AN/ I do not own Harry Potter. Capt fangirlhumper, I mean JKR own the legal rights to him. If I was obsenely rich do you think I would be typing on an old ass computer. This is rated M for a fucking reason. Yes I am Editing it.

Prologue

His heart burned.

It burned with passion when he took work off early and bought a dozen roses to surprise her with.

It burned with love when he made reservations at her favorite restaurant.

It burned with mischief when he snuck into the house.

It burned with horror when he heard the cries.

It burned with rage when he saw the slicked back blonde hair.

And with two little words they burned too.

Fiend fyre

The man with black hair stood alone. In his youth his family's fear of his abilities made him alone. As he grew his fame made him stand alone. When he fought they left him alone because their fear of his enemy ruled them. When the man with black hair stood on the field of victory he thought he was no longer alone. But she was never his…

It was a muggy and wet day. Slight drizzle, everything seemed to have a touch of grey in it. Nice English weather then. And in this lovely English weather stood a man, he wasn't like any other man you would ever see. Perhaps it was his messy black hair. Or his piercing green eyes that seemed so dead. Many blokes wouldn't even notice that and would simply say "Cor, he's wearing a dress." Yet he remained unnoticed. He was good at that. People just seemed to walk a little faster when they were close to him.

It was just so sudden Harry Potter thought, she was cheating on me, with Malfoy? No, it wasn't sudden, I just didn't see. I didn't want to see.

He continued to stand in the rain hoping the cold would somehow sooth the fiery pain in his chest, the open wound whenever he thought of his so called beloved. She deserved it; let her feel the effects of the fire that will not go out, if she lives anyways.

Burn

Harry glanced at the wand that had remained his most faithful companion in his life. He held it in the flat of his palm; the sunlight gleaming off of its scarred surface seemed to agree with his decision.

Burn…

***flashback***

"Why won't these runes align?"

"What's wrong Hermione?" a slightly younger Harry asked.

"Lavender commissioned me a hundred galleons to invent a spell to find one's true love. I have it made but it's like the damn thing can't be completed."

"Why not?"

"The spell is designed so that you know where your soulmate is and how to reach him or her at the time of casting. But to get it to work apparently you need your soul to be wounded. Oh don't look at me like that Harry I know as well as you that you can only wound your soul in cold blooded murder."

"So how is it cast?"

"You just hold your wand like preparation for the point me spell and… why do you want to know Harry?"

"Idle curiosity."

"well OK Harry, and then you say the incantation.

***end***

"Verus Diligo."

The wand spun and pointed off into the distance.

The fire burns…

Harry Potter the slayer of Voldemort proved once again why he is the most dangerous wizard in the world. Why over a dozen countries that monitor his actions in fear, started to worry when he murdered his wife and her lover, and started to outright panic when his magical signature started to emanate once more from England's department of mysteries.

Because there are many things down there that explode when they get too hot.

The most dangerous man alive danced to the music of a roaring flame. The only thing on his mind: the desire to go further in and down, down to the one who calls him so. He doesn't notice the alarms blaring; he disables them with concussive hexes. The aurors that try to block his advancement simply turn into a ruby mist of blood. The wards surrounding his destination get ripped apart by his mere presence, the presence of Dumbledore's weapon. The iron will and clever mind forged from the fires of his childhood. The hard body crafted from strenuous sports and experiences that no child should face. And the soul that had been exposed to the deadliest curses in existence and fought them off, that had cast advanced magic from a dangerously young age. Body, mind, and soul contribute to the power wielded by this man. The weapon was crafted well, for it is the strongest wizard in recorded history. And nothing will stop him from reaching his destination.

The door that will not open stands in the way, a reducto and there is a new door next to it. As he passes through the room that kills all that enter he doesn't notice any of the wondrous things inside. The curiosity that would have ensured his death has no presence in his mind. He has to reach her. Only when he reaches her will he be happy. No notice is taken of the strange substance that gets absorbed into his essence. For noticing it ensures death. All that is on his mind is her. Harry doesn't know her, yet she knows him; he knows her, loves her, and continues on. The Unspeakables step forward; for this man shamed them when he was only a child. They have crafted spells to be used solely to ensure his surrender. The knockout gasses fail against his magic and tainted blood. Charms are deflected. The conjurations destroyed. Absently passing them, dismembering them on reflex. Until…

The Veil…

Harry steps to the veil. The barrier between life and death. She is past it, where he doesn't know. This claimed Sirius's life can I risk to cross? It's either no chance or slim chance. Until I meet her I refuse to die. Harry James Potter Boy-Who-Lived took the longest step of his life, and was no more. The veil fluttered in the empty ruins of the department of mysteries and began to burn.

The veil burned and the world ended.