Disclaimer: This is all J.K. Rowling's. This story is a work of fiction. Anything you recognise is JKR's, everything else is mine. No profit is being gained by this.

I thought I'd try my hand at another Harry/Bellatrix story and this is the product of my imagination. I know it's a little long but it's necessary and… expect future chapters to be similar lengths. However, updates will be few and far between, due to the length.

I have tried to tap into the basis of each character, letting their individual characteristics govern my writing. Bellatrix is a complicated character to write, especially when paired with someone like Harry. This is a predominantly adventure/drama story, though there will be some romance.

Anyway, this is it. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you do or don't. Criticism is welcome, but only if it's constructive. Spiteful flames are unnecessary.

UPDATE: The name and summary of this fic has been officially changed. This fic was formerly named 'Braveheart - The Wild Frontier.' To new and old readers alike, enjoy.

Appetite for Destruction

Prologue

"Every problem is an opportunity in disguise." - Unknown

If there were to be such a thing as hell on Earth, Azkaban was it.

But then again, wasn't hell meant to be boiling hot, with flames everywhere?

Obviously, the usual rules didn't apply to Azkaban.

Azkaban was a bloody freezing hell on Earth.

The stench of death and despair hung heavily in the air, lingering like a grey heavy fog on a wet winter's morning. A mournful wind whipped its way around the stone walls, bringing bone-chilling cold and bitterness from the Siberian wilderness with it. It settled in through the bars that doubled as windows, causing many a prisoner to huddle fearfully into the pitiful cloth that was called a blanket.

Black ocean waves slammed themselves repeatedly upon the rock, relentless in their quest to remove this foreign piece of land from their path, this alien intrusion of their world. The clouds swirled angrily in the sky, mirroring the colour of the sea. Thunder emitted its deep, throaty rumble and lightning flashing a vivid, contrasting white across the sky.

Added to this horrifying location, for the most dangerous occupants, were the Dementors. Unnatural creatures of this world, they drifted down the cold corridors of Azkaban, bone-deep cold following in the wake of their nightmarishly cladded figures. They patrolled the corridors that had the cells in which the greatest threats to Wizarding society would live for the remainder of their lives. Some of the Soulless lived here, as well as the long-gone insane.

It was within one of these cells that Harry Potter resided in.

It had been three long years since The Boy Who Lived had arrived as an occupant of one of the many cells of Azkaban.

Sickly moss clung to the jagged stone walls and floor. Rust had made its mark upon the cold metal bars. Mildew and mould were scattered in small, threadbare patches on the floor, as well as the blanket. And sitting in the corner of his cell, picking absently at a flaking part of the wall with a fingernail, sat Harry Potter.

The tip of his tongue was poking out slightly from his mouth, his teeth clamped firmly upon it. Narrowed emerald eyes watched the nail at work, which was steadily scratching away. Wisps of dust spiralled towards the ground as a small chunk of stone fell, landing with a small thud at Harry's foot. He ceased from his work, looking down at the small stone. Then he picked it up and brought it up to his eye. Squinting at it, he studied it idly.

"Still at it Potter?"

The harsh, raspy voice caused Harry's nose to twitch involuntarily, but other than that small movement, he gave no outward sign he had heard the voice. He continued with observing the stone, before setting it down carefully next to a modest pile of others beside him. Then, giving an exasperated sigh, Harry continued with the scraping of the stone wall.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

"Give it up Potter; you're never going to get out. You've been at this for almost nine months now. Face it. You're stuck here."

Harry continued with his administrations for a few more seconds before answering.

"Forgive me if I haven't signed my life away just yet Bella. I was never one to give up so easily. Besides, look at my progress." he said sarcastically.

He turned his head towards Bellatrix Lestrange - his neighbour - momentarily to catch her expression before returning to his work, a sly grin playing on his face. It amused him to no end to deliver barbs to Bellatrix. They were separated by a mixture of stone and bars, so it was possible for them to see and therefore, hold a visual conversation with one another. Or in their case for the past eight months, insults. Currently, Bellatrix was leaning against the wall on the other side of her cell, sitting down.

"I haven't given up!" she hissed indignantly, infuriated by Harry's insinuations. "I'm just waiting until those brain-dead Aurors make a mass screw up, so I can break out! And my name is Bellatrix!"

Harry, smirking, was still working away when he answered her, his eyes narrowed and focused on a loosening chunk of rock.

"Oh. My mistake. I do apologise. Your lack of activity had me thinking that you were doing nothing. Obviously I was wrong. It was thinking that you were doing."

He paused, still scratching away. Bellatrix waited for him to continue.

"Well, thinking didn't do you much good before. In fact, it got you sent here." Harry finished, gesturing around to the cell that he was in with his free hand. He waited for the furious reply that he knew would follow.

"Fuck you, Potter!" Bellatrix snarled. "You ignored the rules of engagement! You cheated!"

"Never thought there were rules in war," was Harry's dry reply. "Old Tom never played by them, so I figured why should I? And if you hadn't of thought you could capture me single-handedly, then you wouldn't have been caught yourself."

Bellatrix gave a snort of frustration and lapsed back into her silence. Harry was mildly surprised that Bellatrix hadn't berated him for the use of Voldemort's real name, but then again, she had renounced her allegiance to the Dark Lord after he was dead. Sort of. Sure, she was still a Death Eater and would answer him, but she just wasn't as... manically devoted. For what reasons, Harry didn't know: all he knew was that the day he had called Bellatrix a filthy Death Eater she had blown up and had tried her level best to get through the bars that separated them and kill him. That had been the day Harry had arrived in Azkaban. On discovering that his neighbour was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, he had yelled every insult that he thought or knew would hurt her. As was expected from Bellatrix, she had responded in kind.

As verbal sparring matches went, they were evenly matched. Bellatrix had a venomous and wicked tongue, identical to her personality and put them to full and effective use. Harry, on the other hand, just had the rather unique ability to aggravate anyone and anything, effortlessly getting under their skin. Like Bellatrix, he put it to great use.

After both had vented their pent-up emotions, Harry and Bellatrix had simply refused to talk to one another. However long had passed until one spoke to the other again, neither knew. But when they did, they had - for some unknown reason - decided to talk about their lives. Bellatrix had gone first, independent and arrogant that she was. After sending a baleful glare towards Harry, she had proceeded to explain her life right up until the point when she had taken part in the fourth battle of Hogsmeade. Bellatrix knew that she didn't have to continue, as did Harry, for it was he who had caught her during the battle.

Harry didn't and wouldn't feel guilty about that, but nonetheless they remained silent for half an hour afterwards. It was during that time that Harry had thought about what she had said about her life. It seemed all she wanted was to have power, to be noticed. Her family hadn't given it to her but the Dark Lord had offered it. So she had jumped at first chance. Voldemort had shown her power, shown her strength, and Bellatrix had revelled in it. Granted, the Dark Arts later on combined with an extended period in Azkaban had rendered her a little mentally unstable, but 'everyone has their faults, you included Potter,' she had stated with that ever-present Black haughtiness.

Harry couldn't have agreed more.

