Hello and welcome to yet another story, it is your host Naintarlow checking in.

This story idea had sat for a whole year on my hard drive, waiting for its moment to shine. And then I thought, well it's not like I have already too many stories and too little time to update all of them in a timely manner, what could one another story hurt? So here we are.

Thanks to the awesome TwistedFilms for looking this work over and cleaning up most of the mess I made.

Hope you guys enjoy the story and as usual, feedback, or even just a stray thought or two, is appreciated.

Onto the story.

Chapter 1: Harry Potter, Demon Slayer Extraordinaire

Ten years ago, an era ended. The era of the Dark Lord Voldemort, who terrorized Britain for years, commiting various acts of terrorism against both magical and non-magical folk in the name of blood supremacy. In truth, however, his war was not really about blood, it was just a madman's conquest for power, and the fools who followed him like obedient sheep.

His strength and knowledge was above reproach, and there were few who dared oppose him - and even less who could stand their ground after coming face to face with the man who was becoming less man and more monster by the day.

But then, when the fate of Wizarding Britain seemed all but lost, the feared Dark Lord simply... died. Died after trying to kill a one-year-old child of all things. With his death, his followers were quickly rounded up. Many claimed innocence and bought their freedom, but the most fanatic of his Death-Eaters were sent to prison. And the child, who had survived a curse that no one else ever had... well, he was hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the Wizarding World. An instant celebrity.

But... what became of that young hero, an orphaned child who probably didn't even understand what had transpired? Did a friend of the family or some other wizard take him in, raise him as their own, with full knowledge of his past, his status and his heritage?

No. They did not.

Because Albus Dumbledore, a man with too many titles, powers and achievements under his belt to name in a single paragraph, decided to hide the child away from the gaze of wizard-folk, and placed him with the family of his mother's sister - a completely ordinary family that had nothing to do with magic, and made sure that no one could find the child, whom would most certainly have a hard and cold childhood in front of him.

Why did he do this? No one was sure, not even those who knew more than the bare basics about that part of the past. Maybe to protect the child from any remaining followers of the Dark Lord. Maybe to keep him away from his fame, so he would not grow up to be arrogant and spoiled beyond measure, like a certain heir of the Malfoy family.

Or maybe, just maybe... the old man had a darker, much more questionable plan in mind, involving a certain prophecy, and wanted the young Harry Potter to grow up ignorant and starved for positive interaction, so he could be easily manipulated into whatever role the old wizard had envisioned for him.

Truthfully, no one was sure. It was nothing more than idle speculation. What was known was that if Dumbledore's plan had worked, Harry would have arrived in the Wizarding World at age eleven, with wide eyes full of awe, not knowing his own past or heritage, without any of the preconceptions and prejudices that governed that hidden part of the world. He would also have been easily led around by others, and unknowingly trampled on the pride of a lot of people.

That is, if Fate hadn't decided to throw a wrench into this carefully crafted plan. Because, in a sense of the word, that innocent version of Harry Potter died 5 years after his parents. And the one that took his place? Well, he was someone that Dumbledore, Hogwarts and even the Wizarding World was truly not ready for.

-0-

It was the middle of the night, one of the darkest and coldest ones in the countryside during the fall season. Inside the local tavern of a small village, a large party was in full-swing, celebrating the wedding of some local sweethearts, with the entire village joining in the festivities.

"Come on Tanya! Let's have some fun one last time before you are made a proper woman!" one rather drunk man cried out to the blushing bride, who immediately hid her face behind her hands, immensely embarrassed by the crass remark. She was a rather eye-catching young woman barely out of her teens, with long, flowing red hair and bright green eyes.

She was slightly calmed down when her newlywed husband drew an arm around her, pulling her to his side, her body almost melting into his. He wore an easy-going smile, was tall and handsome with messy brown hair and a pair of circular glasses on his face.

"Sorry Granz, but I will do everything in my power to guard this beautiful jewel that I have been entrusted with," he retorted with a grin.

As the man Granz grumbled to himself, the other patrons laughed and sent teasing remarks to the couple. Tanya began half-heartedly hitting her husband in the side, as she buried her face in his chest.

"Come on Jeffrey, if you're gonna tie that beautiful flower to yourself all night, at least take her to a proper dance," the Best Man called out with a smile, a glass of champagne raised in a toast with one hand, and a rather pretty-looking girl hanging from the other.

