There will be minor changes from canon.

Warning: Excessive swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its sequels or prequels.

Harry found himself slouched on the steps leading to the Great Hall, propped on an elbow while his other hand held the legendary wand between his calloused fingers. The sky was painted in a vibrant hue of morning colors, scattered across the vast expanse while the Sun was lazily peaking over the clouds, unmindful of the despair that rolled on the desolate lands.

While one part of his conscious felt relieved that there was no darkness smothering him like a cocoon, another foreign part of him yearned for the inky blackness of the shadowless night. The muffled cries and howls of the bereaved were like a dagger to his vulnerable heart but there was a distinct, traitorous part of his soul that welcomed death with a ravenous glee.

It was a part that was born after his fairy tale fight against the dark lord and the point of its birth was not precise but Harry was certain that the innocuous looking wand rolling between his fingers was a prominent factor in its genesis.

Even now, he could feel it thrumming with barely restrained power, craving for more blood.

There was a reason he was away from his morose admirers on this fateful morning. With the dead bodies scattered across the expanse of the Great Hall, the walk from the wrecked door to the staff table was a nightmare risen from the depths of hell. The lifeless eyes of the mourners were like pebbles strewn across the translucent sand of a brackish ocean. They illuminated like a million beacons of light as their beleaguered senses found his presence and the hope that filled their eyes was enough to drown him into a nightmarish slumber.

'I can't raise people from the dead,' he wanted to shout but the dark emotion that choked his throat was enough for the silence to prevail.

People rose to their feet, touching him tenderly and sometimes hard enough to make him wince, drawing solace from the fact that he was alive. That everything they were witnessing was not a despairing dream.

He indulged them, even though he was overwhelmed by his own sleeplessness and pain. It's the least he could do for their suffering. There were a lot of smiles, a few fake laughs and slight tremors in his hand.

But the reason that dragged him away from their admiration was not their suffocating closeness or heart-wrenching sobs.

It was the presence of death that lingered in the hall and the fact that he craved for it.

It was enrapturing. The wisps of black shadows that rose from every inch on the hall were like smoke gliding from a burnt body. They swirled around him, cherishing his presence, and his very soul sang to them in response. It was addicting and frightening at the same time.

For it was not his way of life to seek pleasure from the death of a person.

He hated it. He hated the fact that his soul loved it.

It was like the shadows were asking for his permission to spread doom and destruction. To give life to death.

He could swear that he saw a soul sliding out of a mutilated body of an Auror on the verge of death and not a moment later, pitiful cries filled the hall as one of the students rushed over to the dead body of his father. He could nearly feel death on the edge of his senses, hovering above him like a fallen angel.

With a start, he dashed out of the hall, ignoring the startled shouts of some people and after ten minutes, here he was, on the steps below the door, relishing in the despondence that surrounded him.

"Harry?" a bushy-haired head peeked out of the door and Harry waved his hand tiredly in greeting.

"Oh! Here you are!" Hermione sighed in relief as she stepped outside and the next moment, Ron was beside her.

"What are you doing here, mate? Mom was worried as hell," Ron shifted on his feet as Harry remained still.

"You know, just enjoying the peace," Harry replied, his gaze unmoving from the distant horizon.

"Um, do you want to come inside?" Hermione bit her lip in concern, her gaze flickering to the redhead beside her for reassurance.

"I am not sure," Harry answered in the same soulless tone, worrying his friends even more.

"They are worried for you, Harry. I know you must be feeling overwhelmed but they need you in there. Fred and Remus are dead and right now, Tonks is not faring so well," Hermione shouted, her frayed nerves taking their toll on her emotions.

"Don't you think I know that?" Harry ground out, the elder wand sliding into his palm. "Right now, I can't figure out what the fuck's happening and believe me, their cries are not helping. I am not sure whether it's best for me to go in there and no matter what you say, I am still not fucking sure!"

