REMEMBER

LADY SHINIGAMI

DISCLAIMER: DUH, AS USUAL

CHAPTER 1

The war against Voldemort continued, and as Harry Potter finished his seventh and final at Hogwarts attacked him, like he did every year, but this time, he had allied himself with a new breed of vampires.

The attack took place on the Dursleys' doorstep, not even a day after the school had let out. It was quick and it was bloody, resulting in five deaths, including the Dursleys themselves, one Auror and a Deatheater. Twenty more were injured, including the Boy Who Lived, who had been bitten by one of the new Fury-Class vampires. That's when everything started to go completely and horribly wrong.

Even though we didn't know it at the time.

But the young wizard hadn't been killed or turned. In fact, it was almost like he hadn't been bitten at all. This bolstered the hopes of the wizarding world, and the war turned to the favor of the side of the Light, driving the darkness back. There were signs, however, of Harry's injury, but they were small signs and easily ignored by those who didn't want to think otherwise.

He grew pale, but he didn't appear sickly, and he began having minor problems with his breathing after a time. His hands would shake just a little bit, unnoticable unless someone devoted themselves to watching over him, like I did. He slept a little more, exhausted, and he started looking a little worn as well. But these signs could easily be passed off as wartime fatigue, so no one really worried too much. Harry also dismissed my concerns with his usual smile that seemed just a little more fake as time went by.

Two years passed and the Dark Lord and his followers were on the run, with Albus Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix close on their heels. It should be noted that during this time, Voldemort was able to find a way to restore his once-human features, turning back the clock, in a fashion and restoring his admiringly charming good looks from his youth. It was almost scary how the Dark Lord and Harry resembled each other. Harry Potter was often seen in the frontlines of the battlefield, Deatheaters and Dark allies falling beneath his wand and Gryffindor's Sword. Albus Dumbledore was usually seen a little further back, further away from the forefront of the fighting.

Then the Final Battle took place. It took place in the ruins of Godric's Hollow, the same location everything started all those years ago. Voldemort only had a few Deatheaters left alive at this point, and all of his allies were either dead or had fled long ago. The Light had also taken several casualties over the years, though not nearly as severe.

Harry had struck at Voldemort head on with all his strength, charging out past the front line of twenty Aurors, and while he was separated from the rest of his veritable army, the Deatheaters had circled their Lord and Harry, as the two clashed swords and formed a shield of unusual strength around them, blocking the two main combatants and the casters of the shield from the Aurors and the Order, only allowing them to watch the battle unfold.

The circle the Deatheaters formed was quite large, allowing for enough space for their Lord and Harry to fight in; in fact, the two hardly noticed the shield going up. The Order could hear everything that went on inside the shield, but it seemed that those behind the shield could not.

No one from the Order had any idea what the purpose of the shield was, but they all doubted that it would bode well for the side of Light one way or another.

The Order of the Phoenix could do nothing but watch as the Deatheaters kept up their shield with a surprising strength and watch as Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort fought with a ferocious determination and strength. They had discarded their wands entirely, and only a few knew the significance of that, including myself. Very few in the Wizarding world knew that Harry Potter and Voldemort shared brother wands, and those two wands would not fight against each other, leaving the two combatants with other means of weaponry, like the swords they were currently using.

For a while, it looked like Harry was winning this battle, driving Voldemort back bit by bit, little by little, and gaining the upper hand on the older wizard. One could almost see the tension rise in the Dark Lord's features as he began to fight a little more desperately, more defensively.

Then it happened.

Harry faltered in mid-strike. He paled quite alarmingly, and his legs shook terribly. He choked and far too much black blood forced its way past his lips. It splattered heavily on the ground, obscenely loud in the sudden silence. The Sword of Gryffindor fell from his hands with a clatter against rubble and he brought his hands to his mouth, trying to hold off the blood. His expressive green eyes, those eyes I have seen for years, widened with distress and resignation, I think, and his knees gave out, making him fall forward, the horrible black blood spilling past his fingers and staining his hands, skin, and clothing, wherever it touched.

But he did not fall. Voldemort dropped in own weapon in startled surprise and caught Harry! He seemed alarmed at the sudden drastic turn of Harry's health, and one could almost see the gears of his mind churning in an effort to try to figure out what had caused the ailment of his enemy.

He looked stricken at the sudden turn of events, as Harry continued to cough up vile black blood, staining his hands and his cloths. One pale hand, now drenched in viscous blood, drifted up to Harry's neck, to where the vampire had bitten him roughly two years ago, and it was then we knew what had happened.

The effects of that bite, nearly all but forgotten to all who knew about it, were starting to show symptoms. But symptoms of what, exactly?

"Time to go! Now!!" The Deatheaters fell back circling their Lord and the shield fell. The gathered members of the Order rushed forward the instant they could, but it was far too late; Voldemort, his Deatheaters, and Harry were gone.

That day was a tragedy for those on the side of Light. Their Hero and Savior had been lost. But that was also the day that the war ended.

-Excerpt from the journal of Hermione Granger.