Jeffrey shook his head as he laughed, but still led his wife to the dance floor as the musicians switched to a slower song, allowing the couple to enjoy their dance.

A cheer went through the villagers, and half a minute later, many other pairs joined them, the music soon changing to a faster beat, allowing the chaos to be unleashed. The remaining people simply watched the entertainment from a safe distance. The music was good, there was an abundance of food, plenty of drinks, and even the local women looked prettier than normal.

All in all, it was a picturesque situation, a small village forgetting all of its troubles to party like there was no tomorrow, celebrating a long-awaited union. There were only three small things that ruined the picture slightly.

One of them was the bartender, Old Luke. He was a rather large man, nearing his sixtieth year this summer, yet retaining enough strenght to throw out any youngster who couldn't handle their alcohol properly. He was balding heavily, and the years of hard work in various fields showed on his face, making him look closer to eighty than his actual age. He was staying out of the main festivities, instead watching on with a bemused expression, making sure that everyone had their fill of drinks as well as keeping an eye on the more rowdy people.

The second was a young girl, who looked to be no older than 6, sitting in the corner between the shadows at a small, lonely table. She was holding a glass of water in her hands, eyes downcast and ridden with sadness. She wore a smaller version of a bridesmaid's costume, though it was slightly rumpled and had a tear or two around the lower parts of her skirt. If one looked close enough, one could just about make out that she was crying, though no sound escaped her.

The worst part of this picture was the clear contrast between the drunk, jovial villagers and her, yet no one seemed to notice her presence, nor try to check on her and see what was wrong. It was as if this was a completely normal and routine thing, a girl crying in a corner.

The third and final person to ruin this otherwise beautiful picture had just stepped in through the door, closing it behind him with a loud thud, though thanks to the constant music, no one seemed to hear it.

He was a young teenage boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, judging by his adequately tall form. He had shoulder-length black hair that could easily be considered the dictionary picture of the word messy. A single lock of silver hair swept to the right, conveniently blocking a part of his forehead from view. His emerald eyes were somewhat dull and uninterested as he took in the scene around him, before making a beeline for the bartender.

He wore a simple green t-shirt, a bit too large for his frame, and a black coat with a hood, its inside shining a nice velvet. Black boots covered his feet, with simple jeans colored a dull blue. Around his neck were a pair of headphones, with its cord disappearing into his coat.

All in all, he didn't look like a kid who had lost his parents, but one that was comfortable travelling by himself, even if his age would perhaps suggest otherwise.

When he reached the counter, the bartender seemed to finally notice him, and gave him a suspicious look coupled with a slight frown. Most of his body was hidden beneath his coat, but at a glance, he appeared rather thin, though not dangerously so. He had a large guitar case slung over his back and a wide, cocky grin on his face.

The man's frown deepened slightly. The kid didn't resemble any of the villagers, not even slightly, and so he doubted he was some kind of distant relative. Which in turn begged the question - what he was doing here?

"Aren't you a little young to be out this time of night?" he asked, but the kid simply shrugged. "… Well, if it is board you are looking for, then I'm afraid I'm gonna have to disappoint you. That drunken lot..." he gestured to the wedding party and the many dancing men and women, "... rented out my entire place so they don't have to find their way home drunk."

The kid followed his finger with his eyes, and a moment later, the man could have sworn that something changed about him. His eyes sharpened, and suddenly, he didn't look like a kid anymore, but rather something much more dangerous. A deep, almost forgotten part of him screamed to get away from the kid before he drew its attention and died.

But as soon as the moment came, it was gone, as the kid turned back to him, the disinterested eyes returning, his cocky grin sliding back in place. The bartender quickly convinced himself that he had seen nothing, that it had just been his imagination. He must have simply been more exhausted than he thought.

"No worries, old man. I'm just passing through," the kid replied flippantly, like a typical teenager. The way he talked convinced the man that the kid was city folk through and through.

"What can I get you then?" the old man said, falling back to the patented, gruffy bartender stereotype as he absentmindedly grabbed a nearby glass and a rug to start cleaning it.

"A strawberry sundae," the kid replied without a second of hesitation. The old man found himself snorting in amusement.

"… You are one strange kid, alright," he said, but reached down behind him for the ingredients to start making the drink either way. Thankfully, because of the wedding, he had a lot of supplies to work with. "One strawberry sundae, coming right up."

"Much appreciated," the kid told him with a strangely serene smile, before turning around and walking over to one of the empty tables in the corner, far enough removed from most of the celebration to be left alone.