By the time he finished, his friend's faces were filled with shock and a second later, his own eyes widened in surprise at what he said. That was definitely not him spouting those rage filled words. For god's sake, he never swore in his life!

"I am so sorry!" he apologized before they could regain their bearings. "I really don't know what's happening."

Hermione got out her shock first. "Do you think we should go see Dumbledore, Harry?"

"That old coot can wait," Harry answered flippantly and slapped his palm to his mouth in horror the next moment.

He was sure that Hermione was not this shocked even when she heard about the Horcruxes. God, he should stop opening his mouth from now on.

"Yes, I think that it's a good idea," Harry agreed as he rose to his feet. "I can go to the hospital wing after that to take some rejuvenating potion and some much-needed treatment."

That placated his studious friend and she nodded hesitantly in response. They entered the hall together with Ron trailing behind them and eyes flitted his way the moment he stepped inside.

He made sure to talk as less as possible, not trusting his mouth or mind, and answered most of their concerns with smiles and grins. The trek to the Headmaster's office was a silent one and after a simple request, the dilapidated gargoyle moved to provide an entrance.

The applause that greeted him was ear splitting and he flinched back at the sudden onrush of dreadful memories at the sound.

Albus Dumbledore had tears sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard. Harry only hoped that the wise Headmaster wouldn't freak out when he told him about what's happening.

"The thing that was hidden in the snitch," he walked forward to stand before the portrait. "I dropped it in the forest. I don't exactly know where but I'm not going to go looking for it again."

"A wise and courageous decision," Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

"I am going to keep Ignotus's present, though," Harry mentioned and Dumbledore beamed.

"But of course, Harry. It is yours forever until you pass it on!"

"And then, there's this," Harry presented the mighty elder wand and his friends leaned forward to stare at it with reverence. "I have to do something before I can decide what I want to do with this."

He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck and pulled out two halves of holly, still connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. He laid the broken wand upon the headmaster's desk, touched it with the very tip of Elder wand. "Reparo!"

As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end. The warmth that traversed down his arm was enough proof to know that it worked. He placed the repaired wand in his pocket, with the elder wand still clutched in his hand and Dumbledore did not fail to notice it.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore began in his grandfather's tone that surprisingly grated on Harry's nerves. "The wand has a bloody history that can rival the death toll of wars. The power you obtain from the wand is more trouble than its worth."

"Yes, says the man who used the wand for how many... fifty years?" Harry retorted as he twirled the wand between his fingers.

"I can be accused of desiring its power," Dumbledore sighed as though he was regretting his entire life. "But it is for the greater good, Harry. You are far too innocent and young to suffer the burden of such terrible power."

It was like a switch had flipped on in Harry's mind.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Harry yelled out, startling the occupants of the chamber, including the portraits. "Stop manipulating me even from the grave, you deplorable old man. Do you know where your manipulations led me? To a clearing in forbidden forest, where I was waiting for a death sentence. Any fucks I may give to what you say are left there in that forest. Why can't you let me make my own decisions instead of forming fucked up plans from a fucking portrait!"

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore shook his head as though he was disappointed by Harry's mere presence.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me," Harry warned as he stepped back in revulsion. "I suffered enough for your manipulations for seventeen fucking years and fuck me if I bear this anymore. I tried to be civil but you are the who fucked this with your unwanted pieces of advice. Now I don't know what I am going to with this wand and that's how it's going to fucking remain unless I decide otherwise."

He sauntered over to the door and nobody dared to speak up. "And you two," he gestured to his frozen friends who were close enough that air might suffocate if stuck between them.

"No need to prove to everyone that you are a couple now. You are not joined by hip from birth. Eventually, people are going to notice that you are a fucking couple, so, kindly stop that nauseating act for now."

With that, he rushed out of the door, leaving the chamber in suspended quietness.

"Ms. Granger, did anything noticeable happened during Harry's fight with Voldemort?" Dumbledore queried as he stroked his beard in contemplation.

"No, professor. I don't think so," Hermione replied as she discreetly stepped away from her boyfriend. Ron was still too bewildered to notice it.

