Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related plot events and characters are the property of JK Rowling.

Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry must deal with the horrors of war, and in doing so he will embrace his heritage and leave a lasting legacy on the world.

A/N: Enjoy! Please read and review.

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Chapter 6: Harry's Dark Deeds

"Harry!"

Harry had barely opened the door when he heard the shriek, and couldn't react in time to avoid the small blur that came for him. With an Oomph, he staggered back a step as it collided with his abdomen. He looked down at the top of the person's head, patting the straight brown hair briefly. The girl lifted her head and he smiled into the beautiful brown eyes of Helen Davis.

It was now Wednesday afternoon, three days since his duel with Dumbledore. Their duel had sparked students into action like wildfire, with many of them galvanized enough to actually approach either himself or Dumbledore for some sort of advice or specific training. When it was starting to get out hand, Dumbledore had addressed the students during dinner the night before and told them that a formal announcement regarding any sort of training would be made during Thursday's dinner.

Harry had talked to Dumbledore very little since their duel—only in passing and only then a few words. He was still very upset over what he had learned about the Headmaster's 'death' and refused to talk to anyone about it, least of all the Headmaster himself. The duel was but a brief respite from the painful memories of the war and his newfound animosity towards what he thought was cowardice, and now that it was long gone, he had a hard time keeping his temper in control when near Dumbledore.

It was weighing on him, though, and very heavily at that. The dream he'd had the night before the duel was occurring every night, sometimes in even more vivid detail, and he thought he would crack if he didn't let it out soon. There were actually some things he wanted to discuss with Dumbledore, but he was working himself up to it. Today, he decided to come visit the girl he had comforted, Helen Davis, at St. Mungo's in Diagon Alley.

He had promised that he wouldn't forget her and Harry was not a person to easily break his promises. He had visited with her in the Pediatrics Ward occasionally during the four months since the attack on the orphanage, and each time he saw her she came out of her shell a little more. He had hesitated about coming today because an official statement about Voldemort hadn't been released as of yet, but he decided that seeing her was more important than avoiding the bloody press. He knew how much she depended on his visits and was glad to provide comfort and entertainment for such a ball of life.

"Hey, Helen. Your welcome was enthusiastic, as usual," he kidded her. She laughed at him and hugged him tighter around the waist. Seeing that she was not going to let go anytime soon, he picked her up and set her against his hip in the crook of his arm. She was fairly small for a six year old and therefore pretty light, so he could carry her around with ease.

"So how's my favorite brunette doing today?" Harry asked, with an undertone of seriousness. It did not go unnoticed in the sharp—very sharp, Harry corrected himself—six year old, and she sobered quickly.

"I'm doing pretty good…kinda bored, though, Harry. Can't I leave anytime soon?" she asked, picking at the couch they had chosen to sit on. She avoided his eyes, knowing what the answer would be.

"Where would you go? The Orphanage…?" but Harry immediately regretted it as he saw the pained look cloud her face. She still hadn't looked up, and Harry's face softened even more. He lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye.

"I'm trying to figure it out, ok Helen? It's just…there aren't a lot of options right now."

They were both silent for a moment, absorbed in their own thoughts. Harry didn't find it odd that Helen could be absorbed in her own thoughts, because even though she was six, she seemed to have the mind of at least a First Year at Hogwarts. He'd told her that once and she smiled brilliantly for days because of it.

Finally, she looked into his emerald eyes, and asked, "Is it true?"

He gazed at her. "Is what true?" He had no idea what she was talking about.

"You know…about V-Voldemort," she stuttered his name, because, under Harry's remonstration of the use of 'You-Know-Who', she was still getting used to it.

He smiled at her, marveling at how acutely aware of the world she was for someone so young. The smile faltered, though, when he remembered at least part of the reason why she had matured so quickly. The night of the Orphanage would be with her—and Harry, for that matter—for the rest of their lives. They hadn't talked much about it directly, but it always lingered at the edges of their conversations, like a low-lying annoying fog that refused to recede completely. It bothered Harry that he couldn't talk about it candidly, because he knew if he tried she would gladly do so, but he didn't have the heart or the stomach to bring it up yet.

"Yeah, sweetie, he's gone. Finally and once and for all," he sighed. It was almost a deep sigh of contentment, except for the fact that he still harbored a tiny ounce of regret the war was over. He still couldn't understand it, but it was there.

"How did it happen?" She had no idea that he was destined by the prophecy to be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord, so it was a very innocent question. It was still cause enough for him to wince, as he tried to figure out the best way to skirt around that question. He was going to lie to her, but something stopped him. She trusted him with her life, and he loved her like a little sister. There would be no secrets between them, when asked directly like that.

"Well…actually…I was the one who did it…" he said, looking carefully at her. She didn't react for a second, but then her eyes widened and she got up on her knees. Her face was close to his as she peered into his eyes with those wide eyes.

"You did?" she asked, breathlessly. It wasn't exactly wonder that filled her—no, it was more like morbid curiosity that she was exuding.

Harry shifted around uncomfortably, unsure as to exactly how much he should tell her. Finally, he decided again it would be best to tell her as much of the truth as he could.

