Hello Everyone!

I'm glad that this is taking off. So I'm going to continue. Because there isn't much to say yet, I'm just going to jump right in. This chapter is going to give a better look into the state of the world and is going to get into the plot.

I don't own Harry Potter!

Enjoy!

~Angelia Reader

Chapter One: War is Hell

Harry's POV

He came into consciousness slowly, becoming aware in degrees. He was lying on his back. The cot was lumpy under him.

Where am I…? The thought drifted through his hazy mind. He couldn't remember. The sickening sent of blood and potions filled his nose.

Hospital Wing, but why… A hand lightly touched his shoulder, and he reacted before he could think. His fingers found the knife strapped to his wrist. He was up, grabbing the hand that touched him, and pressing the blade to their throat before he eyes were even open.

Oh! The memories flooded his mind as he looked into the terrified eyes of the medic. He was in the medical tent. He had been stabbed. This was war. He released the trembling man, "Sorry."

"I told you. You shouldn't have touched him," Ron gripped his shoulder tightly. It was his way of giving comfort, "Have a nice nap Mate?"

"You couldn't have just let me die?" there was nothing in his voice.

"Because you're too valuable to lose," Ron responded. He was use to this. After every battle Harry had always questioned why he was not dead.

He sighed. He sat up, and brushed his long hair from his eyes, "How bad is it?" There were screams of agony coming from somewhere in the tent. Five years ago he would have flinched. Five years ago he would have cared.

"A thousand wounded and nearly as many dead. We were given wrong information."

He nodded, "He was there towards the end. He knew that I was there and he let me get away." He grabbed the shirt beside the cot, wincing as the movement pulled on the fresh scars on his back and shoulders.

"We have to tell Minerva," he said.

Again he nodded, and absently tried to braid his hair. It was past his waist now. Annoying in battle, but he had made a promise. He managed only to tangle it farther after a few minutes of trying. He was just about to give up when Ron's wife entered.

Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly at his frustration, "If you hate it that much then why don't you just cut it?" Her own hair was short, cut just below her chin.

"Ginny," was all he said. Hermione sat behind him on the cot, her chest brushing his back as she expertly braided his hair.

"She's been dead for three years Harry," she murmured as she finished.

"You don't understand, I can't cut it. I made a promise."

"You were grieving Harry. It's moronic to keep it this long," she snapped, lightly pulling on the braid.

Anyone else he would have killed for saying such a thing. Except for Ron. They were the only ones who could treat him like he was anything but a killer. He ignored her and stood. His body was stiff, his shoulders twitching slightly as the gashes continued to heal, "Fucking wolf," he hissed. "Guns," he held out his hand expectantly.

Ron shook his head, but handed over the twin handguns Harry had taken to carrying, "I don't understand why you carry muggle weapons."

"They give me an advantage. Not even a wizard is immune to a bullet," He looped one just under his left arm, and the other at the small of his back. He felt better having them with him, "Knives."

Ron shook his head and passed him three blades. One for both legs, and a longer one along his spine, "Wand." He slid his wand into his right pants pocket. He was armed and ready to go.

Hermione laced her fingers with Ron's. When she offered him her hand he merely shook his head. He needed to have both hands free. The trio made their way through the medical tent, all but oblivious to the cries of the dying. They were short staffed, but there wasn't much they could do. Harry stopped every so often to lend comfort where he could. It was the only thing he could do. He had been told that seeing he was hope to his fellow soldiers, so he gave it where he could.

The camp was alive with activity when the exited, to the left there were people setting up tents, while to the right fresh graves were being dug. They headed in that direction. The first one they came to a witch knelt at, her face buried in her hands and long mournful wails were erupting from her chest. In the grave was a wizard. Her husband probably.

Harry knelt beside her, gently pulling her hands from her face, "He was a good man," he told her. He slipped easily into her mind, finding his name, "Albert was a good soldier. I will make sure his sacrifice was not in vain." He couldn't tell her. He wanted to, but he couldn't tell her that the war was going badly. They were losing. It was only a matter of time.

