I still don't own Harry Potter (sometimes I'm glad I don't).

But this is still my character. Even though she still lacks a name. This one, is a lil' bit after HBP. Might have some spoilers. But it should be dripping with violence.

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Fools, all of them.

For the first part of the year, it wasn't him that caused her misery. The boy was seemingly a non-factor. It was no more then the constant bleating of sheep that was sufficent enough to start her seventh year off badly.

Her family had not wanted her to go to school at all this year. The fact she 'already' had nine OWLs was brought up numerious times. The fact that she was 'already' very accomplished at what ever she did. The fact that it just wasn't safe anymore. From oldest to youngest, most distant to closest, all members of her family, from all walks of her life told her not to risk going to school this year.

They couldn't understand. Regardless of risk, the knowledge to be gained was worth more then any legal certification. The accolades of the 'common' folk ment nothing when she, herself knew there was more information to be found through out the world. And there could be no place safer then inside the magical stronghold known as Hogwarts. Filled with trained witches and wizards, and over running with eager potential, it had better manpower then the government had access to. And with wards so anchent and secure, any breach would be immediately noticed and confronted.

Of course. That's exactly what happened, isn't it.

Again, he acted in such a fashion, one befitting a coward and a weasel and all forms of slime covered life, and distroyed everything important to me.

It wasn't enough, at just a hint of Voldemort's name, the sheep began to panic. It's not enough, at just the threat of drawing Voldemort's attention, each of my dearest friends was pulled out of school, one at a time. Like leaves off a tree in autumn.

Oh no, that's not enough. He has to kill the headmaster as well.

Thereby canceling my school. Right at the end.

Preventing me from finishing my NEWT studies.

I do not fear the name of Voldemort. Fear gives him power, and power is what I'll need and he has too much of.

That's why I'll hunt him. If I die, that is what was fated. If Voldemort dies, I will succeed.

And I will take pleasure in watching the young Malfoy's body drop to the floor, having gasped it's last breath.

There's movement ahead.

There is three. A witch and two wizards. No Malfoy though. Leaving that bar.

There was a rumor. The barkeep was being threatened into producing potions for death eaters. He badmouthed them instead. Even turned one into the government. They say they began threatening his life.

By the dark mark being cast into the air by the woman, it's likely they've taken his life already.

There are four things you have to keep in mind when hunting dark wizards.

One, fear is their weapon. The mark scares away the sheep. The sheep never even think to interfere. And the dark ones are usually gone before people willing to fight show up.

Usually.

The potion running down my throat tastes horrible, like a mixture of snake spit and wood shavings and hampster urine. That's because it is. The potion of dark speed is restricted knowledge. Mostly because the government feels that 10 seconds of speed is not worth three years later in life.

I however, feel that's a fine trade.

Two, go for the women first. They go down faster, but don't suffer from the effects of pain nearly as much.

That's why I can knife her in the back of the throat without second thought. Even with everyone around me acting in slow motion, and every simple movement is like wading through a vat of thick pudding. The complete inablity to breathe on my part and my ears pounding as my heart beats faster then my blood can move. I don't even have time to relish the spray of her blood when the knife emerges through the front of her neck.

The loud 'wooshing' noise as time catches up to me, two very surprised wizards, staring at their gurgling comrade as I use her body as a shield with one arm, the other hand swinging up along her side, Susan in hand.

Three, muggle-tech confuses most of them. Yes, the killing curse is very effective. If you have wand in hand, and you have enough desire to kill a person. Conveniantly, the muggles have created and perfected wands specially designed to do just that for years before Voldemort's birth.

Susan is over a hundred years old. She is a Colt single action army, with a long history behind her, and a lot of stories to tell. But most importantly, she's very good at her job. Younger mass produced weapons work, but items with a spirit of their own are much harder to stop. Not quite artifacts, not really ghosts, but not to be overlooked either.

The first falls with a tricky gut shot. You have to get them in the lungs early. Otherwise they try to cast spells. And if they start casting spells, you tend to lose. The second tries to run, possibly to get some space, only getting shot in the square in the back for his trouble. Susan doesn't like shooting people in the back, but she knows rule number four.

Four. Never suffer a dark wizard to live.

If they get away, they come after you in your sleep. After your family. After your friends. They scamper back to their master with an address book of people they can't scare, they can't handle, and want to have killed for them. Like infants crying for their mother's teat.

If you put them in jail, they just break out. If you reform them, they just backstab you later.

It only takes three more bullets to finish the job. Three bright red flowers across the cobblestone.

It's messy, yes. But three wounded death eaters tell Voldemort who did it. Three dead ones only say 'Beware'.

I slump under a tree to catch my breath, the potion took a lot more out of me then I thought it would. But three are down for good.

I smile up to Mars, bright red and hanging bright in the sky. Perhaps this war will shine brighter then any before, and any after.