Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all his story's characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. About one year ago I began my epic, Her War, detailing a war taking place in the depths of China. Now, I take my pen to England. Same plot. New Salvo. Lets get kickin'.

His War

"Every night he shows me. Every night... I... see. Even if I die, I'll fight my way up from hell to bring him down with me. On my eternal soul I swear I will stop him. I swear it."

- Harry Potter

Chapter One
One Small Light

The days were dark then.

He never realized just how much light he truly gave off. And the people around him took him for granted. They him as a shy or strange boy. Muggleborn basically and awkward for it but still He was the boy who lived! And he lit their way. In times of dark, in hours of night, when people feared, dreaded, they believed in that young man. They finally had something to believe in.

What fools they were to trust so much to the hands of one so young. They had no right to heap such responsibility on Him. But heap they did. And they paid the price for laying too much on the shoulders of their hero.

They were saved in the end. We were saved...

...But we paid for it. Dearly.

"You..." Arna hissed. Her fingers moved faster than they ever had, flipping the clip out from her belt and replacing the old one in her handgun's hilt with an expert's ease. She stood, disregarding the danger and the wand in the foolhardy demoness's hand as she trained the reloaded .50 caliber on the girl standing before her. It shook in her grasp but the end of the barrel never left its target: the girl's damnable head.

"Mother..."The creature spoke with a voice that sung in Arna's dreams and memories. The creature with the shape of a human girl was dressed in the blackened skin that it had worn ever since that terrible night... that night when 'it' had ceased to be her daughter. That night when Hermione Granger had become a monster.

"You daren't call me that. You're no daughter of mine." Her voice shook more than the pistol in her fingers, but fire had ceased. The members of the rebellion stared at her, and at the Black Princess with trepidation. Marly's wand trained on the brown-haired witch. Vernon held the shotgun in one hand, finger on the trigger aimed at the door, a small pistol aimed at the girl who had once been Arna's daughter held in his left.

Tears came to the girl's eyes. Wherever her skin was visible the black things moved. Upon her hands worms seemed to crawl, their impression darkening her skin just above. Strangely, she wore clothes. Normal clothes, like her daughter had once worn. But her hands swam with squirming things leaving only bare patches of the once white skin visible. Her face too swam with the strange, ever writhing trails of menacing black, like snakes slithering beneath it. Glossy snakes sliding all over her carrying the tarnish of the evil she had festered in.

"Please... Mother..." It spoke with Hermione's voice, but it's look held the visage of the Black Princess. The Hand of the Depths. Those who saw the Blackblood Heir despaired. All knew the dirty brown cropped hair of the girl who had slain the Queen. All knew the girl who had begun this wretched war... Her name whispered on the edge of fear brought conversation to a halt, and her presence was a sure sign of death.

How it had pained Arna to know she had borne such wretched thing into this world. But now that face was stained with tears, even as the shadows swam beneath her cheeks. Now that face... wept?

"He is dead, mother. I came... to find you... and tell you. Voldemort's terror is finally over." The girl breathed. All around the breaths of those present were held. Could it be? Could it truly be as simple as that? While they'd been hiding away, Voldemort had been offed?

Surely things weren't that easy. Surely not...

"How could I trust you? How could anyone trust you, after the things you've done?" Arna screamed, stepping forward and placing the gun directly to her daughters head. Rage and horror combined within her, but rage was winning. This girl was a monster! This thing had slain more muggles than even the Dark Lord himself, when she had destroyed the Cherindere...

"Please..." The girl begged. The tears in her eyes seemed so real. So very real... But the snakes of blackness swimming beneath them ruined whatever plea of innocence the girl might've had. "I beg you to listen... Trust you daughter. Just one more time..."

The last time Hermione had said similar words, thousands had paid in blood. And now the monster had the gall... the audacity to come here and say it was over! It wouldn't be over... not until she-!

Arna fumbled with the effects of the expelliarmus as she felt it touch her, her gun fumbling from her fingers, jerking away from her grasp. She tugged on the string tied to the gun's hilt to pull it back, but it snapped, and the gun flew. Fearfully, she saw the rest of her companions weapons also flinging themselves towards the door, where the smoke was finally clearing.

A man stood there, draping black cloak, fringed in darkness and swathes of black. Deep, and rippled with wrinkles, the cloak was eerily similar to Voldemort's own. The only thing that assured her this wasn't the dark lord himself was the pale skin. As the guns approached him, he waved his hand and they rocketed out the hole where the door had once been, flying out of view in the same way the door had.

