Hey everyone! I know I should really update The Nameless One before starting a new fic, but this idea has been bugging me for ages. It's an old cliché, but I've added a unique (I hope!) twist to it. Pairings are canon (H/G, R/H etc.) and I refuse to change them.

Don't flame me, but please review and ENJOY!

Queenie

X x X

Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't.

Chapter One – the sword of Salazar Slytherin

A lone figure stood at the tip of the plateau, his silken black clock flowing out behind him. At his feet lay a body, its red slitted eyes closed forever. The man turned away from it. He had completed his life's task. But now what would he do? Nineteen years old, a war veteran, with no family and no purpose.

"Harry!"

By the moonlight, he could see a group of people were running towards him- the remnants of the Order. They saw Voldemort's fallen body, and they stopped, ecstatic. Harry stayed where he was, a few tears running down his face. Would his so called friends still want him do that Voldemort was gone?

Suddenly a glint of silver caught his eye, coming from beneath his enemy's blood stained cloak. Harry knelt down and pulled it out. He gasped as he realized what he was holding. A long piece of finely wrought silver, deep green emeralds embedded in the handle.

The sword of Salazar Slytherin.

The people around him grew silent as they watched Harry Potter hold the emerald studded sword up. What did he want with it?

But as the moonlight hit the sword, they felt a change in the air and they looked on as if they were in a trance.

Harry gasped as he felt the rush of power that had entered him. The sword grew hot in his hands, but he refused to drop it, gripping hard enough to turn his knuckles white, gritting his teeth as it started to burn him.

And then it stopped.

Shaking, Harry slid the sword into his belt, and turned to look at the others. He didn't know what the sword had done to him, but now he had a clear idea of what he was going to do next.

The Order were fidgeting and staring warily, not knowing what he was going to do. He nodded to them, and they realized Harry was saying goodbye. His eyes lingered on Ginny Weasley, remembering all the happy times they had shared together, the feel of her lips on his. For a moment he didn't want to go. But as he took in Dean Thomas's hand around her shoulders, Harry's eyes turned cold and angry.

Then he looked at his best friends, Ron and Hermione. They were standing close together, holding hands. Ron looked surprised, and Hermione looked as if she was about to cry. But neither of them moved. It was as if they didn't need him any more, not now they had each other.

Next to them stood Remus Lupin. Even after the many years Harry had known him, he still looked the same, except for a few wrinkles and grey hairs. He was watching Harry with a small, genuine smile on his face. He nodded as they made eye contact, raised a hand in farewell.

Harry nodded back, thankful he still had a friend in the wizarding world that would definitely stay by him. Drawing his inky black cloak closer around him, Harry turned towards the mountains and ran away into the darkness without a second glance.

Two years later...

The sound of chatter and laughter filled the Burrow. The once tatty and shabby farmhouse now gave off a feel of wealth and splendor. After the War, the Weasleys had been restored to their long lost position among the rich pure-blood families like the Malfoy clan...or the Potters.

Across the living room wall hung a massive banner proclaiming "Congratulations, Ron and Hermione!"

The couple in question was currently surrounded by the whole of the Weasley clan and all their friends. Ron was basking in all the attention, but Hermione was trying to duck away from Fleur's over energetic hugs. Molly Weasley was crying with happiness, wiping her tears on her husband's shoulder while he chatted with Bill about plug sockets and extension cables.

"Good one, ickle Ronniekins!" yelled Fred, as George tried to tug a Firewhisky away from his twin.

Ron laughed at his brothers as he took Hermione's hand and kissed her cheek. He could feel the simple diamond that she was wearing on her ring finger, and it made him so happy that he almost forgot about all the bad things that still haunted him day and night.

Suddenly he felt overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. Ron had promised Harry that he could be best man when he got married, but now Hermione had given Dean Thomas that position, and Ron hadn't bothered to object.

Every day since Harry had left, Ron had always regretted not chasing after him. After Voldemort had gone, the Aurors had spent a few weeks searching for him, and then given up. Harry Potter had simply vanished off the face of the earth.

Hermione saw the look on his face and pulled him out of the room into the messy kitchen. She as no longer the bushy haired, bossy girl she had been. Now, at twenty one years old, her hair was long, straight and peroxide blonde and she gave off an attitude of being completely in control.

"Ron," she began imperiously. "Stop beating yourself up. You know we're doing the right thing."

"But what if we aren't? It doesn't feel right, without him here."

Hermione sighed. She missed Harry, but never let anyone realize how upset she was.

"Ron, it's been two years. Believe me, Harry isn't coming back. And we can't find him if we don't know where he is!"

Ron nodded as he blinked back his tears. Everyone had been shaken by Harry's disappearance, but Ron had taken it particularly hard. Perhaps the only person who had been more upset was Ginny, who had never been the same since.

He glanced up at the clock that had his family's names on the hands. After the war a new hand had been added- labeled Harry Potter. But it never pointed anywhere, just hovered in between different points. At least they knew that he wasn't dead or injured, even if it didn't give them any other information.

Taking his fiancée's hand, Ron let her lead him back towards the party.

As soon as Ron and Hermione had shut the door behind them, the youngest of the Weasley children poked her head round the corner. As soon as Ginny saw that the corridor was empty, she crept through the hall towards the front door, only pausing to look critically at her reflection in the mirror.

Black jeans, black sneakers, black shirt, black coat. If Ginny wanted to complete her task, she would need to blend into the background. Ginny worked for the Ministry of Magic, in the Ministry of Defense. Although she had access to the Headquarters, as a Junior Agent she was not allowed to go in the Filing Office- where the Ministry kept their records of everyone in the wizarding world and their location. The records changed automatically, and Ginny was sure she would be able to find out where Harry was.