Incidentally, that also placed him right next to the crying girl, whose appearance caught his attention immediately, though he only showed it by sending her a look from the corner of his eyes, before taking his seat. He let out a sigh as he placed his guitar case next to him and leaned back, looking strangely exhausted.

"I hate jobs like this. No matter how I go about it, it never ends well for anybody. Why am I the only one who gets these?" he complained under his breath, occasionally shooting a look at the crowd, but never for long.

He tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something, then snorted as a wry smile appeared on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah, I know... I have to make money somehow, and Europe has surprisingly few jobs for me compared to America or Japan. Doesn't stop me from complaining though," he muttered, sending an amused glare at his guitar case.

His attention soon returned to the nearby celebration, in lieu of anything interesting to occupy the time with as he waited for his order. The villagers continued to dance and sing without a care in the world, ignorant of the new arrival who was watching them with something indiscernible in his gaze.

From time to time, his eyes wandered over to the person next to him, watching the crying girl, who hadn't even reacted when a stranger had taken a seat close to her table. She hadn't looked his way, nor attempted to be louder or quieter.

It was as if nothing in the world mattered more to her than the unknown source of her sadness. It truly was a pitiful sight, and the young teen found his usual smirk slowly fading from his lips.

He was broken out of his silence when the barkeep approached him, holding his sweet prize in his hands.

"Here you go, kid. One strawberry sundae - enjoy," he said with a gruffness that seemed so deeply ingrained in him that the teen couldn't imagine him sounding any other way. "Actually... What did you say your name was again?" he asked before the teen could dig into his treat.

Normally, he would have perhaps sighed at the rather rude and tactless interruption of his meal, but today, he chose to show a cocky smile to the villager instead. No need to anger people around here prematurely, after all. Well, at least not before he was forced to do something that would warrant it.

"I didn't say," he told the man with a grin, enjoying the low grumble that came from him, before shrugging carelessly. "But if it's so important to you, the name is Harry. Harry Redcliffe."

He even stood up, taking an elaborate bow, the tails of his coat flying behind him in a theatrical manner.

"Redcliffe... You're not from around here, then?" the man asked, his suspicions apparently rising at the unfamiliar name. It wasn't so surprising - this was the french countryside, and from his accent, Harry did sound American. And other than the occasional tourist, this was not a place accustomed to visitors.

One look, and Harry could tell the barkeep knew he was anything but a tourist.

"Nah, I'm from Britain, but I've lived most of my life with my uncle in the States." Harry decided to divulge his past rather easily, taking a seat and casually leaning on it, one arm draped over the back.

"What brings you here? You lost?" came the question, and it would have perhaps sounded sympathetic, if the man asking hadn't been eyeing him with clear distaste and suspicion. But Harry didn't let it bother him.

"Visiting an old acquaintance during my summer break. He lives a few villages over to the east, if my memory serves me well, and tonight, I was simply in the mood for an old-fashioned roadtrip. Been enjoying it so far," he replied cheekily, meeting the man's eyes without hesitation.

"You are one strange kid," the barkeep responded with a sigh, the suspicion from earlier melting away as his shoulders dropped and he stepped away from the table. "Enjoy the drink, kid, and call me if you need anything else."

"Will do," Harry nodded cheerfully (and with a little bit of cheek) before finally scooping up a spoonful of his dessert, letting out a satisfied sound at the delicious taste. It lasted for three more scoops, before he stopped just shy of putting the fourth one into his mouth, his expression changing into a resigned, slightly annoyed frown. With a sigh, he put the spoon back into the cup and stood up, absentmindedly grabbing the guitar case and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Here I thought I could kick back a little before work, but I just can't seem to catch a break. Even my favorite dessert tastes like shit when I have to look at that disgusting display," he said to himself, giving the sundae a mournful stare before picking it up and placing it down in front of the crying girl.

She looked up at the sudden appearance of the cup, the first sign that she was even alive (besides the crying) ever since the young teen had entered the inn. The hopeless despair in her gaze briefly gave way to confusion as she stared at the boy who wasn't even looking at her, but rather at the recently married couple who were dancing in the middle of the dance-floor.

"No need to waste such good food just because I have lost my appetite. Eat it kid, it will help you calm down," he told her in a dispassionate voice, as if talking about the weather.