"Yes, some of my friends and I have been involved with him for years now, Helen. I do not say this lightly, because this conflict has been raging since before even I was born. We had to do some things before we could face him, and that took the better part of the past year. On Saturday, we traveled to where he lived and fought him. We won," he said simply, sparing the little girl the gory details or embellishments that he normally might have told.

The morbid curiosity turned into hard gleam, which Harry was very surprised to see from her, and she spat, "Good, I'm glad the bloody bastard is gone!"

Harry was shocked and his wide eyes and gaping mouth proved it. "Helen! Where did you learn language like that?"

She looked at him sheepishly for a moment, and then held her chin high against the admonishment. "One of the boys in the ward calls him that. I thought it was a good name for him."

Harry could barely contain a chuckle that threatened to escape him. He tried to acquire a stern gaze, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate and was trying to smile at the same time. It turned in a pained grimace, which Helen eyed with something that looked like amusement.

"Now Helen, that was very unladylike. You shouldn't use language like that, even if you are talking about Voldemort. I don't want to hear that anymore."

Her chin went a little higher and she held him with a haughty gaze. This girl is feisty…kind of makes me think of a combination of Ginny and Hermione. She has the vast intellect of the latter and the fiery temperament of the former. She will certainly be interesting as she grows.

"That's what he is, though, isn't he?" Her poise might have looked arrogant, but her voice was questioning.

"Well…that's not the point. Some people would be offended just by the use of language like that." He patted her on the arm. "Don't worry about it for now; just try to limit the use of that sharp tongue you have," he said, giving her a mock piercing glare.

She stuck her tongue out at him, which caused him to dive for her and tickle her. She cracked into hysterical giggles almost immediately and tried to get out of his grasp, but he was too strong for her. He continued to tickle her for a few moments before stopping and sitting up, listening to her giggles die away and her hard breathing.

"You're mean," she pouted. She crossed her arms and looked away from him, chin up in disdain at Harry's actions. He grinned to himself when she did this—it was her favorite way of making him regret what he did.

He immediately took on a look of sorrow.

"Oh, woe is I! Have I insulted the great Helen Davis? I shall leave now; my presence is no longer wanted. I bid you goodbye, Ms. Davis. Good day, kind lady." It was common territory for them—they went through this at least once per meeting. He got up and started for the door, only to stop when she came up behind him and jumped on his back.

"Oh no you don't, Harry! Where do you think you're going? She wrapped her legs around his lower back and her arms loosely around his neck. "I've got you now!"

Harry spun around quickly, looking for the little girl. "Where did you go?"

Helen was silent, but she was shaking slightly with contained mirth.

Harry whipped around the other way. "Helen?"

She couldn't help herself and giggled lightly. That was all he needed as he reached back and pulled her around to the front. She was laughing openly now and he was grinning like a fool. She made him so happy and alive; sometimes he thought she was the one helping with his therapy rather than the other way around. He didn't have any therapy, of course, but she certainly made him feel better. He hoped he did the same for her.

He set her down on the ground and kneeled in front her, straightening her blouse as he did so. "Alright, sweetie, I've gotta go."

She pouted, and this time it was an honest look. "Already?" she asked.

It pained him to have to leave her like this every time, with nothing but the vast expanse of the Pediatrics Ward and all of its wonderful things to do to occupy her time, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.

"I'm sorry, but there are some things that I must do today. I'll be back this weekend, ok?" he asked her, silently hoping that she would not cry. She hadn't as often upon his leaving during recent weeks, and he hoped that she didn't now.

She hugged him tightly and, before pulling away, whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he let a ragged sound out as his own eyes welled up. He hugged her tightly for a moment, willing the tears away before she could notice them, and let her go once they were under control.

He looked into her face and said, "I love you too, Helen. Don't ever forget it." He patted her on the back and stood up. "See you later, honey," he parted as walked for the doors. The last glimpse of her through the doors showed a deep look of sorrow on her face, and his heart clenched like it did every time he saw it. It reminded him too much of the look on her face the night of the Orphanage…

"Mr. Potter! MR. POTTER!" Harry was broken from his thoughts when he heard the loud shouting. He looked up and groaned. A throng of press was waiting at the Apparition point for the hospital, and it was going to be impossible to avoid them unless he broke the Apparition laws. He wasn't willing to do that right now, so he steeled himself against the assault of questions.

"What has happened with You-Know-?"

"How did you defeat Vold-?"

"Why has there been no official-?"

He held up hands, cutting of the myriad questions in mid-sentence. He was surprised that they shut up so quickly, but it was a fleeting thought.

"I understand why you all have these questions," he started as he walked through them to the point, "but an official statement will be made tomorrow evening. Albus Dumbledore has already contacted those who he thinks are suitable to take the statement." With a bemused smile at their annoyed faces, he flicked his wand and Disapparated.

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The walk from the gates of Hogwarts back to the castle was filled with thought for Harry. He had to figure out the situation with Helen. She had grown on him during the past four months, and because she had no family of her own, he felt like he was responsible for her. It wasn't an obligation, though, because he wanted to help her. He really did love her like a sister and hated that she had to stay in the Pediatrics Ward for the moment. He certainly couldn't become her guardian because he was only 17 and couldn't possibly care for her needs in that way, but he wanted to watch out for her. He resolved to talk to Albus about it.

