In My Perfect World

In My Perfect World

By: JA_Japster

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to JK Rowling. “In My Perfect World” is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any shape or form without my prior consent.

Summary: Harry Potter is lost. Grieving and consumed with the guilt of the death of his friends, the magical community’s savior is overwhelmed by the burden of fulfilling Dumbledore’s death wish and the impending duel between him and Voldemort. In the world’s darkest moments, a thought continues to run through his mind. Maybe this is a battle he wasn’t meant to win.

Prologue

It was raining…

Dark heavens. Pouring rain. The lot. An ominous portent for an ominous occasion.

Master Sergeant John Haley crouched beside the dead body of a fellow soldier, searching through the man’s equipment pouch until he discovered a single slender pistol magazine in it. Haley wished that he still had a clip for his automatic rifle that lay discarded uselessly a few meters away, or even better, a few belts for the M-60 that they had used what seemed to be ages ago. It was better than nothing though. He switched out magazines for his handgun, worked the action and then carefully stood up.

One of the corpses of the monsters had been set ablaze from an incendiary grenade thrown sometime during the skirmish, and its burning torso cast a dim glow across the survivors of the battle where they were positioned hunkered down behind the burnt husks of wrecked automobiles and strewn rubble accumulated during the firefight. There were only three left of what had previously been a full platoon of Special Air Service commandos, the elite military force in the British military. Of the three, two were wounded from various cuts or bites sustained from the short lived but vicious massacre. One nearly had his arm ripped off when one of the beasts bit him. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved to a prayer only he could hear. None of them really expected to make it out of this alive.

Haley moved among the wounded, trying to ignore the permeating stench of rotting flesh that even the pouring rain could not suppress. While he was no medic, a cursory examination of the men’s wounds told him that infection was setting in rapidly…too rapidly in fact. It defied common sense that their wounds would already begin to rot, but the smell emanating from the blood soaked bandages was unmistakable.

It didn’t make any sense, but then again, none of this did.

They were deployed less than an hour ago to assist in the evacuation of the Prime Minister after a demonstration of some sort in front of parliament had turned nasty. The protestors had reportedly attacked the security forces in front of the gates, not with guns or knives, but with tooth and nail like savages. Gunfire had slain scores of them, but even after being dropped with a round in the chest they would get back up and amble towards the gate, determined to get inside. The guards in front where overwhelmed and hacked to death, and even backup from local police units had been devastated by the hoard before the SAS troops could arrive to provide assistance. No one knew where the mob originated nor could anyone explain their cannibalistic behavior and drugged demeanor. They were like monsters. None of this made sense.

Haley had overseen the evacuation of the Prime Minister and his family on helicopter, but the sudden appearance of unforeseen storm clouds and torrential rain had prevented the chopper from returning to pick up his team. They had just setup in the parking lot in front of parliament with the few survivors of police teams when the hoard broke through the last set of security gates. They had opened fire. It hadn’t been enough.

“Hang in there, chap.” Sergeant Haley encouraged one of his men, the one with only one arm. He patted him on the shoulder, but the soldier didn’t seem to notice. His skin was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shifting erratically. The poor guy wouldn’t make it. Maybe none of them would.

More to keep his mind off his inevitable fate than anything; Haley glanced over their makeshift barricade and scanned the courtyard again. It had been about five minutes since they had put down the last of the monsters with a single round to its head, but the chorus of moans indicated that more of them resided out there, eclipsed by the darkness.

“Hey, sergeant!” the other wounded man suddenly screamed. “Sergeant! It’s Timothy!”

Haley whirled around just in time to see the soldier with shifting eyes spasm violently and collapse on the ground. Haley prodded him gently. He didn’t move.

“Well that’s that then,” sighed the Master Sergeant. “Grab his-“His words died on his lips at what he saw next. Timothy’s eyes had snapped opened, staring unblinkingly at Haley. His mouth opened, revealing a bloody mass of twisted flesh and rotting teeth.

“What in the hell?” Involuntarily Haley’s pistol rose, but it was too late. With a screech, Timothy lunged at the other soldier, his teeth ripping a huge chunk of the soldier’s neck out in a wash of blood before a weapon could be raised. No sooner was that done did Timothy turn on his sergeant, blood dripping from his teeth.

