Hello guys, I'm trying to psych myself up to write a book so please tell me what you think. Also I will return to my other stories in a little bit but I can't seem to determine wheather or not to make this a chapter story or leave it a one shot, tell me what you think.
The world had changed, it had changed so much he had no idea if it was even the same place he had been raised in. Harry Potter, now eighteen, stood before the ruins that used to be the halls of hogwarts. He stood silently as the memories came flooding back, the final battle, the fall of the DA, and the loss... he could barely stomach the heart ache that particular memory caused. Voldemort, after his return Harry's fourth year, decided to attack the one place Harry could gain the knowledge needed to defeat him. He launched a massive out right offensive against Hogwarts, but met with brilliant resistance from all of the students at Hogwarts. However, it all came down to Harry and Voldemort, but Harry was neither mentally or magically prepared and was beaten to within an inch of his life. He would have been killed had it not been for his best friend and, who he thought at the time, his worst enemy. Ronald Wesley jumped in like the Gryffendor he was and drew Voldemort's attention long enough for Draco Malfoy to pull him to safety. Ron found himself on the receving end of an avada kadavera curse just before Hermione could finish casting the time-lock spell on Voldemort. In the loss of a true companion they had only succeded in buying time, for the time lock spell only held Voldemort in a stone statue until Harry's twenty-first birthday.
As the battle ended, most of the students at hogwarts had been killed, cursed or maimed beyond recognisition but not one deatheater stood breathing. Among the survivors stood Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy. Amoung the fallen, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ronald Wesley, Ferinze, and Albus Dumbledore. As the days came after, Harry felt the weight of his own destiny crush him into the ground; it was a weight no fifteen year old should have to face, with or without friends, but he was given an option. In his final message to Harry, received by Owl, Professor Dumbledore gave him the location of a monistary of a an anchient order of Holy Knights known as the Paladin of Creation. Albus had aranged, should he die before Harry was ready, for the Paladin to take Harry and train him and only him. However, Harry had too much hatred in his heart to become a true Paladin and was sent to seek the sword of truth, a spell that is said to hold the power of creation in it's single burst of purifying light. The Paladin warned Harry that the spell could only be used by "one whose heart is one with God." Harry had learned much from the order, so much so that he had perfected and created a form of sword play that he named Midnight Rend. Not only did it enable him to fight supurbly useing the long sword made from his wand, but also it quickened his casting speed to almost instantanous fruisition.
So there he stood, at the ruins of the school he loved so much and so many memories of, as it's almost holy grounds stood besieged by the evil at it's center, the forlorn statue of Voldemort. The green foliage that had begun to cover the ruins in an attempt to bring some margin of life back to this once bloody battle ground seemed to avoid Voldemort's statue as if it knew of the demon that lurked inside it. Harry clutched his sword so tightly his knuckles tightened into a pale ivory glow of the hate he had for the monster as his scar prickled vemonously.
Harry could hear them, he could hear them scream for vengence, the dreaded plea for bloody satisfaction, they all screamed for it. His freinds, his classmates, his fallen comrades, his brother; they all screamed for the death of Voldemort so they could do to him what he had done to them. "You can't hurt him yet," came a familliar voice from behind him, "It's a draw back of the spell." Harry turned to find the girl who had been apart of his life since his first year at Hogwarts.
"Hermione?" Harry breathed a disbelieveing, almost froglike croak. His eyes beheld, most assuredly, the Hermione he had known. However, the years he had been away had changed her. She was still a short girl, but she had become lithe and toned; she had cut her hair to just below her ears though it still retained its curly vigor. Not only that but her choice in clothing had changed as well, she was no longer wearing conservitive jeans and a sweater, but a black pleated skirt that fell to just three inches above her knees, revealing her long slender legs and a black with red stripes baseball jersey. However, the item that shocked him the most was the archmage's staff she wore on her back. It was made of an etheric bleached holly that was smooth and fine with a perfectly round sphere carved into the top.
"It's been a long time, Harry." She said with her trade mark crooked smile; he had missed that smile.
"Three years..." Harry agreed trying his best to concentrate, he had spent three years in a male only monistary and Hermione's vision was gogging his memory of the female form. Then his mind shifted back into the present. He had long since obtained the speed and power to split boulders relying only on his physical abilities, not to mention the innate magical boost he receved from Midnight Rend made him five times stronger. "What are you talking about? I could split him in half without batting an eyelash."
