This should have been included last chapter, but I would like to thank Mercer for being my beta on this fic.

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Chapter 2

He would never ever again curse the name Albus Dumbledore. Tears came to his eyes as he tried to find a position on the cold ground of the cell floor that wouldn't wrack his body with sharp pains. But it was useless; still he let out a sigh as he thought upon his old mentor.

When he had learned, not so long ago, that is was by the hand of Dumbledore that he had been delivered upon the Dursley's doorstep, well; Harry never believed he would be able to describe the hatred, betrayal, and a plethora of raging feelings coursing through his very soul.

Harry really did not care for the old man's bloody excuses. There was no possible reason for leaving him in the hospitable care of his relatives. Damn the protection it may have provided. He hated his relatives; it had brought him damn shame to think on all of the abuse he had been forced to endure in that prison, with those awful people.

'Hell' he had thought to himself. 'It would have been worth it to take the bloody chance outside of those prison walls, just so he would never have to be near those abominations to the human race.' But all of that was proven to be absolutely and unequivocally false.

When he had arrived at the Dark Lord's lair, he found himself quite literally scared out of his mind. It was almost impossible to make a coherent thought. Unfortunately that only lasted for a short moment. Perhaps it was the fact that he found himself in such situations in the past, not even the distant past that the shock of his new situation dissipated from his mind.

There is a saying that the anticipation of pain is a torture in itself. Well, that was something that he would find out to be true, however, at this moment, there was no waiting. A quick Cruciatus curse from the Dark Lord himself started off the festivities, and to Harry, the 'fun' never stopped.

He had no idea when they had taken him from his spot in the main area as the 'guest of honor' and had him moved into his own dank, dirty, cell, complete with his own rock bottom floor complete with jagged points in the ground. There was no bed, no blanket, and if he had to shit or piss he may as well do it on himself because it hurt too much to move.

And that was after only a few short hours at the hands of these monsters.

He was in too much pain to even think about hope, hope that people were going to come and rescue him. He also knew, and no small part of him was cursing himself, that his own stubbornness was going to keep him from giving them the satisfaction of breaking him.

As he looked around the room he amended, 'they won't break me easily.'

In the end, it did not matter. He was in this dark and dank cell, he never got to leave. It was his home, it was his hell, it was his torture chamber, and was it ever his torture chamber. When it had been a free for all in the grand hall above, at some point he had blanked out on what had been happening to him.

Now, when he was being tortured, it was a personal experience. One at a time, any and all methods seemed to be in play. Even the muggle ones, hell, especially the muggle ones; It had gotten to the point where he could anticipate the type of pain that was going to be inflicted.

The sharp metal parting his skin and muscle, sliding across nerve ending and even cutting lightly into his bone. The loving, surgical incisions as they wrote messages on his back, wanting to leave scars. But they never did leave the scars. When he was too weak from the screaming, and his sweat had fully mixed with the blood, leaving him looking like one red corpse, a man would enter. With every part of his being, Harry knew that the man was Severus Snape. And as much as that should have galled him, he simply did not have the energy to care. But still, he could never stop the hiss of pain, or the short scream that would escape his mouth, or that damn tear that would fall from his eye as the pain once again overwhelmed him.

When it was over, he was left with unblemished skin. There was nothing but the phantom pains over the blades tracing over his body, over and over again, to leave witness to the horrors being inflicted on him. That was, until the next day, or perhaps the day after that, when the torture would start over again, perhaps with a new variation, but leading to the same end result.

There were of course, the other days; when it wasn't the steel of a blade cutting through his skin. No, one could not forget those glorious days when the torture of the day was meant to be done through the end of a wand.

There were so many hexes and curses to be used. Oh, to those torturers, the dark arts really were a thing of beauty. There were limitations, of course. The Dark Lord had decreed that all damage was acceptable, breaking his mind was all right, but any and all physical torture needed to have a way to be reversed.

Nobody should be fooled; this did not really set those psychopaths back. No, it simply made them be creative. They were pillocks, the lot of them. Bloody hell, though, he'd curse his own name if they weren't all bloody creative little pillocks.

It wasn't just the Cruciatus curse, though that seemed to be an old staple, they always mixed in a few good slicing curses, bone breakers, or even better, curses that exploded his bones into a fine paste or powder.

Thank god for Skele-grow!