Haley squeezed the trigger, but his hands shook at the last moment and the bullet struck Timothy in the neck instead of the forehead. It rocked the resurrected soldier back a step, but it recovered quickly and threw itself at Haley. They collided and fell backwards onto the ground, and the pistol fell from Haley’s grip and clattered away.

“Timothy!” Haley roared, trying to push his former comrade’s face away from his as Timothy determinedly tried to clasp his teeth down on Haley’s neck. Using one hand he struggled to push Timothy off of him, and with the other he blindly grasped for his handgun, praying for the cool touch of steel against his palm. It came to him after a moment of searching, and with a surge of strength he twisted around.

Just then though, sweat and blood on Haley’s palm slipped on Timothy’s face, and without hesitation the insane soldier buried its teeth into Haley’s shoulder. A wave of sharp pain shot through the sergeant’s body, but with a final surge of energy he pushed Timothy backwards and lined up a shot.

“Sorry, mate.” He whispered. The pistol exploded and a second later Timothy’s head snapped back as half of it was blown away from a 9mm bullet as it ripped through his skull. This time when he fell, he didn’t get back up. Haley pumped another bullet into Timothy’s head and then reluctantly did the same to the soldier Timothy bit.

There was something about the bites that made them like this…into cannibalistic monsters. Haley groaned and slouched back against the car, trying not to look at the bloody wound on his shoulder. If this theory was correct, then before long he would become like the monsters roaming around outside the barricade.

The blood loss was making him dizzy, and the world seemed so far away. Even still though, he could swear the moaning was growing louder. He struggled to his feet and spared a glance over the top of the car he was hiding behind, and his heart sank.

“God, I hate being right all the time.” He muttered. On the horizon, illuminated by the eerie green light produced from a burning flare, he could see maybe a half dozen of the monsters ambling towards him. Dejectedly he slumped back down and looked down at the handgun. He was in no shape to fight them. Better to just end it here instead of turning into one of them…or worse, being eaten alive, the fate that Haley had seen some of his men meet.

He twisted the handgun around and shoved it underneath his chin. His gaze fell to the sky. His finger tightened on the trigger…and then relaxed. He paused. What in the…

Overhead, soaring through the air was what appeared to be two motorcycles, and driving them were two men garbed in cloaks. They roared through the air, and it was only after a moment that Haley realized they were heading towards him. The motorcycles shot past only an inch above his head, spewing clouds of black exhaust as they streaked past, and then skidded noisily to a stop a few meters ahead of the barricade. One of the riders disembarked, casually tossing back his hoods and observing the carnage sadly.

“Looks like we’re too late, Kira” said the one that remained seated on his bike.

The other man nodded and took a step toward the approaching hoard. As he did so, he stepped into the light, briefly revealing a young man with shoulder length black hair and skin as pale as snow. “Too late to save these poor souls, but we’re not too late to take these bastards out.”

Angrily, he whipped off his trench coat and tossed it aside, revealing the black jumpsuit he wore underneath and two brown leather bandoliers that ran across his chest. From the pouches on the bandolier he began removing what appeared to be normal playing cards and then lengths of piano wire to which they were attached. Swiftly, but with obvious care, the pale young man tied the ends of the cords to the base of his fingers and then delicately held six of the cards in his hands.

“Need help there, Kira?” asked the other man.

“No, Jerome. I have this.” With a wicked smile, the young man’s hand extended and like a pack of wild cobras, the cards sprung open and shot towards the pack of oncoming beasts. With each deft tug of his fingers the cards weaved in turn in the air, like a puppet being controlled by a puppeteer, and in moments they had wrapped tightly around the necks of each of the monsters.

The smile on the young man’s face widened, and he suddenly tugged viciously on the cords. Simultaneously the razor sharp tips embedded into the edges of each card did their job, tearing into the flesh of the monsters and the cords did the rest. Blood sprayed everywhere as the nooses closed, neatly decapitating each of the beasts.

“Too easy,” the card thrower remarked as he reeled in his cards. He cleaned them and then stowed them away. “The necromancer must be far away already.”

“It was a hit and run job,” agreed the man’s partner. “But this many in so short a time…had to have been several novices all working together.”

