Chapter 32: A Gain Worthy of the Loss

"Why are Harry's boots in your personal quarters?"

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the closed door with a soft thunk, waiting for Snape to put his sharp tongue to use. Surely the man would attack with the sledge hammer wit he was known for. Surely, any second now, the active spy that had talked his way out of death for the last fifteen or so years would pull some ingenious string or words out of that head of his and weave a rope to pull them out of this mess.

But as the seconds ticked by nothing but silence reached his straining ears.

"Snape..." Sirius' voice, though low and muffled from the door standing between them, sounded deadly, undertones of shimmering hatred making the name waver.

Still nothing from the potions master.

Harry pushed himself away from the door when he realized that Snape wasn't going to talk his way out of this. Though he couldn't see the man, he could very clearly picture the tall, dark potions master standing rigidly before his godfather's enraged gaze, jaw locked in reserved panic, gears grinding, trying to figure out just what to do. Harry had a feeling that, as gifted as the man was with using words to manipulate a situation, he had likely never before had to deal with being caught the morning after he'd spent the night with someone twenty years his junior by the closest thing to a father that someone had.

Now trying very hard not to panic himself, he cast his gaze about for his shirt. Or Snape's shirt. Any shirt would do, really.

Unfortunately, before he could find one, two things happened in quick succession.

First, he heard Snape's angry, alarmed voice shouting from the sitting room.

"Black, don't you dare-"

Next, the bedroom door smashed open violently, cracking under his godfather's boot.

Harry was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights, standing in the middle of Snape's bedroom, beside Snape's disheveled bed, in nothing but his jeans...which he hadn't even done up.

Instinctively, he froze, as if his godfather's vision was based on movement or something, as he experienced a clenching feeling in his gut and a sudden blankness in his head that he was sure Snape himself had just gone through.

Sirius' eyes were burning with unbridled rage as he stared at Harry, hands balled into trembling fists at his sides.

After a few more seconds, in which Harry tried to calm his pounding heart, he slowly raised his hands before him submissively, parting his lips, widening his eyes and lowering his head out of habit, praying to whoever might be listening that this would go more smoothly than what he was expecting.

"Sirius, please don't freak out." he pleaded gently, wincing when Snape appeared in the doorway behind the animagus.

His submissive body language seemed to be working and Sirius at least seemed to be trying very hard to control himself, taking a moment to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths before announcing, "You have ten seconds to explain what the fuck is going on."

For the first time in a very long time, Harry could think of nothing to say, not even a lie, that would make this situation work in his favor. So he merely pursed his lips and hung his head and tried very hard to contain a sudden burst of hysterical laughter.

Sirius seemed to take his silence exactly for what it was and spun back to the doorway, eyes bulging, to face Snape.

"What have you done?" The animagus growled, advancing like a wolf stalking it's prey.

"Black, calm yourself..."

"WHY IS MY GODSON HERE?!"

"Black, Harry is a grown man who can make his own decisions-"

"You piece of shit!" Sirius snarled, finally lunging in for the kill fists first and catching Snape off guard, "He's a child that has been through hell and back and you took advantage of the fact the he's in pain!"

Harry rushed past the man, ignoring his godfather's words in favor of coming to stand by Snape's side.

The older man had his hand covering his mouth to hide the damage but a thin trail of blood was trickling down his chin.

"Harry, get the hell away from him!"

"Give it a rest, Sirius!" Harry warned, snapping a glare over his shoulder before returning his attention to Snape. He gently tried to pry the man's hand off his mouth, "Let me see." He murmured quietly, but the older man twisted away with an annoyed grunt.

"Lemme see!" Harry repeated in a snarl, prying the man's hand off.

Black eyes finally left the animagus and snapped up to meet green.

"Jesus." he whispered, seeing the wide split in Snape's bottom lip and feeling his gut twist in anger towards his godfather's impulsive actions.

"I said-" Suddenly Sirius grabbed his upper arm in a vice like grip and tore him from the Potions Master's side savagely "-get the hell away from him!"

Just then Remus came bursting through the still open archway into Snape's sitting room, his hair sticking up in all directions and a crazed look on his face, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

Snape growled low in his throat, "What is this, Grand Central Station?!"

However, upon entering the room and taking in the scene before him - Snape leaning against the wall with blood covering the bottom half of his face to a topless Harry with jeans barely hanging on his slender hips to Sirius's death grip on the boy's arm and enraged expression.