Thinking of Dumbledore brought new pangs of regret and anger to him, and he winced at the thought of having an extended conversation with the man. He had said some pretty terrible things the other day, but that wasn't what he regretted. He regretted that Dumbledore couldn't accept the things he'd done for the people he loved, and he was angry with him because of it. His anger, while based in that regret, was far more powerfully realized when he thought about Dumbledore in the Tomb those many months.

How could he have done that? How could he have left all of us like that? He had power enough to crush Voldemort and he never used it. My parents might still be alive if he had ended this, years ago, before it escalated. I just don't understand why he wouldn't use the power that he has to rid the world of evil. That's not acceptable…we were even in our duel, which means that he could have crushed Voldemort. Argh! Harry thought to himself, trudging closer and closer to the castle.

He let out a noise of disgust, but whether or not it was out of self-loathing or anger, he couldn't tell. As he approached the large doors to the entrance, he decided that tonight he had to go to Dumbledore and show him some things. Harry cringed a little. The things I've done to protect people…He sighed and crossed the threshold into the quiet castle.

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"What are you up to tonight, Harry?" Ron asked. He came and sat down in an adjacent chair and looked into the fire as Harry was. Harry had his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, and he was staring glumly into the crackling fire in front of him. He raised his eyes and looked across at his redheaded friend.

"I need to talk to Albus for awhile," he simply stated, and then moved his eyes back to the flames. Ron watched him carefully for a moment, noticing that he seemed unusually tired at the moment. There were no bags under his eyes, but his face seemed to be sagged for some reason, like he was carrying the weight of the world in that brain of his.

"What for?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual.

Harry looked at him again. "Just…things."

"Oh. Well, want some company?"

Harry shook his head blithely. "Not tonight, Ron. This is between him and I."

Ron thought he understood. "Is this about…what you said?"

Harry grimaced for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Partially. But, look mate, you don't need to worry yourself or Hermione and Ginny with this, ok?"

Ron nodded, not wanting to upset Harry. He didn't particularly like the angry Harry, and he tried to avoid it at all costs.

"Sure thing. It's just…you look like hell, mate."

Harry grinned at him. "Thanks. Just what I needed…"

Ron chuckled and said, "Well, it's true, you know. You should try to get more sleep or something. And stop worrying so much. It's over—we don't have to fight anymore. We can get back our lives."

A pang shot through Harry's chest when he heard what Ron said. He looked back into the fire, his gaze penetrating the warm crackling and resting somewhere in the embers. Harry's whole life had been this war…he didn't really have a life to go back to. He realized that that was why it seemed almost bittersweet to him. He was going to be starting over; sure, he had Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to help him—not to mention Dumbledore and the others—but all of his existence had been for one purpose. Now that his purpose was finished he had to figure out what he wanted to do.

He sighed; he stood and stretched his cramped his muscles. He ran a hand through his unruly raven hair and looked down at Ron, who was regarding him with a curious air.

"All right, well, I'm gonna go see him now. I'll be back late, so don't wait up for me."

"Good luck."

Harry gave a half-smile and grumbled, "I might need it," and strode off toward the common room exit.

Harry's mind was filled with thoughts about what he was going to show his Headmaster, and he was at the gargoyle before he even thought about where he was going. He sighed again and said, "Coppercorn candies." The gargoyle slid away and revealed the revolving circular escalator.

He heard a loud, "Enter!" before he even reached the door, so he just strode into the office. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk looking over some scrolls, eating some candies that were in a dish by his hands. Fawkes crooned a welcoming noise and settled back into preening himself.

Harry stood behind one of the chairs facing his desk until Dumbledore looked up at him and said, not unfriendly, "Well, sit down. I'll just be a moment."

Harry sat in the chair and waited patiently for Dumbledore to finish whatever he was doing. He looked at Fawkes and noticed that the beautiful phoenix was staring at him. He locked eyes with the bird and was immediately uncomfortable. The eyes were one of an intellect vast and cool, not one of a bird. Harry looked away and shrugged it off. He is, after all, a magical creature. Who knows how smart he is? He looked up from his thoughts and noticed Dumbledore had finished and was now staring at him, hands folded across the desk and eyes searching. The twinkle was there, but it was subdued.

"So, Harry, what can I do for you tonight? Is this something about the duel?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, Albus, there are a few more important things that I want to talk about with you. First and foremost, I would like to apologize for what I said to you the other night. It was disrespectful and inappropriate…" he trailed off as Dumbledore held up his hand.

"I do not blame you for what you said, Harry. We all lose our tempers sometimes, even the most levelheaded of us. I just wish I understood you better."

Harry shifted uneasily in his seat before continuing. "Well, that is part of the reason that I came here tonight. I think I owe it to you to try to explain…certain things. But there is something else I'd like to address first."

"How was St. Mungo's?" Dumbledore asked. Harry stopped with his mouth hanging open, the question catching him off guard. It was strange that Dumbledore would mention it right then…

"Um…it was fine. Why do you ask?"

"That is the 'other matter' that you wanted to discuss, is it not?"

Harry nodded, still unsure how Dumbledore knew what he talking about. "Yeah, but how did you know?"

"I make it a point to know where my students are and what they are doing at all times. It is my responsibility as Headmaster of Hogwarts." He smiled at his own cunning.

"Right, well, do you know why I was there?"

