Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Lord of War

Genre: Action/Romance
Spoiler: Books 1 - 5
Rating: M for Mature (17+)
Beta: whatareyouevensaying

Chapter 1 – The Whispers

Azkaban Prison
October 31, 2000

There are many small, nearly soundless, voices flooding my skull. They all whisper tall tales of heroes and villains and their great deeds. Not a single voice louder than the others, making it hard to distinguish between their words. The voices vary between male and female, young and old, and wise and foolish. But one thing's for sure, they definitely know what they're talking about.

Nearly five years I've been rotting away in this hell on Earth dubbed Azkaban. Nearly five years since I was convicted of a crime I never committed. Nearly five years since the whispers began.

This prison however, is very unique. In the entire wizarding world only Azkaban Prison employs the darkest creatures known to man; Dementors. They feed and live off of your very thoughts, taking pleasure in devouring every happy thought they can feel. But only the truly wicked and deranged of wizards and witches reside in Azkaban.

Lucky me.

Most would be long dead by now. My cell receives more special attention than any other. The Dementors are very fond of me, it seems. There are people here who receive only a fraction of my torment, yet they're reduced to wailing zombies after every Dementor patrol. But I have never been considered normal, not even before my imprisonment.

Dementors feed from any cheerful memories the host may have, but over the years I've learned to do what would be considered impossible by most wizards.

I've become a self-taught adept in the mind art of Occlumency. At least, in my own opinion.'

You show me a wizard who could lock his mind to the abominations we call Dementors. I wonder how I'd stack up against a true, trained, Occlumens. After five long years of practice and application in this pit, even hearing these voices seems like a level trade.

I've been surviving in Azkaban the only way I know how; pure instinct. The magic that flows beneath my skin feels almost alive and sentient.

In the beginning, the wayward magic within often overwhelmed me. I could feel the distinct pain of my body changing under the torrents of my magic. Being locked in this cell only prolonged the pain, as any errant magic was leeched from my body. Since then, I've never feel such contentment with pain. We've become good friends.

Whatever happened to me during those few months only Merlin knows. After surviving through that phase in the beginning my mind and body became numb and that's when the whispers began.

I was told once -by someone I considered family- that when a wizard is in their animal's form, the mental pain of a Dementor's leeching would lessen. Well unfortunately, we all can't be an animagi. All I've had was my wit.

How does a non-animagus expect to ever cope with life in Azkaban? Simple. You have to embrace your primitive side, the side without rules or boundaries: the animal side. You take the pain and make it your own. Once you pass a certain point the pain is only a numb reminder of a situation you've lost control of. The mind is then able to function and process in spite of it. It's the deepest meditation I could ever accomplish –if you could even call it that.

Then, and only, then are you set free. Only then not even a Dementor could hurt you. It's only after I've lost everything that I've been able to do anything.

Hmm. . . Meditation, takes away the hurt, leaves the pain.

Five years has changed me. There's no doubt about that. I guess life in prison would do that to anyone. No longer am I the innocent, bright eyed, impressionable kid who looked forward to summers with the Weasleys. That life seems so long ago. This world has stripped me of my innocence. That's all going to change today.

The voices have been growing louder each passing day. Something big, something from the outside world, seems to be coming to a head. Whispers of Voldemort run rampant in the stream of voices.

The magic suppressing runes on either side of my cell are growing brighter to maintain suction of my magic as is pulsates wildly. I can feel the blood course through my veins with each deafening heartbeat in my chest.

Only now do I realize the emptiness of the prison. This hollow feeling I have because of the Dementors absence disturbs me. 'Who would've ever thought I'd grow as fond of them as they were of me?'

Finally, through the stupor that was my conscious, an airy voice spoke in the absence of the all the others. The voice sounded almost ethereal and pleasantly feminine. "He's approaches, my child. Tonight your destiny shall change course."

Voldemort's coming. I'll be waiting.

The storm raged violently outside the walls of Azkaban Prison. The sleek black granite prison stood unfazed and undamaged by the fury of the surrounding sea. Jagged rocks and steep cliffs adorned the foreboding place like a house of Hades. Magic could literally be felt in the air due to the many wards and runes both in and around the prison itself.

From a distance, if someone were looking, there could be seen many small wooden ships and crafts approaching from the east. The sails were all torn and withered down to damaged wood and iron, no doubt from the rough seas. Each rocked dangerously from side to side and yet somehow managed to stay afloat. As the distance between the island and the boats decreased, the wards and magic permeating the island prison began to fall, and fall fast.

The Dark Lord Voldemort himself apparated onto the island as the last ward fell. He appeared visibly anxious as he looked forward to what lay ahead. So many loyal followers would be freed this day, as well as the fall of his greatest enemy, Harry James Potter.

