"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry closed his eyes as he heard the voice cry, he saw a flash of green, then white, and everything then went black.

"Bring them down! Don't let them escape! Connor! Help Draseilda, she's struggling."

Malekieth Peverell, Dhampyr1 grandson of Ignotus Peverell, ordered from his saddle, with Harry watching through his eyes, as the soldiers under his command rushed to obey the orders of the one who commanded them. The year was 1323 AD, Malekieth and those under his command had finally caught up with Orion, one of the last remaining Elder Vampires that had declared war on humanity and exposing their kind to the Humans. After chasing him all over Europe, they had finally caught up to him in Germany, now they were battling the Elder in an attempt to prevent him from enslaving mankind, their source of food and nourishment, and using them as blood sacks and cattle. Malekieth finally swung off his horse to draw a sword with a blade made of pure silver, from its scabbard which rested across his back. Marching up to Orion bound in chains of pure silver, though still slaughtering dozens of vampires and Dhampyr, Mundane and Wizarding alike, the tall, muscular man swung his sword in a precise arch and witnessed the creature shudder before collapsing as its head slid from its firm perch on the creature's neck, rolling to stop a few inches from its body, its face frozen in an eternal snarl.

"Burn the bodies! If he turned anyone, find and destroy them."

The year was now 1357, and Malekieth had just buried his wife, Morgan Tremaine. Morgan had fallen pregnant with their son, Alexander, but had died in childbirth leaving him to raise their son who was with the midwife being taken care of as he laid his wife to rest. He knew as his mortal son, Alexander couldn't be raised around vampires as they would see him only as a human so his only choice as to raise his son without him ever knowing his true heritage and that his father was a Dhampyr. He could only hope that when Alexander went off to Hogwarts, his son wouldn't fall into the discrimination against magical creatures that more and more witches and wizards were beginning to exhibit.

The year was 1694 when Malekieth's years finally caught up to him, after three-hundred plus ninety-three years of life, his body had been rendered decrepit and weak and could no longer take the strain. His son had married a witch named Helena, who herself could claim to be a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff through her father, and they had given him two strong grandsons Thomas and Casius, and a beautiful granddaughter, Morgan, who had been named after her grandmother. Thomas had found love in another wizard three years his senior named Bradley, while the two had died childless, they were content and Malekieth had been happy for them; Cassius, though, had regrettably died of dragon-pox during his fourth year at Hogwarts. It was Morgan who had married a young Lord Arthur Potter and had bore two sons: Alistair and Cassius, named after her brother. Now he was resting on his deathbed, surrounded by Morgan, the now Lord Potter, Alistair and his wife Lady Selene, Cassius and his wife Celeste, Persephone, Cassius' daughter, and Connor, Alistair's son. As he gazed at the faces of his loved ones and family, he couldn't for the life of him think of a happier occasion, his family was with him and he was finally returning to the arms of his beloved wife to rest for eternity within the shores of Avalon.

Harry then jerked up, as if coming out of one's nightmare, but… this was not the Forbidden Forest, Harry found himself in a grand hall of pure white with a clear, domed glass ceiling; he was the only one present. At least he thought he was until he heard the odd thumping and whimpering noises. When he searched for the source, he noticed a white, soft marble bench, how marble looked soft he questioned but couldn't quite find the answer, and the source, he found was hidden beneath such a bench and cloaked from sight. So, too curious, he crouched only to rear back at the disgusting sight before him. The source of these noises was a… child; a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, as it lay shuddering where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.

"You cannot help."

The-Boy-Who-Lived spun to meet the voice, he thought, other than the demented baby, that he was alone, only to stop short. There, walking toward him, dressed in robes of periwinkle blue, was Albus Dumbledore. The elder wizard still appeared as aged as Harry knew him, though there was no evidence of blackened skin, of the tiredness he remembered before the man's death, and Albus stood tall, strong, and proud as if he were a much younger man.

"Harry," his former headmaster greeted with a smile and that familiar twinkle in his wise eyes. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave young man. Let us walk."

Stunned still, Harry followed Albus, leaving the child behind as its gasping and thumping faded from hearing. "Professor? What exactly is that?"

