A new project to stave off writer's block! And to pass the time while I wait for prereading to be done! For anyone who cares, Phase Shift Chapter 5 is done, just waiting on a buddy of mine to finish betaing.

I was reading SuperGoldenFroggie's Alexandriad, and then his little side-story of oneshots of servants Louise could have summoned, and I was like, "Hey, why don't I do that with Harry?" Of course, there were many problems with that...so I ended up starting the bunch with blatant self-plagiarism. The other ones planned should, hopefully, be more original and of more substance than this one, which was, incidentally, unbetaed. Go figure. I'm not too happy with it; I feel like a real story would be needed to expand on it, but I'm not going to be writing it. This is mainly an experiment; I'm trying to change my writing style a bit and playing with some characters. If there's some OOC, I apologize, and I'll try to do my best to fix it. However, if you do spot a problem I ask that you tell me what it is so I can try to fix it, instead of just flaming.

Kay...rant done. So, if you can, enjoy!

Harry woke up to the smell of blood. And not just the smell, either.

What the -

The marble chamber had become something out of a Muggle horror movie. Crimson fluid spattered the formerly-pristine white walls of the chamber, and the smell of iron hung heavily in the air. The floor wasn't spared either; pools of blood dotted the stone floor, one particularly large specimen creeping ever so slowly towards his sneakered feet.

Harry pushed himself up, one hand on the marble floor allowing him a return to a kneeling, and then a standing, position. One hand checked his jean pockets automatically for his wand, immediately finding the reassuring wooden grip snugged deep into the denim. It took some effort to pull it out, but he wasn't unarmed. How much a wand would do against the perpetrator of the killings done here, he wasn't quite sure.

A dozen black-cloaked bodies lay strewn around the room in various degrees of mutilation. It was clear that whatever had happened, whatever force of nature had been called up by the circle, every Death Eater had fallen to it. He briefly wondered if he should be concerned for his own life, then dismissed the thought. Whatever had killed the Death Eaters had had plenty of time to kill him, unconscious and motionless as he had been. It hadn't, which meant it wasn't going to. He hoped. Meanwhile, his would-be murderers were now in many pieces, eliminating the possibility of them carrying out their task.

Harry decided to take a moment to sort out how he felt about that. In life, each one of the corpses had been despicably greedy, irredeemably selfish, and completely disdainful of the lives of other human beings. Most of them were also sadists and bigots, and quite a few of them cowards as well. The world hadn't lost anything with their demise, and in fact many people would probably sleep soundly without these assorted murderers and thieves running around.

It was the principle that bothered him. Life was precious, wasn't it? It and time were two of the only things that couldn't be restored at any price. He'd lost his parents to death because it had been forced upon them, not through any natural events. He'd opposed the Death Eaters because they seemed to find it fun to kill people who only wanted to live their lives.

And yet...he'd wanted to kill Bellatrix after she'd done the same to the closest thing to a father he'd ever had. In that moment he'd wanted to inflict terrible pain on her, wanted her to scream in agony before he exacted retribution. He hadn't gotten the chance, of course, when Voldemort had carried her away after the duel with Dumbledore.

If he had, though...what would have happened to him? Could he have remained himself, the Harry who had saved the Wizarding world multiple times, the boy who'd brought light to a handful of lives and rescued a bitter, broken man from dreams of the past? Or would killing the Death Eater have brought him down to her level, turning him into a twisted shadow that enjoyed the power in taking another person's life?

He couldn't answer that. Not here, in this chamber of death. Not now, with the world hanging on his shoulders yet again. He needed to get out of here first. Then, maybe he could stop to think.

Blood squelched under his sneakers as he walked towards the stairs. He passed by the bodies, trying not to look too closely at them. That would only bring questions of what had killed them, and he didn't want to know.

He ascended the stairs, leaving bloody footprints on the marble.