It was the most horrible thing imaginable. Hell, it was even more horrifying than even his imagination could have created. Harry knew that he would forevermore kiss the ground at the old man's feet. For 15 years he had kept Harry from this torture, then after but a few months, everything had turned to shit. The man had been a fucking genius.

Yep, Harry Potter would shake his hand. Then he'd probably punch him a few times. Nothing torturous, but the man was responsible for a lot of other things too. But Harry would never, ever, ever complain about being sent to the Dursley's again. He may dream of kicking the crap out of the Dursleys to get them in line, but he would not fault Dumbledore for hiding his small self behind the blood wards.

Though it all went beyond what he had previously conceived, there was one who stood above all the rest. And no, it was not the Dark Lord. It was actually a bit worrying that Tom had yet to make a real appearance. No, that one person was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her mere presence was enough to enrage Harry, well; it had been for a good long while. She had been able to get a reaction other than a scream of pain, or cry of anguish long after the rest of her ilk. Not that it stopped them from enjoying cutting into him, with their damn salt and lovely potions that made hissing sounds at it seemed as though they were melting his skin. Though in the end, there were never any scars, just absolute pain as Snape poured whatever the hell it was over his exposed skin.

But Bella, just her mere presence was torture. Unlike the others, not all of her torture was pure physical, hell not all of the crazy bitch's torture was about pain. No, her god damn psychotic torture was all about control. Oh, pain was a factor in most sessions, but not in all. No, she made him feel the gantlet of emotions, both physical and mental, all the while taunting him about his God Father. He almost lost it more than a few times as she turned her wand on him, making him feel actual pleasure, while whispering in his ear about wonderful it was killing her cousin, taunting him about all of the things he would never have.

Through it all, Harry tried to keep one thought above all the rest. 'Thank God she's a crazy pure blood fanatic.'

More than once, she had commented on how disgusting it was being this close to a half-blood, and how he'd regret it even more if any of his filthy half-blood came in contact with any of her perfect pure-blooded self. Not to mention she was the one digger her nails into the cuts she made, or squeezing on his arms or legs from where she used a bone breaker curse, just to hear him scream. But she really knew how to get to him. It was never the physical assaults, those he had been learning to deal with. She could make him 'feel' whatever she wanted, while always getting under his skin.

With the others, he was always a bloody mess, and more than once he just wanted it to end, but when she left, he always felt far more drained. It was as though she was draining the life out of him. There was no more hope for him. There was simply pain, and anger. And as the time went on, and had been at their tender mercy for who knew how long, there was simply mind numbing resignation. It had taken time, with all that he learned from Elizabeth, perhaps it had been the constant torture, perhaps something had been done to him, but once he had resigned himself to his fate, and he no longer held the small piece of hope he once had, his mind began to go inward and those shields that should have been protecting his mind seemed to intensify, he simply cut himself off from the outside world. Well, he cut himself off as much as was humanly possible.

That was when they knew it was time. When even her taunts would no longer get an emotional response; it was time for the Dark Lord to enact his final play on The-Boy-Who-Lived. It was time to show the world who was in charge. And for the Dark Lord, it was time to ensure his immortality.

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The pain came again, as it always did. However, something was different. There was the snap of a whip and a burning sensation in his back, He glanced over and saw one of the big ugly ones curling up the whip the man loved so much, seeing the usual silver blade embedded in the end of the whip.

More than once had that blade sliced into his back, being twisted and turned as the whip was snapped back. But no, it was not the whip that was different.

It took Harry a moment to notice, but he was no longer inside his cell, he was no longer in his torture chamber.

The ground below him was actual grass and he'd be dammed if it didn't feel glorious pressing up against his body. The air around him was fresh and cool, unlike the dark and dank cell. There was also moon light. Not from a full moon, but the illumination was not something he'd seen in come time.

There was another sharp pain, this time from a spell. After riding out the pain from the Death Eater's Cruciatus curse, Harry simply focused on the feeling of the soft earth beneath his aching body.

Quickly glancing around, he noticed that it was like the night of his arrival, with everyone gathered around for a game of torture the Harry.

"Ahhh, it is so good to finally see you are with us, young Harry." The sibilant voice was barely more than a whisper. That, however, did not stop every single living being in the area from hearing it with a sharp clarity.

