A/N- Yo! You guys probably thought I'd fallen into a deep dark hole. I've honestly got no excuse, other than just not feeling like writing. But just know that I'll never let any of my stories go abandoned, even if I have to keep writing them till I'm seventy! I always finish what I start!

Moving on, another reason this chapter took so long is that I had to reanalyze the entire story. It was moving in a direction I didn't want it to, and I was leaving to many things unexplained. For example, anybody wonder why all of a sudden Harry becomes (excuse my language) bad-ass all of a sudden? Somewhat answered. What happened during training? That will be answered next chapter. So yes, next chapter will be basically a filler chapter. I'll try to keep it as interesting as possible, but I can't really promise anything.

Last but certainly not least: updates. Very soon, I'll be getting a job, so obviously that'll cut down on my writing time. As always, I'll update ASAP and hopefully you won't ever have a break as long as this one.

Alright, that about sums it up! Enjoy!

Update Feb. 28, 2016 – Changed the date due to it being the same day as Chapter 6. Also changed last few paragraphs because it was stupid.

I don't own Harry Potter.


Chapter 7- Bloodbath

March 21st, 1996

"Stupefy!"

The red beam of light sailed through the air knocking Harry backwards against the hard, stone wall with a groan.

"Ugh…Excellent job, Colin," he praised with a slight chuckle. "I think you've got this spell down."

"Not quite," the slightly disappointed tone of their "teacher" crushed the smile on Colin's face. "Do it again, and this time, make sure that you actually manage to knock out your opponent."

Harry attempted to give her a hard look for her bluntness, but the glare she returned overpowered his own. This was Amelia the drill instructor, not Amelia the somewhat nice woman.

A depressed Colin raised his wand up once more and prepared to re-fire the simple stunning spell…

Harry looked down painfully at the peacefully sleeping body that had fallen beside him. He had seen the flash of green light from his peripherals, but he had been too late to make any kind of evasive maneuver; he had been sure that he was done for.

But Colin had thrown himself between the bolt of green light and his incompetent leader, saving Harry's life at the cost of his own. Poor Colin; he was still so innocent, so full of life. That was gone now, taken away by some merciless death eater.

Harry spun around, unbridled with rage, preparing to strike down the cold death eater. He was beaten to it by little Dennis, Colin's energetic brother, who charged the grimacing enemy with a growl.

Harry went to knee and began picking off various attackers, but he continued to watch tiny Dennis take on the death eater brute simultaneously.

Dennis impressively tackled the man into the muddy ground, rolling around in it for a moment. The man, easily six foot five and over two hundred pounds of muscle threw the vastly smaller boy off of him with ease, before rising quickly, but still menacingly to his feet.

"Bombarda!"

Dennis managed to escape the small ball of explosion by rolling away, his back taking most of the definite amount of damage.

Dennis seemed unfazed by what must've been a healthy dose of pain all along his back, and he rolled away, catching his adversary by surprise with a quick and efficient cutting curse along the chest.

The large, muscled man staggered backwards, his expression becoming one of apprehension. It quickly morphed into one of rage. "Why you little—" he snarled, tackling Dennis to the ground, knocking his wand away.

The death eater decided that it would be more entertaining to use the muggle method and he began pummeling defenseless Dennis with his fists. Harry moved to help, but found his direction blocked by a snarling death eater.

With some quick, fancy wand waving, Harry easily vanquished his enemy and turned to continue his quest, but found it nearing completion by itself. Dennis' lithe fingers had retrieved his wand and fired a point blank Everbo straight at his aggressor's face.

Harry didn't need to check to make sure he was dead; the sickening crunch reverberated throughout the small street. Harry rushed over to the fallen second-year and gazed upon his overexcited admirer's little brother.

Dennis was a mess. Probably every bone in his face was cracked, if not broken completely. Blood gushed out of every available opening above his neck.

"Harry," he called smiling weakly. Harry went to knee beside his fallen comrade, holding back his emotions.