"Hmm. Did he tell you about what happened in that forest or why he had done so?"

"No. He disappeared to god knows where before we could ask him and when we finally found him, he was...annoyed, as you can see, so, I didn't prod him."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes imperceptibly as he pondered over what he had just heard. He had assumed that Harry would've explained everything to his friends the moment the war was over. It seemed that war changed Harry Potter and it's not for the better. Could this be the result of the Horcrux? But Tom was dead and that meant that the Horcrux must have been destroyed. Then what's happening here?

"Ms. Granger. I know these are hard times and people are still recovering from this harrowing ordeal. But we must not let the peace get to our minds and forget that danger always lurks in the shadows. I wish you can keep an eye on Harry, for his sake, of course. War affects people drastically and such a young mind shouldn't have faced the brunt of its pressure. Can you do that for Harry, Ms. Granger?"

"Sure, Professor. It's my duty as his friend," Hermione nodded with vehemence as she resolved to help her best friend.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry held his head in his hands as he cursed rapidly. "What the fuck was I shouting?"

While he could not deny that he had an inner aversion to the Headmaster's schemes and a distinct dislike for his constant manipulation, Harry would never retaliate against anyone, for even if he was just a chess piece on the headmaster's board, everything did turn out fine, after all.

Shouting at people...or even portraits was so out of character for him that it wasn't even plausible. Or funny.

From when the fuck did he began to swear so much? From when did he lie to his own friends?

He conveniently omitted the part where the stone returned to his pocket the moment he dropped it. What he told the headmaster was a half-truth, anyway. He did drop it in the forest and he wouldn't go searching for it but if it constantly returned to his pocket, who was he to blame? A dose of his own medicine for Albus Dumbledore, a part of his mind cackled in glee.

But while he wouldn't go apologizing to the headmaster, he owed another apology to his friends. If this continued, their conversations would be one-sided, with Harry shouting in rage and then apologizing in haste.

As he paid no heed to the direction he was going, he was startled out of his reverie when he came across a mourning angel leaning by the window side. She was oblivious to his presence as she morosely stared out of the window.

With smears of blood splattered across her pale blue dress, gashes adorning her usually blemish free porcelain skin and dirt caked silver hair, she had no right to look so beautiful.

He trudged forward, doubting whether he was invading her privacy but before he could make a hasty retreat, she shifted her blue-eyed gaze to him. At the smile that blossomed on her face, Harry halted in his tracks and he was unsure whether he could move even if he tried.

There was a bloody cut across her cheek and what appeared like tear tracks were running down her angelic visage. But the smile overpowered her every imperfection and Harry cursed his heart for thudding violently in his chest at her glowing smile.

Exhausted by war and wearied by the death of comrades, Harry felt that she never looked more beautiful.

Perhaps except on her wedding day.

On that day was the first time in his whole life when his heart stopped beating in his chest and then resumed to save his life as he stared unabashedly at the gorgeous Veela in her knee length, white wedding dress. At that time, he disregarded it as the effect of her allure or something that every male must have felt in the wedding tent. Surely, everyone was mesmerized by her beauty and jealousy writhed in his chest like a coiled snake or a raging dragon as he shifted his glance to Bill Weasely.

When the wedding was canceled abruptly due to death eater attack, Harry buried his fist in a wall for feeling ridiculously happy for the failed wedding.

Then he saw her again when she appeared at Hogwarts to help them with the war and Harry had to dig his fingers into his palms to keep himself from dragging her out of this dangerous war zone. She appeared too innocent, too beautiful, to be marred by the horrors of the war. But then, he was three years younger than her and he was leading the war, so, he didn't want to sound like a hypocrite.

"Um, 'arry?" she mumbled softly, with concern etched on her pale face as he stood completely still.

"Yes!" Harry blinked his eyes rapidly to dispel the memories floating in his mind.

"Are you fine?" she asked in a worried tone.