The night air was fresh on his face, the bitter chill stinging his cheeks. It shocked him back to himself, and forced him to consider the question he'd been ignoring since Hermione and Ron had walked out on him.

Where do I go from here?

How to find the Horcruxes? He couldn't, not alone. Hermione was the thinker, not him, and even she hadn't been able to devise a satisfactory plan, not with the scarcity of information they'd suffered. What had they been thinking? Three teenagers setting out alone without any kind of support to find and destroy the Darkest kind of magic. It was the height of stupidity.

Ron was right. I'm an idiot.

He twirled his wand absently in one hand. Red-gold sparks shot from its tip, falling into the carpet of undergrowth beneath his feet.

I'm going to have to go back.

His pride screamed at the very idea of going back and begging for help, but his reason (in a voice sounding very much like Hermione's) staunchly overrode it. If he really cared about saving people, if he really wanted Voldemort to die, then he had to go back to everyone and marshal their resources. They needed to plan this out. Dumbledore had to have left something. They just hadn't found it.

Gentle light shone down upon the forested clearing, and Harry looked up. The moon hung motionless in the sky, a perfect circle. Intellectually, he knew that there were craters, imperfections marring the glowing surface, but there was no way to see them, not from here.

Get far away enough and it doesn't matter, does it? Should it?...It's beautiful, either way.

It felt like a long time since he'd appreciated anything, or stopped to take a more detailed look. What with Death Eaters and quests, there was always something jumping out of the woodwork to either kill him or give him a headache.

At least I can be sure nothing's going to happen now-

A howl erupted through the woods, rising from a low grumble to a high, aggressive shout. Ringing with menace and barely-suppressed fury, it sent a cold sweat down Harry's spine.

I spoke too soon.

Harry quickly gauged his options. He could Apparate...if he had a clear head, and a map of the area so he knew where he could go. He could fight...that was probably going to be the option. He racked his brain and tried to remember what he knew about werewolves. He seemed to remember something about them not appearing in packs very often because of the random transformations. If they stumbled upon other werewolves they would usually group together, but that didn't happen very often.

Then again, he was assuming that there weren't more like Greyback.

'Assume' makes an ass out of 'u' and me...

It came out of the trees at a breakneck speed, loping easily over the flat ground. Harry had a brief glimpse of a massively-muscled chest, steel-grey fur, and a horribly-malevolent yellow eye. Then it was time to fight.

"Stupefy-" Even as the incantation left his lips he cursed to himself. Many varieties of magical creature were immune to Stunners, like giants and trolls, and if the dread accorded werewolves was anything to go by, they probably were too.

The spell flickered towards its target and hit the furred chest, but did absolutely nothing. Harry swore he could see a grin curl up the monster's saliva-drenched muzzle, before it slid to a halt, gathered itself, and pounced.

Levicorpus!

The werewolf yelped as an invisible hand yanked its rear paw and pulled it up into the air, dangling it by the aforementioned limb. Growls of frustration followed as it swung a massive forepaw that barely missed Harry's chest as he scrambled backwards. Wasting no time, the Chosen One turned and ran, feet pounding and heart thumping. The howls increased even as he left their source behind, the wolf obviously displeased that its dinner was getting away.

He made an arbitrary right turn, darting away into a new cluster of trees that looked no different.

I've absolutely no idea where I'm going! How the hell am I going to get out-

His ear caught a slight thump, and he twisted around mid-stride instinctively. It was probably what had saved his life.

The second werewolf's leap carried it past him, as the claws aimed for his chest caught his right arm instead. Bone parted flesh with a terrible ripping sound, tearing muscle and skin with equal ease. A spurt of crimson flew from the wound, accompanied by Harry's agonized scream. Dimly, through pain-wracked nerves, he felt his wand fall from numb fingers.

The force of the blow knocked him to the ground, throwing his body into a series of involuntary rolls that only ended when he felt his back make hard contact against a tree trunk. A groan ripped itself from his lips before he could stifle it.