"Harry Potter," he continued, eliciting a surprised and wary glance from Harry. "I always knew…"

Harry barely managed to hold back a sob at the early passing of Dennis. He'd died not from the beating to his face, but from the shrapnel produced by the reducto. He'd died like a hero, avenging his brother's tragic death.

The first generation of Creevey wizards was gone. He regretted never giving Colin a chance; he'd never been a fan of fanboys. Colin had done loads of growing up since he'd joined the legion and though he had less than average magical reserves, he had proven to have powerful spells.

Colin had set his sights on becoming an auror when he graduated Hogwarts and Tonks had often commented on how his vigor definitely matched an auror's description.

Dennis's prospects were looking just as good; he was a bit more laid-back and down to earth than Colin, but he could throw a spell just the same, often able to go toe-to-toe with his older brother. He'd wanted a much simpler career: the trade of a potion's master.

Harry would never forget the Creevey brothers and he'd make sure the world didn't either.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he looked up at the flowing red hair that curved around the mask. It was Susan. "Harry! We can't stand here; we've got to move!"

Only now did Harry notice the increasing spellfire. The alternating flashes of red, green, and a myriad of other colours reminded him strongly of the Christmas he'd spent at Hogwarts first year.

Harry stood up slowly, still mourning the loss of two people; good people. "Both Chang's and Bell's platoons were hit hard in the first assault; they've retreated into a position on Church Lane. Cadwallader's platoon is moving up for support, but I don't think they'll be enough, the enemy is really thick in that area."

"Then that's where I'll be," Harry said with finality.

"I'm going with you," stated Susan, ready for his argument.

"No. You should be at Field Headquarters. Just send me Tonks and a couple of companies and I'll be fine." Susan looked ready to argue, so Harry was forced to shut her down. "That's an order."

Susan looked hurt, but complied all the same. Harry ran off in direction of the heaviest fire, sighing. He had an actual reason for keeping Susan back; she was fantastic at troop movement. Of course he didn't want her to die for personal reasons as well; she was basically his niece after all.

After all that had happened, after everything he'd lost, it was natural that he be a bit overprotective; it was human nature. Or at least he'd like to believe that. Maybe it was just him trying to feel for something, trying to regain his humanity.

He had killed, never mind that generic drivel that Amelia constantly drilled him with; he had murdered. No, he may not have liked it at the time, but he had felt it, deep within the recesses of his mind, that sick, perverse love for the gruesome action. But now, with every kill, the voice became louder and more demanding for the soul-damning action, and he'd almost lost control.

That wasn't the only change he'd felt. He was more aggressive, more commanding, and, more simply put, moody. Amelia had put it off on teenage hormones; he wasn't so sure. It was if he was losing himself in an internal battle, and this war was only increasing it.

Where had the other side of him gone? He may not have enjoyed being an almost constant sceptic and acting like a beaten down animal, but at least the sensations were real. It was like he was on auto-pilot; not in complete control of his actions or emotions. To be honest, it was terrifying.

"Crucio!"

The attack came from the surrounding darkness with little warning other than the streak of red light that followed the exclamation. Harry, although more than a little surprised, quickly executed an efficient genuflection, dodging the offensive spell whilst giving him a more adept firing position.

It was a death eater straggler, Harry's assumption proven when her obese body emerged from a doorway. They stared at each other, the woman's nervousness clearly shown by a raucous gulp. She didn't seem to be much of a threat; nevertheless, Harry mentally prepared himself for a long battle.

Death eaters were nothing if not cunning. Even if they hadn't been in Slytherin or any of the other magical tutoring companies that resided in Europe, they'd been trained to be the ultimate Slytherin.

A powerful counterattack was necessary if Harry wanted to avoid any chance of a prolonged fight.

"Everte Statum!"

She gave a startled squeak and hastily moved to defend herself, "Protego!"

The orange light crashed against the incomplete shield, resulting in the woman being pushed back. Harry cursed himself; he was attempting to win with a two spell attack. He took a more cautious stance, simply changing to the dueling stance Snape had portrayed against Lockhart many a year ago, and prepared for a counterattack. As often occurs in fighting, a slip-up as simple as this could turn the tide.