"Something beyond either of our help. A part of Voldemort sent here to die. I expect you now realize," continues Dumbledore as the two continued their journey, "that you and Voldemort have been connected by something other than Fate since that night in Godric's Hollow all those years ago."

"Then it's true then," answered Harry feeling dread at the sad, sad truth. "A part of him lives within me… doesn't it?"

"Did…," states Dumbledore simply.

"But… that means…. I did it, didn't I Professor? Destroyed the Horcrux I mean."

"Yes you did Harry. You were the seventh Horcrux, the Horcrux he never meant to make Harry."

They soon came to yet another bench. Here they sat and the Potter Heir found that the marble did indeed feel as soft as it appeared, he could be sitting on a plush chair for all he knew.

"But you're dead," said Harry only to cringe at how disrespectful he sounded.

"Oh yes," replied Dumbledore giving Harry a gentle smile.

"Then… I'm dead too?"

"Ah," said Albus smiling even broader. "That's entirely up to you."

"Professor? Where are we exactly?"

"My dear boy, I have no idea. Where would you say we were? This is, as they say, your party."

"It looks like King's Cross Station only… cleaner and without all the trains."

"King's Cross you say?"

"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That's entirely up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh yes," Dumbledore smiled at him. "We're in King's Cross, you say? I think if you so desired, you could… board a train."

"And where would it take me," Harry questioned as he heard the faint sound of a train whistle.

"On," replied Dumbledore simply replied as he rose chuckling.

Several moments pass in silence as Harry slowly rises from the bench and turns to the older wizard seeing the man walk, as if in a park, toward the vast expanse of white, lightened to the point Harry couldn't see what lay beyond.

"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."

"True," Dumbledore says simply halting to turn his attention back on Harry.

"There's still another Horcrux… the snake's still alive."

"Yes."

"And I've nothing to kill it with."

"Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry… to those who ask for it. I've always prided myself," the former Headmaster continues seeing Harry's confused gaze, "on my ability to turn a phrase. Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic… capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it. But I would, in this case, amend my original statement to this…. Help," Dumbledore whispers, "will always be given at Hogwarts… to those who deserve it," he finishes with a smile.

Harry couldn't help but feel his lips upturn in a small smile, an action that Dumbledore gives an approving nod to.

"Do not pity the the dead Harry. Pity the living… and above all… those who live without love."

"Professor," Harry replies as Dumbledore once again halts. "My mother's Patronus was a doe… wasn't it? That's the same as Professor Snape's. It's curious… don't you think?"

"Actually, if I think about it… it doesn't seem curious at all. I'll be going now Harry," Dumbledore says before turning to once more walk toward the expanse of white.

"Professor," Harry asked, once again gaining Albus' attention. "Is this all real? Or is this happening inside my head?"

"Of course it's happening inside your head Harry," Dumbledore remarked as if the answer were obvious, maybe it was but Harry didn't notice. "But why on earth should that mean it's not real?"

With that final statement, Dumbledore faded and Harry began to feel the grasping arms of reality dragging him to the physical world and beaconing him to awake.

Harry had just woken from his brief discussion with Dumbledore as he felt another body kneel behind him and crawl to lean over him and he had to resist the urge to scratch his face when he felt the tickle of hair brush his lips and nose. He took a brief moment to extend his senses to let him know the condition of his own body but… it felt… different… stronger and more alive. His body felt as if it were vibrating, every muscle was stinging as if they were waking from hours of being kept numb and he felt each scar, including the one he was famous for, and wound stitch together; the sharp, soft intake of breath alerted to the woman's surprise at seeing such an act. Now with his body healed and a raw, undiluted strength welled in his muscles Harry had to actively work, with surprising difficulty, to control, Harry felt as if his eyes were being squeezed and remolded and he instinctively knew he would no longer have need for glasses. Next his mouth ached as he felt his teeth tingle and ache, feeling around with his tongue, he noticed his teeth were smoother and tougher but his canines were… sharper and the tips had narrowed. When all was done, he noticed he was thirsty… it wasn't painful but more of a small, dry itch in the back of his mouth, easily ignored but the biggest annoyance was his skin. He felt what he would compare to tiny needles, prickling across his skin as the sun rose, making him uncomfortable and he thanked whatever deity would listen that the sky had been overcast as he would imagine the sunlight wouldn't feel good… in fact… his instincts were telling him that exposure to sunlight would result in plenty of painful burns… if he survived that is. All this took him a few seconds to notice before the woman recalled his full attention with the sound of her quivering voice.

