A/N: Hey guys! I got a random muse today, when I really should be working on an overdue research paper rough draft. Unfortunately, though, the idea won't leave me alone so I must write. It takes place before the Last Battle.

To say this is AU would be an understatement. Really. The idea comes from All Quiet on the Western Front. It's a life-changing book. Horrible, yet amazing.

Warning: Lots and lots of character death.

Disclaimer: "You break a dime in half, you don't get two nickels, you get shit," (from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest). Yep, that basically sums up how much I own. The second part, I mean. Not two nickels.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if Tom Riddle had died along with his mother in childbirth. Or if Dumbledore hadn't of rescued him from the orphanage. Or if he tripped over a sock and impaled himself with his toothbrush in the throat.

However, there are too many 'what ifs.' Though there's always the one that lurks in the back of my mind. What if I sacrificed myself to kill Voldemort?

Some people would wonder at my sanity for wanting to kill myself. They don't understand. No one does.

Ha, here I am sounding like the pathetic child I once was. Oh, no one understands what I've been through, woe is me!

Never did I realize I was taking everything for granted.

Because within one summer, everything you once knew can be stripped away from you. That's why I, Harry Potter, am writing this down. I need to let people know what they're dealing with. There's no such thing as sunshine an bunnies.

But only those who have faced what I have can understand that.

Let me begin at the beginning...

My horror story does not begin at my birth, like some people would believe. No, my life was pretty tame compared to what I face now.

What I'm facing now being a pack of forty enraged werewolves singlehandedly.

Maybe I haven't started far enough in the beginning. We were at what everyone hoped would be the last battle, except Voldemort had neglected to show up. Which made it kind of difficult to kill him so I could put an end to the war.

I had no idea though, the war was just only starting.

The Order of the Phoenix had a great number of new, talented recruits. Unfortunately, Voldemort had brute force on his side. None of us wanted to believe we were slowly losing our hold on Hogwarts.

The fighting has gone on for a year now. Twelve months of brutal battle and carnage at every turn. No longer is the Order populated with skilled wizards and witches, but with fools who think the fighting is glorious. The new recruits are only good for being used as punching bags for the other side while the few originals of the initial battle fight on.

There are few from the DA that have survived so far. Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hermione, Ron, and I are the only survivors from the club we started that now seems so silly and childish.

Almost everyone from the Order before war broke out is dead. Only Snape, Tonks, and Lupin remain fighting, though Lupin has to constantly take leave to battle his inner demon.

As more excited recruits pour in, the pile of bodies grow higher.

And Voldemort still has yet to show his face.

Coward.

The werewolves regard me with cold indifference as I raise my wand. They see me as yet another person to take down and eat.

I mumble some nonsense words and watch as white light surrounds six of the wolves. They begin hyperventilating and keel over. Dead, I think.

As the other wolves begin lunging at me, I yell out other nonsense. I've gotten past the point of using my brain to recite spells from memory. Instead, I rely on instinct to take down my enemies.

It sounds great, doesn't it? In reality, most of the spells fail and manage to explode whatever I'm pointing my wand at. Unfortunatey, that's exactly my goal, so it works well in a macabre sort of way.

When I finish off the werewolves, my adrenaline begins to fade. It was easy after their leader was killed. I start to feel the numerous lacerations to my body caused my their claws and mutter a quick healing spell before more monsters come to take their place. The troops are never-ending.

The light side is like a marching band. You take someone out, everyone around them gets messed up, while the dark side is like an American football team. If one gets taken out, there are always more to replace him.

The new recruits solve some of our problems, but it's obvious that we're in need of troops.

I raise my wand half-heartedly at the beings in front of me – all ready to kill or be killed. I accepted their deaths with calm reverence and moved on. In war, you can't afford emotion. Numb is the only way to survive.

There's someone by my side. With a glance, I see it's Ginny. "Remus wishes to see you," she said in between hexes and curses at the dark armies.

I nod and finish off a giant that had been throwing rocks at Hermione who was dueling with a Death Eater. I wanted to help, but Ginny prodded me inside the comforting walls of Hogwarts, then returned to fighting.

The last thing I saw before the great doors closed was her small frame being hit by a blinding green light. She died.

I couldn't even bring myself to feel anything – not that I wanted to. Instead, I focused on weaving around the cots of all the wounded to where Remus and Snape were discussing strategy.

In the end, they never really told me anything worth hearing. There was a possibility of going to find Voldemort, but they decided I was more needed on the front. Someone else could handle recon missions.