He could hear the soft padding as the werewolf trotted towards him, lupine eyes alight with malicious satisfaction. Saliva began to drip from its muzzle, and the corners of its mouth peeled back to reveal long, yellow canines bared for the coming feast.

You know, Harry thought hazily, if this was a book right about now the hero would get incredibly lucky and be saved by another guy who he's never met. Heck, if this was a book the author would probably set this up just so he can introduce a character-

The wolf lowered itself onto all four paws, presumably so it could get a better grip to leap at him. As its massive body hit the ground, he saw a flash of black as something dropped to the dirt behind it. The werewolf paused, something very like confusion on its bestial face, and turned.

Harry didn't see exactly what happened, but the beast's head flew back, a howl echoing through the forest. One of its arms fell off, dripping blood, and it collapsed backwards, thumping to the ground and lying there.

Wow. My life is just like a novel.

His unexpected rescuer materialized in front of him, and extended a hand. Harry gripped the proffered limb dazedly, allowing the other man to pull him to his feet. Without saying a word, the man gripped his arm, ignoring the grunt of pain, and examined the arm. He clicked his tongue once, sounding irritated, then released the limb.

"Hold still." His voice was low, but pleasantly so, a marked difference from the growling tones of Mad-Eye Moody. A knife appeared in his hand, a few inches of steel extending from a simple wooden hilt. Cloth ripped as the stranger used the weapon to cut off part of his sleeve, then wrapped the rag tightly around Harry's wound. The Chosen One grimaced as the cloth pulled tight, but stifled any grunts of pain. He took the time to assess the newcomer.

The stranger was surprisingly short; his head came up to about Harry's nose. His body was much in the same vein, small and compact, but there was strength in his grip and an undeniable grace in the way he moved.

He wore a long, dark blue coat that was left unbuttoned so that it flapped slightly in the occasional breeze, one sleeve now gone. Underneath the coat was some kind of armor, but what it was made of Harry couldn't tell. Shadows clung to the stranger's body as if reluctant to let go, and they obscured his vision even though he was about a foot away.

The man's face, however, was completely clear. His eyes were obscured by what appeared to be bandages, wrapped tightly around his head. They were an opaque white, rendering the man effectively blind, but he didn't move like a blind man.

The masked face tilted to alight its covered eyes with Harry's green ones as he finished wrapping the sleeve around the Chosen One's wound.

"That'll stem the bleeding. It's a deep cut, but a clean one. You should get it looked at."

"Thanks." Harry muttered, unable to meet the bandaged gaze. He disengaged from his new companion and walked over to the werewolf.

It was dead, of course. The blow that had snapped its head back had slit its throat, and blood was still dribbling out of the torn flesh, likewise with the severed arm. Harry prodded the werewolf with a toe and flinched back with a startled yelp when the meat slid apart, squelching horribly.

The smell of blood filled the air again.

"Sorry about that." There was a hint of ruefulness in the bandaged man's tone. "Juushichi Bunkatsu does that sometimes."

Harry barely heard him, eyes fixed on the meaty ruins. Though blood and gore were sprinkled liberally around the wounds, the cuts themselves were incredibly sharp and clean. It was as if the cut had given the body incentive to just fall apart, like the cutting blade wasn't the real killer.

He hadn't taken a close look at the Death Eater corpses, but now he was sure that if he returned to the chamber he would see wounds very similar to this one.

"You killed the Death Eaters." His voice was soft, monotonous. That was just as well; he couldn't figure out what he was feeling himself, so if it had shown up in his voice it would have been confused.

"Is that what they call themselves?" The low voice seemed amused in a casual way, as if they were discussing the weather instead of death. "I hope they didn't think it would mean anything."

"You killed them." This time he turned to meet the masked gaze. Though the stranger didn't make any big movements, his body hunched in on itself slightly in a manner that indicated confusion.

