Chapter 10: Forgotten

With the mask of devil-horns and a cloak on fire, the dead and wounded strewn around him, Harry Potter looked every part the devil himself.

Hermione ran and ran, her tears blinding her vision. She was crying without control, running blindly - deaf to the laughing people in the corridor.

This must be what it felt like to be broken...Hermione ran on and on, bursting into the outside of the castle. By some miracle, the Death Eater on duty did not see her, and she sat in the base of a willow tree and let the tears fall.

Nothing was right with the world anymore. Ron was now…superior to her, to say the least and she was nothing more than a piece of property.

He could boss her around, treat her like dirt and she wouldn't be able to say a word about it. He had complete control over her.

The memory of them playing in the park together seemed to be from another world. That would never happen now. She had no future; the path ahead of her was dark and endless.

If that's one thing she couldn't stand, it was others being in control of her. Hermione had always prided herself on her book smarts and skills, ignoring the taunts and teasing she got for it. Now she wished to hear those insults again. She could not live this way, this powerless, dumb person, wasting her time scrubbing pots...

Well Ron, if you wanted attention and power, you got your wish, she thought viciously, ripping grass out of the ground.

"Hermione?"

She looked up. Dean Thomas was standing next to her, and his extended hand was warm as she took it.

"Are you alright-"

Hermione suddenly pulled him to her, the wish to do something forbidden overriding her every sense. For once, she wanted to rebel.

"Come here," she whispered and pressed her lips to his.

He responded immediately, pressing deeper into the kiss and intertwining his hand in her hair. They sunk to the ground, hidden by the branches of the willow.

"Dean-" Hermione whispered, half wanting to tug away from him and half wanting to draw closer, "What if we get caught?"

"We won't," murmured Dean as he kissed her neck in ecstasy, and she sighed in contentment.

"But Ron-" The words spilled, unexpected, from her mouth. She gasped in horror.

"Don't worry about that stuck up-prick," growled Dean, drawing her closer.

A flash of anger surged through her, and she laughed aloud as she felt rebellious, her anger at Ron growing with every kiss from Dean's lips.

This is forbidden, Hermione thought happily, holding him tighter, as they sunk into each other.

As Harry slept, the snake wrapped itself more firmly around him. Hissing, it slithered around in his thoughts and latched itself more firmly on his soul. Harry's soul was a warm, golden and green orb, and the gold side was fading.

The orb of Harry's soul was being taken over by a sickly green substance that oozed from the snake as he slithered over it. It looked like a bright sun being slowly consumed in darkness.

Harry should have been disturbed, but he was not. Over the past few months, even as Voldemort had removed his magic-stopping necklace and given him strength and power to fight back, his will for resistance had vanished. Gone and without a trace.

He no longer thought of his friends. The swords and blades were his companions, sharp and wicked and ready to give him power as he grasped the cool metal blade.

His emerald eyes no longer held sadness, but were now cold and calculating. His body no longer scrawny, but rigid. Muscles had developed on his arms, giving him the appearance of a man.

The snake hissed and ran its scales slowly over the orb, covering it in green slime. Harry sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, eyes blank and unseeing.

"Sleeeppp…." hissed the snake soothingly, and Harry sank back into the covers and was asleep once more.

His resistance was getting less and less by the day. Soon enough, Harry would be no more than a vessel of Lord Voldemort's soul.

The snake slithered slowly back into the recesses of Harry's mind, settling in a comfortable spot.

The next morning, Voldemort found Harry in the library pouring over some of his Dark Arts books. Harry looked up and smiled as he saw Voldemort, then frowned as if questioning what he just did.

"Ready, Harry?" Voldemort asked, and Harry nodded, setting down the book and obediently standing next to Voldemort. "I think you are ready to accompany me today. You have trained long and hard, and deserve a reward."

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's.

"You know these undeserving Mudbloods are trying to break the world I have created," hissed Voldemort. "they will stop at nothing to upset our order."

Harry nodded, although something deep inside him stirred in upset. He flicked it away. An old weakness.

"So you must accompany me," Voldemort continued, "we will be defending the French Ministry from the Order's army…they have grown in numbers."

