God I know I still have two other stories unfinished. And by Heaven I swear I will finish them eventually. But I'm being held at gunpoint by my muse and I'm helpless to disobey. Please forgive me. If you haven't ever reviewed please do so because reviews are the only thing that keeps me going.

A dry hacking cough exploded out of his throat. Blood splattered on the grassy plain around Harry. Green eyes opened blearily and shockingly observed his surroundings. He was alone in a solitary valley, covered in blood; not much belonged to him. He labored to lift himself up onto his knees.

His oversized cloak- stolen and torn- was weighed down with the blood of the Death-Eaters who stood between Lord Voldemort and himself. Harry warily looked around himself. No sight of the Castle, no sight of anything. The very air which had always hummed with magic was silent. He had never noticed the warm sound until now that it was absent. Harry desperately thought back to the Final Battle.

Screams rang out in the cool autumn air. Lights of all color and intensity flashed around violently. His mouth was filled with his blood; he had bitten through his cheek to avoid screaming for a Crucio curse. As he raced through the battle hands gripped at his clothes; the fallen and wounded; begging for reprieve, for death. But he shook them off guiltily. Trudging on he slashed away his enemies. He was lost to rage, for his parents, for Sirius, for Mad-eye, Cedric, Dean, Seamus, Dumbledore, Luna, Fred, Remus, Tonks and all those he had lost because of damn Tom Riddle and his insane quest to avoid Death.

He was lost within his bloody memories of their capture at Malfoy Manor. Of Ron and Hermione's Death's. Ron. Brave, Funny, Goofy, Wonderful Ron; who was so mangled that Harry could scarcely recognize his first friend. Hermione. Smart, Kind, Brilliant, and Clever Hermione; who lay in a pool of her own blood, her chocolate eyes wide with agony and her final scream still echoed in Harry ears.

His mind dove into memories of all their time together and as he ran with tears flowing down his face their words echoed around him.

"I'm going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed or worse; expelled." - "She needs to sort out her priorities"

"Kill us faster? Oh now I can relax!"

"Follow the Spiders? Why couldn't it be follow the butterflies?"

"I found this while doing some light reading." "This is light?"

"Spiders... the spiders... they want me to tap-dance. And I don't want to tap-dance!"

"You! You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

"She's gone mental, Hermione has. I mean, not that she wasn't always mental, but now it's out in the open for everyone to see!"

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon"

"You're a little scary sometimes, you know that? Brilliant... but scary."

"Blimey, Harry. You've slayed dragons. If you can't get a date, who can?"

"Do you think we'll ever just have a quiet year at Hogwarts?"

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I have ever met. If I'm ever rude to you"... –"I'll know you've gone back to normal"

"You're right, Harry, we don't. That's why we need your help. Because if we're having any chance against beating... Voldemort"

"Maybe you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate."




Harry slashed away at the Death-eaters. Blood rained down around him in revenge for his fallen family. The only family he had ever known. Voldemort did not have time to lift his wand, let alone utter a curse before Harry's spell sliced him apart. But the Savior's relief at his tormentor's demise was short-lived. Harry barely caught a glimpse of Bellatrix lunging toward him with her wand. Shrieking outlandishly and eye's bright with madness. Before he was hurtled through a portal and woke up in the clearing, alone and injured.

Harry's body was weakened and he felt off balanced. His clothes rubbed painfully at his many wounds as he bled sluggishly. He stood up and realized…he had shrunk! His tangled mess of hair had grown out lavishly to his lower back but was clumped and matted with twigs, blood, and dirt. He blinked and was surprised to find he no longer needed glasses. Good thing because his own were lost. As he inspected himself he found he had the body of a child. A thin starved wounded child with oddly pointed ears.

"Bloody Hell" Harry coined Ron's favorite phrase.

Harry sighed Fate really hated him. This was just simply typical. He was alone with no defensives, in the body of a child (whom he suspected wasn't human) and his injuries were still bleeding from the Final Battle. Harry groaned and ripped off the excess fabric of his adult sized pant legs and used the cloth to wrap his wounds. He began to walk up a nearby slope. Hoping against hope and his own dubious luck that there was civilization nearby. And to his horror walked into the camp of the ugliest, smelliest, most foul looking creatures he's ever seen. They were as black as threstles and smelled worse than anything. Harry could compare to rotting flobber worms and troll sweat. The creatures noticed him quickly and furiously tackled him to the ground. Harry grappled with the beasts and it was obvious they had no qualms about killing him. Harry struggled but was unused to his new young body and his painful wounds that sparked with agony slowed him down.

Just when Harry began to resign himself to death at the hands of these monsters. One caught sight of his new pointed ears and shrieked. The others quickly drew back too. The conversation that followed was in a harsh growling language. Harry couldn't understand anything and lay dumbstruck in the dirt as the blacken beasts argued around him.

"It's a whelping Elf!" One screeched his beady eyes wide. "So? Who cares what he is? He's meat and I'm starving." Another snarled. "Do you know how treasured baby elves are? If we eat 'em we'd be hunted and tortured for decades! I ain't touching the thing." The first one backed away from Harry fearfully. "Wait you said that runting Elves are treasured? As in worth a lot?" One without a left eye came forward.

"Yeah. Elves never breed. So runts are really rare." "So, Imagine what Elves would pay for their runting back." Slowly the rest of the pack began to visualize: placing themselves on thrones, surrounded by feasts and uncountable amounts of gold. "Excellent, we'll trade the elfish brat for elfish favors." Manic grins were passed around the Orcs.

While they were talking in their own harsh savage language, Harry began to crawl away painfully. While trying not to cry out in pain the creatures noticed his attempt to escape and quickly caught their prize. "Shackle It! make sure it can't get loose." The leader commanded in Orcish. Rusted iron clamps were locked around his wrists, ankles, and even a leash like chain attached to a metal collar. Harry was in despair. He was bleeding even more furiously now and he was now a prisoner to these…things. He could honestly say it could get no worse for him.