magical flames just spread the flames further. In less than ten seconds, the flames had completely consumed him, burning him to a crisp. Dead silence filed the Great Hall, then the DADA teacher similarly burst into flames, leaving only a small pile of ashes.

Harry jerked up as Dean Thomas said, "Go on, mate."

He walked up to the dais, then turned and opened the side door, joining the other Champs (and Champette).

Blondie raised a slender eyebrow at his entrance.

"Do zhey want uz back in zhe 'all?"

Before Harry could respond appropriately, a rather portly, jovial, really fucking annoying little cock-sucker decided it was exactly the right fucking moment to walk into the room, announcing to the whole fucking world,

"Extraordinary! Simply extraordinary! A fourth Champion!"

The Champions, and their respective headmasters/ headmistress were outraged.

"What is zhis?! Zhis iz impozzible!" -Maxime

"Vhat?! 'Ow is that possible?!" -Karkaroff

"Well, what's the attention-seeking gloryhound going to do next, suddenly discover he's become the reincarnation of Merlin, Morgana le Fay, King Arthur, the Four Founders, and Sun Tzu all at once?" -Our favorite motherfucking snakey douchebag

"Fuck you too, Snape."

"What did you just say, Potter?!"

"Ducks are blue too, like tape."

He got a few odd looks from the foreigners and the Ministry bitches (the Hogwarts fags were used to it by now), but he accepted them. It's not like was gonna complain if he got a free chance to cuss at his least favorite teacher.