He turned back to face them and Arna froze. Her eyes locked onto the dead red glowing orbs of the man's fury, she despaired. Only one man had those red eyes. Pale skin or not... this was him!

"Hermione..." The man sighed, with a pleading tone, completely ruining his furious visage. "They won't believe you unless you show them."

"I won't do that!" The bushy haired girl snapped- Snapped? -at the Dark Lord. What in the world?
"Fine. I will." The man who seemed so much like the Dark Lord stated. His wrist flicked like a thunderbolt, Arna didn't even have time to register a spell was being cast before it captured her. "Imperio!"

Arna Granger suddenly felt light headed. The world around her seemed to grow covered in a haze of filmy white. She could see Vernon Dursley, the man she loved, glancing warily between the pale skinned man, the Black Princess, and herself. She could still feel the heat from the hailstorm of bullets impacting on the blue barrier spell she'd witnessed before. But the words being spoken were lost on her.

Her daughter... the black princess. She seemed... angry? But the girl hadn't shown any emotion in so long... it felt nice. To hear the girl speak with a human tongue again. Oh! And... and her eyes weren't filmed over with that strange glossy look they'd had for so long! That was good. She looked so much better with her brown eyes...
Arna... A voice seemed to whisper in her ear and she turned, finding the man who minded her of the Dark Lord. It felt wonderful. The voice felt pleasurable in some sort of way. Listening to it, doing as it commanded her would fulfill her every wish. Her every desire could be granted by this voice. This man...?

Arna, attack your daughter.

Arna bolted, her fingers stretching above her as she tackled the surprised form of the Nightengale Witch to the ground. The girl's wand flew from her hands, and Arna grabbed it and threw it away, knowing that the girl could use it to halt her attack. And she had to attack. The man had told her to attack. So...

Stop. Stand.

Arna halted her attack immediately, moments before her fingernails would have raked through her daughter's face. She stood as fast as she could. The voice had to be pleased. She could feel the eyes of her companions on her, bulging as they remained frozen for some reason.

Tell me the names of your companions.

'No!' A small voice hidden in the very depths of her mind screamed. 'No! You can't do that!'

But he wanted her to. The voice who could grant her anything, the voice she had to obey, wanted her to. How could she say no? Why would she want to deny him anything? Let alone her mere obedience? Gods she wanted to please him so badly!

"Vernon Dursley." She stated pointing first to the man standing there. In response to her words the man's eyes rounded on her, horrified. Her finger trailed away from him, to the next of her companions.

"Antonio Everise." Her finger trailed once more, crossing the room so she could better introduce her Master to those she traveled with.

"This is Milo. He hasn't given a last name." She stated, pointing towards the black man. Then she stood again and walked closer to the back.
"Marly Scapes." She stated, and idly noted that the man's wand had apparently been wrested from him as well when the Master had summoned their weapons. Strange that... Marly was a mediocre wizard, but he was by no means incompetent.

"The girl hiding in the closet is Scerlet Maron." She stated. "In the back is Thelma Royse. In the trapdoor beneath her is... is..."

"Gods NO!" Her subconscious screamed. But the master had to be pleased.

"...Emily Dursley."

Without warning a wave of awareness flooded into her. Lightheaded, she stumbled, catching herself on a wall, only now realizing what she had done. Her jaw dropped and she covered it with her hand. How could she have... how could she...?

"How could you!" Vernon roared at her, only now recovering from his shock. "Arna how-!"

"This...!" The man at the door, the man she had so recently thought of as master, interrupted. "Is what Hermione has been facing all this time. This is the truth behind the Black Princess. The Dark Lord wanted to destroy the hopes of those who sided with the light. What better way than making the brightest witch of her age into an abomination?"

"You're such a flatterer..." The Blackblood Heir drawled sarcastically, as she stood from her spot on the ground and bent to retrieve her wand.

"It would probably offend you... If I weren't worse still." The black clad man replied somberly.

Arna didn't know what to feel... She didn't... she couldn't believe. But by god, under that curse she would've done anything! Hell, she'd attacked her own daughter without a second thought! Given away the location and name of the girl she hoped would one day be her adoptive daughter with barely a stutter! And... Hermione...? Gods if Hermione had killed her own father... killed all those people against her will? Arna felt like she'd betrayed everything just by giving away those few names. What if he'd made her kill Vernon? Or... or Emily?