"Hmm, I believe a certain Miss Helen Davis, if I'm not mistaken?"

"How much do you know, exactly?" Harry asked, wanting see how much of the whole conversation could be skipped.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before answering the question. "I know that you've been visiting her for some time, that she has no family or legal guardian, and that she has been in the hospital since around Christmas. I also know that none of the students, including your friends, know about your visits and that Minerva was the only one before she told me."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just cut to the chase. I was wondering what I could do about her."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Harry."

"I meant…what are my options here. She's important to me…" he stopped as Dumbledore gave him a scrutinizing look. The blue eyes searched his, and Harry had a hard time meeting the intent gaze. Albus Dumbledore could be a very disconcerting person when he wanted to.

"I don't follow you, Harry. Perhaps I should have been clearer. What motivates you to think this?"

Well, it's now or never, Harry thought. "Accio Pensieve," he said, not even realizing that he hadn't used a wand. Dumbledore eyed him for a moment, noticing what Harry had done, but then shifted his concentration when he put the Pensieve on the desk.

Harry took a deep breath and let it slowly, clearing his head. "Alright, the first thing that I'm going to show you will explain what you want to know about Helen and will hopefully help you begin to understand some of the things that I said the other night."

Harry put his wand to his temple and searched for the complete memory. Once he had it firmly in his mind, he pulled it from his brain in a long silver string that hung from the end of the wand. He placed it in the Pensieve and swirled the silvery liquid around, watching as the memory took shape. The Pensieve projected it into the air above the desk in three dimensions, and they both sat back to watch the events unfold.

The memory was of the night at the Orphanage. This was the first time that Harry was sharing this with anyone—he had never told anyone about that night and he certainly never used the Pensieve to show anyone. He watched himself get up and leave Hogwarts, but soon shifted his eyes away from the images. It was too painful for him to watch.

His eyes settled on Dumbledore, who was paying rapt attention to the memory playing out before him. He took no notice of Harry, so he decided to watch his face. Dumbledore's face ran the gamut of emotions: confusion, curiosity, shock, horror, and finally disgust. Harry could even see a glint of anger in there. The thing that caught him off guard, though, was the single tear that fell from one of his eyes, before getting lost in the infinite whiteness of his beard.

And then, for just a moment, Harry saw something in Dumbledore that he'd never seen or even thought about before. All pretenses had dropped from the old mans face and eyes and for once in his life he looked like he didn't know what to say. There were no calming or assuring words, no curt reply to something he didn't like, and no anger-fueled response—it was just…nothing. It passed almost as quickly as it came, but however fleeting it may have been, Harry was sure of what he'd seen. And he didn't know if he liked it.

There was a silence for a few moments after the images had ceased. Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked at Harry.

"Well…that madness…certainly explains some things…" he said, as if not exactly sure how to approach it. Harry was reminded of that brief look of loss he saw on the old man's face, but he shoved it aside.

"I thought it might," Harry said quietly, adding, "But there are a few more things I need to show you."

"Are they quite like that?" Dumbledore asked, seeming to be a little uneasy.

"Well…no. But they are related," Harry affirmed.

"Ok, show me-"

"Actually, before I do, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded so Harry continued. "Well, I was just wondering what the situation is with the rest of the Death Eaters."

"I see. Well, from what I can gather—granted, I've only been back for a few days now—there are only around 30 left that haven't been rounded up. The Ministry is doing their best, but I'm sure it will be some time before they are all caught."

"Hmm…ok, and what of Voldemort?"

"His shell is being held at Azkaban."

"Er…shell?"

"Well, he was determined to be a soulless being. So, his shell, yes."

"Oh, all right. I suppose he won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth curved up ever so slightly, and he said, "No, I suppose not." The smile faded when he saw Harry's face turn into a grimace.

Harry said, "The next thing I'm gonna show you will no doubt shock you, but keep in mind what you've just seen." Dumbledore watched as Harry pulled the memory from his skull and set in into the Pensieve. The cold, hard glint of steel that had come into Harry's eyes didn't go unnoticed by the wise old man.

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the images as they started to form.

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It was the beginning of January. The weather had turned brutally cold, and wind chills were all well below zero. The sun seemed to barely penetrate the blue expanse of the sky, and its zenith provided little comfort or warmth. Twilight was falling as Harry headed to bed. He didn't feel like talking much that night, so he went to sleep early.

He woke up several hours later, confused as to where he was for a moment. When he realized that he was safe at the Burrow for the winter hols, a sick feeling washed over him. His mind had rarely left the events of the Orphanage, which had happened only a month before. He was going back to Hogwarts in a few days, and he was unsure if he could face the tasks that awaited him when he got back.

He sat in his bed for a moment, mulling over past events, when he suddenly got up and put on some clothes. He strode downstairs to the fireplace, took some floo powder and yelled, "Diagon Alley!" as he threw it in.

He came out into the familiar Leaky Cauldron, and noticed that it was still fairly busy. He looked over at a clock and saw that it was only 11 o'clock. He had slept for about 5 hours, and it seemed everyone at the Burrow had taken a cue from and had gone to sleep. He strode out into the Alley, ignoring the blast of positively frigid air that hit his face. He walked quickly, trying to keep his hands and feet from numbing, and was soon staring at the white stone steps that led into St. Mungo's.