After a mix of empty threats and persistent questioning from Bellatrix, Harry had then gone on to explain how his life had taken a turn for the shit-heap and why he was in Azkaban. But as he had sensed that Bellatrix had omitted parts of it, or lightly skimmed over others, he decided to too. After all, they were enemies.

Everything had been bearable up until his seventh year. Sure, Voldemort had made many more attempts on his life, but it was nothing out of the ordinary and nothing outrageous. The Order, at Sirius' demands, had made more of an effort to keep Harry safe. After the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic in his fifth year, in which Sirius had narrowly escaped with his life having stood so foolishly in front of the Veil, Dumbledore had decided to be more honest and open with Harry. The Headmaster had told Harry about the prophecy, about the meaning and the consequences. He had trained Harry for two years, teaching him magic that would be a great help in his inevitable battle with the Dark Lord. That was all Harry had told Bellatrix, and for the moment, she seemed content with the information that she'd received. Harry just let her assume he'd taken up his mantle for the war after he had left Hogwarts. But he knew that she knew that there was more. The way Harry had fought during the War, it wasn't an untrained fighter charging into battle; Harry had the signs of a highly efficient war machine stamped all over him, and Bellatrix knew it.

In reality, Harry had been trained for the war. Properly, with military style. After a small conference with Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody and the Minister of Magic who at the time was Amelia Bones, he decided to enrol himself with the Department of Mysteries as one of their Special Forces operatives. Although there were Aurors and there were Hit Wizards, neither group had actual training in all out warfare. The way Harry saw it, they were the police and SWAT of the Wizarding World; the Special Forces were the military.

Codenamed 'Delta Nine', with identification number four-eight-seven-double 'O'-two-nine stamped onto his right forearm, he was but one of a significantly sized, highly trained force of warlocks. Harry was trained by the best of the best; current operatives, former ones, ex-Aurors and Hit Wizards - anyone that knew how to handle themselves and was a lethal opponent for the Death Eaters. Harry still had his training with Dumbledore but the bulk of it was within the bowels of the Departments of Mysteries. In short order, which was approximately two years, he had been changed. No longer was he just another killer, murderer of Death Eaters; he was an executioner. The Special Forces taught him the art of war and with it, how to dispatch an opponent quickly, effectively and with minimum fuss. Harry had also been shown how to combat multiple opponents and with the sadistic grin of his commanding officer, known as 'Sigma seven', he was encouraged to be creative in his work.

Harry still went out to the various battles whilst in training, for 'on the job experience' as it was put. Every time was better then the last, with Harry having more success than the previous outing. He quickly rose up through the ranks of the Special Forces, eventually stopping at Lieutenant Colonel, the highest rank he could achieve whilst still being able to go into battle. His reputation also rose, with tales of his courage, determination, skill and his non-existent mercy reaching up to the upper echelons of both sides in the brutal war. Inevitably, Harry became the highest target on Voldemort's kill list, a threat perceived to be greater than Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic.

Then, Dumbledore had found out on Harry's sixth year that Voldemort had attempted to make himself immortal. He had split his soul and encased each portion within an object, known thereafter as a 'Horcrux'. The Headmaster had cleverly deduced what the rest of the Horcruxes were from the two he had already found, though whatever the last one was, Dumbledore couldn't work out. So, besides fighting the Death Eaters and occasionally Voldemort himself, Harry went Horcrux-hunting.

Five years and Merlin knew how many battles later, Harry succeeded in finding and destroying all of Voldemort's Horcruxes... all except one. That one unfortunately happened to be himself, which was found out by complete accident. So another year was spent by Harry trying to find a way to separate the Horcrux from his soul. Unfortunately, this was the same year Dumbledore had died.

It happened during the eleventh battle of London. Voldemort, growing desperate and erratic, had launched an all-out assault on London in a last ditch bid to take reclaim the Ministry of Magic. Throughout the war, possession of the Ministry had switched sides almost constantly, with one side winning it then losing it to the other a few months later. The Death Eaters had held it for the longest, for a grand total of fourteen months. But it was during the eleventh battle than the shit really hit the fan.

Dumbledore died at Harry's hand.

It had been a necessary move. Harry had been duelling Bellatrix and she had managed to slip past his guard with a nasty piece of Dark magic.

After Dumbledore's death, things had gone slightly downhill for the Light Side. The morale of the Death Eaters had risen and even Voldemort had made more public appearances during the fight. The Dark Lord's schemes and plans had become bolder and bolder as well.

But all was not bad. Harry had found a way to remove the fragment of Voldemort's soul from his own, though the connection between the two somehow remained. With Voldemort as mortal as the next man, Harry had upped his game. More Death Eaters were killed and he personally sought out Voldemort when the Dark Lord made his appearance. The capture of Bellatrix, the supposed killer of Dumbledore, helped to elevate Harry to the status of the new Wizarding World's most powerful wizard. Eventually every town, every piece of land was reclaimed by the Light, with the last stand being held at the Dark Lord's stronghold: Riddle Manor.

The battle there had been the most brutal, most bloody and the most dangerous of the entirety of the war. More people died on the grounds and floors of Riddle Manor than all the battles in the history of the war. People were slaughtered like livestock, each side folding under the sheer force of the other. Death Eaters and Order members alike were felled, their deaths avenged by their comrades. And in the centre hall, Harry duelled the murderer of thousands, the evil that had tainted this world, and the man who had ruined his life - Lord Voldemort.

It was singularly the hardest duel Harry had ever fought. Dumbledore had once said that the knowledge of magic that Voldemort possessed was most probably more extensive than any other wizard or witch alive. He wasn't fucking wrong. Voldemort used so many Dark spells and shields Harry's magical senses were cringing under the pungent waves of it that warped the air. Unforgivables, ancient torture curses and curses and hexes Harry had no knowledge of were a part of immense arsenal of the greatest Dark Lord in the history of magic that were thrown Harry's way. His shields and counter-spells buckled and strained under the onslaught, protesting with high-pitched squeals and screeches as they were assaulted relentlessly. Harry had no idea how he had survived that, as there was no way he should have, but survive he did.

After a total of forty-five solid minutes of duelling, dodging and in general trying to make sure his arse wasn't blown to kingdom come, Harry was able to fight back. Spells and curses of the Light were thrown towards Voldemort, who brought up more Dark shields to protect himself. Harry pulled upon all if his resources, his knowledge to defeat Voldemort. Waves of Light raged against the tides of Darkness as each combatant battled for the win, to live, to escape the clutches of Death. Harry began to stop bringing up shields, opting instead to narrowly miss the curses sent his way. Dumbledore had speculated there were two things that could qualify for 'the power that the Dark Lord knew not': Love or the ability to accept Death. Harry wasn't sure which but he decided to put the latter to use. Maybe if he stopped defending himself he would win.

When a curse got too close for comfort in Harry's mind, he decided to bring out the weapon that Sigma seven, Dumbledore and the Chief Unspeakable had said to use only if necessary - the Love Shield. Dumbledore had told him once what the locked room in the Department of Mysteries was, after the battle there.

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the force of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you."

So Harry had used it. Pouring all the love he felt for his friends, for his family, for the people he had lost into his mind, Harry had yelled the incantation and created the Love Shield. What happened after, he was unable to remember because the next thing he had seen had been the white ceiling of St Mungos' Hospital. Eventually he had been told that the force of whatever it was he had used had levelled the manor to rubble, killing Voldemort and almost killing himself. Voldemort's body had been found inside and so was his, though he was barely alive. He had been immediately been brought to the hospital for emergency treatment.

