Chapter One
The Flight From Privet Drive

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry pulled up while turning and the green light that brought swift death on its heels shot beneath him and his broom. Harry had but a moment to realize seven, cloaked figures on brooms were charging towards him; his eyes widened and with quick reflexes, he pushed the front of the handle down. The broom responded instantly as another killing curse soared above him. Lower to the ground he darted, sweeping one-hundred and eighty degrees towards Magnolia Crescent, the seven right behind him.

Looking back, Harry nearly caught a killing curse fired at him in the face but he barreled left and then right. He continued moving erratically, all the while gaining more momentum. He dared another look – they still pressed him, gaining on him! He wondered what madness this was – Death Eaters catching up to him, Harry Potter, a Master of the broom! He stared into the ivory off-color white mask of one of his pursuers, raised his wand and chanted, "Malleus Maleficarum!"

His aim was precise and the cork-screw spiraling dash of flame engulfed the Death eater's mask, his hood and his face, causing the servant of Voldemort to lose control. Screaming in agony, the Servant slammed into another and both were jarred from their brooms; the remaining five scrambled around the disaster and fired again, this time in unison, grabbing Harry by surprise - their determination to have him and be rewarded by their Master was far greater than their desire to make certain their brethren were alright. As the two Death Eaters plummeted, so did Harry as a killing curse connected with his barreling broom, shattering it into a plethora of shards in an instant.

Harry's backpack and wand slipped away from him in the explosion and as he began to freefall he swung his arms erratically in desperation. He swung them wide in an attempt to take hold of his wand once more but the wand sunk faster than he and he turned on his belly to follow its descent. His pupils widened as hope fled him for an instance and hardened once more as he thought of all that would be lost if he dared to give up now. Pushing forward and bringing his arms to his side, he streamlined and shot down toward the streets below with great haste.

The wind whipped at him, his loose shirt and pants offering some resistance but not much. The wand came into sight, and reaching forward with his right hand he snatched it, brandishing it in one fluid motion. The ground grew closer and spinning to look up he found his target, one of the five and shooting his arm toward him with great accuracy he bellowed, "Ad Arcana!"

The pull began instantly and it jarred him nearly into unconsciousness. He began soaring towards the Death Eater. Spinning again, he brought his legs so that he came at the Servant with a powerful kick, unseating him. It happened so fast that Harry nearly missed his chance; reaching with his left and crying out as his arm was nearly torn off from the still-speeding broom, he grabbed on and swung up on it. He looked down briefly to see the Death Eater crying out in fear as he sped to a gruesome demise.

Yet four still remained and gave chase and it was in the moments before coming upon Magnolia Crescent that he surmised a victory against them would not come in the air – he would have to make his flight on the ground. He largely hoped the Order of the Phoenix arrived soon thereafter, breeching whatever preventive measures Voldemort had placed upon his coming. Touching down with haste behind a large tree, he jumped off and raised his wand to the trunk, tapping it and canting, "Fructis Gravisio" before running south, down Magnolia Crescent towards Jasperlode Road. As the Death Eaters cut too close to the branches of the tree in their mad dash, the tree came to life, large branches swinging towards them, the trunk itself seeking to give its arms extra reach by stretching towards them.

Only one met his demise against the tree, a large branch unseating him, sending him into the trunk with a mad, sickening, crunching, mashing sound that reverberated along the tightly knit road. A silky but out-of-breath voice cut through the rustle and from his outstretched wand sped forth a white light that caused the tree to halt its attack. As all of this happened, Harry took to whispering, "Nox" in every which direction he could. Lights flickered out, unable to hold the magic, insignificant as it was, and soon the southern part of the street was lit only by the crescent form of the moon.

Three chants of "Lumos" made their way to Harry's ears and three patches of brightness alit upon the tip of Death Eater wands could be seen in the two hundred meters that separated Harry from certain doom.

The silky voice came once more, this time curt: "Harry James Potter" and it stayed Harry's movement for he knew the voice well and almost loathed the man it belonged to. Lucius Malfoy's pristine, well-shined snake-skin boots clicked along the pavement as his voice tempted Harry's wand, "I am sure you have waited a long time for this moment." He moved painfully slow and swung his wand in a leisurely manner from place to place; he was enjoying this greatly and from it Harry knew there would be more than three Death Eaters between him and freedom.