The girl opened her mouth to say something, though if it was to refuse his offer or simply ask what he was talking about, neither of them were really sure. She closed her mouth again when no sound came, and lowered her head, her expression turning morose once more.

But before she could descend back into her pity-party, she felt a hand on her head, giving her a gentle pat. Tilting her head up, she found Harry looking at her from the corner of his eye, a single bright-green iris meeting hers. The stare was oddly unsettling to her. She felt as if he was looking through her rather than at her, right into the very depths of her soul.

They stayed like that for a moment, before he gave her a sad, little smile.

"I would love to tell you that everything is going to be alright, but I'm no miracle-worker. I can't give life back to those who have lost it, nor can I turn back the wheel of time. But there is one thing I can do. I can, and will, avenge your sister, Angeline. This, I promise you."

Her eyes widened at his words.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile retreated from his lips, as he looked back towards the dance-floor. His hand left her head, and he started to walk away, with newfound purpose to his steps.

The young girl raised her arm, as if wanting to grab the hand that had once been there, but she quickly let it fall again. Instead, she stared at his back as he walked, with a strange look in her eyes. She didn't even notice that she had stopped crying.

Harry's face was as if carved from stone as he walked straight through the dancing couples, uncaring about the more drunken members cursing him or the sober ones shooting him disapproving and distrusting looks as they realized he wasn't from the village. Some of the more macho guys even started to walk towards him, intent on persuading him to get lost, but he didn't give them the time of day, his attention wholly focused on a particular couple in the middle of it all.

The husband and wife of the hour was dancing merrily, uncaring of the small commotion the teen was causing. The young husband was twirling the red-haired woman around rather skillfully, despite his earlier reluctance to partake in the festivities, and the two shared a laugh, their eyes only for each other.

That idyllic picture was ruined when the husband, Jeffrey, felt someone grab his arm and pull him away. Confused, and more than a little angered at the sudden interruption, his eyes widened as he found himself staring down at a pair of cold, green eyes that belonged to a young teenager.

"Oi, what's the big idea?" He soon overcame his confusion, and looked at Harry with annoyance, giving a dismissive wave. "Get lost, kid. Can't you see that I am dancing with my wife?"

The teen snorted, as if he had found something funny in his statement.

"It's not my place to tell you what to do with your life or who to stick it in. Freedom of choice and all that," he drawled with a hint of boredom to his voice, before looking over at Tanya, who was watching the scene in bewilderment. "Of course, I'll silently judge you nonetheless. That's just human nature. Unfortunately for you though, my job happens to involve your blushing wife, so kindly step aside, and try not to become collateral damage."

All of that was delivered in a complete deadpan, leaving Jeffrey gaping with shock. Meanwhile, something ugly moved behind the wife's eyes, but it was gone in an instant, so rapidly that only Harry noticed it. In its place, she sent him a charming smile, looking like a perfectly innocent maiden. Harry knew better, though.

"You know... I understand the need to eat," he said with a frown, addressing Tanya directly now. "I have gone hungry for a long time, so while I don't like to admit it, I can understand that it's just your nature."

Suddenly, his gaze hardened, and he started to emanate a strange presence that caused everyone around him to instinctively back up.

"But I don't condone what you've done. Killing someone so you can stay alive is one thing. It's how the world works. But taking their face, playing at their life without a second thought, and even forcing their younger sister to just sit there crying because she couldn't do anything to help... Now that's just low."

This time, the thing wearing Tanya's body didn't even try to hide her expression. Her once beautiful features turned into an ugly impersonation of a human face as she snarled at him, her hands turning to claws as she raised them.

Harry calmly reached inside his coat, and before she could even try and attack him, she found the barrel of a gun pressed to her forehead. Her mouth opened, either to threaten or to beg, but it was too late. The trigger was pulled, and a round exited the other side of her head, much to the onlookers' shock. Some cried out. Some could only watch in muted horror as the body of sweet, innocent Tanya started to fall to the ground, its killer staring at her without a single emotion on his face, his gun smoking from the shot.

"W-What... What have you done?!" poor Jeffrey screamed, tears leaking from his eyes as he stared at the woman he had promised to be with until death did them part just a few hours ago. It seemed fate was really having its way with him, making the death part of that vow come into effect much sooner than anybody had anticipated.

Harry ignored him at first, frowning at the corpse before tilting his head, as if listening to something. His frown deepened, and he looked up and around, tense as his finger returned to the trigger of his gun. Another wail from Jeffrey reminded him of his presence.