"I see you've found Harry." the werewolf commented, the wheels in his head still churning. He straightened himself and frowned, unable to find the answer to his questions on his own. "What, exactly...did I walk in on here?"

Harry finally twisted himself out of his godfather's grip and tugged his jeans up higher, a sour look on his face. "If I told you 'nothing' would you leave it alone?"

"Snape fucked my godson."

"Sirius!"

"Black, shut up!"

It was this barked order from Snape, who had righted himself and cleaned and healed the wound on his lips, that kept the argument from blowing up again.

Harry could not believe the way this morning was going already and took a step away from the group of older men and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking that he should feel something more for this situation than he did. He looked between the three men - Remus' stricken expression, Sirius' angry one and Snape's barely controlled agitation - and wondered if he should leave or stay. Say something or keep quiet.

"Black, as much as you would love to use what happened between Harry and I as an excuse to let off some steam, now is not the time. Lupin, why are you here in the first place?"

The werewolf jumped at the sudden reminder that he had had a purpose in coming down to Snape's quarters. "Uh, right. Dumbledore asked me to come down. We have reason to believe there may be an attack on Hogsmead later today."

Harry felt his face scrunch up in skepticism. "What?" he asked, not understanding the simplicity of the statement.

If they knew about an impending attack, why was Remus not in more of a hurry? More importantly, how did they find out about an attack before hand if Snape had not been called to a meeting in weeks?

"How do we know there will be an attack on Hogsmead?" Snape asked, looking as skeptical as Harry felt.

"Well because a contact told us so. Said he heard the words right from Voldemort's mouth."

Harry's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline and he and Sape shared a glance.

"Are you kidding me?" Sirius spluttered, anger towards Snape momentarily forgotten. "This has' trap' written all over it."

"Well, Dumbledore seems to think that-" Remus cut himself off, suddenly looking annoyed. "Look, you three. It is seven o'clock in the morning, I was just woken up by a screeching patronous, there is a meeting taking place right now that will answer all these questions and any you might not have even thought of so, please, Harry, put on some clothes and lets all go to Grimwauld Place!"

Ten minutes later found Harry standing in the open door to the kitchen while the Order meeting progressed. He had no interest in contributing, he just wanted to listen.

So far, from what he had heard, the whole thing sounded sketchy to him. Some obscure contact that had never really been able to give them any kind of useful information suddenly comes forward with some story about hearing a plan to attack a major wizarding city from Voldemort's lips himself?

No, something was definitely not right about it all. He wondered what it could mean. Why would Voldemort give them advanced notice of a planned attack? Was it just to draw them out? To draw him out? He thought it rather a ballsy move for the Dark Lord, considering what had happened just last night in Taynuilt.

Was he attacking out of anger? That seemed unlikely, as anger seldom allows for a person to plan something like this.

He sighed, biting his lip and running a hand through his hair. Something this calculated, this staged, had to be more than just luring Harry out. But what was it the man was after? What did he seek to gain from leaking this information?

Or perhaps the contact was actually telling the truth and Voldemort had not intended for this information to get out. Stranger things had happened.

Once the meeting had finished and everyone went their separate ways to begin whatever task they had been assigned, Harry scanned the crowd for Snape and pulled him aside in the sitting room.

"I'm coming back to the castle with you." he said, grabbing a handful of floo powder, "And you are going to show me where Dumbledore hid my weapons."

The potions master pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly unhappy with the idea, but after a moment of thinking it over, he nodded solemnly.

"I guess we'll need all the help we can get. Floo to my rooms and I will take you to them."

"Seriously?" Harry demurred, eying the little supply closet with distaste. "He put my weapons in a crappy storage closet?"

"If you're concerned about children stumbling upon them, you needn't worry, as it has a very powerful Notice-Me-Not spell."

Harry glared. "I don't give a shit about that. I'm more concerned that my hand crafted, irreplaceable, highest of quality weapons were shoved into a closet as if they were junk."

Snape bestowed a withering stare upon him as the door swung inward and he darted into the small room.

"How foolish of me to assumed you cared about the children."

"Hey!" Harry snapped, "Some of these are worth more than the families of your richest Slytherins." he turned, pulling one of his two long swords from its sheath deftly, grinning when Snape's eyes widened slightly. "This..." he said, waving the tip of the blade in front of the man's face. "Is thirty one inches of pure silver from Shadegate Mines. Do you have any idea how many people I had to kill to get this damn thing?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Three?"