He entered and proceeded to the Pediatrics Ward. The nurse at the desk informed him that visiting hours were over, but when she noticed his scar her eyes widened and she just nodded for him to continue. He pushed open the door and walked into the lounge. It should have been quiet and dark at this time of night, but instead there was one soul reading by the light of a lamp. She looked up at Harry and smiled brilliantly.

"Mr. Potter!" Helen Davis exclaimed, setting down her small book and running to him. Harry had only seen her three times since the night of the attack, so she hadn't become familiar enough with him to call him by his first name yet. She trusted him completely, though, as was evident by the force she threw herself into his arms. He grinned at the little girl and looked at her face.

"Hello Helen, what are you doing up so late?"

She squirmed in his arms for a second and said, "I couldn't sleep." Harry carried her over to one of the long couches and set her down on it, sitting next to her.

"And how come?" he asked.

"Well…I dunno…I just can't," she said, almost whining.

Harry was about to respond, but he felt a little prickle in his scar. He reached a hand up to rub it and looked around warily. Helen noticed something wrong and perked up her face towards him.

"What's the matter, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, honey, just hang on a sec." He was about to get up and look around, but there was a sudden commotion from out in the hallway and a loud, urgent screaming.

He looked quickly at Helen and saw that her face had gone pale. Her eyes were darting around fearfully, unsure of what was going on and no doubt reliving her horrible experience in every excruciating detail.

"Helen, just stay here, I'll be right-"

He didn't finish his sentence however, because the door slammed open and people rushed in, cutting him off. His face paled when he saw them: Death Eaters. He dove behind the couch, pulling Helen down with him. She gave a little yelp, but he quickly covered her mouth. He looked in her eyes and shook his head slowly, indicating that she couldn't make any noise. With eyes widened, she nodded her little head in understanding. It broke his heart to see that look.

He was distracted though when a Death Eater rushed by and kicked open a door to a room. It was a patient's room…in the Pediatrics wards…there were kids in there! With a sickly flash of green light, though, Harry knew that the kids in there were no more. It was a sickening realization, and one that would haunt him for days to come.

The Death Eaters were here…at St. Mungo's…in the Pediatrics Ward…killing kids. And suddenly, Harry could only see red. The Death Eaters were murdering kids. They were snatching the life away from those who still had many, many years left ahead of them. Uncontrollable anger and loathing gushed to the surface of his emotions, fueled by what he'd seen at the Orphanage and what was occurring before him right now.

Helen must have noticed the change in his demeanor, because she shrank back from him a little and started to cry. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it couldn't be good.

"Helen, listen to me. Whatever happens, stay here and stay covered. Close your eyes and hum to yourself. Ok?" It wasn't a question though—it was a statement. The steel in Harry's voice intimidated Helen, but she nodded and did as she was told. Harry pulled out his wand and stood.

The brief glimpse of the room told him there was probably at least 20 Death Eaters moving through the ward, but that did not deter him. The rage was blinding and consuming him now—even if he had wanted to, he couldn't stop it or force it away. His mind could only focus one thing—Death Eaters were killing kids. That thought rode through his conscience many times over in the space of a few seconds, driving away any rational or coherent thought. The only thing that was left was hate. Hate…and the intent to kill.

"YOU BASTARDS!" he screamed, raising his wand at the closest Death Eater. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he yelled, watching as the green wave went forth and crumpled the person in the black robe. His mind briefly registered the fact that it was the first time he'd used the Killing Curse, but it was quickly lost to the revulsion swirling around in him. The Death Eaters who were close enough see what was going on turned to stop him, but Harry was a whirlwind of madness, death, and anger.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he yelled again, taking out another Death Eater. He whirled around the room, Apparating short distances so they couldn't get a lock on his position. Each time he did so, he sent another Killing Curse flying in the direction of a Death Eater, all of whom were trying to stop him now.

"REDUCTO!" he bellowed at two Death Eaters standing next to one another. The force of the curse blew them apart in a mess of flesh and bones, but Harry's mind was too overloaded to really see what he was doing. He Apparated across the lobby behind two more and shouted "DIFFINDO!" They slumped to the floor, headless.

Once the lobby was cleared, he looked down a hallway and saw a green flash. There are more and they're still killing kids! The thought was fleeting and an anguished cry of wrath, loss, and guilt wrapped into one escaped his lips. He tore down towards the location of a light and raised his wand at a Death Eater who came out of the room. "DIFFINDO!" he cried, sending the cutting curse toward the man.

It cut off his wand hand, and the man crumpled to the floor in agony. He looked at Harry with naked fear in his eyes, as if he was seeing what Harry Potter was for the very first time. The look caused a pause in Harry, one of confusion that his mind worked over for a second, before a small boy that had come out of his room distracted him.

He watched, in almost morbid fascination, as a second Death Eater came around the corner, and upon seeing the boy, raised his wand. There was a green flash and the boy crumpled to the floor. Harry stared at the boy for one second before his mind completely snapped. There was nothing of the old Harry Potter left—there was only madness and revenge. The look on his face must have been truly frightening, because the Death Eater that had killed the boy faltered for a second when he saw it.