And they had. When Voldemort had begun his new world order, the Order had started a resistance. Voldemort had now taken over Britian and begun on France, and the Order was attempting to stop him from attacking the French Ministry of Magic and taking over. But Voldemort's armies had swelled and with the number of youths he was training, he would soon be unstoppable. The Order's armies consisted of rag-tag wizards and witches who had very little training. Still, their numbers were growing…

"You will use Dark Curses if necessary," Voldemort continued. He then eyed Harry before saying, "I expect you will not fail your Master."

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, his voice like ice.

"They are undeserving of life, these traitors of society," Voldemort went on. "They want to slaughter wizard children and babies."

Something in Harry's eyes flickered, but only for a moment. "They have to be stopped," growled Harry. Harry thought of his strength and his skills with weapons. He thought of innocent children being hunted by Muggle-borns for their Pureblood status.

"You know what they call Pure Blood children, Harry," Voldemort said, while eying him closely.

"Freaks," echoed Harry, his eyes widening.

"They hate magic," Voldemort spat. "Steal it for their own dirty purpose, and then destroy magic in Pure-Bloods and Half-Bloods. They kill 'freaks' whenever they can."

Months of speeches like this, the snake growing stronger had led Harry to believe Voldemort's twisted words. He nodded, hands gripping his wand tightly.

Get out of my house, freak!

There's no such thing as magic, freak!

Brat! Your spoilt self and your drunk father and waste of a mother should have gone to hell!

The Dursleys' voices echoed in his ears, and Harry grabbed Voldemort's arm to Side-Apparate.

Voldemort laughed at Harry's eagerness, his bright red eyes alight with glee.

"Ready so soon, Harry?" he asked with a nasty grin, then spun on the spot.

The world faded to grey as they Apparated to the city of Paris.

Screams filled Harry's ears as they landed on the cobblestone street. Fires blazed from Muggle rooftops and Wizarding buildings flickered eerily in and out of the picture; their Anti-Muggle wards were dissolving. It was like watching an old horror movie; half of the world disappeared and the other half grew closer, a strange supernatural affect.

Masked wizards were everywhere, dueling. A witch shrieked as she flew into a burning building, a wizard yelled as he was hit in the chest with a curse. Children cowered from Death Eaters as they raised their wands to strike.

Harry only saw the children with leering, evil faces as they lured the innocent Death Eaters towards a fire.

Amongst the pandemonium, Voldemort pulled Harry into a crumbled building and handed him a mask.

"Reveal yourself only when you see fit to do so," he hissed, then disappeared, leaving Harry standing in the crumbling building with a mask in his hand and his wand in the other.

Harry was alone in a burning hell.

Without hesitation, Harry pulled on the mask. It was completely black with sockets for the nose, eyes and mouth. Two small horns grew out of either side. Harry smiled and left the building, which was actually a crumbled schoolhouse.

Pulling out his wand, he stepped into the street. Leaps of flame struck from every angle, devouring anything in their path. Debris was everywhere. Harry could see a marble fountain overturned, water spilling out; someone's flower bushes were burning.

Hydrangeas. Harry gritted his teeth, remembering.

"NO!"

Harry spun around. The shout had come from a man with red hair, rushing towards a motionless figure on the ground. Dark-cloaked, masked wizards were dueling the Order, pushing them back as they went. The Order was losing; wizards in burnt robes were hastily retreating and shouting to one another:

"Moody, watch out!"

"We've got to fall back-there's too many of them!" shouted someone who Harry vacantly remembered.

"Stupefy!" roared a voice and Harry saw a Death Eater knocked back. With a flash of recognition, Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody.

A monster in his chest roaring in anger, Harry snapped to attention. He grabbed one of the emerald-studded daggers at his wrist and unleashed his sword. Careful not to gain attention, he crept forward.

"That'll teach you, you scum!" roared Moody, his magical eye whirling.

With Moody's attack, the Order seemed to gain hope. For a moment all Harry saw was an army of blue robes, then faces as they charged at the Death Eaters.

"You'll pay for that, scum!" screamed a voice that Harry recognized with a jolt as Bellatrix Lestrange.

"YOU FREAK!" yelled Moody, and something snapped in Harry.

The murderous rage came clashing back on him, a horrendous voice echoing in his head: Freak. Freak.

FREAK!

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Harry roared, jumping from behind the wall. Mad-Eye seemed to catch his eye, if only for a second, then his magical eye stilled and he collapsed on the ground, bleeding freely.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Harry watched as they took him in: dark robes, mask with devil-like horns growing out of the sides, gleaming golden sword hanging at his side.