"Is he alive," whispered the desperate voice of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. "Draco? Is he alive?"

Though he knew it was a great risk, Harry barely nodded his head in confirmation, not daring to move more in order to keep the charade. Here was a mother who was desperately attempting to get back to her son… he could sympathize. All his young life, he had desperately wished for a mother to do the same with him, only to find his own mother had… and sacrificed her life for his… the ultimate act of selfless love. All he could do was nod and hope Narcissa received his message and wouldn't betray him for it. He felt the hair move from his face, and heard the soft rustling as the woman stood over him to turn back to the dark forces amassed in the forest.

"Dead," Harry heard Narcissa stated without an ounce of hesitation in her voice… sealing his fate… and Voldemort's as well.

It had finally happened, a pulse of dark power reverberated in the air, Harry watches Voldemort recover from the power of the last Horcrux's destruction, dark mirth filling his core. A pleasant scent follows, one that distracts the Boy-Who-Lived and draws attention to a thin trail of blood oozing from the Dark Lord's nose. Then there was pain, a crippling searing pain which emerged from his center, a pain that had Harry double over as if he'd been struck with a blade through his stomach, and one that had him clawing at his throat due to the fire within.

Seeing his nemesis' distraction, Voldemort had raised the Elder Wand, once again, (You'd think he'd learn… but isn't the definition of "insanity" repeating the same process over and over while you keep expecting different results to occur though none ever do?), casting the Avada Kedavra at the Boy-Who-Lived. Not even flinching acting on instinct, Harry found himself behind Voldemort… from where he had been kneeling within five feet in front of Voldemort not even three seconds before. Feeling the Elder Wand forcefully removed from his hand, Voldemort didn't have time to react before his head was rent to back, giving him a clear view of cold, piercing eyes… and how long had they been that colour? When did they become such a dark shade of red? All this and little more, before a pain of blades, rake across his throat followed by lips clamped over his new wounds in a firm hold. Voldemort could feel the blood, his blood, as it began to flow… differently, he would always remember feeling the wrongness and unnaturalness of it. It took but a few seconds, but Voldemort soon felt something he hadn't felt in a long time… panic, he knew all his Horcruxes were now destroyed, his immortality stripped from his very fibers; so now, as he felt the boy whom he had hunted for sixteen years all but inhale his blood, the realization he, Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard in centuries, was going to die and he could do nothing about it, too paralyzed and weak to even will himself to utter a single word.

For Harry, the first taste only served, with its dark, sharp flavor, to enflare his thirst into its full roaring howl, a thirst that, while easy to ignore not a second ago, now compelled the young man to drink further as blood immediately spurted into the his waiting mouth. The taste was unlike any other he had graced his taste buds before, it just demanded to be consumed and… who was he to deny his body what it needed; with his stout hunger, it was not long before the Dark Lord's heart and breath slowed to a complete halt and he died with his throat bared to the world and a look of pain and horror on his face. When Harry's senses returned once more, his attention was soon diverted to his own person as he no longer felt Time's oppressing weight, a weight he had felt all his life but hadn't noticed though its absence now had Harry stand straight and taller than he had in his life, he felt as if he could conquer the world, not that he would… that would be boring. Looking at the corpse that now lay at his feet, Harry felt his fangs draw away and recede back into his gums, the abyss within sated… for now. He supposed he should feel guilt at becoming a murderer, but he found he could care less… all he felt was relief after killing the once Dark Lord… he was free… it was finally over. The war was finally over.

1Dhampyrs are half human-half vampire hybrids with no vampiric weaknesses but their powers though diluted, for mundane Dhampyr, this equates to an average lifespan of one-hundred plus sixty to two-hundred years, wizarding Dhampyr on the other hand, have an average lifespan of three-hundred plus fifty to four-hundred years.

* During the interaction between Harry and Dumbledore, I took some dialogue from the book and some from the movie and blended them together with a few words of my own.

** In this fanfiction, everything stays in cannon chronological order though by the time of the Sword Art Online incident in 2022, Harry is already forty-two years old but still, due to his vampirism, appears to be in his late teens, early twenties.