“Or only a couple powerful ones,” added the young man, picking up his jacket and putting it back on. He crossed over to his motorcycle when he stopped, and turned towards where Haley lay, looking dazed at the young man. Haley could not believe his eyes, and if it weren’t for all the other crazy things that had happened tonight, he might have believed he was going insane.

“H-how did you do that?” Haley asked in awe.

“The cards you mean?” the young man asked. He pulled one out and showed it to him. “Magic.”

“Magic?” The sergeant nodded as if it all suddenly made sense. “Who are you people?”

“I’m Kira, Kira the Jester.” The young man introduced. He pointed at his partner. “That’s Jerome the Ax. We’re members of the Fourth Hunt and Suppression of Magical Anomalies Division.”

“Members of the what?”

“Hunt and Suppression of Magical Anomalies,” Repeated Kira slowly. “Basically we kill things like those,” He jerked a finger back at the headless bodies on the ground, “and other dark creatures. Werewolves, golems, the occasional rowdy vampire –stuff like that.”

Haley could only manage a blank stare. Did he just say vampires? “What were those things?”

“Zombies,” Kira said with a smile.

“Kira, don’t say that.” Jerome interjected from his perch on the bike.

“Don’t say what?” Kira asked.

“Say that, that, that zed word. They’re called Inferons. Calling them that zed word is just acting plain muggle.”

“Well they are.” The young man argued. He turned back to Haley. “Now, what happened here?”

Haley told them and Kira frowned deeply when he had finished. “Bad news I take it?” guessed Haley.

“Very bad. Well, it’s not our problem for now. We’ll leave this for someone else to clean up and modify the memory of…oh say…what do you think, Jerome?”

“Half the city.”

“About that, sure. Now, as for you, sir, we’ll just modify your memory and be on our way.” Kira said kindly.

“I-I’ve been bitten.” Haley objected hesitantly. As blood gushed from the deep bite in his shoulder, he suddenly felt so weak, and darkness hovered on the edge of his vision, threatening to completely engulf him. “I’ll turn into one of them, won’t I?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” assured the young man. “You’ll wake up in a couple hours…” He stopped talking after realizing that the soldier was no longer listening to him. He was dead. “Well shit…”

Kira sighed. The poor guy was right. A bite from a Feron would kill you first, and then bring you back as one of them. No cure had been invented yet by the healers; the best they could do was create a preventative potion that all hunters used before going it. The bite of a Feron was magic of the darkest kind, and it disgusted Kira more than words could describe. Reluctantly he bent down and placed the tip of his card against Haley’s throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Author’s Notes:

As promised, after devouring book six in about four hours (my eyes bleed) I started drafting the storyline for my latest fanfiction. As for book six…book six was a disappointment to me, and I wasn’t overly impressed. I’ll just leave it at that. The introduction of zombies was a nice touch though, and I couldn’t help but include them in typical Resident Evil/(Blank) of the Dead fashion. Anyone catch the Shaun of the Dead reference? I love that movie.

Comments, queries, complaints? Put ‘em in the review section!

In My Perfect World

By: JA_Japster

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to JK Rowling. "In My Perfect World" is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any shape or form without my prior consent.

Chapter One

That Magical Hour

The small bedroom on the second floor of number four Privet Drive was messier than usual when it was occupied by its sole inhabitant once a year. The entire room was in a state of general unkemptness. Wrinkled robes and shirts lay scattered across the ground, mingling with a host of quills, ink jars, books, used parchments, and other apparatus common to that of a young wizard in training. A trunk rested ajar in a forgotten corner from where the mayhem spilled unchecked, progressively covering the carpet from view with each passing day.

At the center of this mess was a raven haired young man who sat on the room’s only bed, his head resting against the window that revealed the desolate gray world beyond its rain streaked pain of glass. A bolt of lightening forked across the dark sky, and the accompanying rumble of thunder caused the young man to stir. Groggily, Harry Potter awoke.