"Eight! Not including the guy it actually belonged to." he grinned as he stared down at the blade and reminisced about the bloody fight. "Chopped his head off with his own sword and then stole it."

"Charming."

"Poetic, Konin said." He put the blade back in it's sheath and pulled a small dagger out. "See this one? Silver also, and those are rubies in the hilt."

"Who'd you kill for that one?"

"His name was Wycaric." he said, leaving it at that. Snape seemed to accept the short answer and simply nodded.

"What about the dagger you pulled on D'kal in Taynuilt? Or the one you had in the Room of Requirement?" The older man asked suddenly, a contemplative look on his face.

"Oh those..." he gathered the rest of his weapons in his arms and they left the storage closet and headed for Snape's rooms again. "Those are just conjurations. They are effective in a tight spot but they aren't real. They have no weight to them, which makes it difficult to use them properly, at least for me." he shrugged, unable to put into words how the conjured blades made him feel. "I dunno, they're just strange, like your holding onto a shadow."

When they got back to Snape's rooms, Harry wasted no time in stripping down to his black undershirt and expertly strapping the network of leather belts and straps around his torso and upper thighs.

"What the hell is that?" Snape asked, watching him closely.

"My holster. Holds all my weapons." He answered simply, focused on putting the thing on right, lest lines become crossed.

When he was happy and felt comfortable with the way it sat on his body, Harry began the task of sliding all the knives into their proper places, which, given the amount of times he'd done this before, only took him a moment or two. When he was done he turned to face Snape, who was standing by the fire, black eyes following his every move.

"What?" he asked finally, after ten more seconds of the older man's intense stare.

He shook his head. "Nothing." he cleared his throat roughly and turned away from him. "Just wondering how someone so small can carry so much steel on their person and still move as quickly as you do."

"Practice, I suppose." Harry offered absently, closing his eyes briefly and trying to concentrate.

"What are you doing now?" Came the quiet inquiry, Snape seeming to have sensed his concentration.

"I can't wear a cloak over this, too cumbersome, and since it isn't exactly balmy out, I need to focus some of my magic on creating a layer of heat over my skin, at least for a little while." He cracked an eye open and flashed a grin at his former professor. "Since I plan on heating things up shortly."

"How do you mean?"

Feeling warmth spread over his body swiftly, Harry opened his eyes and fixed a strong gaze on the potions master, feeling a wave of giddy excitement wash over him. "If it's a fight he wants, I'll give him one. That snake is going to burn."

Since the contact had claimed not to have heard of a specific time that the attack was to happen, the Order had sent out scouts immediately upon receiving the news. So far they had not reported anything out of the ordinary within the town and the rest of the Order was gearing up to aparate to the outskirts of the city. He wasn't sure what it was that Dumbledore might be doing and wondered if the man planned to try and convince the town to evacuate. He really hoped not, there was something lacking in a battle without screaming civilians running around...it felt incomplete somehow.

When Harry arrived with a crack, he crouched amidst a cluster of bushes, hiding himself from view, clenching a fist full of dirt in the hand that was supporting him and breathing in the heavy scent of earth and snow into his lungs, feeling the heady excitement of a battle in the offing.

Gods, how he loved this.

Images of past Azurian battles flashed in his mind's eye and he smiled easily, hoping for fire and blood and the chance to use his swords again. It had been so long since he'd danced with them.

Would this be his last battle, he wondered, feeling nothing for either outcome, no preference for if he lived or died.

He stood from his hiding place when he saw other members of the Order making their way out of the trees, moving towards the sounds of the bustling town.

He let his fingers rake through the leaves of saplings as he walked, like combing his fingers through hair. He allowed the crunch of twigs and melting snow under his boots to be heard. Closed his eyes to the sound of birdsong in the leafy canopy overhead, the sinking sun's rays straining to penetrate the dense foliage and touch the forest floor.

It may be the last chance he had to appreciate such things.

He felt the Darkness creep up on him, from the cold ground under his feet, from under the fallen, dead leaves, out from the cracks in the bark of the ancient trees and down from the shadow rays amongst the light, weaving in and out, never touching the light but feeding on it as it spun down.

He raised his face to meet it, feeling it on his skin, weaving through his holster, crawling over his shoulders, up his neck...

He opened his eyes in greeting and welcomed it into his core.

Up ahead, he had caught the attention of several Order members, frozen in shock, in fear of the creature walking gracefully, effortlessly across the uneven forest floor, a curtain of woven shadows flowing behind him like a mane, like tentacles, like smoke in a breeze, indescribable.