Harry raised his wand at the man and cried, "FLAMMA ATRUM!" The huge, thirsty ball of black flame roared down the hallway toward the surprised Death Eater, and before he could move, it engulfed him. Harry watched in grim satisfaction as the flames were absorbed into the man's flesh, horribly disfiguring him. He writhed on the ground in agony as the flesh started to literally melt.

"Reducto," Harry said in a very cold voice. The one who had no wand hand left now had no torso left. Harry wiped the blood from his face and stalked toward the man he had burned.

"How could you do this?" Harry asked the man. He didn't respond. The pain was too great for him.

"HOW COUD YOU DO THIS!" Harry screamed at him. He still didn't respond. Harry raised his wand and fired a Killing Curse, ending it.

He whirled around when he heard a noise, but discovered that it was just Helen slowly picking her way through the carnage in the hall. She had a look of shock on her face, and that snapped Harry's mind back into himself. His eyes roved unseeingly for minute, but then they focused on Helen again.

She was looking at him with nothing but fear, and it deadened his heart to see that look directed at him. He finally looked around; comprehending what he'd done, and he started to shake. His mind tried to hold back to the tide, but a small, tormented noise escaped him and he sunk slowly to his knees. His eyes leaked tears and shuddering sobs started to wrack his body.

This was the Harry that no one got to see. His emotions, insecurities, and guilt were laid bare. He was on his knees in the middle of the carnage he had created, letting out the emotions that had been building in him for weeks, months, even years. He didn't look up when Helen approached him and wrapped her small arms around his chest. She leaned her head against his collarbone, and they just stayed there for a few moments.

Finally, some sense came to Harry. He had to get out of there.

With a shaky voice, he said, "Helen, where's your room?" Silently, she led him by the hand to her room. He lifted her into her bed as the alarms started ringing through the hospital.

"Helen…I-I don't know what to tell you…just, please, please, don't tell anyone I was here tonight," he pleaded with her.

He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but was surprised when she said, "You saved me again, Mr. Potter. I'll do anything for you." Undying loyalty from a six year old. Harry had to bite back a sudden and out of place smile that threatened his lips. He was ashamed with himself for even having to hold one back.

Harry hugged her tight and said good-bye, and Disapparated. He arrived in the garden of the Burrow. Putting his wand away, he made his way towards the back door of the house. The remains of his tears froze on his face in the blustery wind, but he didn't even notice.

----------

The image faded away and the office was left silent. The noiseless atmosphere stretched on, until Harry finally looked up from the floor at Dumbledore. He was staring Harry in the face. His expression was unreadable. It almost looked like he wanted Harry to say something, and that caused an irrational anger to build in Harry.

"What, do you want me to feel guilty for what I did?" he snapped.

Dumbledore didn't react at first, but then slowly let out his breath. He regarded Harry with his blue eyes. "No, Harry, you shouldn't feel guilty for that. They were killing children, after all. It's just…you were so brutal. I never thought I would see you killing in cold blood, Harry."

Harry was silent, so Dumbledore continued. "This does explain quite a lot, though. Minerva told me about that incident at the hospital; no one ever could explain what happened but they were all thankful that the Death Eaters only got a few of the children. What you've shown me clears that up."

Harry took a deep breath, and said, "I don't know what happened…I just…completely lost control." Harry's eyes were looking inwards, as if he was examining himself. "It was such an overwhelming feeling. I couldn't ignore it."

Dumbledore was looking at Harry with something like pity, but Harry didn't notice. "What couldn't you ignore?" he asked, prodding Harry to talk further.

Harry looked up. Dumbledore had to restrain himself from flinching away from the hate that was radiating from his eyes. He knew it wasn't directed at him, but it was still unsettling. There was something crackling in there that he wasn't sure he wanted to ever see again.

"The urge to kill," said Harry. It was such a simple statement, yet it had such profound implications. To kill, thought Dumbledore. He actually had the urge to take a life.

"Have you ever felt like that since," he asked Harry in a quiet voice. The sound of Dumbledore's voice seemed to drain the hate from his eyes, and he focused on Dumbledore once again.

"One other time."

"Voldemort?"

Harry shook his head. "I wanted to kill Voldemort…but it wasn't the same feeling." Harry stopped talking and another long silence descended upon the office.

Finally, Harry broke it. "Albus?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How could they do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would they do that to children? The children weren't a threat to them. First the Orphanage…for some kind of sick pleasures…then the Ward…for some random killing? I just don't get it. Why would they do that?"

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry the answer to what he was asking. It was a difficult and unpleasant subject.

"Well Harry, to answer that question, you have to understand what makes a Death Eater a Death Eater."

Harry looked at him, but said nothing. Dumbledore continued. "The men and women that become Death Eaters are from two different molds. The first mold is made up of people who are easily led and corrupted into thinking that pure bloods are superior and that power is what they want. They enlist in the service of Voldemort because, as I'm sure you already know, his most dangerous weapon is his voice. He poisons their minds into thinking that his way is best.

"The second mold is made up people that Voldemort doesn't have to poison. These people are already depraved and crave power and death. You could call these people 'evil', but that would be trivializing the fact that they thrive in death and mayhem. The two molds usually stay separate from each because the first regards the second fearfully and the second regards the first haughtily.

"The Death Eaters you've run into are no doubt from the second, because, to be honest with you, I've never really encountered Death Eaters that are as barbaric as the one's you've met. The Orphanage and the Ward clearly show me that Voldemort's supporters took advantage of their position—many times in ways that no one wants to think about."