Harry had then stayed in hospital for two days, whilst the Healers made sure that he was fine and his injuries weren't grave. He was then discharged. Upon his leaving, Harry had been slightly surprised that he had a guard waiting to escort him to the Ministry. He was even more surprised when they got there, instead of being taken to the Department of Mysteries, he had been dragged up to the Auror office and was promptly charged with war crimes, including several accounts of murder, just as many uses of the Dark Arts and various other felonies, ranging from rape to looting. He had been stripped of his wand and thrown into a Ministry holding cell. Three nights later, he was formerly charged for his crimes, was given no chance to defend himself and was then chucked in Azkaban with the key thrown away. When he realised his neighbour was none other than Bellatrix, he had wondered what sadistic bitch or bastard depending on gender had put him next to her. Later on he had found out it was Umbridge and had mused that he should have killed the bitch when he had the chance.

But what really pissed him off was the fact that once again, once his job of saving the Wizarding World from whatever danger threatened it, once he had killed Voldemort and stopped the horror, the Wizarding World had decided that his usefulness had outlived it's purpose. He had, against his better judgement, expected a big welcome... or at least a thank you. Reading between the lines, Harry realised the reason they incarcerated him was because the Ministry knew he didn't like them and that they were frightened that he would incite a revolution against them. Also they feared his power - that figured. So the best option, for them that was, was to chuck Harry in Azkaban. After the war, Harry thought he'd be a hero for all he'd done and survived... well... if hell was meant for heroes, he sure had arrived.

"Potter? Potter? Potter! Pay attention!"

Bellatrix's harsh tones brought him back to Earth. Harry realised he had stopped scratching at the wall.

"What Bellatrix?" Harry asked exasperatedly. "What is it n-?"

The question perished on his lips when he felt the bone-deep cold seep into the room, its cold frozen fingers groping out harshly at him. Instantly Harry was on his feet and moving towards the back of his cell, Bellatrix's movements mirroring his own. He seized his blanket and flung it around his torso, praying with all his might that it would shield him from the cold, protect him from what was to come. But it was a futile and vain attempt, as he knew.

The familiar rattling breath was heard next, the chill become deeper and more pronounced. Harry screwed up his eyes tightly, pressing himself against the stone hard as if trying to burrow through it, pressing so hard it hurt. The temperature dropped further and further until the familiar memories came back, screaming inside of his head.

Flashes of bright light illuminated the landscape as Harry slid along the muddy ground. The rain fell mercilessly from the sky, torrential currents of water splashing everywhere, sweeping people and objects alike into the night. Lightning strikes lit up the ground momentarily, the only source of light except for the spells that were thrown between the two groups that were battling to kill, before plunging the area back into the suffocating darkness.

Harry ran with wild abandon, desperate in his attempt to reach those who mattered most, desperate not to hear the final cries of those he loved. He slipped on a wet patch, landing face-down onto the soggy grass. Groaning from the impact, Harry pushed himself back up, forcing himself to continue running.

The next flash of lightning showed a lone, red-headed figure duelling two figures clad in black. But what caught his attention was the two that were laying in the dirt, covered in splattered mud and drenched from the rain, their hands inches from each other.

"NO!"

The carnal cry was torn from his throat and Harry ran harder than he had ever run before. He ignored the pain in his legs, the stinging in his eyes, the only thing mattering being the thought that consumed his mind: get to them!

Harry reached the area, bent double and retching. He spat out the excess saliva in his mouth and looked around. The night did not permit him to see; it cloaked the field in its black drapes, taunting him, preventing him from seeing if it were really true, that they were-

"Lumos!" Harry croaked.

Light sparked into life at the end of his wand and as he moved it to cover the ground he saw them. The vivid ginger hair was unmistakable, as were the bushy haired curls. Harry collapsed to his knees as his hand reached out.

"Ron? Hermione?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

No answer was given, and Harry knew why - the glassy, vacant eyes and lack of movement brutally told him why, but his own brain seemed to rebel, to not accept what his very eyes were telling him.

"No! NO! Ron! Hermione! Guys, wake up! Goddammit wake up! WAKE UP!" Harry screamed, throwing his wand to one side and shaking their lifeless shoulders. "Oh Merlin no, no, please no, please Merlin, no..."

And he cried. He brought their bodies together and hugged them to his chest and cried. It couldn't be, they couldn't be dead, they were so strong, so alive...

Another scream caught his attention. Harry set his best friends' bodies down and snatched up his wand. He cast a bigger ball of light, making it float in the air. It showed two black figures, who were talking in hurried whispers over another red haired body, looking at him. Harry's eyes darted towards the body in front of them and his breath froze in his throat.

It was Ginny.

Disbelief clung to him for a second, numbing his mind and senses. He felt his jaw drop, his silent scream before rage banished everything else. They had killed his friends, had robbed them of the chance of life. And they would pay, they would pay-!

The memory changed, ignoring Harry's whimpering, his pleas for it to end, to not see and relive his worst memories. Harry screamed aloud, his mingling with Bellatrix's and whoever else's that were in their floor.

Harry gasped, shuddering as he did so. The nails were sharp and they gently raked the sore, red raw skin of his chest. He flinched involuntarily, shying away from their caressing touch, trying to push himself back. But the straight back of the hard wooden chair that he was bound to stopped that.

"What's wrong Harry? Don't you like my touch? Does it hurt you?" a sugary, luscious voice breathed. Harry ignored it, keeping his head bowed and eyes shut. He could see the flickering light of the flame through his eyelids; he could hear the steady drip of the water from the ceiling hitting the block stone floor and walls. He refused to answer.

"Harry, do answer. It makes me ever so sad when you act so childishly." the voice said again, its tone soft, caring. Harry still refused to answer.

"Harry," the voice said again, this time sternly and Harry felt the breath of the person upon his neck, their mouth next to his ear. He flinched again. "This can all stop. The pain, the humiliation, the hurt... it can all disappear. Just tell me what the plans are."

The nails pushed deeper into his chest, moving in small circles. Harry shook his head, unable to move anything else.

"Oh Harry, you do make this difficult for yourself..." the voice whispered. Teeth nipped at his earlobe and lips brushed themselves against the skin of his neck, their administrations soft and tender. Harry groaned with longing despite himself, and found his traitorous body responding, pressing forward, desperate to have that touch, craving more. His mind struggled against itself, his own conscience at war.

"No," Harry gasped, his voice hoarse. "No."

The lips stopped their movements and the nails dug sharply into his skin. Harry gasped again. The person moved their head back and through the haze of pain, Harry saw the lustful face of Daphne Malfoy, formerly Greengrass. Her lips were swollen and parted slightly, her pupils dilated with needs of her own. She was looking at him with disbelief.

"Four months you have been here. Four months you have been a prisoner of the Dark Lord. Four months you have resisted torture and pain because you will not lower those damnable Occlumency shields of yours." she breathed. "You have had everything done to you, whether the method was Muggle or Magical, yet you still remain silent. Still you refuse to speak. I have to admit, whoever trained you against torture is very good. Very good indeed. Or... is it you Potter? Is it that iron will that you possess? Is that the thing that has kept you silent through four months of pain? Is that it? I know they call you the King of Pain... I think I understand why. But answer me Potter. Answer me."

