Disclaimer: The rights of Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I am making no financial gain from this story whatsoever.

A/N: My apologies. I've broken every rule I planned in writing the story, and threw it out the window to boot. It's been so long. Deathly Hallows seemed to be a distraction in my mind regarding this story, and then months went to more months, I lost track of the story, and then it was difficult to get back to the frame of mind for writing.

But I started this thing, and I'll finish it.

A reminder, though, that this story remains strictly up until Half-Blood Prince using canon. While I may borrow a few things from Deathly Hallows about the magical world in general, the actual events in Deathly Hallows have not happened.

Chapter 18
The Truth is in the Details

Harry sat alone, looking up at the cloudy sky, waiting for it to part to let him bask in the glow of the full moon. Pensive though he was, he found himself distracted by every rustle of a leaf, every blow of the wind, every drop in temperature he felt. Somewhere around him he expected to hear a howl, he wished it even more.

He remembered a talk he had with Hermione the other day.

"Hermy?" Harry said then.

Silence.

"Hermy?"

"If you want me to reply," came the annoyed reply with a sniff, "don't call me Hermy."

"Hermione, then," huffed Harry.

She sat beside him. Harry could feel her shoulder as she barely rested it on his upper left chest. He was momentarily distracted.

"What did you want to say?" she asked.

"How come you could never get along with Malfoy?" he asked. "And Ron could? I mean, who'd predict that? Their hatred was fire."

"Yes, it was," she said. "But like fire, it could get doused. It was all appearances, their hatred was mutual and what they expected from the beginning, even before they met one another. Their families hated one another and so would they. No matter how much Malfoy insulted Ron, it was his wealth, not his magic or humanity that got hit. Ron attacked Malfoy as evil, but once Malfoy showed something else... well, it became pointless really."

"And yours differed how?" Harry was confused.

"I wasn't simply hated," Hermione explained. "I was dismissed. I didn't count. And in a way, that's worse than mere flaming hate. Each day was another day I was reminded that I didn't fit in. That I did not belong. It removes identity from me. Ron was hated, Ron. In my case, I was merely lumped into a group to despise. It wasn't me or anything about me. Thus, it didn't matter who I was or what I became, I did not exist in those people like Malfoy's eyes. I would never be good enough and as I was a child the effects still stings me even now."

Harry squeezes her shoulder. He couldn't see her face, and she didn't turn to him once.

"That sort of interaction never, never, leaves a person," she continued. "It's a weight that follows you, even when you're alone. I could never look at Malfoy in a fond manner. I can't stand to look at him and not remember that sneering bastard who helped rip into a young girl's character, feelings and self-esteem. Sure, he changed for the better. But I won't."

"Hermione?" Harry asked, changing the subject as Hermione seemed to be quite unhappy then. "I never understood how I escaped Pettigrew's Avada Kedavra."

"Well, until you came up with this future traveling nonsense," Hermione said with a chuckle that didn't reach her eyes, "we simply concluded that he owed you a life-debt, remember? And while that spell put you in a coma for a long time, we never knew if you were going to wake up, Pettigrew was unable to kill you."

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"It is only through our acknowledgment of their inferiority," rasped a voice loud into the dead-silent hall, a hall which held thousands of men and women, "that we wizards and witches can realize our true place in the world. The powerful do not equate themselves with the weak!"

A roar erupted, a terrible roar, with hisses and banging.

"The pure do not deal with the filthy!"

The foundations of the building seemed suspect at the mass stomping of the feet of the crowd, wild with delusions of grandeur and greatness. The voice continued.

"The magical do not descend themselves to the level of muggles!"

"And thus the Dark Lord Wankus speaketh," whispered Harry to Ron with a sigh, "blah blah blah until his enemy gave up from all the blahs and left the battlefield."

Hermione elbowed Harry, which connected with the back of his head, as she was a few steps above him. He glared at her. "Get to work!" she mouthed at him.

Still rubbing his head, and still glaring too mind you, Harry hopped off the final few steps and walked off in the direction of the large podium where the red-eyed speaker was giving his speech. A massive green banner hung above the podium, with the drawing of the Dark Mark right on it in silver colours.

Hermione looked around at the group of fighters around her, and she whispered into an orb (to the fighters stationed around the Great Hall and outside the building), "Very well, then. When I give the signal, everybody do what was planned. Best of..."

A massive explosion shook the entire hall, occurring right in the middle of the hall.

"Oh bloody, bollocks, bugger, bastard!" Hermione shouted. "If he survives this, I'm going to kill Harry."

Ron grabbed the orb away from Hermione and shouted the order. "Attack! Attack! Attack! Go, go, go!"

Nobody who survived could tell later on what the others did. Each could only say, very restrictively, what that person alone did in the battle.