"Yeah, I did." His head cocked slightly to one side. "Should I not have? They did look like they were going to do the same to you."

"How do you do it?"

A smirk played around the stranger's mouth. Steel glinted in his hand as he raised it. "With this knife-"

"Not that!" A dam burst within him, and he stepped straight into the other man's personal space, very intentionally leaning over him. "How do you kill so easily?" The stranger opened his mouth, but Harry continued right over him. "How do you know whether or not killing's right? How do you live with yourself after you do it? How do you-"

Moonlight caught on steel as the knife twirled and flipped in the stranger's hand. Harry stopped abruptly, conscious of what exactly that knife had done just a few minutes before. Vaguely, he wondered why there wasn't any blood on the blade.

The stranger didn't speak for a long moment. The knife stilled its movement in his hands and he raised his sightless face to the moon, facing it with the intent that usually came with staring at something.

"I'm a monster." The words that left Remus Lupin in a cold sweat came so easily from this stranger's lips. "Killing is my first instinct, or was." He shrugged, still gazing at the moon. "A side effect of my heritage, apparently." Once again the knife flicked into motion as he sent it upwards with a flick of his thumb and caught it between two fingers as it fell down.

"It's gonna come out trite, but..." he shrugged again, "there are some things worth doing anything for. I don't kill for fun and I always make sure whoever I kill deserves it."

"How do you determine that?" Harry asked softly.

"There isn't a value on the human life, you know." The stranger hummed. "Still, I figure a life for a life is a pretty good indicator. If they've killed someone, or ruined lives, seems fair enough to me."

Harry felt his eyes narrow. "That's a cop-out."

"What do you want me to tell you?" The words carried no heat. "If you're so worried about it, then don't. You're not missing out on anything, trust me."

"It's the principle of the thing!" Harry didn't quite shout. "Is it right to kill people just because they're in your way?"

The stranger held up a hand. "Look, you won't accept anything I say because you don't really want an answer. You just want to feel better about whichever course you take." He turned his featureless head back to meet green eyes with white cloth. "Here's my advice; if you're really not sure, don't do it. You can always rectify that if you decide it's not enough. That way you don't blacken your soul and guilt yourself into making a contract with the world or something."

Harry blinked again. "..What?"

The stranger sighed. "Never mind. The point is, don't kill until you're absolutely sure you can handle it. I had a friend who used to say 'Only those who are willing to be shot should shoot'. Worked well enough for him."

Harry digested the words. The advice, surprisingly, seemed sound. If killing was indeed a sin, he needed to think about it quite a bit. He had nothing to lose by abstaining from it, but quite a bit if he used the Killing Curse and realized too late it damned him. It sounded like something Hermione would say...if she hadn't been dead-set against any form of murder.

"...You know what, I think I'll take that advice. Thanks." Then, a blindingly obvious question struck him. "...What are you doing here?"

The stranger's reaction was a non-reaction. He just stared sightlessly at Harry for a moment, then shook his head.

"Ah, hell. Not again. Can I explain this tomorrow? I really don't feel like doing it now."

"...You don't want to explain what you're doing here?" Harry repeated flatly.

"Yeah, because it involves a whole bunch of crap about Servants and Holy Grails and Wars. Only, I can feel prana and the Holy Grail definitely isn't here, so that's gonna make it more complicated." The stranger tugged at a loose bandage. "Basically: I'm here to stay until further notice. Now go sleep. I'll stand guard and we'll go through everything tomorrow."

Harry was caught off-guard again by the sudden topic change. "I don't even know your name."

The stranger cocked his head. "...In light of your little moral dilemma...call me Satsujinki. That's as good a name as any."

There were many more questions that Harry wanted to ask, but he was really tired and going to sleep sounded like an excellent idea. So he trudged back to the temple, making note to pull the tent out of the chamber so he wouldn't have to smell blood for the rest of the night.

A last glimpse of his new companion showed him silhouetted against the trees, once again looking up at the moon.