He repeated this process several times as they made their way across the endless stretch of graves. At each one he was rewarded with looks of hope, and worse trust. Their absolute faith in him cut deeper than any knife could. When they finally reached the edge of the sea of graves, they were standing in front of a large red tent.

The two guarding the door stood at attention when they approached. He nodded to them as he passed. They were boys still. He could still smell the stench of youth on them. He pushed back the flap and stepped into the cavernous room. It was taken up almost completely by a complete map of the world. No one looked up at they entered, they simply watched. On it little figurines fought each other while others stood still, silent. As he watched, one of the black figures, a snake bested the white phoenix. It was the battle they had just lost. Harry walked to the head of the table and watched as two more, smaller figures began fighting. "We're losing," he said softly.

"I know Potter," Minerva said just as softly, her eyes never leaving the map.

"We lost several good men just now," he continued, taking his seat to her right.

"What happened?"

"Ambush," Ron explained, he sat on her other side with Hermione beside him, "They knew we were coming and waited for us. We were surrounded. If it hadn't been for Harry we would have lost everyone."

"He was there," Harry added softly, "He knew I was there too, and he let me go. He's planning something, I just know it."

"Are you having dreams again?" Neville asked. He lifted his eyes from the map to their "savior."

Harry shook his head, "Not in a few months. I just know. I can feel it. He knows he's winning and he wants me to know he knows."

"So what do you suggest we do? Go to him and beg for his mercy?" George jumped in.

"Is that really such a bad idea?" Lavender countered, "Harry said himself, we're losing. The quicker we give in the easier he'll be on us."

"The bastard is the reason most of my family is dead," George snarled, "I would die sooner than bend knee to him."

"We've all lost people," she hissed, "Not just you."

"Enough," Minerva snapped, "I will not have my counsel fighting amongst themselves. We will not be surrendering. Surely there is a way that we can come back from this?" She looked to Harry as she said it.

Harry was silent. He continued to study the map. The small phoenix had defeated the snake, but it was only a small victory. It meant almost nothing, "We're running around in circles," he murmured to himself. It had been evident that they were losing for the past two years. They may have won smaller battles, but those didn't matter when they lost thousands in the larger ones, "A change," he murmured, "Something needs to change." He sighed, "Here," he pointed to a spot where a large snake sat, "If we strike here then we could destroy one of their biggest camps. It would cripple them." He could already see the battle playing out. They would be outnumbered. They would be slaughtered if it wasn't well planned, "Or here," he shook his head, "No, that would never work." It's hopeless. "I don't see any maneuver that wouldn't end in significant loss of life." He admitted.

Minerva shook her head, "There has to be something."

"Ma'am?" one of the guards stepped into the room, "There is someone here that needs to speak to you. He says it's important."

"Who is it?" she demanded, "We're busy."

"He says his name is Severus Snape Ma'am. He says he has some information that my help you win the war."

"Impossible, Severus Snape is dead," she said coolly, "Potter?" she said softly.

Harry nodded in understanding. He pulled the blade that rested along his spine. Moving with the grace of a predator he sank into the shadows by the door, "Cover me," he whispered softly in Parseltongue. His body melted into the shadows. When Minerva was satisfied that he couldn't be seen. She nodded.

The guard exited. He returned a few seconds later with a hooded figure.

Harry's muscles tensed.

Wait.

The man walked forward, deeper into the room.

Wait.

One step. Two steps.

Strike.

He sprang from the shadows, as fast as the strike of a cobra. He hooked his foot under the other man's, ripped the hood off, and rode him to the ground with one smooth movement. His fingers tangled in his hair, twisting his head to the side and pressing the blade to his throat. The man under him cried out, straining against Harry's grip.