The Dark Lord was perched upon a throne that simply looked out of place surrounded by nature all around him.

Rising from his throne, Voldemort moved among the crowd, making his way toward Harry's supine form. Harry could not help but to notice the serpentine grace that was within every motion the Dark Lord made.

The crowd's attention was on their master as he made his way towards the boy. They all knew, at one point the child would have made some type of comment back, some type of rebellion. However, now, as their Lord approached the boy, there was no defiance in those eyes, perhaps it was simply resignation. However, the fact that there was something in there that expressed comprehension of his current situation; this actually garnered a small amount of respect from the herd. There weren't many who could take over four months of continuous torture, day in and day out and still have even the least amount of sanity left within. Hell, they had other captives who barely lasted half of that time, and their treatment was much better than the Boy-Who-Lived.

When the Dark Lord had said that he wanted the child's torture to be constant, well, they made sure that there was not a day in which his day was filled with pain. Many of the men would be sorry to see him go. However, with the Dark Lord staring straight down into the eyes of the wizard child, they knew that the end was near.

"Look at me Harry; I know you have it in you." The Dark Lord gestured to his followers. "I would gather that you have looked around you, and have become resigned to your fate." He looked back at Harry and leaned in with a sinister smile. "Do you believe that you are going to die, Harry Potter?"

The Dark Lord's laugh was barely above a whisper, but sharp as nails and seared through Harry like none other. Beyond the visage of The Dark Lord, were his followers, there was no laughter to be found there, simply a stony silence. There were, however, more than a few shark like smirks, let alone that fully insane grin that only Bella could pull off.

"I am sorry to have to disappoint you, child. For you will not be dying on this day." With a sharp hiss off air, he bit out, "Nor will you be dying on any other day." Voldemort turned to face his gatherers before turning back to the young man lying upon the earth. "One must die at the hand of the other…"

Harry could not help himself but to take in a short gasp of air, and that evil smile blossomed on the snake-man's face.

"Oh yes, Harry. I know, I know it all." His red pupils seemed to glow with power. "You are my salvation, Harry Potter." With a quick and jagged turn, The Dark Lord was facing his followers, as though he was towering over them. To a man, and woman, each and every one got down on their knees in a guise of supplication. "As each of my followers knows, I have gone far beyond that of any mortal man known today. I have gone farther than any in gaining my Immortality." The Dark Lord glanced back at Harry, piercing him with his stare. "And now, through Prophecy, my Immortality will be guaranteed."

"What?" It was barely a whisper, and it was the first sound out of Harry's mouth that was not a scream of pain, or a whimper of the same. Yet still, like Voldemort's own words, they carried through the crowd.

"Let me enlighten you, dear boy." Once again Voldemort approached the tortured young man on the ground. Harry simply did not have the energy to place himself in a sitting position, let alone get to his feet. "The moment that fool told you the contents of the Prophecy I had them plucked out of your mind. The old fool should have waited until after you had your training, when you were immediately cut off from me." His smile could only be called cruel. "By then, however, it was far too late. I knew I would be able to infiltrate the department of mysteries, and retrieve you any time I wanted. But I had to plan first. For you see, prophecies have always been a curiosity of mine. And when I heard it, everything came into focus. For you see, as long as this prophecy never reaches its conclusion, then I will never die."

The Dark Lord leaned in until his mouth was right up against Harry's ear.

"For it is only by your hand that I can die."

Standing back up, he continued.

"I have already achieved my Immortality, and while I can conceive of no way for you to somehow take it from me, it is all of those pesky un-conceived ways that are a bother to me." He looked at his still kneeling followers than back to Harry. "Perhaps you are thinking; why not have someone else kill you?" Voldemort shook his head. "I will not chance proving this prophecy false in such a manner. No, in order to ensure my Immortality, I must do two things."

Voldemort waved to his followers and as one they raised from their kneeling position. As The Dark Lord walked out of his line of sight, it took all of Harry's energy to struggle into a position where he could keep the man in his sight. Panting from the exertion, Harry saw the man standing what looked to be a similar arch to what Sirius fell through. However, the main difference was that there was no curtain, or veil of darkness. And while he had lost his glasses long ago, there appeared to be old runes, most of which were impossible to see, because of his lack of glasses, but even the forms he could make out did not look familiar. Voldemort, however, was caressing the stone lovingly.