Harry smiled at the looks on their faces. Eyes wide, then furrowed with anger and then fear once again.

A murmur rose from both the Death Eaters and the Order. Dark Lord's new prodigy…new heir…who is that?

The snake hissed in glee, and Harry grinned.

And without warning, hell broke loose.

Despite their apparent fear, the Order still wanted to fight. They charged ahead, firing spells at random and hitting a few stray Death Eaters. Harry smirked; their skill was that of a novice.

Not bothering to send up a Shield Charm at the weak spells they were producing, Harry walked calmly through the battlefield.

"REVEAL YOURSELF!"

Harry turned just in time to see a Death Eater rush at him, attempting to pull off his mask. Dodging lazily, he let the Death Eater fall with a smack to the ground.

"I am a servant of the Dark Lord," said Harry with a slight hiss to his voice, "The fact you do not know who I am is proof that he does not trust you,"

The Death Eater stared up at him in amazement. "But…but the Dark Lord would have told us!" he hissed.

Harry looked closer at the man's face and could tell, even behind the mask it was Jugerson. "Of course he wouldn't have told you," he mocked.

The man's face flushed with anger, but he was forced to abandon it as a Killing Curse flew his way. Harry nimbly dodged.

The Order's fighting dirty.

Turning, Harry saw someone rushing at him, a look of fear and determination on his young face. For a moment, Harry froze in shock.

Fred?

The red hair was unmistakable. Suddenly all Harry could remember was the joke shop and the galleons he gave them and the Marauder's Map-

"CRUCIO!"

The words were torn from his lungs, only half his own, forced by the snake; Fred was slammed into the wall behind him, screaming and curling up in agony. The cries of his parents were louder than any sound of the battle as they rushed towards their son. Harry felt nothing as he turned away from Fred, clearing the image of the blood-stained face from his mind.

The blood traitor deserved it.

The battle exploded around him; both sides fighting with double the fury than before, and now Harry was ducking and spinning and diving daggers into the hearts of Order members-

"FOR HARRY!" was a battle cry, and Harry nearly laughed out loud at the irony. Spinning around, he spotted Sirius Black at the back row, fighting Rowle.

A little emotion stirred inside him, but Harry forced it away. Black was as bad as the others, he believed in Muggle rights and their thievery of magic…

"Crucio!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at Black then following it by a dagger, but by some miracle Black dodged.

"Reducto!" Black yelled, pointing his wand at Harry, who spun around and deflected it with his sword, then launched himself towards his Godfather and tried to cleave him in two.

"Killer!" Black screamed in anger, slashing his wand at Harry; Harry parried it easily. Back and forth it went, Black sending spells at him and Harry dodging easily, not tiring at all.

"Where's Harry?!" Black shouted at him, and with a slight disturbance, Harry noticed tears on his cheeks. "WHERE IS HE!"

Harry felt anger as he never had before. Now he claimed to care? Voldemort was the only one who helped him realize his potential, he rescued him from a fate of weakness and eternal servitude.

"Harry no longer lives," spat Harry, green eyes surging with anger, "the boy is dead."

Black's eyes widened.

"NO!" he screamed, and sank to the ground, all fight gone from him. Harry watched in amusement as Black openly sobbed for the godson he claimed to care about.

"Glad you never raised me," Harry thought as he aimed a kick at his Godfather's ribs, which Black didn't notice. Harry turned sharply away and was faced, in seconds, by Tonks whose hair was a fiery gold and eyes orange like flames-

Tonks screamed as Harry threw a dagger at her, it missed her by inches…Panting now, Harry ran off into the battlefield and aimed Cruciatus Curses, Slicing Curses and the unspeakable hexes Voldemort had taught him…

Order members fell like flies as Harry spun with his sword and fired curse after curse…Order members sank to the ground, wailing in agony.

"Fred! FRED!"

The screams and sobs of the Weasleys were alien to Harry's ears; his only focus was the heat of the battle. Flames licked his dragon-skin boots. Slightly surprised, he looked down and saw that his cloak had become a burning inferno. Fire-proof as it was, it did not harm him.

With the mask of devil-horns and a cloak on fire, the dead and wounded strewn around him, Harry Potter looked every part the devil himself.