Although, unlike many wizards and witches, Harry religiously exercised the controversial motto, "Offense is the best Defense."

"Relashio!"

The death eater made another attempt to defend herself, and the fiery sparks collided with her shield charm. Her shield remained erect.

Harry continued the onslaught sending an Expulso curse at his victim, and consequently, the shield charm exploded into a magnificent magical dust. She, he had yet to confirm the death eater's gender, though their voice and body resembled a females, looked at him with a mixture of fear and anxiety. Those two emotions had a history of combining with devastating results.

Harry quickly fired a disarming charm before she could do anything desperate. Her expression quickly became one of despair as she was disarmed and a victorious enemy advanced on her.

Suddenly, the air began to change and the slightly blowing wind picked up and seemed to rush towards his vanquished foe. Harry, immediately went on guard, but was quickly entranced by the bright blue light that covered not just her pupils, but the sclera as well.

Her body began to rise as if she was being controlled by a puppet master. She was floating, and with only her own magical energy! Harry had seen some spells, such as Wingardium Leviosa or Accio, allow the user to do similar actions, but this seemed different.

With a strangled scream, she literally exploded, causing a sea of blue to surround his vision. It took Harry a second to realize that he ought to defend himself, but by this point, magical means was futile; it would take too much time. The shockwave hit him dead on, the force enough to easily snap his neck if he had been in another position.

Harry was sent flying nearly thirty feet into the upper window of the house across the street. His vision swam as his body was forced to recognize the pain he'd went through.

That power! Where had it come from? He'd been nearly incinerated and he'd been standing at least 10 feet away. He felt his vision start to blur, preluding to unconsciousness.

He shook his head and forced his body to continue onwards. He sat up and was met with a depressing sight. A woman and her three kids sat whimpering in a corner. They were lucky to have survived, and hopefully, he could get them to safety.

He stood up to his full height, which still wasn't impressive, and limped over to the frightened family. The youngest child started bawling at the sight of another intruder and Harry couldn't imagine the fear that must have possessed them all night.

Harry extended his right hand towards them and they all whimpered. He immediately noticed where their fearful eyes were locked on: the wand in his hand. He quickly put it away and advanced slowly and consolingly towards the small family.

"I'm here to help," he said, trying to prove that he was not of the enemy.

"NO! Stay back! You're one of THEM!" the woman screamed frantically, pointing at his dropped wand.

A thunderous yell carried its way from nearby, and Harry knew he didn't have time to explain the different factions to three small children who couldn't be much older than 4 and a woman who wasn't in her right mind (though who would be in this situation).

Harry grabbed his wand and quickly stupefied the family, who screamed as the bright red light soared towards them. It killed him to do it, but he didn't have many options left. It didn't take a genius to realize that the boisterous yell was courtesy of an enemy attack.

It was only then that he became attentive to the smoke coming off his armour. Most of it was gone. Little bits and pieces hugged here-and-there around his body, but if anyone got him with a good shot, he was toast. He doubted that it would even protect him from some simple shrapnel.

After hiding his unwilling hosts in the cupboard, which was just large enough, he rushed out of the house, not wanting to stay long in one spot. He caught a glimpse of a large crater that was located in the same position were his recent duel had taken place. A corpse lay on the edge, and it was obvious that it was the death eater woman.

He had little time to ponder as two of his senses were distracted by the central focus of the battle, which was taking place just down the street. Spells shot in all directions followed by explosions, and occasionally, a shout of pain.

Against his best judgement, Harry trudged onward at a slow trot, although the closer he got to the bloodshed, the quicker his adrenaline returned. Only about fifty or so meters from the centre of the destructive engagement, Harry ran into what he assumed to be a flanking party.

Well…ran into might not be the most accurate phrase. "Ambushed" was a better fit. He barely had time to put up an effective shield before it was shattered by a plethora of perilous curses, and Harry himself took a Relashio to the torso.