"That's a very un-Paladin like thing to say."
"Haven't you heard? I failed that course." Harry scoffed
"There's a surprize," came a sarcastic familliar voice. Harry turned to find none other than Pansy Parkinson strolling up to meet them. She too had changed from the flirty, pug nosed girl he had known but never really took the time to get to know. She was wearing muggle clothing, white second skin low rider jeans and a dark green tube top. Pansy had the left side of her short raven colored hair brushed forward to hide her left eye. Harry had heard she lost her left eye when she confronted her father in that very final battle, he had also heard she killed him. However, all of his thoughts banished as he noticed the archmage's staff strapped to her back as well. It was the complete opposite of Hermione's, while it was smooth and fine it was made from the wood of the Darkwood Oak and had a jagged curve carved into it's top. "The stone is industructable."
"Great," Harry released his grip on the hilt of the sword and turned to the two girls, "So what are you ladies doing here?"
"Actually, we were looking for you." responded Hermione as she pulled a peice of rolled up parchment from back of her skirt and began to read. "By order of the Archmage council of Aurors, Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson, Archmages in training, are here by assigned to protect Harry Potter until his twenty-first birthday."
"You two are my body guards?" Harry wondered incrediously, "all of the death eaters where killed in that last battle."
"It seems they weren't all killed, Harry." responded Hermione.
"Unfortuntely, a few survived." continued Pansy. "Lucious Malfoy for one." Suddenly, Pansy's one lucid eye grew in surprize as she dove for Harry knocking him to the ground. In the blink of an eye Hermione had her staff at battle ready and was hexing strange hexes Harry did not know of. Pansy continued to lay on top of him and tried to cover as much of his body as she could with her small frame as if trying to sheild Harry. With his face burried in Pansy's chest, Harry could not see anything wondered as Hermione continued to hex in, what seemed like, all directions. He could hear faint screams and inhuman whines as the noises got louder and louder. Finally, it got to the point that he could no longer let himself be protected. He pushed Pansy off of him and jumped to his feet with quick draw of his sword.
He looked around saw what Hermione was hexing, children. They were about the age that had been when the final battle came to Hogwarts, only they were sporting Voldemorts Dark crest on their hands and were useing the dark arts. Harry did something he had never done before, he hesitated. Everything seemed to slow down for Harry as he watched while a child jumped up from Hermione's blind spot and used a curse he had never seen before. The blueish Purple light crashed into Hermione's slender back ad she screamed and fell unconscious. It was a scream he had not heard since that battle it was the scream of his only family falling, and he could only watch as another of his only freinds dropped to the ground.
Suddenly, a low almost feral growl rummbled maliously from the bowels of his soul as he drew his sword jumped into the fray of battle. Harry swong his sword, scattering limbs and spattering blood in every direction. His world had vanished into that of a red haze and turned to the one that struck Hermione, his Hermione. Pansy watched in horror as Harry stalked toward the fear struck child and picked him up by the scruff of the neck. A black aura of hatered seethed from Harry as his iris's took on a white hot glow. The boy wet himself as Harry opened his mouth reveling not two but four fangs. "Who sent you?" Harry growled again, this time in an even more menising tone.
"I...I won't tell you, Potter!" The boy stuttered defiently. It was not the answer Harry wanted so he would do the only thing he could, ask again. Harry impaled the boy's leg with his blade and did just what he had planed to.
"Who sent you you?" Harry asked again, and this time he got better results.
"M..M..Malfoy." That was all Harry needed to hear. Lucious would pay. Harry opened his mouth and plundged his fangs into the boy's jugular. Harry got an almost Vampiric satisfaction out of this action but sucked more than the boy's blood into his mouth; Harry sucked the boy's life into his mouth and dropped the boy's lifeless corpse to the ground. Passing a stunned speachless Pansy he approched Hermione. He knelt down and held Hermione so that she was facing him and gently pressed his lips to hers. With one massive exhale he breathed the boy's life into Hermione. Hermione's eyes caustiously opened and looked him straight into his emerald eyes.
"Harry?" she wondered aloud as he pulled her tightly into his chest, the smell of her hair, the sent of her skin, the feeling of warmth; harry knew he would be driven insane if he ever lost her.
"Dear Lord," gasped Pansy at the blood soaked battlefeild that surrounded them, "You may be worse than Voldemort."