"The first obstacle to overcome is your apparent mortality. For, so long as you are alive, so long as you survive, the prophecy stays in motion. Neither of us will die until it is resolved one way or another." He took one step forward, his body gliding along in place, that serpentine movement apparent in even a single step. "But you must be asking yourself, 'why would he do this? Even if it took a thousand years, you would never rest until you found a way to kill me?'" Harry got more than a bit unnerved by the smile that lit up old Tom's face. "You see this archway behind me, Harry? It is so much like the one that took your beloved God Father away from you." He walked towards one of his Death Eaters who then took the initiative to approach his Lord and kneel in front of him. "This, my loyal servant, is Augustus Rockwood. He is a most reliable source of information about the Department of Mysteries; being a former Unspeakable himself. He has studied the death veil in astounding detail, knowing about this archway, whose information has been passed down from generation to generation from before the founders time, perhaps, even before the fall of Atlantis. Do you know what this is Harry?" The Dark Lord paused, as though waiting for an answer. "This device was used as a portal to other worlds, Harry. It was used to send the worst of the worst to other realities." A sharp glanced was sent to all of his minions before is stopped on Harry. "Let me assure you, Harry; this particular Archway guarantees that their prisoner will never return."

He gestured back towards the arch, softly speaking a few words, power rolling off of him, a few of the runes began to glow with a golden light before all of them were lit, surrounding the arch, before fading away into nothing.

"This archway was used as a final punishment. It was used as a Blood Banishment." The power behind his words grew and the seriousness of his gaze seemed to sharpen on the young man. "Once the prisoner's blood is infused with the runes, a blood portal will be created. Once you are sent through the portal a barrier will be erected that will never allow you to pass through." The shark like grin returned. "Should you try, and you are most welcome to try, will result in you being sent back to the universe from which you came. However," The Dark Lord chuckled, and even that seemed evil. "The universe from which you came will no longer exist. For you see, the 'prison worlds' in which the prisoners were sent they were sent to until death. Should they try to return, the backlash caused by the breach in the barrier would utterly and completely destroy the reality the prisoner was trying to escape from." The Dark Lord glided back to a horrified Harry. "It would seem that the inventors of this great portal deemed not to use it after the purported collapse of a few universes." His smile was all teeth. "For some reason, I do not fear that you would sacrifice an entire reality, simply to try, to try and fail, to return here."

With that, the Dark Lord made his way back to his gatherers where Harry could see a gold cauldron, encrusted with glowing jewels, being tended to by Severus Snape.

As Harry lay there on the ground, the matted grass below him no longer offering the comfort it once did, he had never felt so tired, so completely drained of life. Beyond the few scars he had received before ever being captured, his body seemed to be unblemished. Glancing at Voldemort's followers, his gaze came across on holding a whip. It took a moment to remember how he came to consciousness, causing him to amend his earlier thought, and realizing that he had mostly unblemished skin, with only the cuts caused by the bastard with the whip. It was slightly surprising that whatever wounds had been inflicted on him were barely noticeable to him.

He had been tortured constantly for so long, that his body was constantly feeling the wounds, even when they weren't being inflicted. Of course, once the torture was to begin again, he would feel those wounds more clearly, however, as it stood for the most part, he was always feeling the pain.

God, he wished he could just make his body go numb. As it was, it was so damn hard to bring himself within his mind. It had been easier with Elizabeth's help. However, no one had prepared him on how to 'center' oneself while being tortured. It took a fair amount of mental energy to not only keep his mind organized, and place protective barriers, but to actually journey inside, in times of meditation, well that actually took time to learn, even with her help.

He had reached that state, finally. He could not remember when it happened. He had lost track of time quickly inside his cell. After the first few bouts of torture, even the desire to find out how long, or short, of a time he had been at their tender mercies had left his mind.

He had been warned, by Elizabeth, that retreating to the mind is best done in times of meditation, or before times of rest. It was very easy to lose yourself when you go so deeply within. However, at that point in time, it seemed like the best opportunity he had. He would have done it too, had they left him alone for 2 seconds.

But he had reached that level at some point. Though he really didn't remember reaching it, nor did he remember anything from the time he actually went within. He wasn't sure if that was normal, but all he could remember was nothing, but a prolong period of it. Of course, this made no sense to him, only to tell him that some amount of time had passed, and he had no idea how much, nor at the moment, did he care.