With a soft groan Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slipped his glasses on. It was still raining, but that came to no surprise. It had been raining for the last two days now without pause, an oddity considering that the weatherman had predicted a heat wave during the week. Slowly, as to not upset the numerous parcels and newspaper clippings that were on the bed beside him, he swung his legs over the side and yawned. Despite his caution, though, one newspaper article from the Daily Prophet fell on the ground. Harry stooped down to pick it up, and as he did, his eyes landed on the now familiar headlines. The article read:

INFERI ATTACK KILLS 75 MUGGLES

Yesterday evening at approximately midnight, Inferi summoned by suspected dark wizards allied with You-Know-Who, attacked the muggle Parliament, breeching security and killing numerous guards. The muggle Prime Minister was safely evacuated by muggle soldiers who were overrun by the estimated fifty Inferi and killed. The massacre was only brought to an abrupt end by the sudden appearance of members of Fourth Hunt and Suppression of Magical Anomalies who proceeded to destroy the remaining Inferi before Ministry Officials could perform memory charms on the surrounding populace.

Ministry officials have declined to comment on this recent attack.

Inferi, resurrected corpses of the dead, were last seen during You-Know-Who’s last reign of terror, and appearances of the reanimated dark creatures have been reported frequently over the past week. If an Iferi is sighted in your residence, do not attempt to engage it. Remove your family to safety, and please contact Ministry Officials immediately.

Harry put down the Daily Prophet clipping, a grim look on his face. He heard snatches of some sort of attack on Parliament on the television, and according to the news reporters no one knew for sure the true nature of the attack. Terrorists were the majority decision at the moment, though Harry had read about scientists in tabloids speculating at government conspiracies involving illegal experimentation in germ warfare. Despite that, Harry had all along suspected the latest batch of muggle killings were the handiwork of the Death Eaters. The tell tale signs of dark magic weren’t exactly hard to identify.

Ever since the attack, a state of emergency had been declared throughout London, and the Dursleys had taken up government officials urge to remain secured indoors with enthusiasm. The fact that the Dursleys had invited him to share their private sanctuary hardly came as a surprise to Harry. After all, the reason they secluded themselves deep under the earth did not derive solely from the fears of another attack on London. Enough armed policeman and soldiers patrolled the streets outside of Privet Drive ever day in case of another repeated disaster. No, the Dursleys hid not only from the dangers of the outside of the world, but also from him.

They were afraid of him.

In the end, their years of oppressing and mistreating Harry had amounted to naught. All the years of subjecting him to the cruel visits of Uncle Vernon’s sister, Aunt Marge, and locking him under the stairs with hardly a single possession to call his own could not stop the inevitable. Harry was now seventeen years old; he had finally come of age. He looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It read 12:55.

He had been seventeen for almost an hour now.

It was strange. He somehow expected something a bit more dramatic at the strike of twelve, that magical hour of transformation, but only the silence of the night was there to greet his entrance in to manhood. Before falling asleep against the window, Harry had spent quite some time thinking, gazing out the window into the pouring night sky, completely at a lost to what to do with this new world of opportunity. Nothing came readily.

A host of a dozen different dirty tricks he could play against the Durlseys sprung to mind, but then with surprising hast faded away. Such childish immaturity, the kind of juvenile vindictiveness he had craved for years, suddenly seemed beneath him. All the resentment and anger towards his Aunt and Uncle, the only real family he had, no longer seemed so important. In that moment, sitting on his bed surrounded by parcels and letters from his friends wishing him Happy Birthday, somewhere in his heart he found the room to forgive them.

It was Dumbledore’s fault of course. It was amazing that even on the other side of death’s door the wizened former Headmaster of Hogwarts could affect him so deeply. A spiteful prank against the Dursleys would be the kind of thing that would make Dumbledore frown, and disappointing his memory was something Harry could not bear to do. The old wizard was an exhibition of mercy and forgiveness. It was something that ended up killing him, but Harry had trouble believing that Dumbledore felt any remorse for his choice. To him, everyone deserved a second chance. Dumbledore died trying to help Harry shoulder the enormous burden of fighting Voldemort. It was the least Harry could do to adopt some of Dumbledore’s forgiving attitude.

