Chapter One: Back Home

A/N: This FanFic is inspired by S'Tarkin's Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past, however, it does not follow that story. The general story will be mine, but the characters and the inspiration came from others. I'd like to thank Shanzeh Black and phoenixtear 19 for doing me the honor of doing the beta for my Fic. I hope you all enjoy! Be sure to review to let me know how I'm doing!

At long last he had returned. Not like he had a choice, there weren't too many places he could go, even if he wanted to. The day was overcast, it seemed like it always rained or was about to start at any moment. The weather always seemed to match his mood. On the surface he would appear calm, as if nothing was wrong in the world. If you looked into his dull green eyes, there was more than a lifetime of torment and sadness. If you looked deeper still, you'd find a raging storm of emotions threatening to consume and destroy him from within.

He was a broken man. He was a man who had been asked way too much, and received too little. He was weary and battle hardened. The look in his eyes was as hard and cool as stone. His black, billowing battle robes were in tatters and his battle scars were many. On his right hand, was engraved the words 'I Must Not Tell Lies', further up on his forearm was another scar. This was caused by a Basilisk bite when he was twelve. On his shoulder there was a long scar made by a silver dagger. He shuddered at the memory of the graveyard in Little Hangleton. 'Blood of the Enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.' On his forehead, was his most prominent scar, it was the one that made him famous… It was the one scar that took his entire family away from him, including his parents, his godfather, the Weasleys, Remus and Tonks. He shuddered once more as another memory surfaced from the depths of his mind. 'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…'

He then remembered what things had been like all those many years ago. He was sad, but he did not mourn nor grieve… He didn't have time for such emotions. Nor did he shed any tears for all those who lives had been shattered by the war with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He had shed his last tear years ago, when… When it happened, and that was the last thing he wanted to think about as he finally returned to the one place he thought of as home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Then again, whether he wanted to or not he would remember. He would think about it, since it was here that it had happened. He pushed those thoughts aside and tried to remember the good times and how things were before. Before the fall of Hogwarts, before the collapse of the British Ministry of Magic, before all those who were lost in the bloody war with Voldemort… Before it happened and She had been taken from him. He stopped walking amongst the ruins of what was left of the school. His breath caught and he struggled to bring his emotions under control. He shut his eyes tightly, holding in the pain of all that had happened. He would not let himself be overcome by weakness. He would not succumb to the burdens of his shackles of the past. He knew that one day the pain he carried in him would serve him well when he finally faced his enemy and killed the ruddy bastard once and for all.

The End… He had thought about it constantly, yet it never came. He always felt it was in reach, he could just barely graze the surface with his fingertips, yet he could never catch it. It always eluded him. It was the golden snitch he could not catch. It was the one that always got away, when every precious second counted, and now it was too late. At one time he fought for those around him, to protect them, to love them and keep them safe. Ultimately he had failed them. One by one they fell. The Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army had both suffered heavy casualties during the war and now they were gone.

He made his way through the broken corridors moving around the rubble until he made his way to where the headmaster's office had been. When he reached the gargoyle, he slumped to his knees. The stress of the week was finally catching up with him. He wanted it all to end, one way or the other, he just wanted it to end, yet no end was in sight. It was if Death had eluded him, no it was as if Death evaded him. Like he was so tainted and cursed that even the bone-chilling, mind numbing presence of death had been so revolted by him that it had forsaken him.

He sat alone for sometime in front of the gargoyle. It wasn't until he was in front of what was left of the headmaster's office that he had fully realized all that he had lost. The last time he had been here Ron, Hermione, Bill, Arthur, Remus and Kingsley had all ambushed a group of over a dozen Death Eaters within the ruin of the hollowed walls of the once great institution of learning. He had quickly conversed with the few portraits still remaining. Unfortunately, although some of the frames were intact, the headmasters and headmistresses in some of the portraits no longer existed, as in the case of Phineas Nigellas when 'echo' was destroyed along with his 'other' portrait when Death Eaters at long last found #12 Grimmauld Place. Now of course it was really only Headmaster Dumbledore's Portrait and "The Boy Who Lived" left to fight Voldemort. The other portraits refused to return to the ruin that was once their charge to protect. Dumbledore's portrait was affected in a similar way, except he couldn't bring himself to leave the school he had loved more than anything in his life. It was there that the portrait of Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore would spend the rest of his days.

It was gone. All of it had vanished from this world. He had nothing left, all had been swept away. He thought back to the events of the 2nd War against Voldemort. He couldn't help but wonder how things could have been if only he'd been stronger. If only he had the strength to do what he had to do. If only… If only he could have saved them. But, he couldn't. He was weak, pathetic. He thought back on all the people who had lost their lives. Each one was a scar that weighed heavily on his darkened soul. Each one was a mar on the perfection of his otherwise pure soul.

At the beginning of the war he had many worries. Of all of these worries, only one still remained. What would happen next? Would he defeat Voldemort and be lauded as a hero for all eternity, or would he let his demons take over and let the darkness consume him. Was he the symbol of the light, the eternal torch of all that was good in the world? Or was he doomed to further spread chaos and suffering through out the world, blanketing everything with a cold destructive veil of pain and torture.

Now there was a third and a fourth option. He thumbed his wand in its holster at his waist. Phoenix feather core, 11 ¼ inches, made of holly… Perhaps the one of two of the finest wands ever made at Ollivander's. He had only seriously considered it once before when… When he… He lost… Her… He knew deep down inside the shattered remnants of his heart that this wasn't truly an option. 'One must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…' The young wizard assumed that not even he could take his own life even if he wanted to. Besides, it would be a betrayal of the worst kind. A betrayal of the trust and the broken promise to a special young woman, that if he was to give up like that, his soul would never be truly at peace and he would live in a damned half-existence for all eternity. No, he would continue to fight, continue to live on, just continue on… fighting for all that was left in the battered and beaten world. Somehow, some way, he would make that bastard, Tom Marvolo Riddle pay for his crimes… He would finally avenge all those who fell because of Tom's vindictiveness and Harry Potter's weakness. He would beat Tom and find whatever solace he could in knowing that he won and finally let the souls of the dead rest in peace and enjoy the eternal slumber of the next great adventure…