Harry had sent an explosive orb into the middle of the crowd of Death Eaters, sympathizers and other social misfits, killing a fair number before they even knew of an attack and leaving the rest momentarily paralyzed with shock.

The crowd split into those who tried to escape the building, and those willing to fight. Harry thought with disgust that one could always trust an evil person to forgo all loyalty the moment the chips are down.

The path towards Voldemort cleared in front of him, and unsurprisingly, Voldemort was already looking straight at Harry by the time Harry found him.

No words were exchanged. Not this time. Both knew they said all that was to be said, neither knew what was going to happen. The light of expectation of victory in Voldemort's blood-red eyes were absent. He merely observed Harry as a threat to be taken seriously. Harry did the same, only trying to slow his beating heart, which felt like it was going to simply slam out of his chest, so hard was it pounding.

Voldemort sent a spell, without waiting, and it hit Harry 's left wrist. Choking back his cry, Harry raised his wand (in his right hand) and sent back a spell of his own.

Voldemort easily blocked it.

And so the fight continued. Harry would try to block and dodge as many of Voldemort's attacks as he could, but some would inevitably hit him. While not one of Harry's spells had hit Voldemort yet.

"You have not learned anything," Voldemort said, not bothered by the fact that they had been throwing spells at one another for over an hour straight.

Harry, on the other hand, was bloodied, and the top part of his robe was half-missing. He wiped some blood from his right shoulder, winced as he raised his wand, and sent off another spell.

Voldemort deflected it without worry.

And so it continued. Another hour passed.

And another hour passed again.

By now, the battle around the two of them had ended, and for the life of him, Harry did not notice who won or why the entire hall was empty. He was so focused with Voldemort. He had to get it right, the slightest of errors would result in his death and a massive blow against his side.

See, no matter what Harry learned, it would never come close to what Voldemort knew and studied for decades. It would always pale to it. He, along with others advising him, decided that instead of trying to out-magic Voldemort and failing like a fool of legendary proportions, he should try to wait and bide his time for the opportune moment.

And so Harry spent months training to tackle long battles which drained him of his physical and magical power, not to mention the mental strain it exerted on him. He had to be patient to see the opening.

Against a wizard as powerful as Voldemort, there could be only one chance. To fail in it would give away the plan to Voldemort and he'd be prepared for it. "Voldemort must assume you're merely being the hero fighting on and on," his trainers stressed again and again and again. "He must leave openings as the time goes by, and not expect a full-on attack in the span of seconds from you.

"He underestimates you," said the trainer. "This is the only reason it'll work. After time has passed, he will not expect a quick and ultimate attack from you. Not from someone he holds in contempt as a lucky bastard. You must strike at the opportune moment."

After another thirty minutes, Harry finally saw Voldemort advance and leave his left hand rigid to his side. You need to understand that defending spells need both arms ready for the swift motion.

Harry rapidly waved his wand arm, so swift he lost his balance while his body screamed with pain, but he successfully poured as much of his magic into the spell, forcing it as hard as he can through the wand, which became hot and burned red-hot on his fingers. He held on the wand tightly as the magic flowed out of him. He couldn't hold for much longer.

He did not need to. Voldemort was not expecting a massive rush of magic, and not towards his left. The spell slammed into him with such force that he was lifted off his feet and thrown four of five metres behind.

Harry walked up to Voldemort, shaking hard and finding it so hard to hold the wand. He barely had any magic left in him. Save for one more spell.

Voldemort opened his eyes and raised his hand instinctively. But his wand was yards away from him, having fallen as he was in mid-air. He got up to his feet, but Harry took another step closer, and Voldemort stopped moving.

"You..." Voldemort began, as he got to his feet.

Harry didn't let him finish. They had said what was necessary. No more procrastination, no more openings to allow Voldemort the opportunity to snake his way out of this one. Harry held his wand as steady as he could (it shivered as his weary hand still shook) and said the two necessary words.

Harry's lips parted, the necessary words tumbled out, and then... the flash of green.

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"Stay down!" Harry shouted.

He, Hermione, and Ginny found themselves pinned to the wall of the cafe, with their table on it's side as a shield.

Harry had no idea what happened. The moment he had greeted them in his 'voice', a bang cracked the air around him. Diving forward, he saw Ginny and Hermione jump in his direction too.

The gunshots did not stop, and as they got their table to protect them, Harry saw Sinclair lying face down on the ground, blood pouring from the back of his head.

The attackers had no uniforms, and as such, Harry found himself twisting his head wildly from side to side trying to determine how many assailants there were and where they were. He counted two right from the off, and had one down from a spell within seconds. The other, however, leapt to cover before Harry could throw a spell in that direction.

"Apparate away!" Harry shouted. "Now!"

Hermione hesitated. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"No, Hermione," he shouted. "There could be innocents targeted here."