Not that he minded the solitude or anything. In fact, Harry welcomed silence any day over any conversation the Dursleys might have to offer. With a weary sigh born more of pensiveness than any real fatigue, Harry glanced at the pile of books and parchments that lay on his bedroom floor. Most of the books were from Hermione’s private collection, a fact that explained their alarmingly thick and complex nature. It had taken the better part of the week to just gloss over the first few chapters, but judging from some of the choice comments Hermione had included, they should tell him everything he needed to know about Hororcruxes.

He had a promise to keep, a destiny to reach, a prophecy to fulfill. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

So far, however, his search had revealed nothing that he did not already know from what Dumbledore had taught him. They were objects that a spell caster would use to anchor their soul in the mortal realm, preserving it from destruction if their physical form were to ever sustain fatal damage. Voldemort had used them to cheat death when the killing curse meant for Harry rebounded, allowing him the chance he needed to resurrect his body. The only way to ever kill Voldemort would be to first destroy his Hororcruxes.

Of course had to find the damn things first.

Harry picked up one of the tomes he had been reading when he had fallen asleep. While Dumbledore had proven adept at locating and destroying the sources of Voldemort’s immortality, not for the first time Harry wondered if he was hopelessly out of his league. Dumbledore had been the greatest wizard of all time, the only man Voldemort feared, and even he had made mistakes during his search, mistakes that ultimately cost him his life. If as powerful of a wizard as Dumbledore could fail…what chance did Harry have?

Another sigh escaped his lips. The depressing morbid thoughts concerning his chance with a Hororcrux, however, was still contingent on him actually learning where one was. Even after a week he had no clues to the Hororcruxes whereabouts aside from the ones he had gathered from Dumbledore the year prior. For all he knew, one of them could be sitting right under his nose and he would never be able to tell the difference.

He looked out the window at the torrential rain, and glumly thought how perfectly nature reflected his mood. Even the joy of becoming seventeen was eclipsed by the overwhelming responsibility he had inherited when Dumbledore died. The numerous presents he received from his friends helped alleviate his mood slightly, and perhaps the only object that managed to make him smile came in the form of a letter from Ron Weasley inviting him to spend the rest of the summer with his family at the Burrow. The prospect of finally leaving the Dursleys home for good sent his spirits soaring, and almost made him forget about his troubles for a second.

Almost…

While turning seventeen years old had brought him some happiness, Harry was not so foolish to think that its benefits did not come with consequences attached. He remembered all too clearly Dumbledore’s warning to the Dursleys last year. The moment Harry came of age he would lose the protection that his mother had purchased in blood the night she was murdered. While nothing had physically changed to the house, the knowledge that Voldemort could now walk through the front door at any moment left Harry feeling very vulnerable.

The letter Ron had sent him had only specified the day for pickup, Harry’s birthday, but not a time. Nonetheless, Harry decided it was probably time to pack anyway just in case of the outside chance they would show up at one in the morning. With a few flicks of his wand, all of Harry’s items leaped up and soared into his trunk. He watched as a pair of socks fought their way past a packet of Owl Treats, and then with a sort of victorious wiggle, flopped down. When the rest of his possessions had finished packing themselves, Harry closed the trunk and magically locked it.

Time past. Ten minutes, then a half hour. Harry vaguely entertained the idea of unpacking his trunk and repacking it just to occupy himself, but dismissed it. Twenty minutes later, just when he was re-entraining the thought, a blindingly bright bolt of lightning illuminated the dark sky, and a deafening rumble of thunder shook the house.

The lights died and the shrill crescendo of a blaring alarm shattered the stillness of night. Somewhere in the distance a cat hissed its disproval.

Involuntarily, Harry’s grip tightened on his wand. Could this be an attack?

"Quite an entrance there, Hits." A voice said in the darkness. "Think you could do it next time without frying the power grid?" It was coming from downstairs. Harry froze. He did not recognize the voice, but if they were Death Eaters it seemed unlikely that they would be introducing themselves with such fanfare.

"You try next time," sneered a different voice. A loud bang echoed throughout the house as, from the sounds of it, something fell over and broke. Someone cursed loudly, which invited a torrent of scathing rebukes from two other voices, neither of which Harry could identify.

"So much for stealth," Someone muttered.

"So much for proficiency," Said the first voice again.

"I didn’t know muggle doors were made so flimsily!" Argued the second.