Foolish Muggles, stealing magic, they got what they deserved. No one would escape from their fate. Harry would make sure of that.

He had not killed today, on his Master's orders, but he would. Voldemort had told Harry it took a lot to kill. Today he only maimed, to maintain an image of Voldemort's power.

Harry heard the screams of the French from inside their government building, shrieking in fear and pain from the debris of the Ministry building, but Harry ignored it.

The Death Eaters stood warily, exhausted from battle. They watched Harry with stricken eyes as his cloak burned, he tucked the daggers into his holster, turned around with a dead calm, and walked from the battlefield, his boots clicking on the blood-soaked cobblestones. The moans of the wounded followed him.

Behind him, the buildings burned, and the crows descended upon the battlefield.

While the Order lay bleeding on the battlefield, Dumbledore was having tea.

It was an ingenious disguise, he thought, posting as a slave buyer. Nott had no idea as he garbled about his newfound positions, the prices he could sell good slaves for, and the list went on and on. Dumbledore pretended to be listening, occasionally taking a sip of his tea. His only interest was the serving girl: Fiona.

She pretended to be mute, obviously afraid of him, but Dumbledore sensed some fire in her. Perhaps it was the way she set his teacup down. Maybe it was even the nasty looks she shot Nott as she left the room. Whatever the case, Dumbledore was positive the girl was not dumb-a testimony that could cost him everything.

"-and there's such high prices on the market, now excuse me, I must take a Floo call," said Nott importantly.

"Of course," said Dumbledore with a smile, his disguised brown eyes twinkling. He looked about fifty years younger, with a mop of brown hair, a mustache, and a wide smile. He pretended to look casually towards Fiona. "May I…have a conversation with your servant?" he asked, accenting conversation to mean something else.

Nott grinned, starting towards the door. "Be quick, Mr. Sanders," he said, a nasty grin stretching his face. It gave him the appearance of an overexcited cat, waiting to pounce. "It will only take ten minutes for me to Floo."

And just enough time, too. As soon as Nott left the room, Dumbledore spun to the terrified girl and spoke in a hushed voice.

"My dear, I wish I had enough time to explain thoroughly, but I must say only that I am here from the side that wishes to get rid of these men who are keeping you hostage," he said quickly. "We are working every day to try and free you all. However, there is something that Nott has…that I need, and only you can get."

She stared at him, her face losing its fear. Suddenly she looked suspicious. "Why should I trust you?" she demanded.

Dumbledore smiled. "I suppose you might not trust me, but there aren't many options now," he said. "I am deeply ashamed for not being able to explain more fully, but there will come a time when you will know everything." He bit his tongue at the words-how he wished he hadn't said them to a person who was about Fiona's age. Harry Potter. "

He paused. "Do you know of a safe-keeping location here in the building?"

Fiona nodded, eyes wide. "It's where Nott keeps all his secret things," she said.

"It is of utmost importance that I have a necklace down there-a silver one, you can' miss it - I must have it," Dumbledore said. "Only you can get down there, because-"

"I'm allowed there for cleaning," Fiona murmured. Then she looked up at Dumbledore. "But what if I'm caught? He probably has security down there or something."

Dumbledore glanced towards the doorway then said, "I've already taken care of it for you. You must retrieve the necklace-carefully, do it while he's sleeping-then bring it back to me. Do not touch it with your bare hands! Meet me outside the porch at noon tomorrow," he said urgently, as footsteps grew closer to the door. "Now-"

The door opened, and Dumbledore pretended to be caressing the girl's face.

"Wonderful," Nott said in approval, and Dumbledore felt his stomach turn. He turned and flopped himself on a sofa. "Bring me some biscuits, girl."

As Dumbledore turned to leave, the girl leaned towards him and urgently whispered, "What is your name?"

Dumbledore turned to her sadly. "Albus Dumbledore," he whispered.

She stared at him with such hope that Dumbledore's heart wrenched. For a moment, he saw Ariana. "Thank you," she whispered, and turned away to fetch the biscuits.

Dumbledore turned with a knife in his heart. It was easy to forget the innocents of the war, the ones he forgot to see in the big picture.

He could not save them all. He only hoped he'd be able to save her. He felt guilty for putting her in danger, but, he reminded himself as he put on his hat and strode out the door, it was for the Greater Good.