"Oh, quit screaming already, and look at her. Does that thing look like your wife?" Harry asked, before pulling another gun from his jacket, his eyes narrowing. "Damn it... There are way more of them than I thought," he muttered under his breath.

As he did so, most of the villagers, maybe around two-thirds of them, slowly began to change. Their skin paled, turning solid grey, with a splattering of colorful streaks here and there. Most of them retained their human appearance, though their body deformed, teeth turning razor-sharp, fingers lengthening into claws. As they hunched forward and shrieked in some unknown language, they looked a strange mix of zombies and demons.

Some changed much more drastically, however. There were a few whose limbs turned into large, curved blades, their body twisting into a grotesque imitation of itself, their head disappearing and reappearing on their faces. Some turned into strange skeletons, looking like the Grim Reaper come to life with the large scythes they were suddenly wielding, coupled with large, tattered black cloaks that hid most of their bodies.

The remaining humans stared on in shock, petrified by the sudden turn of events, before one of them finally bolted, screaming at the top of his lungs. He didn't get very far. One of the demons reached out, grabbing and pulling him back, and was about to take a bite out of him when the sound of a gunshot was heard once again, and a bullet went through its head, killing it in an instant.

Harry stared down the gathering of demons, his right pistol raised at his earlier target. He grinned at them, in a nonchalant sort of way that practically screamed opposition and challenge.

The silence broke. The rest of the villagers started to run away in horror, with no one stopping them, as every monster in the room was busy baring their fangs at the young teen.

"Guess it's time to earn my keep," he commented, before charging ahead, shooting at the closest cluster of enemies with both guns. "Come and get it!"

The demons charged at him, a writhing mess of guttural growls, sharp teeth and deadly claws.

Jeffrey saw and heard none of it, as he watched the corpse of his wife, his heart riddled with conflicting feelings. The corpse wasn't really human anymore. Like the demons surrounding him, her skin had turned a dead grey. Her limbs had deformed, her hair had turned into strange scales (or at least something resembling scales), and her once beautiful face was the stuff of nightmares. As he looked, she slowly started to disappear, her body turning into grey dust that spilled everywhere, as if controlled by some supernatural wind.

Was this really the woman he had sworn to love and protect? The woman he had planned to have a family with, and live out his days with?

He no longer knew what to feel. Part of him was angered, enraged both at the thing that had once been Tanya, and the strange kid, who had come to destroy this beautiful dream. He also felt dead inside, devoid of conviction, now that everything he knew had gotten turned upside down.

Before he could contemplate much longer, the sound of something falling and breaking tore him from his trance.

-0-

Harry grunted in pain as he threw himself to the side, dodging the large scythe that was meant to cut him in half by a hair's breadth. He started to roll, dodging another swipe or two, before getting to his feet, the gun in his right hand rising toward the Reaper that was almost on him, letting out three shots that penetrated the skull without any resistance. By the time he moved toward the next opponent, the now headless skeleton had fallen to the ground, and slowly begun to disintegrate.

Still, even though he was thinning them out one by one, they were starting to box him in, forcing him to use all of his abilities to stay one step ahead. His room to move was slowly getting smaller and smaller. At least they all seemed more intent on killing him than chasing the townspeople, who were fleeing in the scene in a wild panic.

Well, almost all of them, he noted with a frown as he caught sight of the barkeep grabbing the young girl, the late Tanya's little sister, by the arm and pulling her toward him despite her protests.

Scowling with frustration, he barely ducked out of the way of a scythe-like arm, before shooting a couple of rounds into the attacker's face with his left. His right rose to send a bullet straight into the noisy barkeep's head.

The young girl let out a silent scream as the man fell back, a wide hole in the middle of his forehead. His skin was already turning grey, as his body reverted to its natural form upon death.

"Keep your head down, kid!" he yelled out, raising his hands to shoot once again, only to find the pistol in his left empty of ammunition. By his headcount, the right one was almost out, too.

Instead of letting that stop him though, he grinned before charging forward and, using the head of a demon as a springboard, jumped across the large group surrounding him, who could only look on in something resembling shock. The point of the maneuver being that they stopped for a moment to process what had happened, which was all he needed.

He jumped behind an upturned table and reloaded his pistols so fast that his hands almost blurred, a skill that had been painstakingly drilled into him by his teacher, well before he was sent on his first solo hunt. For a hunter, it was an essential skill, so much so that going without it was akin to suicide.

