No one wanted to admit there was a flaw in the Ministry's plan. But just like the truth of Voldemort's return, it soon could neither be hidden nor ignored.

Harry Potter was drifting.

Away from the light and those that had feigned concern. Away from the friends that knew nothing of his pain and heartache, but told him they understood. He had forced the idea of this so called prophecy, down. Much the same way he did the bile that rose in his throat after every night's scar induced dream. Ginny would come and comfort him when he would wake up screaming. She would whisper kind words, paired with loving kisses. Then Dumbledore would come, speaking of Harry's bravery. Soon followed by imploring questions of what had happened in his vision. Always to be interrupted by Cornelius Fudge flooing through the now roaring fireplace, repeating exactly what had just been spoken.

He was sick of it.

Sick of the constant publicity. Sick of being the Wizarding world's scapegoat. Soon, he began to simply…forget the visions. He no longer knew where the next attack would be. Nor did he care for that matter. The Ministry didn't trust him, they made this quite clear. His friends had never trusted him to begin with. Oh, they had played their part well. Make Harry Potter believe he has a place in this world. Give him something to fight for. Give him a reason to die. He was just a tool. A weapon.

But a weapon for whom?

Was he Dumbledore's man? Had it not been the great wizard himself who drove Voldemort to his current state? Had he not been the one to drive Harry into this self-mutilating depression?

Or was he Voldemort's secret? A crucial member of the Order of The Phoenix, who doubted their chance of victory. In second year, hadn't Harry become enamored with Tom Riddle's ideologies? Had they not seen eye to eye on almost everything? Had they been at school together, could they have been friends?

But was he a weapon for Voldemort? In the diary, neither had known the truth about the other. But they had still found solace in each other. In that solace was the Order's greatest weakness. Tom's compassion for the boy-who-lived, and Harry's understanding of the one who would become the most feared Dark Lord in history.

Avada Kedavra green eyes met the gaze of a Crucio red.

A savior acknowledged a forgotten promise.

A lord resurrected feelings long dead.

And at that point in time, there was no good. There was no evil. There was only a teen, who had seen too much in his short seventeen years. And there was only a man, whose wish for justice had been twisted into a lifelong war with humanity.

Brother wands raised in anger, were lowered in compassion. Though a war raged around them, their internal battle had ceased long ago.

"There is no good and evil. Only power, and those too weak to seek it."

A small smile.

"Interesting. Who told you that?"

A smirk.

"I believe it was you."

"I see you've heeded my words then."

A young red-head who was dueling with a blonde boy stopped and stared. Both filled with a shock beyond words.

"How do you figure that?"

A laugh, and a loving glance.

"Neither of us is dead."

The red-head was fuming.

"TRAITOR!"

A flash of green. A dull thump.

A gentle caress. A soft kiss.

"I believe they've lost their savior."

He was a weapon for no one. He was a living, breathing man. He was the soul who stood beside Voldemort.

He was Harry Potter.

My first Harry Potter fanfic, hopefully not my last. Just a little idea I had. Looking back, it's kind of confusing. Review please!