A/N: Alright, I can't wait to see the reactions to this one. I am sooooo sure that there will be flames and anger, but trust me! It will all work out in the end(which will happen in close to two chapters). If you are angry with this, please, PLEASE stick with me. Like I said it will all be better! The next chapter is already almost done, then I have a little editiong and it will be up to take away any fears you may have.
Thank all of you for your faves and comments! Fuel the inspiration with more! And if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to shoot me a PM! Love you all and I hope you enjoy!
Even when Harry came completely through the tiny invisible space between places, he still felt the blackness of the space pressing in as he walked carefully down the sidewalk. His wand was tucked safely up the sleeve of the dinner jacket he had worn for Christmas and the invisibility cloak still hid him from the site. Spotting the familiar worn out stoop guarded by two masked Deatheaters, he paused. The dusty dry snow that had begun falling the night before was now blowing viciously, biting at the edges of his cloak the way fear and uncertainty tugged at his resolve. Standing straighter, he checked his hidden wand once more and whipped the cloak off dramatically.
Both Deatheaters yelped in surprise, pointing their wands at him. "What the….?" One began, but Harry cut across his thought.
"I am Harry James Potter, son of Lily Potter. I was requested. Take me to Him."
The shorter of the two let out a gruff laugh as he flicked his wand sending ropes out of the tips that snaked so tightly around Harry that he had to fight to keep upright. "Cheeky little blighter, innee?"
"Too right," the other replied, his face alive with amusement. "Cricio!"
Searing pain burned through every nerve in Harry's brain, bringing him to his knees as an involuntary scream slipped past his lips. In the back of his mind hidden in the anguished pain, he heard their laughter as he writhed before them. For a moment, he thought he would go mad as he thrashed about. The pain had no end as it pulsed through him. Then, just as quickly as it began it stopped altogether. All of his muscles went slack and he lay there panting, only now becoming conscious of his screams and forcing himself to cease.
"Ain't so cheeky now, are ya?" the shorter Deatheater laughed, pulling Harry up by his hair. The other took Harry's glassed from his face and threw them to the ground, crushing them beneath his heal.
Harry fought the urge to struggle, knowing that it would do no good. He was shaking with rage, but he reigned it in. These two were not the cause, simply the symptom. When he spoke, his voice sounded small and pleading. "Take me to Him," he said, allowing himself to he dragged through the doors.
"With pleasure."
Even though it was the same place he been at no more than a day previous, everything about Grimwald place was different. Bits of debris and large quantities of dust were all that remained of the entry way. The sweet smelling aromas of Christmas dinner had been replaced the sharp metallic scent of blood and a the chilling bite of the city in winter. Everything about the place seemed dark and gloomy, where before it had been bright and festive. Christmas decorations that hung limply from the fixtures and a few of the still-standing doors, seemed pathetic and wilted. The house was diseased, with Deatheaters hanging in the doorways like the parasites they were. Voldemort had done to the place what he had done to the world—corrupted it with hate and darkness. Harry silently thanked the two thugs for destroying his glasses so that he wouldn't have to remember the vision in sharp clarity.
The shock of seeing the destroyed entrance compared to the shock of seeing the gathering in the main sitting room.
All thoughts of his own pain left Harry when he saw his mother in the center of a group of black robed people. He would have cried out an run forward had they not stopped him. Even in his blurred vision, he could barely take it in. Blood streaked down her almost unrecognizably battered face. The gorgeous dress she had been so excited to wear, the one James had been complimenting her on all Christmas night, was shredded, exposing angry red skin beneath. Bruises trailed up her mostly exposed thighs in a way that made Harry fight back a gag as he looked away. Yet even with her hands tied so tightly behind her back and her hair matted with blood, Lily looked on at the Deatheaters stubbornly, refusing to let her captors take away the dignity of her sharp tongue and brave ginger attitude.
"…Is that the best you can do?" She yelled brazenly. "I thought I said do your worst!"
"Eager little whore aren't you?" A young white-blonde haired boy around Harry's age snarled.
She spat at him defiantly. "You are nothing more than a child!"
"Why I ought to-" He raised a closed fist to her, and was stopped short by the man who must have been his father.
"Now, now, Draco. We mustn't kill the hostage before the main event," he drawled.
Harry struggled against his captors, who laughed as they forced him to watch.
"What about you Peter?" Lily spat, attempting to stand and failing pathetically. "Don't you want a piece, you bloody rat bastard? You betrayer!"
Harry's eyes left his mother and shot instead to the gathered crowd. It felt as though his head might explode in rage. Standing next to the grand fireplace, Peter Pettigrew, stood fiddling nervously with the buttons of his robes. The man looked at her nervously, sweat pouring down his face. His gazed kept flicking spasmodically between his best friend's wife and the man who was the cause of it all-their leader.