Seven bloody hells... What irony that the Black Princess was a victim herself?

"My daughter... was innocent?" She asked, unable to look upon the girl she'd almost killed. Oh, how she wanted to believe. Oh how she had wished these things were true when the girl had tortured innocent children before her eyes. What she had done at the Cherindere? "How...? How can I believe this? So many things she's done. So many..."

"Your daughter threw off the combined weight of seven of those curses when she was ordered to kill her father." The man spoke with a heated gaze that pierced her as he approached. She couldn't look at him, and instead finally set her eyes upon her daughter and found a slight tinge of red in the girl's cheeks. She looked so human, despite the blackness. Was it possible?

"Did you never wonder why you were able to escape? Why she hesitated when she could have killed you that first night? Even the Dark Lord himself was unable to make her kill her own mother. Love is that strong." The man seemed to trail off, his words echoing thoughts more than actual conversation, taking on a forlorn expression. "Dumbledore was right after all..."

Arna was stunned speechless. Her eyes trailed to the man, back to her daughter, and to the man again in slackjawed horror.

"Who are you?" Came a surprisingly petulant voice, and it took a moment for Arna to realize that it was Vernon.

The man made a smile, spiked and slick black hair bouncing at the sly grin that spread across his face. "A curious question from you, Vernon Dursley." He made no move to answer the question, but his smirk grew wider still.

"How can ya prove any of this, eh?" Milo spoke up, being the first of their group brave enough to move, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and sitting. "Why should we believe any of this? You barge in here, and take our weapons and expect us to trust that we can come out of hiding now? That Old Lord Slither bit the dust and we're safe to just... go?"

The man turned and was about to reply, but Hermione beat him to the punch. "I'd think the fact that you are still alive would be enough to make you consider the possibility. While under the Imperius Curse, my orders were to be... ruthless. And I was. I still see them begging me... I..."

The girl trailed off and gulped audibly as palpable guilt filled her tongue and her eyes glazed over in memory. The image would have been pitiable if not for the dark shadows of snakes still slithering beneath her skin.

"Sit," The man stated suddenly, as he approached Hermione, and placed his hand around her back, guiding her to the couch that Arna had crouched behind earlier. She turned and looked up into his eyes with a calm, smile that lightened her demeanor by a fraction. A small thing. A gentle touch, that implied more than any words could.

After that the man turned upon his now unarmed audience with a surprisingly comely attitude. "Sit, sit. I know I'm not pretty, but I won't hurt anyone."

The man's insistent ushering was surprisingly effective. Thelma poked her head out from behind the back wall, and even Scerlet crept out of the confines of the only closet in the small silo and took a place at their tiny kitchen table, eyes trained on the intruders like a trapped mouse, waiting for a bird to strike.

The man's eyes trailed them all but stopped in sudden and open surprise as his eyes fell on Scerlet. It was comical to see such a sinister looking man appear so shocked, but he did. Scerlet met his eyes, fearful, yet determined to appear brave.

"Eiko!" The man exclaimed.

The girl blinked. Then backed away, her guard risen. This was a shock. Eiko? Had Scerlet lied to them about her name?

"It is you!" The man exclaimed in utter delight. "Oh bloody... gods it is good to see you!"

Scerlet appeared taken back. The sheer joy in his eyes disconcerted the girl, as it was quite apparent that she, like the rest of them, had no idea who he was.

"Do I... Do I know you?" She asked timidly.

The man's smile only widened. "To the bottom of your soul, you do Eiko. It is thanks to you that I live." With those words, the man made a bow, and Scerlet- Eiko, apparently- gasped.

"H... Har... by god you're real!" The girl screamed. It was Arna's turn to feel shock as she watched the girl, cold and calloused as they come, fill her eyes with tears of joy. She dashed to him, dropping whatever fear she might've had, and grasped him in a hug.

The man's eyes lit up. They were lighthearted. Almost jovial, now that the heavy tension had been somewhat alleviated. "I am ss real as you. As real as magic. I'll tell you what happened. Maybe then you'll be able to believe. It all started..."

"...about two years ago."

Harry Potter did not consider himself a fool. But what he was currently doing was the epitome of foolishness. This course of action had been a risk, he knew. But he didn't really have a choice. No one was listening, as always. Dumbledore, in particular, seemed to be actively avoiding Harry. But even if they had listened to him. Even if they had cared, he would still be here. He would do the least that could be done.