He paid no attention to their slack jaws and wide eyes as they stared and allowed the Darkness into every nook and cranny of his being, savoring it, caressing it, a balm to his sadness.

Snape was suddenly by his side, a hand hovering over his shoulder, scared to touch.

He stopped and turned his black gaze on the potions master, noting the jumping tendons and ligaments in the man's neck as he inhaled in controlled alarm.

"If this attack is really going to happen, this may be the last time it fights with me." Harry explained, his heart aching at the thought of losing the Darkness sharing his body. "One of us will not be leaving this town alive." he smiled grimly at Snape's stony expression.

Suddenly Remus and Sirius were there too, their unease not as well concealed.

Harry smiled disarmingly at them both, but assumed it might not have the right effect with his eyes stabbing at them like black holes. "I have it under control."

Remus nodded, "As long as you are sure you can keep it that way. We don't want any civilian casualties."

Harry was saved from having to promise not to let any innocence get hit in the crossfire by a thundering explosion from within the town. It didn't take long to pin point it's location, as a billowing cloud of smoke and fire rose into the air, temporarily blocking the setting sun.

Luckily for Harry, everyone was too busy running for the city to see his little grin.

He tapped his fingers against his leg as he walked unhurriedly, the rest of the Order having long since disappeared ahead of him.

He wanted to wait a while, take his time getting there, so that when he did he'd be in the thick of the action. The time when peoples' morals started to slip because they wanted to win the fight. When no one would think twice if he savagely tore through the streets with his swords flashing. When cutting down everything that moved would be overlooked because, they would say, what was a few innocents if it meant winning the fight against the Dark?

When he reached the town, it was pretty much in the state he had expected it to be in. Several buildings were now engulfed in fire, people were running this way and that in the sort of unorganized, unhelpful manor that only blind panic can cause, smoke billowed up into the darkening sky, blotting out the stars and moon just as they began to show themselves.

He picked his way calmly through several fallen bodies that already dotted the cobblestone street, their blood following the grooves between the stones like little rivers.

Up ahead he caught the flash of a black cloak and white mask and pulled both his long blades from his back and continued to walk in his unhurried pace, managing to get within ten feet of the Death Eater before he was noticed.

He could see the eyes widen behind the mask as they took in his wake of shadows, wand raising a fraction of a second too late. He swung the right blade up, the tip missing the ground by a hair, and sliced the man's wand arm off at the elbow, pulling a scream from his throat, then swung his left blade in an arc and then down, cleaving his skull in two right down the middle.

The white mask cracked and the two halves fell to the ground.

He trotted down the nearest alley, feeling warm blood dripping down his face and arms, and resisted the urge to dart his tongue across his lips to taste it.

The next street was utter chaos and a laugh jumped from his throat.

"So many Death Eaters, so little time..." he mumbled to himself, sheathing the long swords in favor of the two foot long fighting knives.

He stepped into the street and danced.

Smoke seared his lungs and stung his eyes and he fed on the pain. His boots squished mud and blood under his feet but he never lost his footing. Blood splashed in his eyes but he did not blink. It trickled down his face and coated his hands and arms like warm gloves. His muscles strained under his skin, blood rushed along his veins and the Darkness pierced his mind like needles, bleeding out the pain and fatigue and conscience and giving him the power to do what he'd been made to do.

He drove his blade behind him, feeling the slight vibrations in the handle as it cut through someone's flesh, and then pulled it free with a tug, not even bothering to look upon the man or woman he'd killed, hummed a tune to the sound of the body hitting the dirt, and moved on.

This street lay quiet now, except for the roaring of the burning buildings around him. He grinned up at the wall of inferno's on either side of the street and couldn't help but wonder if this is what the road to Hell might look like.

The raging heat may have bothered some but to Ecero, it felt like home.

"Have you seen Harry?" Sirius yelled over the roar of flames, using one arm to cover his mouth and nose against the smoke.

Remus shook his head, unable to speak through a coughing fit.

Sirius grabbed the werewolf's arm and led him down the nearest alley and then across the street, down another alley and finally stopped in the second street, allowing his friend to lean against a crumbling shop's wall and regain his breath.

"This whole city is burning to the ground." Remus wheezed, looking around through red eyes. He closed them tightly a moment later and leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving. "I can't bloody breath!"

"Come on, Rem, you can do it. Just take a few minutes to catch your breath." Sirius encouraged, eyes darting up and down the street to make sure no one surprised them.