"Move and I'll slit your throat," he said softly. Hermione approached them, a small bottle of clear liquid in her hands, "Open your mouth," he said.

When the man didn't comply immediately, Harry pressed down harder with the blade, drawing blood, "I said open your mouth." He recognized the scar on his throat, to twin puncture wounds right above the jugular.

"When did you get to be so cold Potter," the man asked, opening his mouth and allowing Hermione to pore a few drops of liquid down his throat.

"Veritaserum," he said softly, "I thought you were planning on killing me."

"If we wanted you dead," McGonagall said, "Potter would have killed you. What is your name?"

"Severus Snape."

"You didn't die five years ago. How?"

"I was found and healed. After torturing me the Dark Lord accepted me back into his fold."

"Do you mean to harm anyone in this room?"

"No."

"Potter," McGonagall said.

Slowly Harry let him up, sheathing his blade with practiced ease.

"You've changed Potter," Snape said, standing just as slowly as if to show he was no threat.

"War will do that to you," he said coldly.

"Why are you here?" McGonagall continued.

"I have information that could help end the war," he said softly.

"What information?" this came from Ron.

"In a camp to the north east of this one there is a tent. In that tent is a Horcrux. The final Horcrux. If you destroy it you can end the war."

"What's guarding it?" Harry demanded. They had been looking for the eighth and final Horcrux from the moment Voldemort survived in the battle for Hogwarts.

"About 5000 Death Eaters and Parselmagic. All of the wards and the container it's in can only be destroyed by a Parselmouth."

Every eye turned to Harry, "How many people can you get in?" He asked softly.

"Only one."

"You're going to go," Luna said brightly. She had been gazing into space the entire time, but now she looked at Harry.

No one bothered to ask how she knew. Luna was a Seer.

"You can't be serious. He'd be slaughtered before he even got near it." Ron snapped. He had little faith in her abilities.

She shook her head, "No I see…" Her eyes misted over, "The One with the power to defeat the Dark Lord has come…Blood and Death his kingdom is… On the seventh day of the seventh month the Chosen One will go into the dark… The Champion of the Light will enter the Darkness and out he will never again come… He will sacrifice himself on an altar of dark and vanquish the Dark Lord…" Her breathing became ragged, and her head dropped suddenly. Blood dripped from her nose.

Neville gently took her hand, "Are you ok love?" he asked.

She nodded happily, "What did I say?"

"You said I'm going to die tomorrow." Harry's voice was soft, his eyes hard.

"This is insane!" George snapped, "You're not going to die because you're not actually going to go. Are you Harry?"

When he didn't answer, Ron stood and grabbed his arm, "You're not actually thinking about going?"

"If it will end the war." He whispered.

"No damn it! I'm not going to let you just kill yourself!" He roared, shaking Harry slightly.

"Ron!" McGonagall snapped, "Take your place at your seat or leave. How did you come across this information Severus?"

"The Dark Lord told me himself."

"He knows I'll come." Harry said thoughtfully.

"Harry," Hermione said desperately, "There's another way, there has to be."

"There is no other way," Luna said softly.

"Fuck off," Hermione snapped, "Harry?"

Harry was simply staring into space, thinking over the offer. I can end the war if I do this… I have to die again… The thought was almost funny. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Harry?" McGonagall said softly, "What are you thinking?"

He shook his head. His gaze focused on Snape, "Come back tomorrow night," he said. He felt giddy, lightheaded. He knew he was going into shock. Five years of war and I go into shock hearing that I have to die. He laughed again, "May I be excused Minerva?"

"Of… of course Harry. We can talk about this more in the morning. When you're feeling better." She paused, "All of you are dismissed," she said as she watched Harry go, "Come back tomorrow Severus," she said softly, "He'll do it."

Thank you for reading Everyone! I hoped you liked this chapter! Since this is still new, all I have to say is please, please, please review! The next chapter will be the mission.

~Angelia Reader