Harry grinned despite the less-than-stellar situation and jumped out of cover, just as a large, meaty arm came bursting through. He raised his weapons and sent precise shots at the closest demons, making every bullet count.

'To the left,' a voice in his head said, feminine in tone. Without pausing for the slightest moment, Harry followed its advice, jumping to the left before spinning around to fire straight in the head of the demon that had been trying to sneak up on him. The creature let out a wordless scream as its body started to dissolve.

What followed was a lengthy battle of acrobatics, with Harry jumping around the large main hall, using the tables and chairs as springboards and covers, gunning down demon after demon. Ultimately though, it was to no avail. Despite having to stop several times to reload, and rarely missing his mark, there were still at least twenty demons around him. And, unfortunately, they seemed to be getting smarter. There was also less of them now, which meant they had more space to maneuver.

While Harry was by no means shabby - his physical abilities were well above what average humans could muster - he was still just that; human. A young kid who had yet to reach his full potential. And he was starting to feel the strain of prolonged battle on his body.

At least he didn't have to worry about innocent civilians getting in his way, as the only humans remaining were the young girl who was cowering in fear in a corner, and Jeffrey, who was looking at the corpse of his "wife" like a broken man. The demons were courteous enough to concentrate all of their efforts on killing Harry.

You are at your limit. Use me.

The soft voice whispered in his ear once again, and Harry had to bite back a curse as he narrowly ducked under the leg-blade of one of the demons, shooting it at the same time.

"I can take them," he stubbornly refused, but his body betrayed his words. Sweat was dripping from him, he was panting heavily, and his jumps were starting to turn more and more sluggish. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, and they both knew it. At this point, he was running on pride alone.

You can't. You will die.

There was definitely a hint of anger to the unseen voice now, and Harry let out a yelp as a light burst of electricity emanated from the guitar case still resting on his back.

"Fine…" he finally relented, frowning at having to utilize his final resort. And he had been so insistent that he could do it by himself, too.

Jumping back to gain a little distance from his opponents, Harry reached up and pulled off the case, casting it open in one continuous motion. One of the demons who were closer tried to charge him, but was promptly pushed back by the now empty guitar case that was thrown at it.

A moment later, all of the demons stopped in their tracks, an expression vaguely resembling shock on their faces as Harry stood proud in front of them.

In his hands was a purple, one-neck guitar with multiple electric strings and skeletal-looking parts decorating it. Underneath the main body, there was a curved blade, a scythe folded, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Purple lightning sparked from the instrument, harmless to its wielder while at the same time giving off a slightly malevolent, charged feeling.

He gave a wide, cocky grin to the demons at large, who took a step back in unison, momentarily intimidated by the eerily familiar power the guitar was emanating. Some even lowered their weapons or limbs, unwilling to anger the young human, or at least, the weapon he had in his hands.

Of course, not all of them were this intelligent, and after the initial shock wore off, most of them went back to snarling threateningly as they charged at him once again, prompting Harry's grin to turn a tad bit vicious.

"Let's rock!" he cried out as he started playing on the guitar, pulling its strings.

The sound of electrified notes filled the room, much louder than even a normal one connected to an amplifier could produce, and it was accompanied by small bolts of lightning that, at first, danced along the guitar's form and Harry's arms, before launching themselves across the room, hitting the closest demons and instantly frying several of them. But even that adequately terrifying attack was unsuccessful in hindering their advance.

Harry, instead of waiting for them, struck a new chord, releasing a concentrated stream of electricity that fried the demons right in front of him with ease, before he rushed forward, using their charred remains as an improvised springboard to launch himself over most of the horde. His intention was not to jump over all of them, however. He grinned in a devil-may-care kind of way as he took aim on the slower demons, mostly those who had their legs transformed into deformed blades.

While still in mid-air, the guitar unfolded itself, transforming into a large scythe that released violent sparks of lightning as Harry struck the ground. The electricity arced across the space surrounding him, clearing up his landing-zone.

Once again, Harry found himself surrounded by demons ready to tear him into pieces, but he only grinned. He twirled the scythe around him, taunting them to come closer, before he dashed forward and began to slice them into pieces one by one.

The demons simply charged in response, offering themselves up to the electrified blade as Harry made quick work of them. Despite the showmanship, however, Harry himself wasn't faring so well either.