He was up in seconds only to face another hazardous onslaught. This time, Harry was having none of it and jumped to the side. Unfortunately, these death eaters were not the unskilled the grunts that only made up a small portion of Voldemort's army.

A spell, which he quickly determined was a Reducto, contested a safe landing and Harry was forced to improvise, rolling as soon as he hit the ground. The Reducto hit the exact spot he had been only milliseconds before, blowing up dirt everywhere.

At this point, his attackers came out of hiding, all thirteen of them. Harry grunted as he rose to face his adversary's as equals, despite the balance being completely against him.

'A noble way to die,' Harry thought grimly as he looked each of his opponents in the eye socket. He shivered in fear as he realized that each had their wands trained on the various parts of his body that needed to be most protected.

"Gentleman," he addressed them, "I don't think you want to fight me."

The closest one, assumedly the leader took a contemplating look and disgustedly spit out what seemed to be a rotten tooth, before asking, "And why is that?"

Harry had, of course, only been stalling for time and had no immediate answer to his question.

The death eater smirked. "He's only stalling, Nott!" one of his comrades finally squeaked out. The lead death eater, now identified as Nott, growled and returned his now predatory eyes to Harry.

Was it really worth it to be pureblooded? You lost so much in the long term: brains, strength, and eventually beauty. It was quite obvious that these were a particularly idiotic batch.

Despite the bleakness of the moment as Nott advanced carnivorously on him, Harry saw a little ray of hope in a small movement in one of the upper story buildings.

In what had to have been one of the most cliché moments of Harry's young life, just as Nott was about to fire what was surely to be a nasty curse, an arc of blue hit him in the back of the head, cutting a neat line between the eyes and painting Harry with nearly a liter of gore.

Harry, who had fallen after the startling, but auspicious assailment, quickly resurged upwards and finding a wand pointed right between his eyes and at the drop of a hat, Harry plucked it right out of his opponent's hand. It a wild bout of primal vigor, he tackled his gawking foe into the ground. Before Harry could go to work on him however, the enemy's head exploded from a misplaced spell.

Harry mentally shrugged at the unusual amount of luck and prepared himself to continue his gruesome business. He was expecting some sort of impediment to his continued assault, but found the enemy all focused on a tiny section of the nearest house, which discharged powerful and deadly spells from all of its symmetrical fenestra's.

Harry managed to squeeze off a couple of easy hits on the enemy squad before they realized his presence. He once again prepared himself for either his inevitable demise, or a miracle that would get him just a small bit farther.

Once again, Lady Luck kissed his parched lips, as every single death eater dropped dead or unconscious by an aggregate of offensive curses.

Harry looked up expectantly to see his two-times saviour's metallic-covered faces emerge from the building.

"Wotcher, Black!" said one of the expressionless masks with a mane of pink hair flowing behind.

Harry could honestly say that he'd never been so happy to see her. "Tonks," he replied greeted in his raspy voice. While using magic was rather easy to a wizard and seemingly limitless, using it heavily for long periods of time was rough on the body.

Her eyes widened as she took in his state of armour, or there lack of. "Blimey! What happened to your armour?"

He looked down realized embarrassedly that his pajama bottoms were clearly visible and charred severely in several places. The armour was still attached to his forearms, but the torso armour was gone as well.

Harry fearfully looked at the spot where he had taken a direct hit with a Relashio. The skin was a horribly charred black and it was smoking a good bit. It didn't hurt too badly now with his adrenaline pumping, but it'd be a doozy after the battle.

Tonks noticed and began doting on him as she so often did. "Oh my, let me heal that," she said.

Harry glared. He'd been through much worse and a little bit of burning flesh certainly wouldn't stop him. "We've got bigger issues here, Tonks!"

The soldiers who had accompanied her fanned out around them, preparing for another onslaught. Although standing in the middle of the street wasn't affording them much cover from an attack, but…

Tonks, though looking apprehensively at his wound, quickly told her report: "The entire battalion is deployed here, with the exception of 2 platoons in reserve and Dean's platoon guarding HQ. The death munchers are trying to force us out, but they're attacking recklessly. I'd say a couple more charges by them and we'd have won the war!"