"We weren't ready for this." The werewolf said, looking around at the burning town in despair. "If only we'd found out sooner..."

"Remus, this was going to happen no matter how much time we had to prepare! You think a town full of people would have listened if we'd come running in, telling them all to get the hell out?" Sirius said, breathing hard. "Don't worry about the what ifs, just take a moment and pull yourself together."

"No time for that." The werewolf said, pointed down the road to where four Death Eaters had just spilled from the mouth of an alley.

The animagus was rolling his shoulders, sizing up the group as they approached. "No problem. We both take two. We got this, Remus." He sounded as if he were trying equally hard to convince himself as he was Remus.

As the werewolf was pushing himself into a standing position, the two men noticed a fifth figure appear on the street behind the ground of Death Eaters, clearly having been following them. They seemed oblivious to his presence but Remus could assume that was because he did not want to be seen yet.

He swallowed in spite of himself. He knew Harry was on their side but he sometimes worried about the thin line upon which the young man walked. How much of the terrifying entity had the boy allowed in? Was it Harry or Ecero stalking the Death Eaters? Those black eyes, those trailing shadows...blood dripping from him like he'd showered in it, a toothy grin splitting his face. It was a terrifying sight to see headed your way.

What was more terrifying though, was what happened next.

Harry slowed to a meander behind the Death Eaters, a mere ten feet behind them and they a mere thirty feet from where Sirius and Remus stood their ground.

And then, all of a sudden, Harry began to whistle, of all things, a tune that's only purpose was to get their attention.

And he got it. The four Death Eaters spun as a unit, their wands already raised.

But as Remus watched, Harry blew a single, piercing note past his lips and an unnatural gust of wind rushed from his body, so forceful it tore the wands out of the Death Eaters' hands, sending them sailing through the air and out of sight.

For a split second, they seemed frozen in shock, which was all the time Harry needed to take down the closest one. He struck with his left sword, resuming the haunting whistle, never breaking note as he tore his blade sideways through the man's side, not even sparing a glance as the mangled body toppled.

The Boy Who Lived advanced on the remaining three Death Eaters, his whistling tune echoing off the ruined buildings on either side of the street.

The three Death Eaters shared a glance and then rushed him all at once.

Sirius moved to help but Remus grabbed his arm quickly. "I don't think he needs us."

Harry cut them down one by one, his movements so fluid and graceful that Remus found it hard to look away. Blood sprayed from a sliced jugular and a scream was torn from another's throat as a blade was torn from his chest. The sound of knees cracking on stone as they fell seemed to blend seamlessly with Harry's song and dance.

When the last one fell seconds after it had all started, Harry stared at him and his godfather for a second before walking up to them.

Remus could smell the blood even before Harry reached them. He reeked of it, was dripping in it.

When he came to a stop before them, he let the whistle taper off into nothingness. "Where is Tom?" The boy asked, his voice dark, tainted with something that was not just Harry.

"We-" Remus licked his suddenly dry lips. "-we haven't seen him yet."

Harry tapped his chin contemplatively with the tip of one of his bloody swords. "If I were a Dark Lord, where would I be?"

Remus tensed and leaned towards Sirius a fraction of an inch, muttering out of the corner of his mouth "Oh my god, are we supposed to answer?" , chancing a glance at animagus.

The man shrugged tensely, as if scared to move.

After he'd left Sirius and Remus, the latter of which seemed to have inhaled too much smoke, Harry began to make his way through the maze of streets to the center of the town.

He wished there was a high place he could get to so he could see where the most action was. That was likely where he would find Voldemort, but all the buildings he passed by had either been reduced to a pile of rubble or were in the process of burning.

But, as luck would have it, when he reached the town square, the clock tower still stood, looking to be in far better shape than anything else he had passed and he made a beeline for the door at the base of the structure.

But before he could reach it, something halted him in his tracks.

A group of Order members came tearing into the square, clearly running from something. He turned to see what it could be and saw, unsurprisingly, an even larger group of Death Eaters following them.

They gathered together in the middle of the square and readied their wands, neither of the groups having noticed Harry yet.

And just when he had decided to get involved, movement out of the corner of his eyes made his head snap around instinctively.

A grin split his face. Finally.

"Potter!" The man hissed, drawing the attention of both the Death Eaters and the Order members.

"Tom." Harry replied calmly, feeling strangely at peace. Either way, for him, it was all going to end tonight. Either he would be killed and not have to worry about any of this anymore or he would kill Voldemort, with the same result.