"Come now, Lils-"
"Don't call me 'Lils', you filth"
A slow hissing high-pitched laugh escaped his seated master before the man could answer. And Harry tore his eyes from his mother and the pathetic flea bag that was Lord Voldemort. He was the cause of all of this. He was the one who had placed Harry's family in danger; and as Harry looked at the snake man, a flood of rage pulsed through him stronger than any he had ever felt.
Struggling hard against his captors, he managed to head but one of them in face causing the man to cry out in pain.
Everyone's attention snapped to the three hiding in the entry.
A slow smile split Voldemort's snake like features, his thin slit nostrils flaring with glee. With one hand he beckoned them into the light of the dim room as a laugh began to blossom from his lips. The malicious nature sent an involuntary chill up Harry's spine as the others in the room began to join him. Soon the room filled with hateful laughs. Lily looked on at Harry, horror spreading across her face as she saw the mask of pure an adulterated hate that seethed beneath the green orbs. He had eyes only for Voldemort and they begot death.
"Silence!" The Dark Lord hissed. Immediately the sound turned off as if someone had flipped a switch. It was unnerving how his face could go so suddenly blank. "Look who we have here!" Walking around Lily-apparently deaf to her cries for her son's life-he walked straight for the boy and place a long sharp fingernail under his chin. "The lamb to the slaughter."
Another slow bout of laughs filled the air as Harry struggled violently again.
"Come, come! Get comfortable." At the last words, Harry felt Voldemort raise his wand as searing pain shot through him once more toppling him to the ground. This time, however, he did not feel the hopelessness. Rather he felt toyed with. A more insulting torture than the deatheaters had given him.
"NOOOOO!" Lily cried, her son's pain causing her more injury than anything that had happened in the last twenty four hours. No one paid her any heed as Voldemort released the curse and undid the silencing spell on Harry.
For a moment he was in too much pain to speak. But as his breathing became more even, he shouted. "You bloody bastard!"
"Come now, Harry," Voldemort covered Lily's ears. "Not in front of mummy!"
"What have you done to her, you fuck-" his words were cut off as pain hit him once more.
"Manners!" Voldemort hissed. "And I did nothing to her. I wouldn't touch a Mudblood. But you see, my men have needs."
"You-"
"SILENCE!" he shouted. "You will speak when spoken to!"
Harry seethed, convincing himself that it was more to save his energy rather than fear of the pain. In truth it was both. With rapped attention, the crowd watched as the two wizards sized one another up with the battered woman between them. Voldemort walked back to Harry lifting him magically into a standing position with unnatural grace and stopped with his nose an inch from the boy's face before turning dramatically to his audience. "You all are gathered here to witness the second of three historical events that will happen on this Christmas holiday. You see, yesterday, I defeated my greatest enemy. As Albus Dumbledore fell, he set off a chain of events that left the door open for me to destroy the last thing keeping me from total domination. Tonight, I destroy his last hope for a filthy mudblood-loving future." A cheer rose up from those gathered which Voldemort silenced with a gracious hand. "You see, the old man still clung to the notion that I am weak enough to be overthrown by a dead prophecy which entangled you to me. He thought you were the hope for the world. He was half right. You are hope-hope for my world. With you I build myself to something stronger than before!" Another cheer went up. Lily was sobbing and Harry was gritting his teeth in resolve.
He turned swiftly back to Harry. "Do you see the beauty of the plan?" He held up three fingers and ticked them off as he made each point. "Kill the leader of the resistance. Kill the hope left by the leader. Kill the resistance."
"Let my mother go!" Harry shouted, barely listening.
"I don't think I can do that Harry. You see, I want her to watch. And then I want everyone in the Order of the Bloody Phoenix exterminated like the cockroaches you are one by one by one."
"Please!" Lily said staggering to her feet "I'll do anything! Just don't hurt Harry!"
Voldemort's smile widened as he raised his wand dramatically. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, his wand pointing at Harry.
Harry closed his eyes and waited for it. Waited for the flash of pain and then the free feeling he had read about from the ghosts of Hogwarts. He waited for the life to flee from his body in one woosh.
Instead, he heard a woman's scream and the thunk of a body hitting the floor in front of him.
Eyes snapping open, Harry beheld his mother's eyes staring back at him nothing more than lifeless green orbs. "No," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. Unable to cry, unable to accept that she was indeed laying before him stone dead, he just stared.
"Stupid MUDBLOOD!" Voldemort raged.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Harry roared, struggling with his ropes like a wild animal. "Why don't you fight me! If you're so powerful and the prophecy isn't true, than face me like a MAN! You killed her! Let me free so I can face you myself! You bloody COWARD."