"They're muggles," Ginny yelled into the conversation. "They're targeting us, not other muggles."

"They're the Freshners and are pissed at an attack made on them," Harry yelled, cursing in his mind. He must've been spotted by one of the gang-members, as Harry, before he applied the appropriate glamour near the cafe. This was precisely why he had a cover in Wayne; Harry was known by the muggles, and he didn't want them thinking he was doing more than just protecting the likes of kidnapped wizards and witches. Hermione was well-known as one of the fighters against Voldemort, and also because she with a muggle record, and Harry wanted nobody to see her.

"Absolutely not," Hermione shook her head. "We're doing this together. You can't handle that alone."

"They know you," Harry shouted. "They don't know me. For once Hermione, just listen to me!"

Harry bit his tongue at that; Wayne wasn't supposed to know Hermione. Her eyes narrowed, but he couldn't tell whether it was due to him ordering her or her noticing it.

"Ginny," Harry yelled. "Please take Hermione and clear out."

"No can do," Ginny smiled. "I've got to return the favour of you saving my life."

Argh, Harry growled. "Fine," he said. "Back me up, and do nothing more. If I find myself in danger, apparate out quick."

Harry looked around the table, as the bullets continued to be shot at them. The indiscriminate nature of the shooting told Harry this was meant to be a publicity for maximum carnage. The attackers wanted Harry to hit them back hard. He would have to approach this cautiously, but if violence was necessary, he wasn't going to shy away from it.

He threw a Reducto curse as he pointed his wand around the table as well and watched their distraction as the large tree behind them fell near them due to having a large hole in the bark. He quickly leapt to his feet and threw a stunning spell to one of the gunmen who was standing behind a car.

Another of the attackers turned the gun to him, but Hermione knocked the attacker aside with a spell, while Ginny simply sent a cloud spell to surround the area. Hermione and Harry made a quick clearing spell around them, it didn't make things perfect but they could see around the location better than the muggles at least. Any advantage should be good enough.

Suddenly a pain erupted in his right leg. He looked down to see his shin bleeding from the bullet-wound. He threw a stunning spell at the muggle that sneaked behind him (impressive too, the back of Harry's mind noted), and then whispered a spell to stop the bleeding for now and another to temporarily numb the leg from pain.

In his annoyance, he let out a large flame and destroyed the car that the previous attacker was hiding behind. As the car burned wildly, the attackers decided to run away from it, fearing it would explode perhaps, and thus left themselves to the open. Harry stunned as many as he could, but it was difficult through the fog.

Harry saw, as the fog lifted suddenly, only one attacker was left, who quickly pointed his gun at Hermione. Shouting her name, he threw a powerful spell at the one with the raised gun. However, unaware, Ginny was running in the fog to his left and had just reached in front of Harry when his spell was flying.

Harry watched with horror as he saw his spell rip through her shoulder, sending blood splashing and bone shattering with Ginny collapsing, unconscious before she even hit the floor. The spell was so powerful that even though going straight through Ginny's shoulder with little resistance, it still was powerful enough to lift the attacker off his feet and knock him back.

Harry told Hermione to take Ginny to help. After Hermione made a Portkey and got Ginny out of there, Harry turned to deal with any attacker he could find. He levitated one and apparated the both of them away.

He was going to get some answers. Now.

What Harry wasn't aware of at that time was the extent of the damage around him. Twenty-three bystanders were dead, four of whom died due to the car exploding while the rest died due to gun-wounds.

Harry wasn't also aware that this incident would spark fury in the muggle world and provided the hardliners in the muggle government one more argument they wanted to make their case for striking back at the wizarding world hard.

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The man woke up in a place he never saw in his life. In front of him, seated on a chair, were one of the people he was fighting, however with one lamp in the room he couldn't tell quite what the person's mood was in. The cold hard stone under him was most uncomfortable but he tried not to let it show.

"So, who're you meant to be, mate?" he asked.

"Never mind me," said the person. "Who sent you?"

"Don't have the foggie... aaaaaaaaaaaargh!" he ended with a scream because suddenly his arm was on fire.

And then, just as suddenly, it no longer was. As the burnt shirt smoked, he looked angrily at the person, who didn't twitch a muscle.

"Who sent you?" said the person, without a change in the tenor of his voice.

"I'm one of the Freshners," said the man.

"Revenge, then?"

"No, we were told to attack Harry Potter," said the man, gasping as his arm still hurt. "To kill him, but we saw him meet you and then disappear as you were alone, so we were told to attack you instead as we lost Potter."

"Where did the orders come from?"

"I don't know... no wait!" he yelled. "I don't honest. My superior tells me and we do it."

"Never mind that," said that voice shrouded in the darkness. "I can guess who made the call for a head as big as Potter's."

There was silence for awhile, broken by the man on the ground.

"I suppose you're going to kill me now?" he said, shakily.