The two stepped closer to each other cautiously. Voldemort had his wand held before him, Harry, his knives, black eyes drinking in the dim light from the burning city around them.

"It is a pity," The Dark Lord began, "That you refuse to join me." his red eyes roamed over Harry hungrily, "Such power, such skill...wasted in the Light."

As they moved closer, Harry felt a strange jerk in his chest, like something was trying to dislodge itself and he shook his head, drawing the Darkness deeper into his core.

He readied his blades and took another step closer and again, it tugged at him.

It took a second or two for Harry to analyse what he was feeling, but when he realized what the sensation was, his blood turned to ice in his veins.

The closer he moved towards Tom, the more it pulled away from him. Like a dog that had just gotten a whiff of something delicious, the Darkness was trying to follow the scent of power seeping from Voldemort's every pore.

With this realization came an onslaught of emotion that, when asked about it later, Harry would never be able to describe in words.

A scream clawed its way up from his gut. Raw, enraged, panicked.

He felt so...betrayed.

He wrenched the Darkness in, ripping it out of every hiding spot, it raced towards him from all directions and he pulled it down, coiled it around his core, crushing it, condensing it, widening his stance against the onslaught of power, hands balling into fists around the pommel of his blades, teeth grinding, muscles locking.

He pulled harder still, ripping the shadows out of the very night, the black ball of Darkness swelling inside him.

"You want him?" he snarled viciously, wide black eyes leaking fat black tears, the space around him growing brighter by the second. "You can have him!"

A flare of blinding, pure light engulfed him as he pulled all of the Darkness inward. When he could no longer contain it, it surged from him with all the fury of a river crashing through a dam. It rushed from him with terrible force, there was too much of it trying to escape all at once, it tore out his eyes and ears and nose and carried itself on his scream of agony from his mouth. It pushed against his flesh, seeping out through his pores, threatening to shred him to peices...

And as fast as it left him it slammed greedily into it's desired host.

Harry fell to his knees, watching through the blinding pain as Voldemort mirrored him, head thrown back in agony, an ungodly scream being torn from the Dark Lord's chest.

And then it was over and he fell back, the edges of his vision growing dark as his gaze sought out Tom a few feet away.

The man lay prone, his red eyes glazed in pain, convulsing violently as the Darkness fought for control of the new body. After a moment he stilled and the silence in the square was marred only by the distant rumble of collapsing buildings and roaring fires.

And then the Dark Lord rolled onto his his knees and stared down at his hands for a breath before another scream forced it's way past his lips and he started clawing at himself. Eyes wide and panicked, he tore at them until they bled, shrieking in horror, trapped in his own hellish reality.

His blood turned black and gushed from his destroyed eye sockets as the man finally toppled sideways onto the cobblestones, motionless.

Epilogue

Harry felt as if he were stuck under six feet of mud. Everything was dark, moving took great effort and everything sounded muffled, like people were walking and talking above the surface of his grave and he could only just hear them. He was scared to open his eyes.

Was he in a grave? Had he been buried alive?

He decided to try opening his eyes and was only successful in making them flutter, but the tiny amount of light that found it's way into his eyes gave him the drive to try again. Maybe he wasn't in the ground after all!

Sounds started to become clearer too, the more his brain tried to focus itself, and it wasn't long before he distinguished voices from background noise.

"...morning...sun was...erd...valley..."

Words strung themselves together into something tangible but he was having a hard time making sense of them. He decided to accomplish his first goal before trying anything else and, after a few more tries, managed to crack his eyes open.

For a second he was blinded by sunlight, but after the glare faded he realised there was a window to his left.

He scrunched his nose at the buzzing in his ears, trying to will it away. It went slowly, as his brain adjusted itself to being conscious again. A few more minutes passed as he continued to stare out the window, waiting for everything to settle and then he frowned when he could hear something over the fading buzz in his head.

It was a soft, gentle sound, like wind chimes in a breeze.

His frown deepened, that couldn't be it. There were no wind chimes outside the window.

The soothing sound got clearer and the buzzing stopped. He was able to pin point it's location and turned his head from the window, rolling it to the other side.

A woman sat beside his bed, rocking gently in a wooden rocking chair, knitting and singing softly.

He stared at her, red hair, plump figure, rosy cheeks, laugh lines...so familiar. She continued to sing, oblivious to his gaze, as he tried to find her place in his mind.

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid singing in the valley below..."

