A/N: This sets four years after the last chapter, when the Seventh War had just begun.

Warning: This chapter features Tom Riddle with major OoCness.

Chapter 6:

Ron stood on the walls of Lamellae, besides him a whole army of Allierans. It was a moonless night, and rather cold; a thin layer of frost had settled on Ron's brows, yet he hardly noticed. The knots of his hands were dead white from force as he clenched to his bow; his hands shook a little. It was so quiet that Ron thought he could hear his and his comrades' heart beats. Someone cursed below him.

Ron looked around, all he could see were hundreds and hundreds of soldiers dressed in the blue armor like he did, and he felt more confident; surely such a mighty army could not be defeated easily, even if the enemy was the Dark Lord. Ron was one of those Valmier, those who were from the new generation and had never experienced the terror when the Dark Lord rode into the kingdom fifty years ago during the Sixth War. But he was in no way a neophyte in warfare. The kingdom had not forgotten about the last invasion, always training its young about fighting and discipline.

And they had gotten the one now; Prince Neville was sixteen, just of age. He would fend of the Dark Lord just like King Avon did before him. Ron thought of the prophecy and managed to expel the last seed of fear; he was ready. His eyes clouded as he thought of how he would shrug and say, "The Dark Lord? No I did not feel a bit scared;" and how his father's eyes would shine with joy and Hermione would blush with pride.

Ron stretched, and it was then he realized that it was cold. He brushed away the frost on his bow and clasped his hands together for a few moments. But it did not help; on the contrary, Ron felt the cold penetrate his armor and robes, freezing his exposed fingers. He cursed and spat, and it froze in the mid- air. Looking around Ron realized he was not the only one affected by the cold; he could see figures shifting around uncomfortably; somewhere near the gate came people yelling, "But sir, the oil is frozen," the fear and uncertainty in their voices apparent. Ron was not quite so sure of victory now; he stared at the black horizon, lest the enemy should show up unexpectedly. "With cold cometh the Dark Lord, it was just like this the last time…" Ron heard a soldier murmur besides him; he was an Old One. Ron replied, "But the Dark Lord had not come this time, it was just his followers…"

The man did not answer but kept murmuring, "A hooded figure on a great black warhorse, with a mask of black flame…"

"Damn I wish Prince Neville is with us right now…" thought Ron, but Neville was called away three days ago, for some serious fighting elsewhere. He heard someone gasp and looked up, the enemy had come; dark figures were rising on the horizon. He drew his bow and managed to nock an arrow with his now numb hands.

There, riding the very front and leading the black army was a hooded figure in black; the black warhorse under it just as fierce, its black mask a wall of flame. It is him. Neville felt fear penetrate his heart, the courage and confidence he mustered a few moments ago vanished as quickly as the last warmth in the air…

Lord Thales sat down in his tent and opened a map, just then another man stepped into the room. Thales stood up, "So you've heard?"

Severus nodded gravely, "Three thousand defending soldiers, Lamellae had still fallen, and young Tom…"

Thales scowled and waved his hand impatiently, "Let's stick to the official things first. I heard reports saying that the Dark Lord rode himself…"

Severus sighed, "No, he would not engage himself so early in the game."

"But…"Thales started, then his eyes widened, "You mean…it was him?"

Severus nodded, "I would think so."

"But you said he has a strong repulsion for killing."

"That could have been his acting, and it was four years ago anyhow…much would have been changed, perhaps he's had a new mentor since."

Thales smiled bitterly, "You know, Severus I don't blame you for wanting to get out of that pit of hell as fast as possible, but I've always though that if you had stayed and taught his more…"

Severus smiled a wry smile, "I would have stayed if I could…" clearing his throat, he asked, "What about Neville?"

Thales looked less troubled for the first time, "He is really doing well; where we have him we win." After a while he added, "They would meet sooner or later, and then we shall see."

"Neville was the most gifted I've ever seen, and I would think he's probably the one even without the mirror to confirm it…but there was always something unnerving about that other boy…Oh well, as you said, we shall see."

Thales looked out of the tent, "I hope not for long; one third of the cities had already fallen, and we do not have many more to spare."

Harry looked at the mask; its fierce black fire was gone now. The surface was quite smooth and cool, and he ran a finger over it absently. He looked at himself in the mirror; a pale young man with emerald eyes that were too big for his lean face stared back at him. It felt weird to see his own reflection, as he usually kept his mask on even around his master's men. The Masked Rider. A bitter smile spread across his face; instead of hating him, now even his own followers were afraid of his – ever since the fate of the Serpent Brothers spread. Having the world tremble at your name was not exactly a good thing, decided Harry, but it did not trouble him as much as he would have expected. He had shut himself away from the rest of the world the past four years anyway. When Master had errands for him, he finished them; but he never interacted with other beings more than was necessary. He had Severus before, but now he had only himself. And even thinking about Severus did not pain him much now; Harry realized that he had almost forgotten about him over the four years. He told himself that he had been occupied by his trainings; although a small part of his conscious made him slightly ashamed to have forgotten Severus. But above all Harry did not want to remember the other man. He could finally kill without vomiting all over the ground now, though partly because it was in warfare, and he knew deaths could not be avoided in a battle. And he finally could stop feeling pain, the pain of betrayal, the pain of feeling abandoned…

However he still never killed more than was necessary for victory, and if Master did not specify, he usually let his prisoners go. A loophole even he was surprised that he had dared to use.

A knock on the door called him away from his thoughts, and he hastily put on his mask. At his permission two soldiers came in, bringing a prisoner with them. They placed him before Harry and left without a word; staying near Harry of the Mask was not something even the vilest creatures would choose to do.

Harry looked at his prisoner of the day; they were usually nobles or generals, as the lesser soldiers were not given to Harry and he could not possibly free all of them. He was a young man of rather pale complexion, with wavy dark hair and a pair of blue eyes. He wore blue armor like all the Allirean soldiers, but he also had symbols of bronze horse sewn on his robes, indicating his high birth. He looked worn, but his figure was erect, and he looked straight at Harry without hesitation or fear. Though I cannot kill him for you, Master, I would at least question him.

"What is your name?" Harry spoke softly.

The young man almost jumped at his voice; and, to his great surprise, he started laughing, "One after one we fell down before you…and long had we wondered what kind of beast of man were you, and it turned out that Harry of the Mask was merely a child!"

"Pardon me," he said after he recollected himself, "I am Tom Riddle of Aderyn (A/N: smirks, surprise, surprise! Now who is the Dark Lord?). Oh how I wish I would have the chance to tell people that all alone we've been defeated by a boy no older than I am!"

"For a prisoner you certainly are rather flattering," Harry answered coldly, "and you shall have the pleasure of describing your defeat in whatever detail you like."

Tom looked at his uncertainly, then burst into another fit of laughter, "What? You mean I will walk away from here alive?"

Harry decided he was just one of those stupid younger generals, probably got to his position by heritage or hot blood. Such figures knew no more than the superficial facts, which he could deduct himself. Adding the fact that further conversing with him seemed to promise unpleasant talk; Harry decided he might just as well release his prisoner now. He freed Tom from the ropes that bound him with a simple movement of hand, "I am ordered to win, not to kill."

Tom looked at him, "And surely you don't expect me to walk out of this camp with a thousand enemies surrounding me alive?"

Harry looked at him, "No one would dare to touch those that I had set free."

There! Another doulbe update! I'm feeling very generous lately And now please review and tell me what do you all think It won't take much time, and it'll make me happy (hint hint).