"The very moment the Dark Lord makes himself known to this world and our world, once more."

Lucius continued pacing until he was one hundred and fifty meters away from Harry, who stood crouched behind a corner of a well-to-do-house, half-listening and half-attempting to formulate a plot to escape. Lord Malfoy's voice ensnared Harry again, however: "What was it that Dumbledore said about the Blood Protection that your mother gave to you and your dear Aunt Petunia," and it was again that Harry's heart stopped and and cold filled it, causing it to beat erratically. "Ah, yes… yes," Lucius drawled every so joyfully, "So long as Lord Voldemort himself does not make an attempt upon the house…. The Defenses. Will. Hold."

The two next to Lord Malfoy laughed so strangely that it was almost a cackle and it pierced the night, darkening Harry's resolve further. "Surely you must know by now, Harry, that the Dark Lord has agents everywhere. In the Ministry. In the press rooms. In your beloved school and yes, even in the vaunted Order of the Phoenix do we lie undetected."

"But you of course must recall the exploits of Peter Pettigrew – he will, won't he, Peter," Lucius asked, walking once more; Harry swallowed with difficulty, "You'll have to tell me that story again, Peter – how you were there that night, showing our Master the way. You'll have to tell me the exact words the Mudblood used as she pleaded for mercy from our Master," he said, chuckling.

"Y-yes, of course, Lord Malfoy," came the nearly controlled voice of Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew.

Harry began visibly shaking as he tried to stay his wand but before he knew it he was looking around the corner and into the back of the man who had the gall to agree to tell such a story; who had been filled with fear and who had betrayed his parents. Harry slowly, inch by inch, turned towards his wand, looking at it – it was pointed directly at Wormtail. He shut his eyes, beginning to shake. "No," his mind cautioned him, harshly, "No – not this evening will there be retribution." It was a trap, he knew, and he pulled his wand to his side once more.

"Come out, Harry Potter," continued Lord Malfoy once more, turning and growing a bit impatient, "There will be no escaping this time; hiding is futile, you silly boy. There will be no slipping through the cracks; no mother's ancient magic to aid your already astronomical luck and no Order of the Phoenix. In what will be one of His greatest hours, He has pulled every stop and tonight He will bring fury upon this area and He will vanquish you, repaying you for the thirteen years you slighted Him."

"It is no use," he reiterated, the voice continued, ensnaring Harry, "The Muggles in this vicinity are being rounded up, as we speak, Harry Potter. They will be fed to the Dementors who have sworn an oath of fealty to our Master this evening. The Giants from the Continent will arrive shortly thereafter, showing the full extent of the Dark Lord's powers. You will be granted the greatest of mercies, Harry Potter. Swift. Death. It is in this night that both you and the World of Muggles fall."

"But not everything about it is entirely bad, is it Harry? You won't have to witness this world torn asunder; you won't have to witness the Weasleys picked off one by one in their ramshackle house, their pathetic, miserable attempts at being do-gooders cut short. It is what will happen to those who oppose us, Harry, I am sorry to say," and Lucius chuckled.

"You won't have to watch as that Mudblood friend of yours is tortured by the Dementors till insanity. You won't have to bear witness to the Werewolves sacking Hogwarts and shredding those inflicted with impure blood. You will be gone so that your heart, wielding so much love and care," he dripped acidly, "will not be troubled by the purging that will reinvigorate this world," he proclaimed, his voice increasing, "It is a gift, Harry Potter, for being the only one to ever cause trouble to our Master."

Hundreds of scenes flashed through his mind and he began shuddering as all of them grew darker than the last until he arrived at the last one – the one that caused a single tear to slink down his now pale cheeks. He hardly understood it at all, for nothing in it was familiar to him; not the surroundings, the people involved or the event that took place. All he truly understood was within this image lied beauty and innocence… and the greatest tragedy he had ever envisioned. A forest setting became clear to him and it lay before him and she kneeled before him – him of all people, as if she knew him and perhaps even… cared for him. And in the most mournful voice, did she ask, "What have I done? Do you not… love me?"