Harry kept silent throughout her speech, denying her the satisfaction of an answer. He stared at her, feeling the probe that was attempting to enter his impenetrable mind. Suddenly she lost her temper.

"Answer me Potter!" she hissed as she slapped him. Harry's head rolled with the blow but it still hurt nonetheless. As he righted himself, trying to ignore his stinging cheek, Daphne grasped his face painfully with her nails, drawing blood. She shook his head violently, as if rattling his brain would cause him to divulge the things which he knew must stay secret, hidden, no matter what happened, what the consequences were, whatever he suffered-

"Answer me!" Daphne screamed. And she struck him repeatedly, smacking his face, slapping him so hard he thought his head would leave his neck. He took the blows, one after the other, until she finally stopped.

Blood trickled down his face from his nose, lips and the cut above his left eye. He saw that she was wearing a black silk gown, which had a plunging neckline that showed off her ample cleavage. Her breasts were highlighted, as were the rest of the curves of her body, which the silk clung to like it was a second skin. He knew that she was trying to tempt him to give in, but he wouldn't, not even if his life depended on it...

Suddenly she swooped down upon him, and her lips crashed painfully on his. She kissed him with a furious and raging passion, her tongue demanding entrance and Harry found himself unable to resist. He relented, he responded, groaning as she did as lust took over and piloted his actions. Daphne's hand groped his chest, eliciting hisses of pain from him, before it snaked downwards and inside the fabric of his jeans. Harry gasped with shock and pleasure as her cold hand grabbed his now-throbbing manhood and began to massage it. A still-sane part of his mind told him she was getting desperate now. Daphne's lips began to tenderly assault his neck, creating more deep groans of longing from within Harry's throat.

"Tell me what I want to know Harry," she muttered between her actions. "Tell me what the Order, the Ministry, your precious Death Squad are doing. Tell me what they are doing Harry..."

Harry's back arched as Daphne gave a particularly hard and pleasurable tug on his nether regions. He slumped backwards into the chair again as she resumed the kissing of his lips. Eventually she paused and lent back slightly, before placing her forehead against his. Her breaths were frantic, ragged and lust-filled, as were his.

"Tell me Harry," Daphne repeated. "Tell me."

Harry stared back at her, looking at the chocolate-brown orbs that were boring into his emerald ones.

"OK... alright...you win..." he said.

If the situation hadn't of been so dire, Harry would've laughed. Daphne's eyes widened so much that it was comical. It seemed that she involuntarily flicked her hand and she gazed at Harry imploringly. Her smile was wide, triumphant, like the cat that had got the cream not once, but twice.

"See, it wasn't that hard was it, Harry. Was it?" she cooed as she ran a shaky hand through his hair, while kissing him again. Her excitement was getting to Harry. "All this suffering, the pain, for nothing. Now, tell me everything. What do you want to say first?"

Harry wondered if what he was going to do was worth the repercussions. He decided after a moment that it was and forced himself to look at his seductive torturess.

"Well... firstly, I'd like to say that you are a complete mug to believe I'd tell you anything. You really are a stupid, air headed, fucking whore. Secondly, Voldemort is a half-blooded prick by the name of Tom Riddle. How does that make you feel, you pure-blooded bitch, that you serve a lowly half-blood like myself, hmm?" he said. And to finish it off he leant forward and violently kissed her lips.

Daphne stumbled backwards, and this time Harry did laugh for the look on her face was priceless. Then she slapped him. He continued to laugh, maniacally now, knowing it would raise her ire. His laughter died though, when she spoke.

"Draco," she began, lips curling into a vicious smile at Harry's sudden horrified look. "I believed dear Harry requires some more persuasion."

Harry whimpered and to his disgust his body trembled when a tall pale headed and equally pale faced man stepped out of the shadows. He now figured what the flick of Daphne's hand meant. Draco was holding a small box and his wand. Harry shuddered, tears of rage and fear falling from his eyes. Suddenly his head was wrenched upwards and he found himself once again staring at Daphne.

"Ah Harry, you never learn. But never mind, there's next time. Ciao darling." she said mockingly before kissing him again. She sauntered over to the door and opened it, giving him a little sensual wave before closing it and leaving.

Harry turned his face towards Draco and he saw his own terror-filled face reflected in Draco's eyes. Harry cowered away when Draco raised the torture instrument he held in his hand, having retrieved it from the case.

"No, no, no," Harry whispered.

Pain exploded in his abdomen as Draco plunged the instrument into it and twisted it harshly. White spots of light covered Harry's vision as he screamed for help that would never come, for the mercy that did not exist. Then Draco stopped twisting and in his disoriented state, his head lolling in all directions, Harry saw Draco raise his wand, rage disfiguring his handsome looks, no doubt borne of Daphne's recent treatment of himself.

"Crucio!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Potter! Stop screaming! Shut up! For Merlin's sake, shut up!" a voice from far, far away shouted.

Harry shivered uncontrollably as he raised his head a fraction. The Dementors brought of the worst of his memories, memories of shame, pain and despair. He coughed, realising that the depressing cold was gone.

"Potter?! You there? Potter?" Bellatrix's voice said.

"Bella, that you?" rasped Harry.

Bellatrix's pain-lined face appeared behind one of the bars that doubled as part of the wall that separated them.

"Well duh, bonehead. Who else is your neighbour?"

Harry chuckled weakly. Bellatrix looked outraged at his action.

"What the fuck are you laughing about Potter?!" she hissed, venom on every syllable. "We get a visit from the Dementors and you end up trying to scream Azkaban down - nice try by the way - and you sit here and laugh?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Maybe I am Bella, maybe I've finally lost it." Harry joked, coughing as he finished. Bellatrix snorted with disgust and retreated back into her corner. Harry hoisted himself up with his elbows and then hands. He moved back to the wall that had the small hole made by his scraping.

"You're shocking Potter. Fucking shocking." he heard Bellatrix mutter. Harry smiled slightly and went back to his task.

Not much happened for the rest of that day. Lunch came when the sun was overhead and Bellatrix and Harry hardly spoke. She fell asleep while Harry worked away. Hours passed before Harry heard something other than the scraping noise.

Hushed whispers and the sound of boots on loose gravel caused Harry to snap his head towards the door. He ceased scraping and moved stealthily towards the metal contraption, straining to hear the voices.

"-they are needed today-"

"-evidence trial-?"

"-how long for, d'you reckon?"

The voices, male Harry identified now that he could hear them, became louder and clearer as they got closer. Harry bounded over to a set of bars in the wall between himself and Bellatrix. As he knelt there, he saw that she was still sleeping.

"Bellatrix? Bellatrix! Wake up! Wake up now!" he hissed.

Bellatrix shuffled and mumbled but remained asleep. Harry glanced towards the cell door, the voices very close now.

"Bellatrix!" Harry shouted as loud as he would dare. "Bellatrix, wake up now!"

Bellatrix opened up her bleary eyes and with an unfocused gaze looked at Harry.