"What did you do?" A new voice entered the fray, and Harry’s eyes widened when he realized he finally knew the speaker. He relaxed, and calmly walked out of his room and onto the landing that lead downstairs.

"I said quietly!" The voice continued. There was a hint of tired resignation in it, not unlike a teacher rebuking an incorrigible student. "And what did you do his Aunt and Uncle? I’m surprised you didn’t kill them."

"Look, I’m sorry!"

"You’re damn right you are."

Harry arrived at the top of the stairs, and a grin crept across his lips at the strange sight that greeted him. Standing in the middle of the living room, dripping wet from the rain, stood four figures clad in formless black robes. Their faces were hidden behind white masks, but even Harry could not have mistaken them for Death Eaters. Far from looking fearsome or intimidating, the masks looked undeniably cute painted with animal faces, ranging from bunnies to kittens. He stifled a laugh, which came out more like a snort. Immediately the group turned to face him.

"Hello, Harry," a man with brown hair speckled with traces of gray pushed his way through the group of masked figures, and Harry found himself looking at the smiling, but exhausted, features of Remus Lupin. Harry smiled back.

"Hello Professor."

---

Author’s Notes:

Sorry for the slow updates. Just started school this week, and between classes and homework, I’ve also had to compete with a computer that keeps crapping out on me. First my mouse decides to randomly freak out and start deleting my file (it now rests in pieces from a beating with a kendo stick…stupid piece of junk) and then my computer decides to stop booting up. So after reformatting my computer twice and replacing my fried motherboard, I finally was able to sit down and write. This chapter only took three drafts (each was around 2000 words before I decided to scrap them) as opposed to the usual four or five I need to write before I’m satisfied, and it’s probably a good thing to since my fingers are beginning to hurt.

Questions, complaints, comments? If you’ve read down this far, please stop for a second and write a quick review. Thanks!

In My Perfect World

By: JA_Japster

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to JK Rowling. “In My Perfect World” is the product of JA_Japster and should not be reproduced in any shape or form without my prior consent.

Chapter Two

The Hunters

As Harry descended down the stairs, he noticed that the source of light in the otherwise pitch black house came from a small glowing orb that hovered over Lupin's shoulder, casting a solitary ray of light over his former teacher. As always, Lupin looked dangerously fatigued, but this time the circles under his eyes seemed darker than usual and his robes hung loosely to his body as if he had lost weight. Nonetheless, he still smiled broadly as he warmly shook Harry's hand.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said. "I trust you've enjoyed your summer?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and Lupin gave an appreciative laugh. "Don't worry. We'll be on our way to the Burrow in a matter of minutes." Harry only nodded. Lupin frowned and asked, "Is there something wrong, Harry?"

"No I'm fine," Harry replied quickly, but a sharp look from Lupin immediately told Harry he did not believe a word of it. "Well, I guess I kind of thought that Ron and Hermione would be here. That's all."

An uncomfortable silence filled the living room, broken only when one of the masked figures dropped the Dursley's television that they had been inspecting. He -Harry was sure it was a he judging from his deep voice- muttered a quick apology and with a meaningless hand gesture, the television floated back up onto its perch, only now with a deep crack in its monitor. The wizard didn't seem to notice though, or if he did he was doing a good job ignoring it, and sheepishly rejoined the rest of his masked brethren. One of them reached over and hit him.

Harry turned back to Lupin and was surprised to see him looking distinctly uncomfortable as if unsure how to best relate to Harry some tragic news. A sudden terrible premonition dawned on Harry and a dozen different horrible thoughts rushed to mind, and without thought, he grabbed Lupin by the front of his robes. "What happened to them?" He demanded. "Was it Death Eaters?"

Much to Harry's relief, Lupin chuckled softly. "No, nothing like that, Harry. There's just been...a complication I suppose. You'll see once we arrive at the Burrow. Now, will you mind releasing me Harry? I'm afraid I bruise quite easily these days..."

Harry flushed, and quickly released Lupin. "Sorry," he muttered embarrassedly.

"Don't worry about it. Now, I'm sure you're quite curious as to the nature of my companions." Lupin gestured to the group of robed figures. Harry confirmed he had been. He certainly hoped that they weren't anything more than some sort of lame entertainment Lupin had arranged to lighten Harry's spirits, because so far the only impression he had gotten from them was that they deserved to be in some sort of circus, with or without their comical animal masks.