'How many times was I asked the same question in the past hour?' he mused to himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry waved off her concerns. "I am not sleep deprived or about to keel over in exhaustion."

She tilted her head in confusion, unable to guess whether he was joking or actually serious. Their acquaintance was limited to his fourth year and a few encounters at the Burrow, so, he couldn't blame her for not comprehending what he said.

"It's just that something weird is happening and I can't seem to figure it out," Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing his hair even more than usual.

"Ah, I see."

Her English had improved drastically during her one year stay in Britain when she worked at Gringotts and these days, her french accent only seemed to slip out when she was unable to control her emotions. He missed it terribly.

"My papa is an Auror and he is very paranoid, you see. He always feels that some conspiracy is happening around and he should solve it. Most of the times, he is correct, I know, but sometimes, it's just paranoia. Born from battles and work," she said with a frown.

She seemed flustered at his lack of response. "Not zhat I am saying that it iz paranoia but it can be. Oh, I am not veery good at zhis, non?"

Her french accent was doing the most peculiar things to his mind and body. It was not unlike floating in an ocean of pleasure or drifting along the wind on his broom.

This couldn't be the effect of her allure, could it? He heard that allure of any Veela was similar to an imperious curse and Harry was immune to imperious. Voldemort was a dead proof of that fact.

This was a primal lust, born from desperation. His relationship with Ginny was a need for companionship. Not a passion filled romance or lust filled haze. But looking at the Veela standing before him, he could perceive an inferno raging in his chest and it was consuming. Deep down, he knew that these amplified feelings were the result of what was happening to him since morning. But, dammit! It was addictive.

The mixed effect of all these factors was so enthralling that he completely forgot that Fleur Delacour was the fiancee of his best friend's brother.

"'arry, you are scaring moi," Fleur leaned forward to scrutinize him and the closeness broke the barrier he was holding to quell his instincts.

One moment he was wondering just how blue her eyes were and the next moment, his parched lips were pressed against her soft, pink ones.

It was awkward, to say the least, with her being as unmoving as a rock while his lips were cradling hers in a soft embrace, placing gentle but thirsty kisses and inadvertently, his hand rose to tangle his fingers in her silver locks to balance her neck while his other hand slid behind her to settle on her lower back.

It might be her troubled mind sending mixed signals or her exhausted body betraying her, but, her hand slithered up his shirt to rest on his chest and that initiative was enough for Harry to deepen the kiss and he thought he heard a moan emanating from her mouth. He scraped his teeth across her lower lip, softly biting it and a shudder wracked his body as she released another moan.

Her warmth was burning him while his own passion engulfed his insides in a searing hotness and the sweet taste of her lips sent his mind into an overdrive. The pulse in her neck tingled his fingertips as he pressed them against her flush skin and his other hand was struggling to stay in its place and not shift any lower onto her plump backside.

Pulling her curvaceous body closer to him, he pushed her against the window, wobbling against each other, while her lean fingers mussed up his hair and as his hand on her back collided hard against the decrepit window, it shattered under pressure.

Harry broke the kiss abruptly and pulled back as though he was burned, which might be true. As he realized what he had just done, guilt spread through his veins like poison and regret drenched him like cold rain from the heavens.

Fleur licked her puckered lips and her fingertips brushed her tingling lips as she blinked her eyes open. Even in her bewildered state, she looked utterly divine.

His breath left him like rushed gasps while his heart was still racing in his chest. His fingers twitched incessantly as he gulped to drown the tension enveloping his body.

"No, no, fuck!" Harry pulled his hair like a madman and Fleur stepped back in fright but there was not much space behind her. "I am sorry but I can explain."

Steadying his breaths, Harry tried to appear as contrite as possible while he smoothed down his shirt as Fleur bunched it up in her hand during their steamy kiss.

"Fleur, I may sound crazy but I think I am having mood swings."

Author's Note: Review!

Sorry about not updating some of my other works but I was fairly busy during the last week and now, I thought of beginning the streak with a new story.