She briefly looked up from her knitting, a glance that was likely meant to check that he hadn't up and disappeared, but she froze when their eyes locked, her own kind, brown ones widening with the shock of seeing him awake.

She gingerly put her knitting aside, moving slowly as if afraid she might frighten him, her gaze never leaving his.

Harry felt frustrated. He knew this woman. He could feel it. So why could he not pull up any memories of her or remember her name?

"Harry?" she whispered, leaning forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He felt his brow crumple again, trying to wade through the fog in his mind. She seemed to become distressed at his lack of response and quickly stood from her rocking chair.

His eyes followed her as she crossed the room and left through the only door there. When she did not return right away, Harry struggled to push himself into a sitting position but only managed to prop himself up on his elbows before the door swung open again and the red haired woman returned with a doctor.

"Hello, Harry." the doctor said, smiling kindly. "I must say it is good to see you up."

He was pushed gently back onto the bed by the tall man and remained still while a wand was waved over his body.

He glanced over at the red head a few times, still struggling to place her.

After a moment, the doctor put his wand away and folded his arms over his chest, a small smile on his face again. "Do you know who this is, Harry?" He asked, glancing back at the woman.

He stared at her again but shook his head.

Apparently that had not been the answer they wanted, as the woman placed a hand over her mouth and the tears finally spilled from her eyes.

But, most confusingly, the doctor did not seem bothered by this and said "That's alright. I have a few more questions for you, though, if you're up for it?"

He nodded shortly, wondering if he would be able to speak. His throat felt sore and itchy.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Now that seemed like a simple question, but when he tried to answer it, he could find no words. He searched his memory but found nothing but blurry shapes until he'd woken up moments ago. "Pain."

His confusion must have shown on his face for the doctor gently squeezed his arm, "It's alright. This is normal for someone in your condition. Now, you were sitting up when I came in, so we know you have at least partial mobility, but can you wiggle your toes for me?"

Harry did so, wanting to ask a few of his own questions. "Where am I?" he whispered.

"You're at St Mungo's."

"Why?"

The doctor and the woman exchanged a look.

"You were very badly hurt, Harry."

The magnitude of the implications behind that simple statement did not go unnoticed by him, but he did not have the energy to ask about it now.

"How long have I been here?"

"About eight months."

He felt his jaw drop, "Eight...months?!"

He was pushed back when he tried to sit up and glared at the doctor.

"You need to rest."

He swatted the man's hand away. "I've been asleep for eight months. You rest."

After the doctor and the woman left, Harry slumped back into the pillows. He felt so frustrated. Why were such huge chunks of his memory missing?"

The next time his door opened it was much later in the evening. The same doctor was back, with two other men in tow.

"Harry, this is Sirius and Remus." the man advised, his gaze was heavy when he asked, "Do you remember them?"

He frowned as he stared at them.

"Do you have a dog?" he asked Sirius.

The man smirked and shot a glance at Remus. "Yeah."

Remus' head wiped around to glare at his companion, smacking him on the arm. "Shut up!"

A word popped into Harry's head as he witness the exchanged. "Moony?"

Both men beamed at him and Remus nodded exuberantly. "Yes!"

A week passed in which Harry was forced to remain in bed. He had more visitors than he could keep track of and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to remember.

On the eighth day, he'd finally had enough and sat up, throwing the covers off his legs and standing on unsteady feet, grateful that he'd been given hospital pants instead of those silly gowns.

By the time he reached the door, he felt more confident of his ability to remain upright and tugged the door open.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He jumped, pressing his back to the wall when he heard Sirius' voice, watching the man stalk towards him, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

He looked up at the man through his shaggy hair and smiled innocently.

Sirius merely rolled his eyes. "Please, your father and I invented that. Get your butt back in there."

Harry straightened, hardening his features. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I am not going back in that room and nothing you say will make me."

Sirius smirked and set his coffee down, "Then I won't say anything."

Before Harry could react he was grabbed around the middle and hefted over Sirius' shoulder.

He shrieked and pounded his fists against the larger man's back. "I am not a sack of potatoes!"

"You're not much heavier than one."

"Put me down!"

"Okay, okay..."

He was deposited on the bed and immediately jumped off it again.

"What is going on in here?" Remus asked, poking his head through the door.

Sirius jabbed his thumbs at Harry. "Caught someone out for a stroll."

"Whats wrong with that?"

Sirius gawked, "He's supposed to be resting."

The two men continued to argue and Harry scooted out the door, earning a wink from Remus when he glanced over his shoulder. Luckily, Sirius was waving his hands around and shouting still and did not see it.

