Where had he been when the 'virus' struck?

Oh yes, now he remembered. He had been weeding the garden like his aunt demanded when, for some unperceived slight, Vernon tossed him into the cupboard.

Instead of complaining about it, he decided to take a much needed nap. They'd force him awake if they needed him to cook.

It was the screams and the profanity of Vernon that woke him.

He didn't bother to open the small opening that let light into the cupboard.

He knew by the screams it was pointless.

So he waited for night to fall and the screams to die out. Or at least in the house anyway.

Then he opened the door slowly, and saw the blood.

One look at the window said all he needed to know.

Zombies. What a joke.

He went into the tool shed and found something long and sturdy.

Then, without much hesitation at all, he started killing them.

The adults were useless. They just screamed and called the police. Their children were either dead or huddled behind them, screaming their lungs out.

None of them were fighting back.

The child who had been called a freak all his life started going house by house, gathering survivors. They seemed to take comfort that a child not even ten was doing something about this.

Eventually he gave up his wrench for a metal bat from the school.

It was funny really. The kid they all dismissed as a juvenile delinquent and troublemaker was the one they were stuck following.

Some of the adults finally got the cars. Everyone knew it was a bad idea to stick around, so they drove to London. Harry's blood-soaked bat had blood in the carpet of the floor, but no one cared.

When they reached London, it was almost worse. Except here it wasn't just Harry who was galvanizing the survivors.

The moment the car stopped, the adults immediately gravitated behind police lines.

Harry took his bat and started swinging at anything that had blood or open wounds on it. They were dead anyway, so who cared.

The weird thing was he wasn't afraid or concerned that these...things...used to be people.

He felt alive in a way he couldn't explain.

Every time he heard screams, he pushed his legs to the limit to get there. Sometimes he made it, other times he didn't.

When he did, he took out the problem without hesitation and made sure the survivors made it to perceived safety.

The cops said nothing whenever he came in with more survivors. They just handed him some food and water, and let him get to work while he held the line.

Finally the army showed up.

Harry paused, taking deep breaths as he clutched his bat like a lifeline.

One of the cops came up to him with a soda.

"You did good kid. You were able to save thirty people while we held the line."

"Someone had to do something. And the adults were useless," said Harry.

The cop patted him on the head.

"First we're going to get you some food, and then we'll see about locating your family."

"My family was dead hours ago. I heard the screams," said Harry without any feeling. Before the cop could say anything, he also added "Besides, throwing me into the cupboard under the stairs probably saved my life anyhow."

The cop didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

He barely marked the passing of time. Outside of being praised by several official looking people because of those he saved. He didn't know why they looked so strange whenever he told them flatly "They weren't people anyway, and adults are never reasonable."

It was strange how quickly he picked up on how to shoot a gun.

He carried a sniper's rifle everywhere, with enough bullets to keep him from running out before he had cleared a path for survivors.

There were so few people volunteering to fight. It was little wonder they accepted a nine year old who once had an abusive family.

And when the bullets ran out and They started his way...well... there was always his trusty bat.

It always disturbed people how easily he took smashing those thing's heads in.

The speed he shot at was only matched by his ability to do a head shot every time.

It was a sad testament to the End of Days that soldiers openly handed him automatic rifles and the bullets for them. Never questioning why a nine-year-old, soon to be ten, was on the roof with a thirty year old man shooting down the dead.

All they needed to know was that he could fight and hold his own against the army of those that used to be human. That he could bend, but not break.

They could find a qualified therapist for him later, and a family. But for now, it was all hands on deck while they held back the tide of the damned to protect those still living.

Nothing else mattered.

"Nice shooting kiddo," said his partner.

"They aren't alive, so it doesn't matter anymore. Not like it ever did," said Harry. "Three o'clock, looks like we have a group of civilians."

"Remember kid. You save twenty and we start teaching you how to fight with a sword. You're big enough to use one of those Japanese ones we looted from the museum."

Without hesitation, Harry began clearing a path of the dead for the living to take.

Someone got them to run, head towards the safety of the military.

Their objective was simple. Their cause obvious.

There were no orders from the Queen, no factions. Only Us against Them. The living against the dead.

And Harry's job was to clear the way so that the living could make it to those holding the line. He was a natural sniper, and once he got used to the recoil he never missed and he never paused in his job.

"And you just earned the right to hold a real weapon, and not that dinky bat."

Harry smiled.

"This is insane! Why were all those people falling down, and what is going on out there?!" yelled a woman in an old fashioned robe. Her hair was out of the strict bun it had been in, and her outfit was splattered with the blood of the dead.

"You honestly don't know? You, the adults who caused this and hide behind your age and 'wisdom', but are too blind to see?" said a voice. It was very young and very flat.

She turned, and her face appeared horrified.