"Piss off Potter, I'm sleeping, can't you see that?" she muttered drowsily.

"Bellatrix, the Aurors are here." Harry said sharply.

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open.

"Oh Merlin." Bellatrix murmured. They stared at each other for a moment before Bellatrix continued. "They're coming for us Potter. I know it. Just wait and see-"

Her sentence was cut off by the sound of jangling keys. Harry scrambled away from Bellatrix and stood up. He crouched low in a defensive position, muscles tensed. Long ago, when the effects on his body from Azkaban would not have been evident, Harry might have chanced a physical fight in order to escape. His magic was fine, but his ability to physically fight had somewhat diminished from a long time of inactivity. He heard the key enter the lock, and then someone muttered a few spells to undo enchantments that were on the door. Then the Aurors poured in.

There were easily six of them that went for Harry, probably just as many for Bellatrix as well. Harry vaguely heard Bellatrix screaming as he battled his own problems and grimly smiled. He landed a well-aimed punch at the jaw of one of the Aurors and in his mind did a victory dance. Harry's triumph was short-lived though as he was hit back and eventually subdued. One of the Aurors pulled out a pair of handcuffs but another waved him off.

"He's down, alright and he's gonna stay that way!" he said arrogantly.

Harry smiled through his pain. Mistake number one: they underestimated the enemy. However, unfortunately for Harry, they saw him smiling.

"What you laughing at Potter?" one snarled before a boot landed hard in Harry's side. Repeated kicks tore the air from his lungs as Harry struggled to breathe. The Aurors laughed harshly before hauling him up and chucking him roughly into the corridor. Harry's bones jarred on the impact and as he raised his head and groaned, he saw that Bellatrix was receiving the same treatment.

Well... at least they don't have favourites.

His gaze was however, attracted the belt of one of the Aurors. Jutting out at an angle from which it could be grabbed, was the Auror's wand.

A plan quickly formulated in Harry's mind.

"All ready?" one of the Aurors grunted.

A chorus of 'yes'' answered him. Suddenly Harry and Bellatrix were wrenched to their feet and marched down the corridor. Harry noted the amount of Aurors with them as they left the bowels of Azkaban. The Auror with the jutting wand was in front of him. They moved through a winding passageway and it was at that moment Harry struck.

He launched himself at the Auror's legs, much like he had done to Death Eater in the eleventh battle of London. He and the Auror went down, and Harry batted the man's hands away has he tore the wand from the belt. Punching the Auror in the face, he spun round and yelled:

"Confringo!"

The Auror that held the rear slammed into the wall, unconscious and blood trickling from his nose. Harry swirled, but was knocked forward by one of the other Aurors that heard the commotion. He hit the floor hard and the wand left his grip. Harry was spun round and found himself looking at a very angry Auror.

"Why you son of a bitch!" he roared.

Harry's fingers desperately scrambled for a weapon and they curled around a rough object. Holding it tightly, he thrust it towards the Auror's face.

The object turned out to be a jagged, sharp rock and it pierced the skin of the Auror's face and went through. Harry watched in morbid fascination as the tip pointed out from the man's head. He withdrew his arms and watched the phase of death, the mad twitching of the limbs and frantic scrambles before the Auror laid still and died. He whirled around.

The other Aurors were dead, after having Bellatrix slit their throats with a knife. He looked at her curiously.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"On the side of his trouser leg," Bellatrix replied coolly, gesturing to another dead Auror to her left. "Much cleaner and easier than a rock Potter."

Harry looked towards the dead Auror's leg and saw that there was indeed a knife sheath.

"Didn't see that," he noted as he stripped the remaining bodies of weapons.

"That would be because I am a woman and you a man." Bellatrix said arrogantly.

"And what's that meant to mean?" asked a nonplussed Harry.

Bellatrix sighed with frustration. "Never mind. Let's get our wands."

Harry stopped walking.

"Wait a minute. Our wands? Firstly, since when are we working together, and secondly, our wands are here?"

Bellatrix spun round angrily.

"Yes Potter, our wands are here. They don't destroy them until we're dead. And to answer your first question, as much as we hate each other's guts, I don't think we'll get off this fucking island unless we work together. What say you?"

Harry didn't answer, instead choosing to nod. Bellatrix did so as well and together they moved down the corridors of Azkaban. They met a few Dementors and guards along the way, but they were either warded off with Harry's Patronus or killed respectively. Eventually, they got to the guard office and stepped inside.

"Well someone lives a cushy life," Harry remarked as he stared around at the elaborate furnishings.

"Pay attention Potter, we're not here to inspect the decor!" Bellatrix said in an agitated voice.

Harry listened and went over to her. She was standing by another door that had a simple plaque. It read 'Wand Room'.

"I suppose this is it." said Harry.

"Guess so." said Bellatrix.

She pushed open the door and they went inside. Harry saw that the boxes were labelled alphabetically by surname and went straight for 'P'. Passing 'Pastor' and 'Perin', he came across 'Potter'. Hesitantly, he pulled the box out, opened it up and looked inside.

It looked the exact same it had done when it was taken from him three years ago. Ivory-white and not a trace of dust on it, Harry's wand sat there patiently, waiting for it's master to take full command of it once more. Harry reached in very slowly. His fingertips hovered above the magical wood before they picked it up and held fast. A sudden and expected warmth rushed through Harry's body as he felt his magic respond to the wand that was his own. Pure joy coursed through his veins as he felt the ebb and flow of the magic within him, just as a sudden memory came to mind.

Apprehension clawed at his mind as he walked the cobbled street. He wasn't particularly fond of doing this, but he knew he had to. If he didn't, he'd be weaponless...

He reached the dusty old door and looked up. It looked exactly the same it had done when he had first come here when he came here twelve years ago. Sighing, he pushed open the door. As he entered, the bell above the door gave a little chime, and the shop owner came scurrying out.

"Mr Potter!" they said with wide eyes. "My, what a surprise! Eleven inches of holly, phoenix tail feather core, nice and supple, was it not?"

Harry smiled sadly as he closed the door.

"Yes it was Mr Ollivander, yes it was."

Ollivander's grey eyes widened slightly.

"Was, Mr Potter?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry nodded. He stepped forward and from a pouch that hung around his neck, he withdrew his broken wand. The phoenix feather was intact, undamaged, but the holly wood was split and cracked. He handed it over to the trembling hands of the wandmaker.

"The core is still there, intact I think..." Harry said.

Ollivander looked at the wand with horrified eyes.

"My dear boy, how-" he choked.

"Voldemort." Harry stated, and for once he was glad that whoever heard the name didn't flinch. "His was slightly damaged, but it can be fixed, that I know... but mine-"

"-is broken beyond repair I'm afraid Mr Potter." Ollivander finished.

Harry silenced, eyes on the elderly wandmaker.

"Is it possible, sir," Harry began, hesitation lining his tone. "To transfer the same core to a different wood? For example, to this?"

And from within his jacket pocket Harry pulled out a picture of a carved stick of ivory-white wood. Ollivander quirked an eyebrow.

"That's aspen Mr Potter. Combined with a phoenix tail feather, it makes for a very temperamental wand. Extremely - no, dangerously - volatile, I would say."