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he'd just said the most brilliant thing in the world. It wasn't adoration, because Harry was still pissed at him, but it was something like it. It was…respect. Dumbledore was quite glad when he saw it, but he made no mention of it to Harry, because he didn't want to upset its growth.

Harry's look slowly changed to a crestfallen one, though. "So what does that make me?" he asked, looking at the floor.

Dumbledore's heart went out to Harry right then and there—the boy had been through so much and now he felt guilty for saving some kids. Sure, it was brutal and disgusting, but they were murdering kids.

"Harry, you are not a saint, but righteous anger is not something that you should feel guilty about. You saved countless kids. I don't exactly condone your methods, but I can't honestly blame you for what you did. Even using the Killing Curse…it will just take me time to accept it fully."

Harry looked a little better, but his face went stony. "There is one more thing I want to show you." That was all he said, and he then pulled a silvery memory from his temple and put it in the Pensieve. He swirled it and a new image materialized in the air.

----------

Harry awoke with a start. His scar was burning painfully, but there was only one thing on his mind: he had to get to the Burrow. He slipped from the dormitory, putting on his robe and his shoes as he did. It was a week after the students had returned from the holidays. He had had a very unsettling dream about the Burrow and what may or may not have been happening there, so he had to see. The fact that his scar hurt did nothing to ease his fears.

He crept into McGonagall's office once again and took some floo powder. "The Burrow!" he said, throwing the powder into the fire. The next thing he knew he was tumbling out of the fireplace into the kitchen of the Burrow. He pulled his wand immediately and stood up carefully, peering around the dark room as he did so.

He heard a sound coming from the living room and before he could do anything two bright green flashes lit the room. He dove out of the way, but the light had come from the living room. And there could be no mistake about what that light was: the Killing Curse.

Shaken slightly, Harry got up and cautiously made his way toward the doorway into the living room. Wand at the ready, he peered around the corner. His heart literally stopped for two seconds at what he saw. Bellatrix Lestrange and two other Death Eaters were standing over the now dead bodies of Arthur and Molly Weasley. They were muttering something to each other.

Harry almost passed out, but the uncontrollable rage that he'd felt only a little more than a week earlier flashed into him. It brought with it that urge to kill that felt so alien to him, but it also felt so right. He wanted to slaughter these three. He lost himself in his rage again, and could only focus on what he intended to do to these…things

Stalking into the room, he shouted, "DIFFINDODIFFINDO!" The two Death Eaters on either side of Bellatrix fell to the ground, spurting blood from the separated halves of their bodies.

Bellatrix whirled around, but before she could do anything, Harry yelled, "DIFFINDO!" cutting off her wand hand. She gripped it in agony and sank to the floor, in the middle of the four corpses that were strewn there.

"Harry, Harry, please-" she tried to gasp out, but he was at her in heartbeat and kicked her solidly in the face. There was dull crunching sound and when she looked up, what was left of her nose was pouring blood.

"Have mercy…" she croaked out.

"HAVE MERCY? HOW COULD I HAVE MERCY, YOU HORRIBLE BITCH? LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THEY WERE LIKE PARENTS TO ME! DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU'VE DONE?" he screamed, seeing nothing but the red color of his fury. He kicked her viciously again, this time in the chest. He felt a few of her ribs break, but thought nothing of it. She hitched in her breath and fell over on her side.

Harry grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back up, snarling into her face. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." He paused…then, "CRUCIO!"

Bellatrix writhed around on the ground in the spreading pools of blood, grunting and screaming in agony as the power of the curse coursed through every one of her nerves. Harry held it for two minutes, stopping only when she stopped moving. Her breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and she was unconscious.

"REDUCTO!" he said, pointing his wand at her lower leg. It vaporized in a shower of blood. She screamed her way back to consciousness, painfully aware that she was losing body parts rapidly.

Harry pulled her up again and looked her dead in her violet eyes. "How does it feel to be the one that's being tortured?" His voice was cold, unrelenting, and laced with pure malice. "How would you like a searing blade?" Her eyes widened when she realized what he was talking about, and she started blubbering. He took no notice of it.

"Lamna ferveo," Harry said, and watched as his wand turned into fiery knife. He pressed the flat of the blade into the side of her face, burning her skin unmercifully. She screamed louder and harder than ever, but didn't pass out. He pulled the knife away and almost cringed when some melted skin came with it, but he shoved that thought aside.

"This is your repayment for all of the terrible things you've done to my friends, my family, and I." And with those words, he plunged the knife into her abdomen, twisting it and driving it deeper. She screamed until her vocal chords couldn't handle it anymore and then finally passed out.

Harry stood up and let his wand transform back to normal, and performed the Killing Curse to end it. He looked around, fighting the urge to retch, and levitated the corpses of Arthur and Molly out of the mess. He went into the kitchen and put his head into his hands.

----------

Harry was almost afraid to look at Dumbledore when it ended, because he didn't think he would be able to handle the disgust that was surely showing on the old man's face.

"Harry."

Harry didn't look up.

"Harry, look at me."

Very slowly, and against his will, he looked up and met the Headmaster's gaze. He didn't find disgust, though; rather, he found something that almost looked like regret and maybe even a tiny bit of pity.