"Harry, meet the Hunters." Lupin introduced. "Your escorts for this evening."

Harry groaned inwardly. Leaning over, he whispered to Lupin, "Uh, professor, are you sure about this? I mean, couldn't you have gotten Aurors or something? They seem kind of..."

"Incompetent?" volunteered Lupin loudly. Harry cringed.

"Well...yeah. No offense." Harry added hastily for the benefit of the Hunters.

Unperturbed, the man who had dropped the television muttered, "None taken." He was now busy prodding the Dursley's electric fireplace curiously with his finger, much to the ire of his companions.

"Yes, Harry," Lupin said with a dramatic sigh. "They are incompetent and clumsy but despite all their many apparent flaws, it is with much embarrassment that I can say they are also some of the best wizards in the Ministries employ."

Harry just stared blankly. He recalled vaguely the conversation he had held with the Minister of Magic the year before at Dumbledore’s funeral. It had ended less than cordially, but somewhere the Minister had alluded that he would give Harry extra protection during the summer. If this was the aforementioned security however…

“Knew he had it in for me,” He muttered darkly.

Despite the flurry of criticism and insults being thrown in their direction, the Hunters appeared quite at ease. In fact, they were no longer paying attention to Harry and Lupin. Instead, two of the Hunters were staring out the window, keeping watch; the other was sitting on Uncle Vernon’s favorite chair with their muddy boots propped up on an expensive teak coffee table, and the last of the group was still poking at the fireplace with an almost childlike fascination.

Biting his lip, Harry tried to keep from making rash, unfair judgments on this lot. He remembered when he first met Tonks he had been far from impressed. Time, however, had shown him how wrong he had been. Not only had Tonks become a quirky, but enjoyable friend, she had also proven herself as a valuable ally and proficient witch. Maybe this group, these Hunters, might also have some hidden worth.

"Damn!" The man who had been staring into the fireplace yelped. Somehow, the Dursley's electric fireplace had ignited, setting his sleeve ablaze. Cursing fluidly, he quickly extracted his wand and prodded the burning cloth. A jet of water shot out, extinguishing it, but leaving the acrid stench of burnt clothe and singed flesh lingering unpleasantly in the room.

Harry shook his heads. No, maybe they were just idiots.

"Don't judge them too harshly," Lupin said with a smile, having figured out what Harry was thinking. "They may not look it, but most of them were members of the Aurors or were hit wizards before joining up with the Hunters. They certainly don't look pretty, but they have it where it counts...or so at least Minerva tells me.”

He looked up at a clock that adorned the Dursley’s fireplace. “Well, we should probably leave before an opportunity arises to test the credibility of our escorts.”

“Too late,” Said one of the Hunters who were standing by the window. “We got company.”

“What?” Exclaimed Lupin. He ran over to the window, and Harry gazed over his shoulder out into the street. Everything seemed normal. The neighborhood was deserted at this time of night, and with the electricity out, it was also blanketed in darkness so thick that it was hard to see more than a few meters ahead. Harry squinted his eyes, peering into the night for signs of the intruders that the Hunter detected.

“Where?” Harry whispered. Oddly enough, there was no fear in his voice. He felt quite calm even when faced with the prospect of facing off with Voldemort’s Death Eaters yet again and it had little to do with the little reassurance Harry’s escorts inspired. Maybe he was just getting used to these small life and death skirmishes that had plagued his life ever since his fourth year in Hogwarts.

“By that stop sign,” replied the Hunter, pointing out the window. Sure enough, a second later a shape broke away from the veil of night and scurried to hide behind a tree nearby.

“There’s only three of them,” Lupin muttered to himself. “And they’re not giving off a very powerful aura either.”

“Not the Dark Lord then?” asked one of the Hunters, almost disappointedly. Harry glanced at the speaker. It was the Hunter with the Raccoon mask. Smaller than the rest of the Hunters by at least a head, the small wizard, or the Raccoon as Harry unconsciously labeled him, reclined lazily on Uncle Vernon’s chair.