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He weighed up his options. He would be without a wand, a decent wand, for a while. But at the end of it, he'd have an extremely powerful one. Harry made up his mind.

"Do it. And here's your payment and the rest of the ingredients." Harry said, reaching into his pocket once more and taking the rest of the contents out. Ollivander gasped again.

"My dear boy, do you realise-?"

"Yes, which is why I have given you more than sufficient payment," Harry said with a bite of impatience. "Now please, sir, I need you to make the wand."

Ollivander had delivered; a week later, Harry went to collect his new wand.

"Well?" Harry asked expectedly.

Ollivander smiled.

"10 and three-quarter inches, phoenix feather, unyielding and firm. Mr Potter, may I say this is one of the trickiest wands I have created but I have enjoyed the challenge greatly."

Harry smiled. "I'm just glad that it was accomplished, sir."

"But of course," Ollivander's eyes sparkled with mirth as he handed the wand to Harry. "What a wandmaker I would be if I could not master my craft?

Pausing before he handed the wand over, Ollivander locked eyes with Harry.

"Your phoenix feather was severely damaged. To counter this, I had to stabilise it; it is sealed inside a silver vial filled with mercury, which in turn is inside an onyx-lined bone. This is necessary to ensure the wand does not destroy itself."

He handed it Harry.

"There we go," he said.

Harry looked down. It was white, pure white it seemed and ornately carved. Not exquisitely but it did have some flair. A wide handle tapered down to a thin end that looked very sharp. Harry reached in and picked it up.

The rush of power radiating from the wand was almost addictive. Harry gaped as red, gold and black sparks emitted from the end of his wand tip. He waved it once and muttered "Protego!".

An enormous shield issued from the end of his wand, slightly blinding as it shimmered. Harry turned to Ollivander, who was looking on in wonder.

"Thank you sir." he said.

"It was my pleasure Mr Potter I assure you, my pleasure..." Ollivander said.

The two men shook hands and after Harry pocketed the wand once he'd cancelled the Shield Charm, Harry left.

Harry smiled fondly at the wand he had acquired when he was twenty-two. It had indeed been a most powerful wand and judging from the sensation of power running off of it, it still was. He transfigured his prison clothing into a shirt and jeans, and turned a couple of rocks into boots. Pulling them on, he turned around to find Bellatrix, only to find a wand tip directed between his eyes. Immediately he batted it away and brought up his own, thrusting it under Bellatrix's chin just as she repointed it at his chest.

"And what the fuck was that about?" he asked anger seeping into his voice.

"We're escaping Potter, I need to know if I can trust you!" she remarked.

Harry scoffed. "Trust me? And I trust you? We're practically mortal enemies Bella!"

"Mortal enemies that have been next to each other for three years!"

"Oh, and that makes it OK does it? Just 'cause we've been stuck here and talked for a while about how fucked up our lives are?"

"No, but how else are we to get off here hmm? We need each other to survive Potter, whether you like it or not!" Bellatrix retorted.

Harry stayed silent and watched Bellatrix. Then he noticed something he hadn't before in all the time he knew her..

"Your eyes... they're violet." he muttered.

"What?" Bellatrix snapped, nonplussed.

"I said your eyes are violet." Harry said slightly louder, blushing slightly.

"And?" Bellatrix's voice held traces of amusement.

"I never noticed before." Harry said, looking away

Bellatrix sighed. She grabbed the front of his shirt. "Look Potter, are we going to work together to get off this island or not?"

"It makes sense to," Harry said. "But what about afterwards?"

"Perhaps an oath will put your mind at ease?" Bellatrix asked.

"Fine."

Both said their respective oaths and then Harry looked at Bellatrix.

"Time to go." he said. They left the room and moved quickly down the stairway. They passed countless prisoners and many a time they spotted groups of Aurors running around.

"Looking for us most probably." Bellatrix whispered. "After all, we are high-profile and supposedly dangerous murderers with absolutely no regard for human life whatsoever."

"Speak for yourself," Harry answered back, earning himself a punch from Bellatrix that hurt a little bit.

They had just got up to the entrance when they were seen by a group of Aurors.

"Oi! Halt!" a voice shouted.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw an Auror with a raised wand running towards them.

"Bugger!" he cursed. He turned to Bellatrix. "Move! We've got company!"

The two escaped prisoners sprinted down towards the enormous oak double doors that were the entrance to Azkaban. They had almost made it when the all too familiar bone-chilling cold settled upon them. Harry felt the stirrings of the horrors that were memories which resided deep within his mind surface once more. Looking towards Bellatrix, he saw that she was suffering under the oncoming Dementors' effects as well. He searched for the Aurors and saw that they were advancing, triumph in their eyes. Harry screwed up his own and made one last-ditch effort to save Bellatrix and himself.

"Expecto Pantronum!"

The enormous silver stag erupted from the end of the aspen wand and charged towards the Dementors. It's bright light momentarily blinded the Aurors, giving Harry a split second advantage.

"Stupefy!" he thought again and again, vicious intent behind each spell. Harry did not mean to kill them, for they were only Aurors doing their job but that didn't mean they weren't pissing him off.

Beams of red light were hurled towards the Aurors as Harry stumbled along, dragging a weak Bellatrix with him. It was only when he looked down that he noticed that she'd been Stunned. Snarling with rage, he picked her up bodily and threw her over his shoulder, somehow still holding the Aurors at bay.

"Bloody hell woman, cut me some slack!" he groaned under her weight. Once again, he cast another round of Stunners and for good measure a few Dark Curses, then with great exertion, he shoved open the prison doors.

Sea spray hit Harry's face immediately as he stumbled outside, struggling to hold Bellatrix and himself upright. He reached a huge boulder and placed Bellatrix behind it, spells and curses whizzing past his head.

"Don't move," he muttered jokingly to her unconscious form.

Turning back, Harry let loose on the Aurors. They crumpled under his assault and eventually he forced them back. He was a trained military product, a Wizarding soldier; three years in Azkaban was admittedly bad, but his magical fitness levels and reflexes had remained as good as ever. Training in the cell did that. They were Aurors, lazy ones, who probably spent their time drinking alcohol, hiring prostitutes and gambling, rather than doing their tasks. Though with all that, Harry couldn't deny that their spellwork was only slightly shabby. He killed a few and forced the rest to retreat. Sprinting back to Bellatrix, he raised his wand and shouted: "Accio Broom!"

The wind howled in his ear and the sea smashed against the base of the rock that Azkaban sat on, but Harry strained his hearing to catch the sound of a nearing broom...

He ducked just in time before it clubbed itself around his head. By this time, due to the lack of spellfire coming their way, a few Aurors ventured outside. Harry didn't see them until the Killing Cause headed his way.

"Fucking hell!" he yelped as a jet of green too close for his comfort took chunks out of a piece of boulder. He retaliated, sending his own back with venom causing a few of the Aurors to drop like puppets whose strings had been cut. Their comrades took the not-so-subtle hint and beat a hasty retreat. Moving quickly now, Harry dragged Bellatrix onto the back of the broom (which he noted to his disgust was a Cleansweep Five) and cast a Sticking Charm on her and the broom to ensure she stayed on. Mounting it himself, Harry did one last cursory check of his surroundings before kicking off the ground and flying into the stormy air.