Harry nearly lost consciousness once again as he fell back against the wall; his eyes opened quickly as he lost his balance and slid to the ground. With all his might, he forced the image from his mind. Nothing of it was clear to him. In truth, he wanted to think more of it, of the woman and the forest that boasted large trees that glimmered gold but the hour grew late and his chances for survival grew slimmer with each passing minute. With steely resolve, he took his wand, pointed it at the balls of his feet and whispered, ever so quietly, "Arimathea." Moving in the tall grass, he made no noise but it was not enough he believed to avoid detection – because of that, he wished helplessly that he had his father's cloak still.

Continuing at a steady pace, the sounds of Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew and the remaining Death Eater faded and with that, the sounds on the street adjacent picked up. Startling him, short bursts pierced the air; they were cries cut short by the Silencing Spell. Harry knew that what Lucius said would be carried out without much hesitation. They would indeed round up the Muggles, silence them, and guard them until Lord Voldemort's most insidious Servants arrived. And by then it would be too late – their souls would be taken.

The thought struck Harry hard and it was then that he realized he was running from this.

"Not while you still live Harry, will Voldemort's defeat be insurmountable; we may suffer a thousand losses; five thousand; ten thousand – even a hundred thousand but Voldemort could still be defeated," had said Dumbledore, "If however, it should come to pass that you die, then this world will fall to the Darkness."

Dumbledore's words forced a great struggle within him, one that he had pushed aside in hopes of being more of what Dumbledore sought in a possible apprentice; he had not stopped to ponder the Dursleys' fate nor anyone elses' this night because of it and it forced the turmoil to the front. Dumbledore had not elaborated further that evening and Harry had not pressed forward for at the time he could not speak with ease for he was too distraught. In his heart, he also felt it caused the Headmaster much pain though Harry knew not why. It caused Harry to grow curious as to how he was tied to Voldemort and even more curious as to how the Headmaster gained such information.

But this, Harry did not care for in this moment. He looked down, realizing he had stopped; he turned towards where they were likely gathering the Muggles. Closing his eyes, Harry breathed deeply, opened them again and began moving in that direction, his course of action set. He asked forgiveness, for he respected Dumbledore greatly but not while their was still life in him would he ever let such a massacre come to pass without even a fool's attempt at intervention. He began moving briskly, wand at the ready and as he moved ever closer to the slaughter, many voices played to him.

"You go to your death."

"Here lies the Boy-Who-Lived, Failure and Bringer of Death upon the Wizarding World."

"It is our choices that define who we are."

"Your death."

"Your mother's love…"

"Death… where the Shadows Lie…"

"Lemon drop?"

"I will not say, 'Do not weep,' for not all tears are an evil."

"Edhelaran!"

"Harry James Potter!"

He did not understand half of it; he did not care – phantoms sought to deter him but not in this moment, not while the Muggles were there, suffering. Soon he was in a run and his adrenaline was up, his weariness doused. Barreling forward, he rushed right into a Death Eater, knocking him down and trouncing him. Casting "Malleus Maleficarum" downward, without looking, he continued forward and the rest of the Death Eaters – three of them – now focused on him.

"Harry James Potter has come to play," shouted one of them, gleefully and he fired a red streak into the air from the tip of his wand, "Oh-Oh-Oh, this will be just delicious," he cackled and as one, the three stalked forward towards him. Looking briefly at the Muggles tied up and face down in the middle of the street, Harry brandished his wand and charged forward, faster, chanting, "Alrischa!"

A surge swept forward, pressing in a semi-circle, knocking the advancing Servants back. Giving them no time to respond, he charged one, elbowing him in the gut and locking wands with him. He trounced him upon the driveway of Number 6, dispatching him with little effort. Spinning to the remaining two, he showed the meaning of quick, shouting "Esprit Salvete!" Lightning surged forth and struck the swiftly-cast shield of one of Lord Voldemort's Servants. Both now held before them gold threads of light cast in the form of a shield but Harry charged forward again, menacing fervor outweighing reason and common sense.

Their wands locked above them and spell after spell began flying to and fro across Privet Drive. Harry would dodge left, fire right and behind him the Death Eaters would spin, side-stepping all the while their robes danced about them and around Harry. The Death Eaters swarmed Harry, daring him to do more than defend. As the battle drew on, the Servants' spells increased in lethality, all the while Harry's spells became less powerful and more precise – he was biding his time as spell after spell broke upon the shields all three now wielded.