His feet clapped lightly on the puddle-covered cobblestone street, splashing through the thin layer of water left by the late evening's rain. The sun was falling and people bustled about, from place to place, all looking quite busy. Muggle London was always like that. Even if it was raining, it would be hard to spot a spare patch of sidewalk not covered by the strum of human feet.

He'd thought about using his invisibility cloak, and he had it with him just in case it was needed, but for the moment, it was safer to simply blend in as one of the thousands of pedestrians.

Karnette street opened onto Maudevauk Boulevard with an abrupt change as Harry suddenly broke free from the dense throng of people. Glancing around he realized that he had found the place he was searching for. His eyes focused on a small house a few hundred meters up the much smaller street, and began to hurry along. The day was sunny, and the vision of the little boulevard seemed multitudes less threatening under the daylight, then it had at night.

Harry twinged as he spotted the large hole in a nearby brick wall. An almost perfect circle nearly three feet in diameter, cut straight through the bricks. Impossible to muggles. The oddity appeared deserted. It appeared that no one had noticed the events that had transpired in the dark corner of London the previous night. All the better for it. The more attention drawn here, the more victims there would be...

The house seemed very out of place. It was hidden between a large six story apartment building and several clubs that, while intensely lit by night, were now deadened by the daylight. Curiously, the home had a very small lawn, that had suffered tremendously under the effects of winter. Luckily, the snow was clear for the moment, so the walkway was safe from slippery ice or dredging snow. Instead it was afflicted with the horrid ugliness of melted rain, mud, and flat unhealthy grass.

A steel poled gate fenced the house. It had been an intimidating gate once, but now several sections of the fence had been blown away, as if bashed by a wrecking ball that had only just begun its job, before leaving to find something else to smash. More reductors.

Addling his way up the walkway, taking care with the uneven cracks that spidered all about its aged surface, Harry idlly noted the shattered pots that had once held flowers. The house was... well... crummy was the first thought Harry had of it with this view. One of the windows had been busted. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed with a small flicker of fear, drops of red caking the daggers of jagged glass that still clung to the framework. Hints of blood and of the events that had transpired here and in the building nearby.

He knew what had happened here. The pots, and the building. With each new out of place fixture his heart sunk as he realized that his visions and dreams were quite true.

'I just hope she's still alive...' Harry thought dismally.

He entered the house, but withdrew his wand as he did so. It was unlikely that anyone, including the victim of the previous night's raid would still be here. But he had to try. He had to do something.

"Is anyone there?" Faint, the words sounded hoarse and strained. Harry's eyes widened. No... No she couldn't still be under that-!

Harry walked into the dining room and the room he had witnessed the night before through another's eyes. The table, once fine wood that the Dursley's would've been proud to own, now lay toppled, its four legs reaching towards the ceiling.

"Where are you!" Harry hissed, unsure. The girl couldn't still be alive... could she?

"Please... I ache. Mercy...!" The voice, a young girl surely no older than he, emanated from beneath the massive table.

The words sent a shiver down Harry's spine. The shiver was followed quickly by a surge of anger and hatred.

"God damn him." Harry hissed in his mind. "I swear to god I'll kill him somehow... someday."

Worry was the third emotion to grace his mind, and he knelt down immediately. The table was heavy. Two men might have trouble lifting it, but Harry had magic on his side.

"Pennafio!" Harry murmured with a flick of his wand, and he heard the girl exhale relief as the table became light enough for a child to lift.

He knelt and picked up the table, tossing it away to reveal the smashed, yet still living body of the young girl he 'd known would be there. A girl he had scene the night before in his dreams.

"It hurts..." The voice whimpered, and the tone struck Harry hard. His heart stung. He had delayed coming until he was sure he could sneak out of the castle. How much pain had he cost this poor girl with his decision to wait? How much more suffering had she endured?

"It's alright. I'm here to help you." He said, putting smile on his face as he took in her bloodied form. A particularly nasty gash across her breasts stood out. Sectumsempra. The mark was scarred over though. Someone had healed her, and then kept cutting her to prolong her pain.

An inner anger burned in Harry. The hatred he had felt for Voldemort ever since he had discovered that the creature was responsible for his parent's death had only increased since his visions had begun appearing in entirety. He loathed sleep. Sleep showed him the devils of the world, and the things that he could not change.

Well... he would change one of them. At least one. This one small light... she would live.

