Pathway to Doom:

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

Summary: AU "It is time," muttered Cornelius Fudge, wand trained on Harry, "for you to fulfil your purpose in life. It is time for You-Know-Who to die."

A/N: Very short prologue.

Please review.

Prologue: Hell's Doors:

A fourteen-year-old Harry Potter sat sullenly in a place that was very reminiscent of a cell. He was staring blankly at a copy of the Daily Prophet (he'd always been allowed to have it delivered so that he could have at least some idea about what went on outside his caged life), staring at the front headline.

Harry shivered. He felt horrible about the pain and torture it meant that Voldemort could inflict on others (he wasn't stupid, he knew all about Voldemort, the Ministry had seen fit to educate him about THAT), but the thing he found worst was what this would mean to the Ministry. Wonder what they're going to do to their precious Boy-Who-Lived now, he thought spitefully. Being locked away for most of his life had done a number on his temper, and though he hadn't known anything else, he envied those who were free to roam around the Wizarding World. Hell, he even envied those in Azkaban, because at least they'd had a chance to live an ordinary life before being thrown in there. They'd lived their lives: he wanted a chance to live his.

Shaking his head angrily, he threw the newspaper against the damp cell wall, listening to the drips and clenching his fists in anger that this place was the only place he could actually call a home. He watched it bounce back slightly off the wall from the force, and then land on the murky, brown cell floor that always seemed to get worse near the corner of the cage.

Wiping his fringe out of his eyes with dirty hands, he scowled at the wall, willing it to melt and let him free, not for the first time in his life. It'd got to a point where he barely knew how old he was; how could he measure time when he could barely tell light from dark?

As far as Harry could remember, he'd been alone except for occasional visits. He assumed that when he was younger, still a baby and a toddler, he'd have had to have some help, although it seemed that he couldn't remember it. Men walked into the room to hand him dinner or water (better stuff, he imagined, than the people sentenced to Azkaban got, which made him feel sorry for them, despite his slight envy) and to chuck his newspapers. A couple would grunt or not at him, occasionally a few smiled. Harry just scowled. How dare they have the gall to smile at him and act like they were best friends when all they'd done for him was shoved him in a cage with no cause! His eyes were like razors, cutting into them, and he left most Ministry members feeling quite unnerved.

Once, when he was younger (Harry reckoned about five, but he could have been as old as eight), a woman had came in and talked with him. He'd been overjoyed, then say and asked why did they do this to him, and he could still remember her words – the most stupid reason he'd ever heard.

They think that such powers aren't meant to exist. There are two other powers like yours, and they are enough. They cannot take another chance like they once did.

Harry vaguely remembered being taught spells when he was younger (he could grasp them easily and remembered them, but he'd mostly been given theory), but he hadn't learnt anything in so long. He assumed that his power had grown or something, and it scared them. It made him shake in seething rage, because he couldn't help it. Why couldn't this happen to anyone else but me? This isn't fair!

Suddenly, the door opened and Harry's gaze snapped toward it as he hissed like an angry cat. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, walked into the room, smiling pleasantly at Harry, who just gritted his teeth. After seeing this, he took a wand out of his pocket, his smile fading, and he looked warily at the gritty boy whose emerald green eyes seemed to shine with both power and fury.

"It is time," muttered Cornelius Fudge, wand trained on Harry, "for you to fulfil your purpose in life. It is time for You-Know-Who to die."

A/N: Again, please review.