Sweat was pouring out of him as he strained his body to its limits, his breathing coming out in harsh pants, and his arms trembling with every swing. He was also getting slower, and even the lightning coming out of his weapon was not as powerful or violent as before. It seemed using the guitar-scythe-hybrid drained him quicker than usual, and so it was a race against time, to see who would give out sooner.

Him or the demons.

And then… the fighting suddenly came to an abrupt end, when a loud, otherworldly cry rang out throughout the small village, rooting all fighters in place.

Harry panted rapidly, frozen with his scythe held over his head. The demons also stopped, before they began to disappear into small black portals that opened underneath their feet. It didn't even take them a full minute to disappear, leaving the inn empty, save for the three humans.

The teen almost fell to his knees in exhaustion, but managed to lean on his weapon at the last second, looking as if he might fall unconscious at any time. Nobody moved for several minutes as he gathered his strength, returning the scythe to its guitar form and walking over to place it in its discarded case that somehow, miraculously, had not suffered any damage in the commotion.

"That was strange. I've never seen demons retreating before. Just what was it that made them pull out?" he asked with a confused frown, his guard still firmly raised, expecting some kind of monstrosity to come bursting out of the ground to try and eat him.

Needless to say, though, nothing happened. No eldritch horror appeared. No strange figure came in to drop a mysterious line, and there was no late appearance of reinforcements for either side. Nothing moved as silence descended, silence that was only interrupted by Harry's harsh panting. Even the guitar-scythe on his back lay still.

"Looks like it's actually over," he murmured, before exhaustion robbed him of his remaining strength, and his legs failed him. He dropped like a sack of potatoes to the ground.

Thankfully, he could lean his back against an overturned table. One leg drawn up to his chest, his right hand still gripping one of his pistols, just in case.

"I'm not getting paid enough for this shit."

He slowly turned his head, surveying his surroundings. The hall was in ruins. The floor, the tables and all the decoration were in pieces, but strangely enough, there was no blood. Of course, there were many torn pieces of demon lying around, but those were already fading. Usually, minions like them disappeared soon after death, half an hour, tops.

It had not been easy, but he had been able to avoid any casualties, which, judging by the number of demons that had showed up (much larger than the initial information he was provided with had predicted) was a miracle in and of itself.

No casualties, the main target defeated, and, for some reason, the rest had decided to run away. Not his cleanest victory, but he would consider the hunt complete. Well, mostly, at least.

With a loud grunt, he forced his body to stand. His legs felt wobbly underneath his full weight, and his balance was a bit shoddy, as he had to grab onto the table he had been using as a back-rest, but at least he was still able to move. Seeing that there was no second wave of monsters coming, he finally put away his last pistol in its holster, and took a few experimental steps.

Loud sobbing met his ears, and Harry blinked in surprise before turning around, toward the middle of the hall. The unfortunate groom knelt there, where the demon masquerading as his wife-to-be had died. He seemed completely catatonic, uncaring of the world around him. He simply sobbed and chanted the young girl's name who, in truth, had probably died a very long time ago.

The little kid from earlier was there too, standing by his side, like a guardian angel. Her face was full of tears that fell continuously, but she did not sob. She only had a sad, somber look on her face, that changed a tiny bit as she looked up and noticed Harry watching them.

He met her gaze, but could only offer a tired smile before turning again to walk away. Hunting demons… he was good at that. But comforting those who had lost a loved one? Yeah, that was not a job he could say he was qualified for in any way, shape, or form.

After all, what could he possibly say to them? He might be able to hunt down the demon responsible, but that wouldn't bring back the ones they had lost. It was the same for him. He could hunt them until his dying breath, but it would never bring back his parents. Especially since he had lost them not to a normal demon, but one wearing the skin of a human.

His steps were slow and uncertain, but soon, he had picked up his guitar-case and exited the inn. The streets outside were empty and abandoned, the remaining villagers probably busy hiding underneath their beds in fright, which was understandable. Though it would not have been a particularly effective defense strategy had Harry failed to defeat the demons, but… points for effort, he supposed.

"Now, then…" he spoke softly, one hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head ."How do I get home again?"

-0-

In an isolated corner of the southern part of England stood a modest but beautiful mansion. At a glance, it looked to have been built in the Victorian era, but the passage of time had taken its toll. A closer inspection revealed that, despite outside appearances hinting to it being abandoned, the inside was well cared for, and in good condition.