"A-are you one of them?" The girl plead, a slight quiver in her small voice. She was blonde, and probably had turned heads all her life. Attractive and thin, Harry would've found her very attractive in any other situation. But his anger clouded any sort of childish emotions he might've once had.

"I'm here to save you." Harry finally settled on for his response, as he began to cast the healing spells that had come from his fifth year curriculum. Simple spells but as often was the case with magic, the complicated arts of real life were made simple. Broken bones reset in the girl's shoulder and her bleeding wounds resealed themselves before Harry's eyes.

"I... I'm sorry... for what happened to you. I wish I could've..." He said, trailing off as his words died.

Her eyes were trained solely on his wand, alight with terror.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe..." Harry's words felt hollow even as he spoke them, but they were the only consolation he could give.

The girl gulped, fear caught in her throat as began to shake.

"Do... do you feel better?" He asked. "I'm... not the best at healing. But..."

Tears began to spill down the blonde's beautiful pale cheeks. The tears trailed over freckles, falling from lovely blue iris's that made Harry want to weep as well. Shel pulled herself up a bit, to her elbows, and met his eyes. With one hand she tried to wipe away her tears and view him without the blurry window of tear-stained eyes, but she failed.

Harry felt awkward for a moment before he leaned in. His arm slowly wrapped around her shoulder, holding her. Supporting her and letting her lay back in his arm. She flinched at his touch at first, but as his fingers closed around the petite outline of her back, she collapsed. Falling wholeheartedly into his embrace the girl began to weep in earnest, shedding tears and shame onto Harry's accepting shoulder as she hugged to him for dear life.

Her tears were joyous, but she had no words. Only tears. Tears for the horror, and knowing just how close she had been to death. The poor girl didn't understand how she was no longer in so much pain. She didn't know how much energy and power it took to heal wounds the likes of which she'd had. Who knew what other dark curses might still be lingering about on the girl. But dammit, Harry had saved her.

That alone was enough for his trip to be here. She was safe...

"How the hell am I going to explain this one?" He thought to himself dismally. But after a few minutes of letting the girl cry out all her tears, her relief, her horror, he contented himself to the only true option.

"She must forget..." He thought sadly. "She will live with this horror for the rest of her life... unless she forgets."

"Wh-what's your name?" He asked awkwardly. He'd never been good with ladies. That was the twin's arena. Or maybe Seamus.

The girl took some time to regain her composure, failing five or ten times to utter her name. But finally she succeeded.

"E-Ei... Eiko."

"Eiko." Harry repeated. "A beautiful name." He said to her, giving her a grin. In another life this girl would've looked down on him. She would've stared him down her upturned nose and judged him unworthy of her in an instant. Her beauty was unparallelled. Manacured fingers showed just how delicate the small girl was.

And they'd ruined her...

He'd seen their acts. Rape and worse...

They'd ruined her, and then dropped a table on her and left her for dead, all for their sport. Voldemort himself present, the one who elicited the loudest squeals had received the highest renown. A new death eater, all of them were new as Harry had never seen them in previous dreams, had been the victor. Solington Hibbs had been rewarded for his innovative kill.

But the girl had lived...

A shudder again ran through Harry as he remembered seeing it all. Feeling what the Dark Lord had felt... the joy at seeing youths follow in his own footsteps, all while trying desperately to differentiate his own thoughts from Voldemort's.

He felt sick now holding her. Knowing what had happened to her. What people of his own kind had done to her. She'd been innocent, a tool used merely for sport and gain.

"I'm sorry." He said consolingly. "I"m sorry for what they did, and I'm sorry again, for taking it away."

Through her tear streaked snivels she turned her blue eyes, wide and innocent, up to his. "W-what?" She asked wretchedly. It tore his heart, but he knew what was for the best.

"Obliviate..." This would not be an act of murder, rape and mayhem. No. Just vandalism. She was out with friends and when she returned her home was in shambles. That was what had happened. That was all that had happened...

"Oh Harry Potter..." The voice put Harry's back up and on edge. The girl in his arms instantly went frigid as ice, frozen like a statue as her eyes glazed over in the aftermath of his spell. "So kind... so courageous. I knew that laying a trap like this would have consequences but who could've guessed!"

The voice was delighted. Harry felt the emotion in his head. It burned, but Harry felt none of it. Fear burrowed through him as he stood, his own cloak making scraffing noises against the rubble covered dining room floor.