Voldemort smiled as if he had just been handed his favorite candy. "Never let it be said that I am an unjust Lord!" With the flick of his wand, Harry's magical bindings were gone.
Harry didn't bow. He didn't hold his wand at the ready and step back five paces. He didn't even follow any of the proper rules of dueling. As soon as he was loose, Harry came flicked his wrist to the side allowing his wand to come to hand and he fought.
He fought like he had never fought before. Not enraged and erratic, but graceful and calculating as if he had been preparing for this moment his entire life. Voldemort, who had been laughing his cold high pitched laugh, let one spell through and it knocked him back two steps. A frown pulled over his snake-like features as he was pushed back another step. Concentration took over him as he dueled the young man. It had been a long while since he had actually ever allowed his prey the chance to fight back and as a red jet of light shot narrowly past his ear, he knew why.
"Do you want to know about your Mum's final day, Potter," the Dark Lord taunted, throwing an unforgivable curse whirring past Harry's shoulder. "Do you want to hear how that whore opened her legs to every Deatheater in this room?"
Harry tried his best to keep his concentration from drifting, he fought to keep the anger from taking over his movements.
"Even dear Wormtail had his go. You should have heard the screams! It was a symphony! She begged for torture."
"LIAR!" Harry said, letting himself slip a little. Pain shot through his veins as a well placed Cruciatus curse hit him square in the chest. His screams filled the room as he went to a knee, doing his best to keep hold of his wand.
"She liked it, the little mudblood whore." He let up on the curse, coming close to Harry as he did so. "Then again, she's always liked the feel of pureblood flesh."
Not skipping a beat, Harry stood sending sharp splinters of wood in Voldemort's direction forcing him back, though the front simply bounced off a hastily made shield harmlessly. "Never speak of her! You aren't worthy to lick the grime from her cauldron!" Harry yelled as he slashed his wand at his opponent causing a slight spray of blood to shoot from his cheek.
With an angry hiss, Voldemort said, "Enough!" Raising his wand he hit drew the power to end the duel. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Time seemed to slow. All Harry could hear was the quick beating pace of his heart echoing loudly in his mind. It was coming. He could feel it as soon as the Dark Lord drew breath to cast the curse. His movement was too slow to duck and this was a curse that could not be blocked. In stead he screwed his eyes shut and waited as the words echoed through his brain seeming to be made of more voices than one.
Then everything stopped. The silence that followed echoed about with such a deafening roar that he was sure he was dead. But as a general sound of confused voice permeated the silence and several loud popping sounds followed, Harry opened his eyes to the most unlikely sight.
All around him, members of the Order of the Phoenix were appearing out of the wowork. Spells and curses began flying in the aftermath as the two sides clashed, more in reflex and confusion than in intent to kill. Spells flew all around them like strange firecrackers lending everything a hazy toxic glow.
Harry, however, had his eyes fixed on something far more interesting.
In the center of the now chaotic room lay the sprawled body of Lord Voldemort. His eyes open and his mouth agape in his final yell. Behind him, the trembling figure of Hermione Granger stood, her eyes wide with shock, her wand still pointed in the place where Voldemort had been standing.
A smile ghosted at the corners of Harry's mouth as he looked across the way at his savior. The battle seemed to melt around them. All he could think about was making his way to her and kissing her until both were breathless.
The battle was over and good had won.
Struggling to stand, Harry started to make his way over to Hermione. Every step was an effort. It felt as though his legs were made of wet sand barely able to hold his weight as he trudged through the slippery piles of debris. The strength it took to walk was draining him so much he felt as though he might pass out before making it to her. But he didn't care. All that mattered was getting to Hermione. Then everything would be alright.
Before him, tears were starting to roll down Hermione's cheeks. Her hand was trembling more as he approached, a look of absolute horror spreading across her face as her eyes fixed to somewhere behind him.
"Hermione!" he cried with joy as he stood a few feet in front of her. However, instead of jumping into his arms and kissing him, she had the look of deer frightened into movement. Scrambling a bit, she bypassed him and headed back to the spot he had come from, now in full blown hysterics. "Hermione?" he said, suddenly realizing that the battle had quieted and the Deatheaters that had not already disappeared were bound on the ground or stunned. All around them the order members were staring at the center of the room. Why aren't they cheering that the Dark Lord's reign had just been ended? Harry thought. Instead, the Order members were either beginning to cry or were simply standing there with pained looks on their faces.
As Harry's gaze locked back upon Hermione, however, a shiver ran down his spine. Cradled in her arms was a limp figure with messy black hair. The face was almost unrecognizable, but beneath the bruises and blood, Harry could see that he was undeniably…
…dead….
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