Not many people tended to visit this building, since, for some strange reason, whenever a tourist or anyone from the nearby village tried to come close to the grounds that surrounded the mansion, they were suddenly assaulted by the distinct urge to go do something else. Because of this, no one ever really got close enough to lay eyes on the mansion proper.

The reason behind this phenomenon was, of course, the wards that had been placed around the property, intended to keep the ancient House of Potter protected, and drive away any unsuspecting Muggles from accidentally stumbling into the hidden world of magic.

Harry couldn't have cared less about any of that, though, as he came tumbling in through the main entrance, falling face-first onto the floor. His muscles ached, and his exhausted body craved sleep more than anything else.

His route back to England and then to the Potter property had been long, annoying, and most of all, smelly.

It's not like he had a lot of options with his limited budget. And the need to keep a low profile after what had happened in that small town had only served to further complicate matters. Sure, it probably wouldn't spread too much. At least, he doubted it would get into the ears of anyone truly important, but he still didn't need some occult hunter or someone equally annoying coming after him in search of answers, or with ambitions to use him for their own ends.

The incident in Milano with his master had taught him that lesson early on. The city had done much the same after it had suffered his master's wrath. He still had nightmares about what went down there.

Anyway, to lose any potential pursuers, be they human or demonic in nature, he had opted to keep a low profile. He had hitched rides with one vehicle and another, never going in a straight direction, but taking winding, confusing detours whilst slowly approaching the sea. Sometimes, that required him to ride in a minivan full of drunk or high teenagers, or in the backs of farmers' trucks with the pigs and cattle.

It was hard, sometimes humiliating or just plain tiring, but he bore with it with a stoic and determined mindset, and after a full week of this, he had arrived at the sea. There, he snuck aboard a ship headed for England, making sure to keep out of sight. Of course, with his luck being what it was, he had ended up on a large ship that was hauling a very large quantity of fish.

Thanks to that fortunate turn of events, he had been forced to endure the stench of fish for half a day, and even after leaving the port and burning the clothes he had worn, he could swear the smell still clung to him. Maybe it had penetrated his soul or something - the fish able to burn their stench into the deepest parts of his being. He wouldn't be surprised, at least.

After all that time lost to the effort of throwing off pursuers that probably didn't even exist, the only thing he got from it was an empty stomach, a body that ached from overuse and a shit wage that didn't even cover all of his expenses.

"I'm home..." he groaned, intent on falling asleep right there on the floor of the foyer for at least a week, but alas, even that kindness eluded him.

A large pop brought him back to sentience, along with a high-pitched voice that called out to him.

"The Greatest Master Harry Potter Sir, Demon Hunter Extraordinaire, has returned! Dobby is so happy!"

The awfully long and winding greeting was chanted three more times before he managed to raise his head enough to glare at the offender.

In front of him stood a small creature with long ears, large eyes and grey skin. He wore the miniature-sized outfit of a butler, along with at least three dozen socks (none of them matching), that had been cleverly attached to various parts of his costume. The creature was, of course, none other than Dobby; a house elf who, after a rather tiring adventure, had ended up serving Harry, and proved to be an invaluable ally many times over.

A long time ago, Harry had joked about wanting to be referred to as the Greatest Master Harry Potter Sir at all times, fully expecting the elf to catch on to his sarcasm. Needless to say, he hadn't. And now, Dobby refused to call him anything else.

Harry had long since given up on the notion of convincing him otherwise.

"Just let me sleep, Dobby," he grunted out, tired beyond belief. Just five more minutes... Was that too much to ask?

"But the Greatest Master Harry Potter Sir must hurry, or he will miss his train!" the house elf replied, his expression conflicted as he struggled between letting his master sleep, or fulfilling his duty by making sure he wouldn't be late.

"Train...? What train?" the tired hunter asked, frowning as his mind worked to figure out the meaning behind those words. It was taking some time, because it could barely move faster than a snail at the moment.

Sure, he traveled by train from time to time, whenever it was convenient to him, but he rarely planned those outings. And for non-demon-related matters, he usually used the Knight Bus, since he liked the chaotic way it was driven, unlike most other witches and wizards.

So, that only left one option. The train that departed from Platform 9¾, used to travel to Hogwarts at the… start of the school year…

… Which was today, wasn't it?

He jumped to his feet, his energy temporarily returning to him as he rushed off, already throwing the clothes off his frame as he hurried to switch to his usual attire. All the while, the poor house elves waited patiently to point out that his change of clothes had already been brought downstairs to save him some time.

This really wasn't his day.