Harry looked up. There at the top of the staircase stood the dark lord. Waiting. Smiling a vicious smile, with rat's teeth and raven's eye glowing.

"Who could have guessed," Voldemort continued as he slowly stepped down the stairs. "that you would come with no support at all? Not even your little squires, mudblood and clueless with you this time. So courageous!"

Harry raised his wand. Voldemort seemed amused.

"You think to fight me again Harry? You believe some miraculous escape shall come to you this time? Let me remind you... there is no portal cup for you to run from me again." The dark lord's voice was full of humor as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The man stood a head and a half taller than Harry, lightly paled skin, a sickening impression of a nose jutting out beneath his red eyes.

Harry stood his ground. His wand was ready, Voldemort did not even hold his. Slowly, Harry fingered his pocket. The miniaturized broom he had used to travel here now seeming far more important than it had a few short moments ago.

"And who said I would try to run?" He taunted. His insides were jelly and his legs felt like cardboard. Ever particle of his body screamed "RUN!" But there would be no point. He'd fallen for the dark lord's trap. His only chance was to fight.

"Ah. Griffindor. How foolish of me. It always addles me. You've shown youself to be clever... so clever for such a young boy. Why, why were you placed in that wretched house? You could've been great. You could've stood at my side..."

"I will never stand at your side!" He screamed hatefully.

"Yes." Voldemort said despondently. "I know. Pity."

Harry didn't even hear the curse, but he knew it well. He dodged on instinct and the green light that slid past him and over the forgotten body of Eiko left a mark of dark scorch in the wooden walls behind him.

"Stupify!" Harry shouted but it was painfully slow. The dark lord seemed to bend around his spell, disregarding it. Ignoring it. He would not allow their spells to connect as he had in the graveyard. He was too quick for Harry to counter his magic and he knew it. A falcon, toying with a mouse.

"Malcondros!" The Dark Lord uttered, and suddenly the daylight that had been pouring through the windows, the light from the lanterns above, all light whatsoever, vanished.

Harry was left in the darkness, but he was quick on his feet. He ducked instantly, to avoid the jet of blue light, a silent spell that He did not recognize. Then he rolled, dodging two more spells, a fire spell that burned a man from his insides, and a freezing spell meant to hold someone in a case of ice.

"I can see you, Harry." The voice echoed but not from anywhere near Voldemort had been. Instead, the voice emanated from the opposite side of the room, near the Ice Box.

Harry was flummoxed for a moment, by Voldemort's own self confidence. The fool could see him? Well then what was the point of hiding?

"Lumos Maximus!" A brilliant light burst forth from his wand, and in moments, the light had been sucked away, vanished as a if stretched, pulled from his wand and into a sort of black darkness in the middle of the room.

Harry's mind thought quickly. A small orb, he'd thought he'd seen in the moments before his spell's light had been sapped away. "Incindio! Bombardio! Derectos!" Burning, destroying, desintegrating. One of the spells could surely destroy the orb.

He'd been right. The world plunged back into light as the orb which stole the light from the room burned under the fires of his first spell. Harry's eyes found Voldemort instantly, but the man was quicker.

A green burst of light barreled towards Harry, and the boy did the first thing he could think of. One of the legs of the table still jutting into the air transformed itself into a massive pingpong paddle at Harry's command and took the killing curse for him. Unlike the wall, the table leg blasted to pieces, the spell exploding behind it.

"I'm going to kill you Harry." The words were calm. Controlled. Creepy. Voldemort had disappeared, hiding himself from Harry's view, but Harry knew it would be foolish to try to run. Fight or die. His only options.

Fight or Die.

He thought of the girl, broken and beaten on the ground. Healed by him; healed, but surely dead, lest he find some way to get her out of here. He thought of those who had died already. His parents. Cedric. The thousands of deaths from the first war, thousands of names he did not know. Names of worthy people, muggle and wizard alike.

He turned, the slightest creak of wood drawing his attention.

"Syusto!" A simple spell, the room suddenly burst with a font of pixie dust that blasted itself all over everything. Voldemort's invisibilty was revoked, his form revealed by the layers of sparkling dust.

"Reducto!" The wall burst forth, wood exploding outwards, but the Dark Lord dodged with a ragged ease.

"Your parlor tricks are useless." He said with scorn.

"Reducto! Reducto!" Each word was accompanied by a sonic boom. Harry put his full power into each spell, and the walls of the building began to shake... those that remained anyway.