When he reached the hall, he bolted. He didn't get far though before he ran into a tall, dark, terrifying looking man.

Black eyes pierced holes in his own when he looked up. The man remained unnaturally still, staring down at him as if waiting for something.

"Sorry." he choked out, sidestepping the man and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was not being followed.

But the man grabbed his arm, "Potter-"

"Get back here you little shit!" he heard Sirius cry as he came careening around the corner.

Harry felt a laugh fly past his lips and he nimbly twisted out of the tall man's grip, taking off down the hall again. After only a few moments he was feeling winded and skidded to a halt, leaning against the wall for support.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and a jolt of anger shot through him as he shoved himself away from the tree, unwilling to let Konin see him feeling weak.

"What are you doing, Ecero?" the dark haired man asked from somewhere behind him.

He shook his head, feeling foggy. The heat was oppressive and when he opened his eyes the air shimmered around him.

He turned to regard Konin's hazy figure. "Is this another training exercise?"

Konin stared at him blankly, "No, Harry."

He frowned. "Why did you call me that?"

Something wasnt right. Konin's face blurred into obscurity and he was suddenly looking up at the sky. Clouds merged overhead, forming a grey ceiling for him to stare at blankly.

He didn't like this, something was very wrong. He reached out for the Darkness, seeking its comfort and protection...and felt nothing.

He panicked, turning all his senses inward, calling upon it.

Again, nothingness.

A cry eased itself past his lips and his chest tightened painfully. "Where is it?!"

"...focus on my voice, Ha..."

"I can't feel it! It's gone!" he sobbed, suddenly feeling as if his chest cavity had been hollowed out. He felt empty.

"It was a parasite, Harry, nothing more. You are better now because of it's absence."

"No..."

"Yes! You are on the mend only because the Darkness is gone. We...we had almost lost you to it. We didn't realize just how close we were to losing you until recently..."

He left the unsaid where it lie and easily dismissed it, too preoccupied with the empty hole in his core where the Darkness had been. "I want it back." he whispered, clutching at the hospital shirt over his pounding heart.

A sigh and then hands under his arms, pulling his onto unsteady legs.

"Come, Harry. We have much to discuss."

With a sudden burst of clarity, Harry felt the need to know if the loss was worth it.

"Is he dead? Is he gone?"

Silence.

"Yes. He's gone. For good this time."

His chest loosed a little and the canyon in his core seemed to shrink.

Six Months Later

Harry stumbled sleepily across the hall and into the bathroom, squinting at his reflection in the mirror. He sighed and ran his hand over the stubble along his jaw and chin and briefly closed his eyes, expertly zapping the hair away with magic.

He hadn't felt a loss of power within himself like he thought he should after losing the Darkness, he felt only the loss of the entity itself, and even though it had been explained to him that it was a parasite he still felt saddened by the loss of it. After all, if it hadn't been for the Darkness feeding him it's own magic, keeping him alive, his body would never have had the chance to repair itself like it had.

Still, he felt grateful that it was gone when he thought about what the Darkness had done to Voldermort. He knew the Dark Lord was...well, had been, much more powerful than himself. So powerful, in fact, that his own magic had torn it's host apart trying to fight the foreing entity when it had tore from Harry's body.

Just knowing that somthing so terrible and powerful had been lurking around in his body made him shudder and appriciate it's absence that much more.

He began to undress and started the shower, ears straining out of habit to see if anyone else was awake. He easily identified the habit as one of Ecero's traits, something his psychiatrist had told him not to do. He seemed to think he should be accepting both halves of himself as they were instead of labeling one as good and the other as evil. A feat that had become much easier when he realized that all, or most of, Ecero's blood lust had actually been the influence of the Darkness, and now that it was gone, well, it seemed as if maybe Ecero wasn't the bastard everyone had thought he was.

As he lathered his hair, he let the thought go, more than happy to follow the shrink's advice.

He inhaled steam through his nose and used it to cleanse his mind and sterilize his thoughts. Today was a new day and the past was done. He would evolve and flow and change how he needed to make it through today and then tomorrow, then the day after, because that is what he does best.

END

The song that inspired me to write the scene where Harry takes down the four Death Eaters in the alley with Remus and Sirius can be found on youtube. Just type 'Drunken Whaler' into the search and hit the first result.

To everyone who stuck around for the four years it took me to get this story out! Leave a review and let me know what you think of the last chapter.

Myownlilfantac