What was important, was that Ole Tommy boy was about to start speaking again.

"As you know, young Harry, I have in fact gone further than any other mortal in gaining my Immortality. However, the method I chose, was not actually my first choice." If any of his followers had any thought on their Lord choosing a second class method, no one said anything. "Brewing within this cauldron is a potion that has been passed down by both the darkest wizards and Alchemists since time memoriam. This potion is said to give the truest form of Immortality that could ever be achieved." With a smirk the Dark Lord gazed upon his young nemesis. "You may ask, why did I not take this potion myself? Well my young friend, in all trials known to man, only once was it successful. All others died a most horrific and painful death." He looked down in a mockery of sorrow. "It is a shame that the only successful dose taken happened thousands of years before the fall of Atlantis."

Around him, many of his minions could be heard murmuring among themselves. It took only a swift glance in their direction for complete silence to emerge once again.

"Of course, that could be just a myth. As it could also be just a myth, that it was another dark wizard, over 6000 years ago, who made a similar attempt, as we are going to make on this very night. His attempt yielded the closest success ever recorded; as he became the first Vampire."

Red eyes gazed around the shocked silence before continuing once more.

"But you, young Harry Potter, are protected, as I am, by prophecy." With that serpentine grace, the Dark Lord made his way back to his throne. "We will see just how powerful prophetic magic is, Harry. For, we shall see if you become the first to live through this experience. Or, if you will simply be the second person, to merely survive."

A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he nodded to a death eater that could only be Lucius Malfoy. The blond haired man quickly walked over to Severus, who was still tending the potion, to whisper a few words in his ear. With a nod of his greasy head, Severus pulled a silver goblet from his robes. Plunging the goblet into the alchemal concoction, he let it fill the goblet to the brim. As the potions master made his way to the boy who had been the bane of his existence as a professor, the Dark Lord once again began to explain exactly what was about to happen.

"You see, young Harry, as stated in the prophecy, it is only by my hand that you may die; and while this mixture could kill you, it is not by my hand that you are to be fed from. It was not even by my command that this is going to be done. No, my young friend, it is through Severus's own free will, that you will be given this potion. And it is because of his free will, and the prophetic magic, that I truly believe you will survive. " This was followed by an evil laugh. "Though, from all records passed down in the past few thousand years, the pain you are about to feel, will make the torture you have received for the past six months, seem as though you were being given a mild tickling jinx. "

This brought a short burst of laughter and anticipation from the gathering heard of followers. All, that is, with the exception of the man approaching the boy hero. Severus Snape was now standing mere feet from the boy. While on the outside the potion's master wore a cold mask of indifference, inside he was raging on what to do.

For months now there was very little he could do for the boy. The amount of death eaters constantly surrounding the young man made escape very improbable. The combination of the Fidelius charm covering their location, and the unbreakable vow, Voldemort had him take, relaying the child's location to Dumbledore and the Order had been impossible.

Tonight's location, however, had not been placed under the Fidelius, and while he had not been informed of what was happening on this night, nor what alchemal brew the Dark Lord had him making for the past month, he had quickly relayed to the aging Headmaster what little he knew of tonight's festivities. And now, as he glances down at the child, Severus could only wonder what was keeping the Order, as it was now too late to do anything.

Within his mind, he was resigned to this fate. He would have to feed the child this horrible concoction and pray for the best. Should the child live, than there indeed was hope of killing The Dark Lord. Well, the hope of that happening was with the Order showing up and saving the child before he was cast out of this dimension. On the other hand, should the child die, than the prophecy would be shown as false; if such was the case, then The Dark Lord would not be as invulnerable as both he and Albus had believed him to be.

Though, The Dark Lord really was telling the truth. No matter if the boy lived or died the pain he was about to feel was said to be, well, beyond description. This, of course, came from those witnessing the death of those who had decided to chance the potion.

It may have come as a shock to those who knew Severus, especially with his past relationship with The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he took absolutely no delight in the anguish and soul piercing pain the young man was about to endure.

It was true, from the moment he had set eyes on the young Potter heir; he had loathed his very existence. And with every breath the young brat had taken, with every confrontation that came between them, the festering loathing just grew more and more.