Not four feet were they apart from one another when Harry answered their challenge to dare, striking. Faking left, Harry waited and as the Death Eater came toward him he shot back his right leg with all his might. His kick connected with the Servant in his stomach. An "oough" echoed forth as Harry brought his fist forward into the other Death Eater's ivory mask. Harry regretted it the moment the punch left him but it was too late. Using his wand he cast a quick Stunning Charm and in the very moment the battle ended, the adrenaline that led him to a quick victory fled him.

Weariness and his heavy heart caught up to him as he spun and clutched his now throbbing left hand. He surveyed the area, looking once at the first Death Eater he felled that still burned and from which smoke rose into the sky; next he surveyed the man he had left upon the driveway and then the two he dispatched with great effort near the pile of Muggles, who wriggled and moved erratically, trying to break free of the powerful constraints placed upon them.

Harry remained standing though only half of his mind was with him in the current place, the other wanting to stray back to the forest, where everything seemed pleasant - The golden trees, a brighter sun and her….

It would be a soft clap that brought all of Harry back.

"Bravo, Harry," came His voice and Harry was not surprised to hear it. He knew it had been in vain when the Servant sent warning into the sky. Harry felt no remorse for his actions, however. Not a single one for condemning all the wizards and witches to a fate far worse than death. He turned to Voldemort and stared at the creature, for that was what he was – nothing but a despicable abomination that was once a man. Harry never moved his wand – it was moot; he was exhausted.

Voldemort moved forward and Harry now could see all of him in the moonlight– his slim, weak-looking body upon the shoulders of which sat a decrepit, grim face twisted by Darkness. Sick, shot eyes which within stood crimson pupils that sought to extinguish all the warmth they came across. Struggling, Harry challenged Voldemort's calm, "Come to do what your pathetic servants could not, Lord Voldemort?"

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort said nothing, moving forward and drawing his wand. Voldemort turned from him to look at his Servants and Harry's eyes shut slowly. Upon reopening them, he caught Voldemort turning swiftly and saying something – casting something he had never heard before. Blue light slammed into Harry's left leg, just below the knee cap. Blood splattered forth over Harry and onto the road as Harry buckled, falling to his knees in a painful crunch. His eyes widened and dilated as Voldemort paced forward, a small smile playing upon him.

"Not this night, will I waste my chance Harry Potter," he whispered and before Harry could understand it, a viridian light streaked across the distance and caught Harry in his right shoulder. An audible pop echoed forth and a ripping noise sent the Death Eaters into clapping as Harry's arm dislocated and shot back. Blood again sprayed and his left arm went limp. He began losing control, the voices and images slowly beginning to return and the Death Eaters' laugh were the music to the images until again, one of Voldemort's spells hit him. Harry lunged forward to the pavement. The spell hit him right in the abdomen and he spun on his back – red blood, black blood and a host of other things spilled forth from the large wound. Harry's eyes began rolling.

Convulsing and rasping he opened his eyes to see the world turn gray around him – shouts echoed forth; Voldemort moved from him and soon lights zipped back and forth, accompanied by screams and large racket. Harry blinked and looked into the west, away from it all – and it was then he saw her again and the forest clearing appeared before him as if he were convulsing right there, right beside the trees that gleamed gold. She stopped suddenly and turned to him, looking directly at him and said in a wondrous voice, "Who are you who enters these woods?"

Harry closed his eyes and just shook his head a small increment to each side, groaning as the pain forced him into another fit.

Opening them again, he found himself being held and he rasped. Blood spurted forth from out his mouth and as he looked up he caught blue eyes – Dumbledore's eyes – and smiled. He tried to tell him… tried to tell him but all he could do was rasp as more blood spilled from his mumbling lips. Dumbledore's eyes were filled with sadness but Harry knew if he told him about her he would be happy.

He hacked forth one last time, drew one last breath and as the grey rain-curtain of the world rolled back, and all the things around him turned to silver glass, a white light took him as he smiled unendingly in Dumbledore's arms.