Run with Blood

by Hello Duckie

The story is legendary, along with the wizard whose tale it tells, the boy who lived. The tale on the lips of every wizarding family teaching their children of that dark night, but all forgetting one key thing me, for I am the boy who died.

3. Chapter 3

Daily Prophet

WHO-MUST-NOT- BE-NAMED VANQUISHED!

Late last night it was reported that Mathew Potter defeated WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED. Reports claim that the killing curse was fired at the young potter, who in some unexpected twist relected the curse, killing the sender. Unfortunately on this night the youngest Potter Harry was killed.

The piece of smoothed out paper, sat un affected by the steady drizzle of rain that pelted down on the surrounding landscape. As did the other tributes to the youngest potter whose life was lost. A small photo leaned against the Hollows wall, of two baby twins smiling giggling at the camera, like so many other photos that contained them both.

But now the photos of the remaining potter contained a smirking teenage a look of gloat on his face, as he stood posed for his admirers. Mathew Potter the Boy who lived, whilst I Harry will always be remembered as the boy who died.

You see what a shock that would be to the wizarding world that the saver from the darkness was a creature of it? So the orders were given I was to be killed, ready for my brother to take my place. But we knew something that the Potters and Dumbledore didn't, Vampires are nifty buggers.

I was snatched away, by the one destined to kill me, raised not as a child but as the weapon, ready always ready. To fight to die, and as my story unfolds so does the fate of the world.

Its my 16th birthday, the day that I have dreaded above all others today is the day that they will drag me back kicking and screaming and on this day they will two know the fact that saved me that night. Vampires were quite nifty buggers.

We sat ever end of the table, neither touching the steak that our stomachs grumbled for. My face screwed up with anger, every line on my forehead prominent, as my unease.

I stood up facing the one who raised me, "Its time" I whispered trying to remember every detail of his features ready to store away for our long separation. Arak stood u, a smile on his face, "Hesiean, you are my son and I am proud of you" He said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I open my mouth to reply ready to pledge my love to my father, but all that could be heard was the splintering of the wooden door behind me.

With a swish of his cloak I stood alone, my hand on my sword ready to kill those who had planned my death so many years before.