Like most of the wizarding world, Voldemort was taken aback by the news of Potter's imprisonment. It was once a well conceived notion that Albus Dumbledore's influence knew no bounds. Apparently he was proven wrong along with the rest of magical Britain.

The world seemed to believe Potter killed the Diggory boy on the fateful night of Voldemort's second coming. After Potter escaped through the skin of his teeth that night, he was exceedingly irate with the entire situation. So when, with no influence of his own, talk of Harry going dark began to spread like wildfire, Voldemort became buoyant.

Add that to the boy's ever growing raw magical talent, and sudden knowledge of material far beyond his years, you'd have a recipe for disaster.

Sentenced without trial, Harry's imprisonment was swift. Voldemort himself couldn't have planned it better himself. With Harry Potter out of the picture he only had to maneuver around the old coot, Albus Dumbledore. But, the old man's time was greatly tied with trying to pardon his young protégé.

In fact, it was the great efforts Dumbledore went through to achieve the pardon that led to Voldemort's belief that the boy served some far greater purpose to the war then he originally assumed.

Harry Potter was not a simple pawn in this game of conquests like so many others under Dumbledore's and Voldemort's stead. No, the boy was key to something important. It's the only reason to Dumbledore overlooking most of the war in lieu of his pardoning efforts.

Voldemort grinned smugly. It was time to nip this weed in the bud before things became complicated.

"My Lord, the Dementors have withdrawn to the South side of the island. Everything is going according to plan."

Voldemort nodded. "Take half of the recruits and form them along the beach. I want all flyers to remain concealed and airborne until I give the signal. The remaining recruits are to come with me while you and the elites remain on standby and ready for extraction. Expect heavy resistance."

The beautiful brunette bowed once before she turned to carry out her orders.

"Be mindful of the price of failure, Bellatrix," Voldemort warned.

Bellatrix assumed the authority over the elite dark wizards and prepared for the coming battle. Everyone knew the prison break was going to involve bloodshed and deaths on both sides once the Ministry and Order arrived on scene. Invading Azkaban in itself was a very risky move, given its natural defenses, but when one factored in the current climate of the war the invasion became vastly more complex.

Over the last few years many wizards had begun to take up arms and join different sides of the war. The two leading factions remained the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Neither faction had a clear advantage over the other in either area, combat or political.

The war had already begun to spread all over Europe, and various parts of Southeast Asia, Central America, and the Middle East. The two biggest political figures were Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger for various reasons. It was under their flags of Death Eater and Order of the Phoenix, respectively, which many chose to join.

Looking back Bellatrix could see Voldemort had already disappeared beyond the dark void that was the entrance into the prison. Those remaining outside all wore their typical death eater attire of silk black combat robes and white skull masks; except her.

Reading their body language, she could tell most where anxious. Many kept throwing glances back towards the prison, awaited to escort their comrades to safety.

No sooner after she began assessing her charges did Bellatrix and others begin to hear and see the telltale sounds of mass apparations. As she watched the individual whips of light and smoke settle into Ministry and Order personnel, she signaled for the recruits to attack.

A vibrant light show followed quickly after as spells were traded in rapid succession. The death eater recruits did their part in slightly thinning out the opposition, though Bellatrix hated that most used barely lethal spells. However, what they lacked in viciousness they made up for in power and numbers.

The Order, surprisingly, were casting equally lethal curses and hexes against their enemies. After four minutes most of the recruits were stunned, bound, and apparated away to holding cells. The unseasoned purebloods where not conditioned for prolonged battles.

Ministry battle medics portkeyed fallen allies off of the battlefield and no doubt back to St. Mungo's Magical Hospital.

Suddenly, Bellatrix's left forearm became burning hot, but she managed to school her face during the pain. It was the call of the Death Eater's Dark Mark, and Voldemort's signal.

In the ominous stormy gray sky fell hundreds of aerial Death Eaters on their brooms. From the air, the Death Eaters had vantage point and used this to their advantage smartly. Unlike the unseasoned lot before, this was a more battle-hardened horde. Their deadly spells rained from the sky with distinctive viciousness. Blood sprayed the wet rocks as many Order and Ministry combatants were caught unawares.

Only once they employed stronger defenses, casting many area shields, did they barely begin to overcome the overwhelming Death Eater aerial strike. The azure and silvery gleaming domes took the brunt of the spells as they began to recuperate their forces.

From her view atop of a particularly steep cliff Bellatrix could hear the resounding gruff voice of ex-Auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody barking out orders to both Ministry and Order members alike. He was a grizzled old man who's seen his fair share of war, and he certainly knew how to manipulate a battlefield. His wild gray hair and magical eyeball in his right eye-socket both whipped about every which way as he fired off one curse after another at mystifying speeds.