Storm clouds cloaked Harry and Bellatrix, rumbling angrily. Harry narrowed his eyes and urged the broom onwards and to go faster. Flashes of lightning flooded the sky with light every once in a while, and Harry had more than a few close shaves. The atmosphere was wetter than a well-paid whore and the rain soaked the both of them as Harry flew as far from Azkaban as was permitted by the broom.

After some time flying and frowning suddenly, Harry realised he needed to know which way was north so he knew what direction Britain was in. Pulling out his wand, he muttered the Point Me Spell. Unfortunately for Harry, his lack of concentration on his flying direction that was instead directed towards the spinning wand caused him to not see his one way crash course straight on into a lightening bolt. It struck the broom as it was touched and the occupants. Frozen in place by the huge amounts of electricity, Harry felt pain, excruciating pain briefly before the magic of the spell reacted with the bolt. A bright flash of light mixed with the light of the bolt, causing it to look as if it had a bulge in the middle, before he and Bellatrix disappeared. The splintered remains of the broom fell down towards the raging currents of the North Sea, never to be found.

The kitchen of the Potter household was what it usually was on a weekday. The smell of fried eggs and cooked sausages wafted through the air, complemented by the equally strong odours of toasted bread and jam. Lily Potter worked away at the bread with the toaster, while her husband, James Potter, busied himself with the eggs.

"A little longer, I think," James stated.

Lily turned around to face him, butter knife in hand.

"James, they should take five minutes, not five seconds."

She glared at her husband until he caved in.

"Okay, okay, so I used a Heating Charm, what difference does it make?" James confessed, hands raised.

"The difference between learning to cook and not being lazy!" Lily said indignantly waving the knife at him. "Besides, it tastes better when done properly!"

James looked thoughtful for a second.

"Now that you come to mention it, your cooking always tastes better than mine." he mused.

"Because I don't cheat!" Lily said, bringing a plate stacked with toast to the table.

James shrugged before going back to the eggs and sausages. Lily shook her head and sighed. Sometimes, her husband was insufferable. She had just set the plate down on the table when another person, a young male, entered the room.

"Morn'ng," he stated groggily before yawning widely. He then went to the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice.

"Morning Eric." Lily said, smiling fondly at her son. Eric gave his mother a thumbs up before ripping open the juice carton and downing the contents in one.

"Morning son," James said distractedly, frowning at the frying pan's contents. Eric threw the carton in the bin and turned to his mother.

"Is Dad cooking again?" he whispered.

Lily smiled. "Yes."

Eric pulled a face. "I think I'll stay with toast today."

Suddenly there was a loud thump and mother and son turned around to face James. He was rubbing his head which he seemed to have hit on the cupboard.

"Ouch!" James moaned, holding his head. "I heard that!"

Lily smiled whilst Eric laughed.

"Well, it's true Dad. Your cooking's terrible." Eric said.

"Yeah, well, at least it's edible." James retorted.

Eric flushed and mumbled something about a 'stupid cooker'. James grinned triumphantly.

"Stop teasing him James!" Lily scolded. James stopped teasing his son but still grinned.

Bringing the pan over, he tipped eggs and sausages onto everyone's plate. The three sat down and began to eat. James picked up the newspaper that had been delivered earlier. He went straight for the sports section.

"Oh, damn! The Magpies won their last game!" he muttered.

"You owe Uncle Sirius five galleons then." Eric reminded him through a mouthful of toast.

"I know," James said before flicking to the stocks. "It's the fifth lot I've lost to him."

"Maybe you should stop betting then," Lily suggested.

"And lose face?" James looked outraged at the very idea, but both Eric and Lily could tell it was a mock. "Never."

Lily muttered something that sounded a lot like 'male pride' before picking up her own magazine. Eric smiled before going back to his toast, still against the eggs.

"Eric," Lily said suddenly. "Did you call your sister?"

"Which one?"

"Chloe, seeing as Gemma's always at work."

"Mum, she's twenty-two; she can get out of bed herself."

"I'm just asking-"

"CHLOE! GET YOUR ARSE OUTTA BED NOW!" Eric yelled.

"Eric!" Lily exclaimed. "How dare you use that sort of language under this roof!"

Eric rolled his eyes.

"Have a go at dad, Mum, he taught it to me."

Lily rounded on James, who flinched slightly.

"Cheers Eric," James said with a false cherry voice. "Really nice of you."

Eric winked. "I think I'll be going now…"

"Oh no you don't, you're just as bad as your father, no matter if you're sixteen and you're going to stay here and tell me exactly why-"

James interrupted her. "Lily, shush."

Lily looked outraged.

"How can you tell me to shush when you've-?"

James waved her off. "That's not important now. What is is that I've just felt an internal breach in the wards."

Lily's face went from red with anger to white with fear. Abruptly she stood up and grabbed her wand off the side counter. James drew his from his pocket and also stood up.

"Eric, stay here." James commanded.

"Oh no, uh uh, I'm coming too," Eric said, mirroring his parents' movements.

"Eric, listen to your father, he's an Auror and knows what he is doing." Lily said.

"Yeah? And Dad also always says that extra wands are useful. So I'm coming." Eric argued back. James opened his mouth but then closed.

"Got me there," he said softly. "Fine, you can come with us, but Floo Sirius first."

"Gotcha." Eric said, before leaving the room.

"James, what's going on?" Lily asked.

"Someone is here who shouldn't be, and we're going to find-" James began, moving out of the kitchen, his wife following him.

Suddenly, a scream sounded out. A terrified, genuinely scared scream, but most importantly for James and Lily, it was one they recognised.

"Oh Merlin above," Lily breathed, her hands clapped to her mouth. "That's Chloe."

Both parents bolted up the stairs towards their daughter.

Chloe Potter walked down the stairs of Potter Manor in Cornwall. Getting up later than she wanted to was not doing anything to better her mood, as today she was finishing her Auror training period. Finally, she would be able to work with her father as an Auror, something she and her twin had always dreamed of.

At the thought of her twin, she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It always brought up painful memories, memories of disbelief and hurt. Chloe grimaced and moved on, forcing the memories of happier days to the back of her mind. The scar on her abdomen was tingling again.

As she walked down the stairs from the third floor, she saw the pictures that had remained on the wall since they had been put their. The Potter family were together and laughing, having fun. It was so simple back then, so easy. And why, why did her twin have to change?

Her eyes drifted towards the moving picture that held the Potter children. There was Gemma, who at twenty-three was very intelligent and had a very respectable and prestigious job in the Department of Mysteries. Gemma spent much of her time there, rarely coming home except to sleep and even then waking up early to get to work. She resembled their mother the most; flaming red hair, same facial structure, height build, but with her father's hazel eyes,

Next to Gemma was Eric. The youngest at sixteen and the most mischievous, Eric had definitely inherited his father's genes for pranking. But Eric had a softer, caring side which Chloe knew came from their mother. Eric was an odd one, in that he had dark ginger hair and blue eyes, curtsey of their grandfather, Charlus Potter.