However, after having been made to brew that dark healing potion, after having arrived to see the young man broken physically before him, hearing the screams that lasted until his throat could no longer make the sounds, all anger and loathing fled the potions master. It was actually hard to be there, repairing the damage inflicted on the boy, time and time again, while knowing that he was causing just as much pain the young man as his torturers due to the dark brew.

He knew that he acted the part of a bastard, hell; it was not even much of an act. But in truth, when it came to the protection of his students, he would do all he could to keep them from physical harm. Especially those like his own Godson, who was another child he had apparently failed. In the end, he would not wish what was about to happen on anyone, not a child, and especially not on Harry Potter.

Severus sighed to himself as he looked down. He would have given anything to see a look of defiance in those emerald eyes, so much like the young boy's mother. But it simply was not there. Nor was the resigned fate of defeat, that he one may expect to see. The child's gaze was on him, and those eyes were simply there. No hate, no fear, no forgiveness, the only feeling that gave Severus hope, was that, in the past, he had seen dead eyes, even among the living. No, there was definite life to the eyes; there was just so little emotion.

As he poured the potion down the young man's throat, using his wand to force the child to swallow, Severus quickly moved back into place, about to witness a horror inflicted on a young man that would be scarred into his memories until the day he died.

As the potion took effect on the body, making changes he never thought possible. As he witnessed the child's form transmuted into some form of viscous sludge, before seeming to seep without and then within the pores of the young man, before reforming, the chocked screams were a sight to behold, sending shivers down even the most heartened of men, with the exception of Voldemort, and perhaps Bella, who both seemed to be enjoying the show.

With each breath the potion master took, regret seamed to hammer into him more and more. And with each subsequent breath he could feel the chances of winning this war slip away, as the Dark Lord's plan seemed to come together.

For in a moment of clarity Severus Snape was sure of one thing. Harry Potter was going to survive, and the child was going to Live. However, if Albus and his Order did not hurry the hell up, the young man would be doing so in another reality.

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Harry Potter was naked, but he simply did not care. Nor, did the passing thought hold any purchase in his mind. Never before had he felt such soul piercing pain. Not only could he not describe it, his brain simply retreated from his conscious should he attempt to even reflect on it.

Thank god for small favors. There was a sharp pain in his side, which in comparison, was more like a soft caress when compared to the pain he refused to reflect upon. In the background, however, he could hear that Dark Bastard talking again. Curling up in a ball to get past the pain, he was not sure that he cared to listen.

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Voldemort nodded to Augustus as the man plunged a blade deep into the young man's side. Voldemort watched with no small amount of fascination, and satisfaction, as the ex-Unspeakable seemed to withdraw a liter of blood.

A cruel smile could be seen on both of their faces as, when the blade was withdrawn, twisting and making a more painful and deadly wound, before their very eyes the wound stopped bleeding, the muscle sinew and skin closed up within a matter of seconds, with no visible scar to show beyond the large bag of blood the man was carrying to the arch, beginning the preparations for the boy hero's departure.

Voldemort nodded his head in agreement. It was much better to send his child nemesis away as soon as possible, lest he be rescued or somehow escape his clutches. Such would seem to be unlikely, if not impossible, however, he had faced the child more than once, and in some miraculous display of sheer luck, that damn child had managed to escape the death that had awaited him.

The Dark Lord smiled once again. For now, death would never claim the child, and so long as the child lived, so too would he. Finally, his Immortality was complete. He tore his gaze from Augustus who was feeding the blood into the proper runes, watching as lines began to form like a spider web, arching across the archway. The lines seemed to ooze that blood like sludge that the potion had caused to form within the boy. Bloody drops seemed to drip from these webs, causing more lines to form and within moments the entire archway consisted of a thriving mass of blood like substance, and in the background, a golden glow seemed to light up the vertical pool of blood. The runes themselves seemed to writhe in the blood, outlined by the golden glow they had displayed earlier.

He brought his attention back to the child, who, in his own way was writhing on the ground, seeming to try and make himself a small as possible from the pain he must still be feeling. Voldemort's smile grew even more as he addressed one of his followers.

"Wormtail, it was not so long ago I had to request you to robe me at my rebirth." The small man with the silver hand came forth to gather the robes that lay at his lord's feet by his throne. With a robe draped over his arm, he looked back to his Lord and Master. "In a fit of Irony, perhaps you could robe our guest of honor, after his own rebirth. And, if you would be so kind, send him on to his 'Next Great Adventure'" With a bow the rodent like man approached the young boy.