"You five," she pointed to the five nearest to her out of the thirty or so elites, "I want you lot to stay close to me at all time. Destroy any enemy who comes near us. Our target is Mad-Eye Moody; everyone else is only an obstacle. So, unless Dumbledore himself shows up, its full speed ahead, understood?"

"Understood," they chorused.

"The rest of you know what to do. Await the arrival of our comrades."

Bellatrix's long ebony hair flowed around her heart shaped face with the current of the wind. Her piercing purple eyes, dark makeup, and rosy lips made her appear as some sort of dark angel. She was the embodiment of true pureblood beauty and viciousness to many purebloods. So it was quite the thing to say her spells are more treacherous than her appearance was gorgeous.

"AVADA KEDAVRA." And so it was, the first of more than a dozen Aurors died at the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand.

Voldemort made his way down a dank dark corridor as many of his death eaters ran around breaking out their imprisoned friends. Others were huddling them into a large group to be portkeyed out.

"My Lord, ally prisoners are all present or accounted for."

"See to it that they make it to the extraction team. Once they're taken care of have our people withdraw to HQ," ordered Voldemort.

There were many death eater prisoners who looked more dead than alive. Their haunted faces and thin, malnourished bodies made them appear almost skeletal. Their eyes seem vacant and lost, as if they were still under influence of the Dementors. A heavy smell of feces and urine saturated the air around them making it nearly unbearable to withstand being near them.

'Pathetic,' thought the Dark Lord.

"My Lord," a young man's voice shouted as he ran toward the Voldemort out of breath. "I've found the inmate charter, my lord."

Voldemort snatched the said charter from the boy and examined the parchment. Hundred of names filled the pages along with each prisoner's age and sentence. He smiled as he read the name of Harry James Potter. Unsheathing his wand he tapped the boys name once and the parchment filled in displaying the boys dossier.

Name: Harry James Potter
Alias: The-Boy-Who-Lived
Born: July 31, 1980
Mother: Lillian Rose Potter (Deceased)
Father: James Ambrose Potter (Deceased)
Martial Status: Single (Heir – Potter)
Charge: First Degree Murder
Sentence: June 4, 2010 (15 years)

The photo at the top of the information showed an apathetic 15-year-old Harry Potter. The boy's face was unreadable, no doubt from closing himself off within because of the betrayal he must have felt from the wizarding world and his friends.

"You've done an excellent job. You will be rewarded properly." The boy, face covered by the white skill mask, chest swelled with pride. It wasn't everyday a death eater was flattered by the snake face Dark Lord.

"Fallback to the island and apparate out," Voldemort turned back to address the death eaters that were readying for extraction, "I want you all-"

Voldemort was shocked to find the large area in the corridor that was once filled with his death eaters was now vacant. The copperish metallic smell of blood assaulted his nose not a moment after and his wand instantly appeared in his hand.

Something had gone eerily wrong the last few minutes. He'd turned his back for no more than a few minutes and now thirty and some odd number of death eater suddenly disappeared and apparently killed. 'All without a sound?' he thought, 'Is it even possible?'

"Hmm. . ." Someone's voice hummed gruffly throughout the corridor. The sound bounced off the walls hiding the location of the man. "It's been too long. You look healthier than the last time we parted ways, Tom."

The lone death eater grew nervous. Stuck in a passageway that looked like it belonged in hell, alongside the Dark Lord and some Azkaban maniac made him very queasy. "My Lord, I-"

The death eater was silencio'ed with a simple wave of the Dark Lords wand. The silenced death eater unconsciously drifted closer towards his master in a vain attempt to get away from the large thick shadows that covered the walls and ceiling.

The dark voice chuckled, his voice resounding in all directions. Voldemort grew tired of the theatrics and lit the passage with blue flames that was cool to the touch. The shadows in the immediate area disappeared but there was still no sign of the man who dared taunt Voldemort.

"I'm insulted, Tom. You came with only a handful these pathetic wizards knowing I'd somewhere in here. You didn't expect me to lose my touch, now did ya?" The man chuckled again as Voldemort body tensed and his jaws tightened.

"Who in Merlin's name do you think you are? You, who dare call me by that name, will never see the light of day! Accio!" Nothing happened, but Voldemort didn't expect it to be that easy. He cast many silent 'Serpensortia' spells into the shadows. With a few rapid hisses the snakes began to silently search for the man.

"Some things never change," the unknown man responded.