The dark lord nimbly dodged each spell. Advancing forward. Panic settled into his mind as Harry began incantation after incantation. Each uselessly dodged by the slow steady advance of Voldemort.

Within moments the dark lord hovered over him, and Harry, his back suddenly pressed up against a wall, sweat pouring down his face as he tried to keep firing, felt a cold chill as his wand was physically ripped from his fingers.

Held against the wall, eyes burning, he stared at Voldemort, who only now deemed spellwork necessary. Harry found himself bound in ropes. A simple incarcerous.

Death is coming.

A voice. Soft, yet angry sounded in his head, and somehow Harry knew what it was. The fragment. The connection between he and the dark lord, shared for so long.

"This was the boy who would kill me? This? Pitiful." Voldemort said with mirth. "The prophecy is fulfilled. Either may die at the hands of the other... You die by my hand today, Harry. By my hand."

Do you want to live?

The voice seemed appeasing. Anxious? What in the world.

"Avada..."

Your soul. Move it!

'What?' Harry thought. He stared up into his enemy's wand, broken and defeated. 'Move my...?'

"...Kedavra!"

Murder. The act of murder is needed. Your soul. You must move it.

The words were his own. His own voice. Spilling knowledge into his head that was not his own. He'd known parcel tongue. He'd gained the ability from his scar. Was this more...?

Not just pieces. The whole thing. You know how to live.

'That is dark!' His own thoughts responded. 'Dark magic!'

Dark magic, or death. Your choice.

Harry did as asked. He didn't know how he'd done it. He didn't know why. But he gathered his soul, gathered the last vestiges of his life and prepared.

The curse struck him.

The gates opened, as he knew they would. With his own death he threw his entire soul, out into the void of the room of a house off the corner of Maudevauk Boulevard.

Harry Potter died.

Laughter echoed throughout the entire estate of 1414 South Pedgewick Lane. That was not the name any of its current inhabitants would refer to it by, however. This was one of the dark lord's lairs. Protected and well fortified, this underground sanctuary was a paradise. Thousands of muggles to torture and play with for all who wished were kept in the dungeons below. Gathered from all across the world, their beauty was exquisite. Like little pieces of furniture, or perhaps small pets that death eaters could dote upon if they felt so inclined.

Few did.

"Bellatrix!" Lucius Malfoy hissed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Bellatrix Lestrage shot a scathing look at Lucius. "Be silent! The Dark Lord exalts! You will not ruin his glory! Silent!"

Still the laughter pervaded. It was endless. Had been endless for hours now. Lucius would never disobey the dark lord, but that didn't mean he couldn't be annoyed by his master. What could possibly have happened to make the Dark One so very happy?

"Harry Potter is dead." Bellatrix stated, in almost a whisper.

Lucius blinked. Well. That was news. "How? And why does it matter so much? Anyone with half a mind knows that it wasn't Potter who stopped the Dark Lord all those years ago, but his mudblood mother. Why is the death of one boy so important? Even if it is him?"

"It is not for us to question..." Bellatrix responded. Then she turned back in the direction from which the laughter exuded. She preened, as if basking in the joy of the Dark Lord. Lucius twitched. The woman was insane. But also, right.

"That it is not." He replied.

Word began to spread.

Some hundred miles away, in a small house on the corner of Maudevauk Boulevard, a young muggle girl named Eiko awoke with a pounding headache.

Gathering her bearings she looked around, trying to discern where she was. What was happening? Why did her head hurt so much? So many questions greeted her upon waking but when she opened her eyes, all of them fled.

All but one.

"WHAT IN BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO MY HOUSE!" She screamed. Thought filtered in, and horror filled her mind. "... When my parents get back from their vacation they're going to flaming kill me..."

It would be hours before the girl would notice the strange, lightning bolt scar burning across her forehead.

Author's Notes: School is out and I am free. Almost three weeks of free writing await me. Finally, finally I have time. Expect new chapters of EVERYTHING. My muse is back and in full ardor. I can't wait to begin.

I hope this chappy of His War has satiated you. Her War's epic next chapter is going to be a while in coming. Too much effort goes into its creation. I've probably lost half my audience with the long delays but I promise it is not dead.

To all who like and have read my fanfictions, keep your eyes open on the book shelves. Array's Ring, my own book is shaping into the fringes of half done. As always, an epic tale about the end of the world, and the heroes who seek to stop it.

As for this! Leave a review!

Till Next!
MB