"Now, if I did that," said the voice. "I'd be as bad you guys. I know who you are and where you live. If I find you attacking any magical person or place again, or even help someone who wishes to, I'll find you no matter where you hide in the world. And you'll beg for mercy.

"Now get lost."

The man on the floor was about to ask how, but he saw the world around him disappear as he felt a very uncomfortable feeling. At no point did he see the man in the chair move.

Harry had read the man's memory the moment the man locked eyes with him. The only thing he couldn't find out was whether they figured out he was Wayne, and he was pleased to see the man didn't. It was bad enough they made a public spectacle, but if they knew Harry Potter was doing this, things would go bad quickly.

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Hermione left the Healer's room at Hogwarts castle drained late that night. Ginny had lost so much blood so quickly the Healers were working recklessly in trying to save her. While one Healer assured Hermione that Ginny was brought to them in good time, it was a terrible injury and which Ginny would require a day's rest. Ginny was fortunate that the spell did not hit the part of her back right behind her heart, said the Healer shaking his head, otherwise Ginny would've dropped dead immediately.

If she saw that dimwit Wayne again, she'd hex him so hard his parents would feel it, Hermione thought with fury. What on earth possessed the bastard to utilise a spell that powerful?!

She stopped having seen Wayne seated in a chair nearby, with his head in his hands. Normally her eyes would soften, but she didn't even know who this vigilante was or what he wanted. She wasn't kidding when she told Draco and Harry that she questioned whether he was a Dark Lord in training. Otherwise why the obsession with doing it alone?

"She's doing better now," Hermione said. He finally looked up at her. "She lost a great deal of blood, and it'll take a few days for her bones to heal, but she'll be fine."

"Merlin," he sighed. "That was a close one."

"Why did you use such power?" asked Hermione.

"I saw the guy about to shoot you...had to act...she got in the way," he mumbled, "no time to pull back..."

"Would you care for a bite to eat?" Hermione asked. "It's been hours, you must be famished."

He accepted and followed her to the kitchen, trying his best to not give the impression he knew or did not know how to go around the castle.

"So Mr. Wayne," Hermione said, turning her head back. Harry tried to not get distracted by the tendrils of hair that hit his face. "What graduating class of Hogwarts were you in?"

He smiled at her, but remained silent. At his lack of response, Hermione huffed.

"Sorry for asking you such a top-secret question such as when you went to Hogwarts," she said. "Excuse me, 007."

"You don't approve of what I do," he said as they sat down and the elves provided them with sandwiches, not asking but noting a reality.

"That obvious, Mr. Bond?" Hermione said, still annoyed. Harry bit his lower lip trying to prevent himself from laughing. "I don't trust lone wolves."

"No, I suppose you shouldn't," he nodded, "not knowing my motivation and all, right?"

"Precisely," Hermione said, but softer now.

Harry chewed quietly, and after swallowing he continued, "My goals are the same as your own. I've always felt like doing some things alone."

"I known people like that," Hermione said. "Trust me. But with you, nobody has ever heard of you. You aren't in any Hogwarts archive book, class book etc..."

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Miss Granger," he smiled. "Why assume I went to Hogwarts. I could've gone to Salem for all you know."

"So you're American?" asked Hermione.

"No," he replied, and he smiled at her huff of annoyance. "However, why do you care so much? We only met today. Even Ginny hasn't displayed this much interest, and I've met her a few times. Don't you go by aliases, too, Miss Granger? I believe you were known as Silver Fire to a few."

"Yes, I have," she said. "And I have no idea how you could know of this. But you don't seem alone by necessity. You seem alone by nature. Nobody has ever heard of you. And if you're not British, then why would you give a damn about what happens in Britain?"

"Hey, I might like the weather," he said, grinning. "Or I may like the action."

Hermione was not amused.

"Look, we're not friends," he said. "We don't know one another. I have my reasons. Notice I haven't asked you to reveal your secrets?"

"I don't think it's too much to ask someone just to say a little about themselves," Hermione said.

"To some, it is too much," he said firmly. "Also, I'm providing some help, and unless I start acting unacceptably, why not just take it?"

Hermione nodded at that. Harry decided to switch subjects.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he began. "You have the look of a Quidditch fan in you."

Hermione's laugh at that assumption broke the tension and they spent the next half an hour talking about meaningless topics until Wayne decided to thank her for her company, apologised again about Ginny and asked Hermione to send his regards and apologies to Ginny, and he left the castle.

Once Harry was a far enough distance, he was left with a bit of an issue. He couldn't simply go back into Hogwarts right after Wayne left; it was too suspicious.

But where on earth was he going to sleep that night? And he was tired.

A/N: I've finished the next chapter, and I'm only polishing it up a bit before I let that through too.

Review button's below. Go on, click it. I don't think it bites...