She knew that face. She last saw it on his father, only this had a pair of green eyes from his mother and glasses stolen by one of the recently dead.

There was no time to 'make' a pair that properly fit him. And his eyes were still sharp enough to shoot with.

"Open your eyes, and see. This is no longer the world you knew, or understood. This is the end, and until they are gone and whatever did this is taken out, there is no such concept of 'adult' and 'child'. Only those willing to fight and those who will get in the way. So please, either pick up a gun or a weapon and help, or shut up and let those who are willing to fight do their job," he said flatly and with no remorse.

"Now see here young man...!" started one of the older women. Green eyes held hers and she silenced.

"No. I will not listen to the words of someone who's too blind and deaf to see the truth or hear reason. You're all going to be detained until we can ascertain if you're infected or not. If you've been bitten or otherwise injured by Them, then I'm very sorry but we're going to take you out past the gates and shoot you. The fewer we have to worry about turning the less chance that whatever this is infects the rest of us."

Ironically the men seemed to take orders from the child, rather than the other way around. He was the one who had to say what was necessary, since civilians wouldn't understand.

Harry had an absolute policy. If they were bitten or injured by the dead, then they were to be shot outside the gate, no questions or pleas of mercy. Their job was to the living, not those who ran the risk of being turned and going after the others. Those that survived this could turn on them all they wanted after. Until then, it was the strong who protected the weak and damn what the weak had to say about it.

The perception of safety and security of the people was only maintained by the fact that there were men and women willing and able to do what was necessary, no matter how much those that refused to kill had to say about it. They could be called monsters, demons, evil...but the fact remained that they were needed.

All survivors were separated, inspected, and when cleared put into a tent with no more than four people each, unless there were children. Children stayed with parents or people they knew personally for more than an hour. While they tried to keep families together, the safety of the survivors was more important than the comfort of those inside.

They had to execute three people for being bitten, and the others whimpered at the cold-blooded killing.

When the sun went down, the shooting stopped for a while.

Unseen by the soldiers (but not unheard, for the crack was quite loud) the woman with the strict hair bun and a few others disappeared from their tent.

The soldiers looked around before one of them said "Bloody wizards..." and they promptly quit looking.

Not their problem if a bunch of magicals decided they preferred to be eaten in the comfort of their own homes rather than stick around and actually be useful for once.

"Albus, you bloody idiot!" ranted McGonagall, to the shock of the other teachers.

She had just returned from retrieving some muggleborns who had difficulty leaving their homes (she found out why they were so heavily fortified after seeing all those things on the road trying to get in) when who should she run into killing people but Harry bloody Potter!

A nine year old killing others! It was unconscionable!

"Now Minerva, whatever is the matter?"

"What's the matter? What's the matter?! How about James' son killing people because you've let the pure bloods do whatever they want you bloody idiot!"

The room went silent.

"What?" said Snape.

"I'm sure you all remember the article a few months back about the Malfoy family boasting they'd found a way for the muggles to wipe themselves out and leave only those of magical blood behind," she said tightly.

Most of the room nodded. It had been an oddly short article that had been devoid of details. All Lucius would say of the spell was that it wouldn't harm anyone with magical blood, and that it only affected the dead muggles. And since no one cared about already dead muggles, Dumbledore hadn't forced him to burn the spell.

Well now it was clear that the man had cast the ritual, and they were paying for it.

"I found out what the spell did. It creates inferi that can infect others within minutes and turn the living into the dead with a single bite," said Minerva tightly.

Dumbledore paled. This was worse than he had imagined.

"Surely you're exaggerating?" he said. Her look quelled his voice.

"I found Harry Potter with a group of soldiers taking out the inferi and leading survivors to safety...and his eyes... they were as cold as hell itself. He showed no remorse for anyone bitten and didn't even bat an eye when anyone who could potentially turn into one of the dead was executed outside the safe zone on his orders," she told them all, a haunted look in her eyes.

"What of his aunt?" asked Dumbledore desperately.

"According to the soldiers Petunia's husband threw him into the cupboard for some perceived slight, and he didn't wake up until the screams were over with. And from what little they said of the matter, it was clear Harry had never been told he was anything less than a 'freak' by his aunt and her husband. He didn't even feel remotely sorry about their deaths, Albus!" said Minerva heatedly.

Albus winced with each word. Clearly he had been mistaken that Petunia would treat Harry fairly.

Snape interjected.

"Wait a bloody minute. You sent him to live with PETUNIA?!" he said horrified. "She made it clear at the wedding she'd sooner disown Lily than admit they were related! She's hated magic for years!"

Dumbledore suddenly began to realize the extent of his folly. However he would not realize the depth of the damage done to the Boy-Who-Lived until almost a year and a half later, when the Hogwarts letters were sent out.