Ginny yearned to discover where Harry was, but she was not doing this task for herself. No one, not even her parents, knew that the Ministry of Defense was not the only organization she worked for.

For a while after the second war, there had been a desperate search for Harry and other people who had disappeared during the war. But the Ministry needed Aurors to keep order, so everyone went back to their normal jobs, thinking the search had been called off.

But it hadn't. The remnants of the Order had created a new, secret faction of highly trained witches and wizards especially to search for missing people. Ginny had been recruited immediately.

The group – named Alpha One – had been very successful. They had found almost everyone that had vanished in the War. Now they only needed to find out where Harry Potter was.

Ginny shut the door and crept towards the Apparation point. If anyone found out about this, Ginny would be fired and probably sentenced to Azkaban – the Minister would not approve of her attempts to find Harry. The newspapers would have a field day.

But at the moment she didn't care if she was caught – she would do anything to get Harry back. Ginny had spilt up with Dean Thomas and hadn't dated at all since Harry had disappeared. Outside work, she had gone back to being the shy little girl without any friends.

Her hair was dyed a very dark red, dark enough to slip into the background. She was the only Weasley that still lived with her parents, but Ginny only ever went home to sleep. The rest of the time she wrapped herself up in her job.

She squelched through the muddy fields, adrenalin flooding her veins at the thought of what she was about to do. There was no moon visible tonight. The sky was covered with thick black clouds, hovering menacingly overhead. Suddenly a flash of lightning ripped through the sky, and there was a rumble of thunder that shook the ground. Ginny didn't turn back, but broke into a run.

Ginny arrived at the Apparation point and vanished from view. No one realized she had gone, and that was exactly what she wanted.

The red head appeared in the empty reception of the magical Ministry of Defense. She was in a large imposing room. A balcony overlooked it, held up by marble columns, torches flickering around the edges, their flames casting ghostly shadows over the cold white walls. Her black shoes echoed nosily through the room as she walked swiftly over to the gilded staircase.

Ginny reached the Filing Office without any difficulties. From her pocket she pulled a credit card sized piece of plastic from her pocket and slid it into a machine by the door. The machine beeped faintly and Ginny smirked as the door swung open. Moving as fast as she could, Ginny crossed over to the "P's", she yanked it open, searching for the thin file labeled Potter.

"Yes!" she whispered as she pulled out the file. She hoped his records were still there- if they weren't then Harry was almost definitely dead. As she opened the file she gave a sigh of relief- Harry was alive. Then, remembering what she was there to do, Ginny scanned the sheet of parchment.

Name: Harry James Potter

Age: 21

Location: Borovets

Fitness Level: High

Mental State: Unknown

Ginny copied down the information at a speed Rita Skeeter would have been proud of. Then she blinked as she took the words in. Where on Earth was Borovets?

Back at the Burrow, in the empty, darkened kitchen, a hollow clunk echoed through the room, although no one heard it. One of the hands of the clock had moved.

The hand labeled Harry Potter had moved to point at 'Mortal Peril'.

Borovets, Bulgaria

Harry stood on the wooden balcony of his chalet, staring out at the forest of pine trees that looked black against the contrast of the pure white snow. A cold night wind started to blow as he leant closer towards the edge.

If he looked to the right, he could see the tiny ski village of Borovets, a cluster of lights shining brightly. But up here in the mountains he was totally alone, in his tiny chalet that was guarded by thousands of complex wards that made the chalet invisible to anyone but him.

His tailored robes clung to his shivering form, as he tried to steady himself at the thought of what he was about to do. In the past two years he had managed to make a new life for himself. He had a new job, as a ski instructor, and new friends. But he still felt empty. Apart from when he was alone, he lived as a muggle. He wasn't that close to any of his new friends, and none of them had any idea what he had been through.

But most of all he longed for a family. As he thought of his parents, Harry felt a rush of cold determination surge through him.

He held out his arms, as the wind sang to him its haunting song. His bottle green velvet cloak blew out behind him, as if it wanted to fly with the wind. The snow- covered plants that climbed up the walls of his creaking, ancient chalet rustled quietly, as if they were trying reach out and take away his pain.

From his belt, Harry pulled out the gleaming silver sword had that had once been his enemy's. It was embedded with emeralds, its blade lethally sharp. He held the blade up to the moonlight, just as he had done the day he had first found it, lying by his enemy's dead body. The blade became hot in his freezing hands. Now, in his empty house, without any friends or family, Harry would use it to end his own life.

Without the aim of destroying Voldemort, Harry had felt lost. His friends were happy by themselves- and so was Ginny, he thought bitterly. Harry had felt sure he would return, but seeing his old friend with his sort-of girlfriend had made him determined to stay away. If they had ever tried to find him, he would have accepted them happily.

But it was too late for regrets now. His friends didn't need him and the only other people he had ever loved were dead.

So he had decided to join them. Perhaps he would finally find happiness.

Harry wasn't afraid of death, but his hands trembled as he brought the blade down across his pale wrist. Ignoring the burning pain that spread throughout his body, he slashed at his other wrist. Then he dropped the sword, staggering as he collapsed into a pool of his own blood. The sword became cold as soon as he let go of it, clattering to the floor with a sound that shattered the fragile night air.

The wind had stopped now, as if to watch as the savior of the wizarding world closed his eyes for what would be the last time, but not before a smile had graced his lips, lips that were stained with blood.

Mum…Dad…Sirius………Are you there?

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