Harry gave a small smile. Sometimes, Tonks' optimism was a bit much. "What about the flanks?" Harry asked, remembering all too well his recent ambush.

"Other than this one, I've got another squad just down the street, and the same on the other side. Don't worry, this position is solid!"


Harry often had epiphanies during the worst moments. Often, it was during a particularly grueling test, or when he battled psychotic megalomaniacs to a standstill. They had never failed him and had constantly been positive.

However, as he traded spells with a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle (obvious by his opponent's skill level and air of authority he carried) he had his first negative epiphany. There wasn't a possible way he could win this fight.

He simply wasn't good enough. He had barely deflected the vast repertoire of spells produced by this individual and Harry's counterattacks, though admittedly quite cunning, were batted away with ease.

If that wasn't quite bad enough, the chaos around him completed the picture. Tonks had been wrong. Their position was not solid and the enemy had breached the building. In just the living room that Harry's personal battle raged, three other of his comrades faced a steady stream of opponents from the door. It was madness.

"Diffindo!" Harry cried out desperately as he attempted to get the better of his wiry foe.

He easily sidestepped it and countered quickly with what seemed to be his personal favorite: the entrail-expelling curse. Harry had only a small space in the room but dodged the nasty curse nonetheless, only to come face-to-face with a Confringo.

It was unavoidable and slammed into him with a force that could very easily snap necks. Somehow, it didn't, but left Harry dazed and his mask shattered on the floor.

Where was Amelia? This battle had been raging for almost an hour and she and her aurors hadn't arrived. Had something terrible happened to her?

His train of thoughts was interrupted (as they so often were) when he was picked up by the very man he had been fighting. The man, still holding him up by his shirt collar, took off his mask and Harry was afforded a view of a recognizable face.

The death eater grinned as he looked upon Harry's bruised, naked face. "It's been a while, Herakles," he said giving a strange mixture of a grin and a grimace.

Harry struggled against his hold; none of the others seemed to have noticed his predicament but they were otherwise occupied anyways. It was up to him to get out of this one, there would be no saviour coming his way this time.

"My lord will be quite pleased that I've captured you, Herakles. I'll be his right hand man for certain after this!" his captor said with glee. With his adversary engaged in his victorious reverie, Harry took hold off his misplaced wand.

"Depulso!"

Just as Harry banished the death eater across the room, he remembered just exactly who he was fighting. Roddy from Azkaban; or on a more personal note, his sort of stepdad, Rodolphus Lestrange.

Lestrange hit the wall on the far end of the room and gave Harry room to recover. He had a constant throbbing pain over most of his body and he was exhausted. However, he had to keep fighting, not just for himself, but for his comrades as well.

Lestrange picked himself up and growled intensely at Harry, who grimaced. Both opponents raised their wands, preparing for the final showdown. Harry heard the yells of his fighting and dying comrades and felt anger welling up inside. He had a score to settle for murdering so many of his allies. He lit up the air with spell-fire.

"Reducto, Incendio, Relashio!" Harry roared, pumping the spells full of destructive power.

Rodolphus was able to block them, but the force of the attacks left him off-balance. Harry provided him no time to recuperate.

"Diffindo, Diffindo, Diffindo!" Harry growled slashing wildly as his opponent danced elusively around each berserk slash.

"Incendio," Rodolphus countered calmly, his tranquil expression betraying the hidden tinge of annoyance found in his tone.

Harry quickly fired off an Aguamenti and jumped to the side, ready to prepare a knockout blow while his enemy was concentrated on the result of his fire-making spell. Unfortunately, Harry found he had once again misjudged his adversary as he jumped straight into an Everbo.

'Damn,' he thought grimly.

Harry closed his eyes for the inevitable. There was a small chance that Tonks or even Susan might conveniently jump out of nowhere and save him. Or at least he hoped.

But as usual with Harry, luck only came when she thought it was best. This apparently didn't count. The spell smashed into him, knocking the breath out of him, and breaking more ribs than Harry would like to count.