Neville was called in next for his new recon assignment. I felt hollow once more – few came back from recon.

I was fed a bit and my wounds were healed, then I found myself back out in the fighting. I join Ron, hoping to at least keep him safe, since I couldn't do the same for his sister.

While fighting, I felt something strike against my chest, leaving a gaping would. I staggered under the pain but somehow made it back to the castle where other began tending to my wounds. While lying there healing, A cot was carried in, a sheet over it. Blonde hair fell from beneath the sheet and I would know those converses anywhere. Before a healer removed the sheet, I knew my friend Luna Lovegood had died.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, I was released to go back out to the fighting. Civilized warfare was nonexistent, The barrage of curses and hexes continued through the night.

Nights were the worst. We cower against the ground, fearing the flash of spells. I dared cast one or two – but nothing more. The light creates a target for those on the other side.

No – the fighting that took place at night was nothing more than slaughter. "Gas!" Someone cried from closer to no man's land. Everyone created bubble head charms to keep out the horrible fumes. The gas conjured up either burned your insides with fire, suffocated you, or paralyzed you.

Too many recruits died from the gas alone because they either didn't recognize the signs of gas, or didn't know the spell.

The night went on in much the same manner. After the first douse of gas, I didn't take off the bubble head charm until morning.

Days passed much the same. Neville never returned from his recon mission, so we feared the worst.

Two years into the war, we got great news. All of Voldemort's horcruxes had been destroyed. Which probably explained why he was too coward to show his face.

Of the people at the beginning of the war, only Ron, Hermione, and I survived and continued fighting.

For a moment, I wonder when we turned from being wizards and witches to being soldiers. The though unsettled me, but I pushed it away and allowed the familiar numbness to claim control.

Today is different, everyone can feel it. The dark side's troops fought with a renewed energy. Something is going to happen.

I felt an all too familiar prickling in the center of my forehead and I perked up. Was Voldemort finally going to show his face after four years of fighting? I was surprised to know that wizards and witches were coming from all over the world to join in the fighting. It was like a third World War, just without guns and airplanes.

Hermione died today. I fight to keep the numbness in place and focus in her murderer. It's Draco Malfoy. I haven't seen him in years, but I though he supported the light at least halfway.

There was no time for small talk, my mouth vomited out a few garbled words that turned out to do nothing. We began exchanging curses and Ron joined my side.

Malfoy smirked and let loose a nasty hex on Ron, causing his skin to become inflamed and begin cracking. I finished Malfoy off with a yelled Killing Curse and loaded Ron onto my back to take back to the castle.

I dodged multiple spells and managed to get hit in the leg with a paralysis hex. I stumbled, dragging Ron through piles of bodies to safety. He's my best mate, he can't die.

I have to pause for a moment and readjust him on my back. Struggling on, I have to dodge the hexes flying at me from the Death Eaters and other monsters.

Spotting a healer, I lower Ron down and she comes running over. "Will he be okay?" I choke out.

The healer smiles at me in pity. She says slowly, "Harry, your friend is dead."

No. It cannot be. He was alive only moments ago. "He was hit by a killing curse," she explained.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

I can't think. My some coherent part of my mind registers that this must be what insanity is like. I've lost all contact with my body. My body won't move as I will it.

Numbness overcomes me once more and I just into it, allowing the waves of indifference to take away the pain.

In a way, the numbness is like a drug. It makes me feel better and I use it like an addiction.

Numb.

It's how I feel every time someone dies.

It's how I feel now, facing Voldemort.

He begins to speak and the numbness begins fading away. I desperately cling onto it, but it's no use. Instead, new emotions are put in the place of numbness.

Fear.

Hopelessness.

Sadness.

Courage.

I cling onto the courage with a new desperation and focus in on my enemy's words.

"... and now we meet at last."

I feel the foolish Gryffindor courage welling up inside me and respond, "It would have been sooner if you had not played coward. It is quite fitting."

Something is wrong. I can feel it. He raises his wand at me and while replying with imitation, it dawns on me. His wand (1) is different.

We both scream simultaneously, "Avada Kedavera!"

Our curses both hit home. As I die, I smile happily. Voldemort is dead.

It's finally over.

I'm not sure how well I did conveying emotion, so I hope it worked!

(1) Just a note, the wand is the same one that Harry killed Voldemort with in the Deathly Hallows.

I hope you enjoyed it!