To both Voldemort and the death eater's amazement they heard similar hisses from the shadows. The death eater, unaware of his master's snake summoning, was wrapped tightly by dozens of poisonous snakes and bit repeatedly. The young man's screams of anguish filled the corridor as the sounds of blood gurgling in his throat could be heard.

Voldemort, in a rare display of mercy, ended the young death eater's life with a swift killing curse.

"Harry Potter," The Dark Lord all but hissed, "You've grown, boy. Grown more foolish, that is. I'll have your head for this."

"Right in one," Harry said coolly,"Quite the master of deduction you are."

Stepping out of the shadows was a tall, lithe figure. The mane of hair on his face was longer and messier than ever before. He had a full unshaven beard and mustache that appeared tangled. Oddly, his face was not hollow and dry like most Azkaban inmates, but rater strong and defined. His body was also quite toned and appeared very flexible. He wore a tight torn and grimy t-shirt with brownish cargo pants and tattered black boots.

The most striking of all of this man's features were his vivid eyes. His eyes literally glowed like two lit intense green orbs. The thick layers of shadows covering half the man's face only enhanced his eyes intensity.

"Potter?" Voldemort asked, bewildered. This was not the annoying boy whom he remembered from almost five years ago. This was an entirely different Harry Potter.

"We've established that fact already." Harry grinned and then hissed. Voldemort didn't bother to turn around as the snakes, ordered by Harry, began to move his way with intent to kill. Before they even got within ten feet they crumbled to dust. Such tactics would not work on a wizard of Voldemort's caliber.

"You really have grown. And I see you are now willing to do what is necessary to achieve your goals."

"Flattery, Voldemort, is not your style." Harry's face was unreadable even to an mast of Legilimency such as Voldemort. The young man's body language gave absolutely nothing away.

Still, Voldemort was not impressed. "So I assume you'll want to return to your post as the imperative pawn under the old man's thumb, correct?"

Harry slipped back into the shadows of the corridor. Voldemort could not believe how insanely easy Harry made it all look. Once Harry slipped back into the shadows it was as if he was completely gone. No sound of his breathing or footstep could be heard. The only reminder of him ever being there was that lingering wretched smell of musk and blood from both himself and the now dead death eaters.

"I want something that's been so elusive to a guy like me. People tend die by simply being around me. If you send anyone after me they'll die too. Believe me; you don't want to test me."

Voldemort could now sense the rich magical energy of Albus Dumbledore quickly approaching his position. It seemed that Harry sensed Dumbledore before him somehow.

"I just want to be left alone." Harry said, and he was gone. If he'd apparated out, silently, then Voldemort suspected he was going to have to seriously re-evaluate the boy's skills.

Albus Dumbledore came rounding around the corridor where Voldemort and the lone death eater's corpse lay. The old man assessed the scene before him before be met Tom Riddle's blazing red eyes.

"Interesting," Voldemort whispered. Thick black billowing smoke raised to envelope the Dark Lord and in the blink of an eye he was gone.

"Albus there are dozens of fresh corpses in this room!" Minerva McGonigal shrieked and nearly vomited up her most recent meal as she laid sight on the massacred bodies of the Death Eaters. They all had smooth cut slits to across their throats.

Albus viewed the bodies unflinchingly, though his stomach churned ominously when he coupled the sight with his rampant thoughts. Many scenarios could explain what had happened on this day. But there was only one he knew, instinctively, to be true.

The tall black Auror known as Kingsley Shacklebolt approached Dumbledore wearily. "There's no sign of Harry Potter, Albus. The boy is gone."

"I know," said Dumbledore, much to the shock of the people surrounding him.

It seemed that that day would mark the next chapter of the war, the war so many have sacrificed their lives to see end, a war that was destined to continue for years to come.

"Merlin help us all."

Author's Commentary

And so we have the first chapter of my 2nd fic. Hope at least some of you enjoyed it. If you hate it or think I should change something, please let me know. This is sort of my WTF fic. I'm trying to do things in this fic that's not done often, not done enough, or not done right. So in short, I'll be doing allot of things. lol

Harry Potter in this story is very different from cannon, of course. He will definitely be OOC for most of the story. Harry will be darker and more cynical then witnessed cannon. He won't be evil or good, but rather both, and neither. His response to different things will vary upon the situation. As an American, I do not know all of the jargan that a Brit would use. I will try my best to emulate their tongue when nessasary. That being said, please note however, that Harry Potter will look, sound, and feel allot like Vin Deisel in post-Hogwarts scenes, and that is my intention. There will be an explanation of Harry's use of American tongue, just a few chapters from here. I hope it dosn't come off as some paper-thin excuse though!

And big thanks to my beta, whatareyouevensaying, who has offered to help me out. Without your help the story would still be an English travesty! Thanks allot for your time and efforts.

-Afro