The force threw him through the wall, into an average master bedroom. He couldn't notice any details as his vision swam uncontrollably. It was a miracle he'd survived it at all, especially without any sort of armour.

Harry attempted to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back into his supine prone position. Through the haze that clouded his eyes but never seemed to disperse, he could make out the silhouette of a man stepping confidently through the broken wall.

Harry once more attempted to get up, but was stopped when Rodolphus' left foot came down on his chest. Harry was unable to halt the hiss that escaped his bloodied lips.

"Tch, tch, tch," Rodolphus said condescendingly.

"Poor, Herakles. Perhaps if that horrid mudblood "mother" of yours hadn't of tainted you, you might've actually stood a chance of besting me. Unfortunately, her magic was tainted, and by consequence, so is yours now," Rodolphus droned, managing to sound even more magniloquent than Malfoy could be at the worst of times.

The Lestrange patriarch put more weight on his left foot forcing Harry to grimace. "Perhaps I bore you?" he questioned, putting a quizzical finger to his chin in overdramatic contemplation.

Harry once more felt unexplainable anger well up inside him, but this time it was different. It was more powerful, more lustful, more destructive. His head had never felt clearer; the world never quite this comprehensible.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry said monotonously, no emotion behind it at all, as he crisply raised his wand to the man standing above him. Rodolphus was fast however and quickly dodged the volt of pure death meant for him.

As Harry rose slowly, Lestrange prepared his dueling stance. "If you wish for a quick death, I will gladly bequeath it to you."

Harry only stared soullessly back at him, his wand arm hanging almost limply to the side.

"So be it!" Rodolphus called, throwing out a nasty flesh-eating curse, followed swiftly by Lestrange's specialty: the entrail-expelling curse.

Harry didn't even blink. "Depulso, Depulso," he uttered calmly, but fearlessly.

Amazingly, both high-level spells were banished away by such a simple charm. Rodolphus looked at him impressed, only to find his adversary blocked by the red light of the Cruciatus. There was no time.

Rodolphus fell to the ground in pain, at some point dropping his wand. He looked up at Harry, probably expecting some relief from the curse, but Harry wasn't about to let up.

He wasn't being himself, some part of him knew, but he brushed it aside as he continued to bathe in his newfound power.

It took him ten minutes to finally regain control of himself. By that point, Rodolphus was little more than a shell, mumbling nonsense.

Harry dropped his wand in horror and stepped back, resulting in him falling on his haunches. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he looked up to see a group of aurors helping him up. As they carted Rodolphus out of the room, he managed to make out a mumbled message seemingly for him: "Dark…"


Susan walked across the battered muggle village, looking intently at the horrors that the aftermath of the battle had brought. Every building in sight had looked identical before the engagement, but now, they each stood with their own diverse wreckage.

For the first time, the death eaters had deployed giants, a symbol of their growing coalition. The legion hadn't been expecting it; the enemy had just thrown themselves recklessly against their defenses. As far as Susan could tell, it was meant to be a trap.

But they had fought back. All twelve of the giants were dead. But the cost…

Susan watched sadly as her former friends were carried off the field by the Auror Medical Corps. Justin Finch-Fletchly, Ernie Macmillan, Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Leanne, Hannah…

Her best friend had been swatted away by a giant's club, saving the lives of three of the younger year students. The hours they'd spent playing in the garden at Bones' Manor flashed before her eyes, and she felt her knees give way.

She promised herself she wouldn't cry, but one glance at Justin sent her over the edge. His body had been a play thing for the giants for only a few moments. The aurors were still picking up pieces of him.

The rest of their corpses weren't quite as bad, but it was no consolation. She knew in the back of her mind that she still had Harry and her auntie, but right now, she had never felt so alone. All of her Hufflepuff year mates – the ones who'd she'd shared her triumphs and defeats with, her confidants, were all gone, except for Zacharias, someone she'd never particularly liked.

Tears poured uncontrollably from her. Was this war truly worth all this pain?