Peter Pettigrew had a bit of a dilemma. Oh, it was not something as mundane as following The Dark Lord's orders, no; those would be followed without question. No, his problem came about with the life debt he knew that he owed to Harry.

It was a bit of a struggle to get the robe onto the boy, and he had to do his work none too gently. With a final nod, he knew what he had to do to repay his debt. Ironically, in the employ of The Dark Lord, he was about to show that long dead Gryffindor tendencies that had been subdued since long before he had graduated Hogwarts.

As he had straightened Harry up into a standing position, basically having the child lean on him, he used his fish to punch the child in the stomach. While that act in itself did not seem to have any advantages to the young man, it did cause the child to curl up slightly, which allowed the ex-marauder to slip something important into an inside pocket of the robes the young boy had just been placed within.

"Wormtail!" The sharp rebuke caused the traitor to the Potters to gaze upon his master. "Perhaps you could not use your silver hand, the hand I gave you, when striking our young friend." Voldemort seemed to be looking him in amusement. "Actually, Peter, perhaps it would be to our benefit if you were to allow another to send young Harry through this portal. After all, I would hate for it to be done by 'my hand' after all."

Without being asked, Lucius Malfoy was quick to walk up and grab the young wizard from the rat animagus. Marching the young man quickly to the gate, there was a short pause as a powerful voice called out, causing everyone in the clearing to turn to the source.

"No!" Albus Dumbledore was there, along with his Order, ministry aurors, and a host of Unspeakables. Whispers of 'my word' came from a few of the Unspeakables who knew what the portal was that was just in front of their young hero.

Both Lucius and Voldemort smirked at the man. As The Dark Lord was taunting the man, telling him he was too late, Lucius gave a viscous push while bringing his cane up. Just before the young man was to cross the threshold of the portal, he shouted "Sectumsepra!"

Gashes lined Harry's neck and face as the force of the push, along with the force of the spell, propelled him through the portal, leaving behind him cries of dismay which turned into screams of outrage as a grand battle took place, it was a battle that, unbeknownst to The Dark Lord, would be his demise, for he never considered, that with Harry severing the connection between the two of them, and by his own hand, even with Elizabeth's help, destroying the soul that lay within the Horcrux that was within his own body, Harry had resolved his portion of the prophecy.

There was no way for Voldemort to know this, as there was no way for the Dark Lord to know that with Elizabeth's efficiency in occlumency, she was able to determine where each Horcrux lay, along with the measures of safety that were guarding them. It had came as a shock to the woman to realize that she had seen one of the Horcrux at Harry's godfather's house; and within nearly a month's time, each and every Horcrux had been obtained, with the exception of the snake Nagini.

By the time the night was over, The Dark Lord would be mortal and captured. What they would do with him, would be decided on another day. More than a few of the fighters simply wanted him dead, or sent through the veil. First, however, they had to treat their wounded.

Harry, however, had long since been sent through the still writhing portal of blood. And after the carnage had settled, when the battle was over, the remaining fighters could see an old man standing in front of the portal. Had anyone been in front of him they would have seen the tear streaks down his face as he quietly whispered to the boy who could no longer hear him, "I have failed you, my boy, I am so sorry."

xxxxxxxx

Harry knew none of this; of course, he had heard none of it. He simply rolled onto the rough ground, coming to a stop on his back. Above him he could hear murmuring as the sound of small metallic clicks was heard.

The soldiers had been standing at this portal for the past few minutes, surprised that this artifact of study would suddenly become active. They had no idea what it was, or what it did, for all they knew this could be a means for some type of invasion.

Imagine their surprise when a young, barely clothed, young man came rolling from the center, only to land at the feet of two soldiers.

There was a slight gasp from one of the soldiers as the saw a few viscous wounds lining the face and neck of the kid. It was not the wound that had the soldier shocked. It was the fact the wound was not bleeding, and that it was closing in front of their very eyes.

The man's face, which looked shock a moment before, became a sneer as he lifted his gun and used the butt of it to crack into the nose and face of the young man. All the while, he only said two words, each as sharp as a nail being laid into a coffin.

"MUTIE FREAK!"