Then there was her twin. Harry Potter. As tall as her, with the same black hair and green eyes, they had been as close as close could get. Harry had been a charmer, a ladies man, with flyaway hair, roguish looks and a scampish personality to match. He had been a rascal since the day he was born, according to their parents. Their father had been proud of that fact, as Harry was a mirror image of himself but with Lily's eyes.

Chloe herself was similar. A feminine version of Harry, the boys at Hogwarts had all fancied her, whatever the house they were in. At twenty-two years old, she was tall, slim, as well as athletic. Not as athletic as some, but enough to get attention, desirable or not. She and her twin were similar in many ways, whether in appearance or character, and they prided themselves on it. They had been as close as siblings could get, always having the other's back and looking out for one another. They could even sense the other's presence, an attribute they shared with their friends and counterparts, the Weasley Twins. But one day, that all changed.

Chloe felt the tears in her eyes as she remembered it. She would never have guessed it would happen. Although Harry could be brooding and moody, with a vicious streak when angry, she never would have thought that her beloved brother, her twin, would have left her for the other side.

When they were both in their third year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had told them both of a prophecy, one which predicted the demise of the Dark Lord. At first stunned, they both had demanded to know who the subject was. Dumbledore had told them; Harry or Neville Longbottom. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after that that they found out Voldemort was deciding who the subject was as well, as it turned out the Dark Lord knew the full prophecy too.

Chloe shivered. Voldemort had so much power; the majority of Europe was under his grasp bar Spain, Holland and Belgium. But even they would fall to the Dark Lord's empire soon. Maybe that's why Harry joined him, because he wanted power… Chloe shook her head. No. Harry joined because he was evil. Because he didn't care about them. About her. Chloe remembered her mother telling her when she was in her fifth year that Harry had left them and become a member of the Dark Lord's ranks.

Shocked at first, Chloe had refused to believe her parents. She screamed, cried and protested. Chloe had eventually hardened herself to it. As did the rest of the family. Especially when she heard what her twin had been doing.

It had started off with minor things. A part of a sabotage task. A raid. Another raid. Then Harry began killing. Very quickly, his body count rose, as did his reputation, and he became the most feared and deadliest of all of Voldemort's Death Eaters. It wasn't long before he was promoted to become a Knight of Walpurgis, and then Voldemort's second-in-command, answering directly to the Dark Lord himself. Chloe once heard that it was Harry who single-handedly took over the city of Dijon in France. She felt disgust and shame that she could be related to someone so evil and vile.

But it soon came to an end. When Harry and she were nineteen, they had taken part in a battle on England's Channel shores. As there wasn't enough Hitwizards nor Aurors to keep the Dark forces at bay, trainees were called in. It was in that battle Chloe had duelled her brother. It was also in that battle that she received the permanent scar that crossed her abdomen, given to her from her brother. Shock had taken her and she almost died, if it weren't for the fact that her and formerly Harry's mutual friends, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom had stepped in. They too suffered injuries at Harry's hand and eventually, her twin was downed by Dumbledore. Not long after that, the Death Eaters retreated.

Chloe had then spent the next two weeks in St Mungos and when she was discharged, was immediately taken to the Ministry for questioning about Harry. She had duly answered all questions, with her father present, and had found out that his wand had been destroyed. She had then found out that Harry was due to be given the Dementor's Kiss. Terror had filled her; as much as she loathed and hated her twin, her brother, she still loved him for he was family.

But nothing could be done. She and the rest of her family along with Dumbledore and some others from the Order and Ministry had gone down to the Trial Chamber. What she saw shocked her.

Harry was bound and shackled to a wooden chair, unable to move but able to speak. And when he saw his family, he had said one thing.

"I hate you."

Those words had broken Chloe's heart but still she didn't want her brother to lose his soul, his essence. But she had to watch as the black demon that was a Dementor swooped down and sucked what was her twin out through his mouth. She hadn't puked at first but afterwards she did. After the horror of watching that, she felt the connection she had always shared with Harry die, gone forever. Harry had slumped backwards into his chair, eyes vacant, gaze unfocused, virtually dead to the world.

Afterwards she had been told she had to be restrained as she had screamed and made to run to her brother. But nothing could have been done.

Three years had hardened her to the pain, yet sometimes she felt twinges of it now and then. Chloe raised a trembling hand and gently stroked the photo of her twin. It wasn't like he wasn't close in body. After the soul had disappeared from him, Dumbledore had placed Harry's body into a magical coma and had put it into a glass coffin-like box which was placed in a sort of memorial room. Harry's old bedroom had stayed the way it had been when he had left, as Lily had insisted that everything there stay the way it was when Harry had left.

As for the rest of the family, they loathed what Harry had become. Her mother seemed to be the only one who still grieved openly about the loss of their family member. Chloe did so, but in private. Losing someone as close as how Harry had been was difficult.

She sighed but moved down the stairs, hearing her other brother calling out obnoxiously to her then smiled as she heard her mother begin to chastise him. Eric could be a complete idiot sometimes.

Then she felt it. The connection. It felt different, as though it wasn't as strong as before, as if it was slipping and sliding away but it was definitely there. There was no doubt about it. She felt… felt… him.

Chloe drew her wand and ran down the stairs. Taking two at a time, she arrived at the second floor and bounded down the corridor. Then she arrived at the door. It was open.

She swallowed. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone. And it was foolish to believe otherwise.

Slowly, Chloe walked towards the door. She gently held the handle and pushed it open, with her wand raised. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she stepped inside, her gaze darting around from object to object. Then she saw it.

The glass coffin-like box was shattered. Shards of glass littered the floor, scattered in all directions. But most importantly, more important than anything else, was that he was gone. Harry's comatose body was gone.

Anxiety and hysteria seized her. The implications of Harry returning were horrendous. The Dark Lord's most vile, most devoted Knight returning to his full form… Chloe shuddered. A small part of her brain told her that it couldn't be true because Harry lost his soul. He was gone, far worse than dead.

She moved round the room, her wand-tip alight to enable her to see into the darkest corners. She searched every part of the room methodically, looking for any sign that would give her dark-haired sibling away…

Snap.

Chloe whirled around, her wand pointed towards the door. Harry wasn't in here, and if he wasn't here he must be outside…

Mum. Dad. Eric.

Chloe hurled herself towards the door, not caring about the glass pieces that threatened to embed themselves in her shoes. She sprinted toward it, throwing the ajar door out of her way, and ran towards the stairs. Panting and doubled-over with a sudden, inexplicable stitch, she saw no-one. The voices of her parents had ceased.

Snap.

Chloe froze. The noise had come from behind her. Standing up straight and proud, she masked her fear and turned round.

An unfamiliar wand was held in a familiar hand, and it was pointed towards her face. The arm that held it was trembling ever-so-slightly but the face was unreadable, determined, his emotions no doubt concealed by Occlumency shields. The messy black hair made her breath catch in her throat as did the green eyes. She frowned at the unfamiliar lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Suddenly, Chloe felt light-headed and sick. He was back. Harry was alive.

As she levelled her own wand at her twin, he spoke. It was a harsh sound, grating and guttural. She saw that Harry looked confused and befuddled before the emotion got locked away behind the Occlumency shields once more.

"Who the fuck are you, and where the fuck am I?" Harry growled.

Then fear gripped Chloe in its iron grasp and she opened her mouth and screamed.