"I thought you would be disgusted," Harry said, quietly.

"As I should be," said Dumbledore, thoughtfully, "but again, I cannot blame you for what you've done. Your methods are a little…how shall I put this…unorthodox…but that memory shows the lengths you are willing to go to protect the ones you love."

Dumbledore paused briefly, as if collecting himself. "However, there is a fine line between righteous anger and being vindictive, which I think you may have crossed in that particular instance. That is what you have to be careful of, Harry. Torture is an awful thing, and I can tell that you regret what you did to her, but what's done is done. I'm just glad you appeared to have learned a lesson from it."

Harry nodded, feeling relief flood through him for some reason. He was still pissed at the man, but that was quickly fading away with Dumbledore's wise words and knowledge. He now realized why he'd missed him so much.

"All right, well I think I've said all I can for tonight. Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, Harry." Harry turned to leave. "Oh, one more thing. Would you be willing to give a short speech tomorrow evening?"

"Er…I suppose so. What do you want me to say?"

"Anything you want, my boy. Anything at all." Harry nodded thoughtfully, and turned away.

----------

Harry stood at the back of the Great Hall, by the doors, listening to Dumbledore address the school. It was now Thursday night and classes had begun again earlier in the day. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were standing next to him, listening to Dumbledore as well. Harry hadn't told them what he'd been doing in Dumbledore's office, but they chose not to ask him.

All three of them felt some kind of rift was going up between Harry and them, and that it had started soon after Harry had ended Voldemort's reign. Ron and Hermione felt it the most, because at least Ginny was still close to him on a very personal level. Ron had the ugly feeling that he was slowly losing his best friend, Hermione felt like the only brother she'd ever known was drifting away, and Ginny knew that her conversations with him in the past few days had been filled with long, uncomfortable silences.

Harry, however, was clueless to their feelings. He was wrapped up in his own difficulties, and he either didn't care or didn't notice what was happening between him and the three people who he was closest to.

"…and Harry Potter would like to say a few words…" came from the front of the room.

Four hundred heads swiveled in his direction and Harry muttered to his friends, "That's my cue." With a slightly resigned sigh, he made his way toward the podium at the front of the Hall. He nodded at Dumbledore who winked at him with his twinkling eyes, and stood behind it. He gazed out across the sea of faces and realized that they thought of him as some sort of god—he was isolated from them because they all looked up to him and what he'd done. He felt a sinking sensation then, and realized for the first time what the real downside to being idolized was. The only people that he would ever be comfortable with were those that thought of him as an equal.

Shaking himself from his unfortunate reverie, he spoke to the Great Hall. "There is one thing that I want to make clear tonight. For the first time in all of our lives we can live without fear; we can be without the terrible feeling of unease every time we step outside or the horrible paranoia of always looking over our shoulder. Voldemort—" he ignored the flinches "—has been rampaging for our entire lives. He's been a specter, hindering our thoughts and our progress as a generation. Now that he is no longer a threat, we can all go about our lives like normal young people…"

Harry trailed off and brought a hand to his forehead to rub it. It had begun to prickle painfully and he could no longer ignore it. People were looking at him with curious faces, but he suddenly became aware of some kind of magical presence outside of the castle. It was the weirdest feeling…almost like a pressure on his mind. He gave Dumbledore a quick look and saw that he was watching him carefully, and then nodded toward the doors.

The crown made a noise as Harry set off at a sprint out of the Great Hall and then out of the main doors of the castle. Harry stopped after a few seconds of running and looked toward the gate. There was something happening there, but he couldn't quite make it out. Something…no, someone…no, there were a lot of people down there. He ran further to get a closer look, and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized what he was seeing.

There were about twenty-five to thirty figures dressed in black robes by the gates of Hogwarts, but there was someone else with them. This person had light blond hair and was dressed in a pair of ratty slacks and a bloody t-shirt. It looked like they were…playing with this person. The Death Eaters were levitating him and dropping him, using the Cruciatus on him, and basically just torturing him.

Harry felt that old rage and horrifying disgust welling up in him, and did nothing to stop it. The transformation was instantaneous this time, and it was accompanied by a loud, thundering Boom. Harry stood there in his 'ascended' form, growing angrier by the second at what he was seeing. It brought back the old blind fury and bloodlust. He had ascended, but this time it was different. His aura was black—as black as the night around him. Except for the very edge of it, which was a deep red color, he was surrounded by something darker than the night.

The Death Eaters looked up at the noise and paused for a second, dropping the figure to the ground in the process. What they saw confused them. It was clearly Harry Potter, but they couldn't make sense of it. He was surrounded by…night? Something very black permeated the air around his body, and about 10 feet from his body in all directions was a red ring.

One of the Death Eaters raised his wand to the figure on the ground and said, "Avada Ked-"

He was cut off by Harry screaming, "NOO!" None of the Death Eaters saw it because of the night, but when Harry had screamed, thirty black tendrils shot from his aura toward them. They all dropped without a noise, their hearts exploding in their chests when the tendrils hit them.

Unsure of exactly what he'd done, Harry descended and rushed over to the figure lying prone on the ground. He turned the person over onto their stomach and gasped at what he saw. The face was unmistakable. He was looking at Draco Malfoy.