Lupin gave the Raccoon a sharp look. “We should be grateful that it isn’t. No, these must be some newly initiated Death Eaters, probably out to earn themselves a name.”

Harry laughed grimly. What these Death Eaters did not know was that Voldemort had reserved Harry’s death for only himself, and anyone who dared go against his orders would pay accordingly. These fools were out to expecting to be praised for killing Voldermort’s arch nemesis, but the reality of it was that just by showing up at Number Four Privet Drive this night they had unknowingly signed their own death warrants.

The Hunter by the window who wore a Fox mask turned around and addressed the rest of the group. “Three Death Eaters,” they said, and Harry was momentarily surprised to hear a woman’s voice coming from behind the mask. “Who wants to take them?”

“Hold on a minute,” Lupin interjected swiftly. “Our priority is to get Harry to safety, not to engage these Death Eaters.”

The female Hunter shook her head. “Kill them now and we won’t have to worry about them later. It’ll make getting Potter out of here easier if we don’t have to think about Death Eaters raiding the house.”

“No,” replied Lupin fiercely. “Are job is to get Harry first! You can come back to do your killing after that is done!”

But the Fox was no longer listening. She surveyed her team, glancing at each member for a second, and then concluded, “Raccoon, you take this one.”

“Why do I always get the easy ones?” The Raccoon complained as he sat up. Lazily, he stretched and then hopped to his feet. “How come Kira and Jerome get to do the fun stuff?”

“Code names on the field only, Raccoon” The Fox snapped. “And get going.”

With a sigh, the Raccoon muttered, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” and ambled over to the door. He threw it open noisily, and strolled out into the night. A moment later, the rest of the Hunters, Lupin, and Harry followed him.

Spread out in the middle of the street were three Death Eaters clad in black robes and pale white masks that covered their faces. Their wands were drawn, and they didn’t appear the least bit surprised to see six wizards waiting for them. One of them laughed unpleasantly when the Raccoon stepped forward to challenge them.

“You chose the wrong house to attack,” The Raccoon told the Death Eaters. “It’s protected by very powerful magic you see.”

“Potter’s protection that his Mudblood of a mother bought him expired an hour ago, fool.” replied one of the Death Eaters. He stood out from the other two, and the way he spoke for them identified him as the unofficial leader of the raiding party. “And now all of your time is up too.”

“I’m not talking about Harry’s mothers magic. I’m talking about myself.”

The Death Eater cackled scathingly. “What are you going to do midget? How are you going to stop us? How are any of you going to stop followers of the Dark Lord? We are some of the closest of his companions, and I guarantee you your powers are nothing compared to ours.”

“So des ka,” The Raccoon said. He nodded his head slowly as if finally understanding the answer to some elusive question. An unforeseen gleeful smile formed underneath his mask, and his whole body began to shake with silent laughter. The Death Eaters exchanged confused glances, staring in puzzlement at the seemingly mad wizard who kept chuckling to himself without bothering to look at the wands leveled at his face. Finally, the leader, having finally lost his patience, growled in annoyance and pressed his wand against the Hunter’s head.

“Boku wa ureshi des. I guess I’ll just have to kill you all then just to be safe,” The masked Hunter whispered.

The Death Eater snorted derisively. “You can try from the grave. Avada-“

The ending of the incantation for the killing curse never left the man’s lips. The Raccoon suddenly whipped off his cloak into the face of the Death Eater, and before the dark wizard could react, his chest exploded outward in a thick wash of crimson. It had happened so quickly that the Death Eater’s shock kept him on his feet for a few precious seconds. His life quickly fading away, the unlucky Death Eater’s gazed dumbly at his blood soaked torso where the length of a curved sword had magically sprouted, and then at the small wizard who held its ornamental hilt tightly in his hands.

“Why?” He gasped in amazement. With a vicious tug, the small Hunter pulled his sword free in another mist of spraying blood, and the Death Eater pitched forward onto the street, still unable to believe he was dead.

Harry’s could scarcely believe what he was seeing. He did not know how he expected the Hunter to deal with the Death Eaters, but this had not been it. One moment, the dark wizard had been alive with the arrogance so typical of Voldemort’s minions, and the next he was dead, his life blood seeping into the street in front of Number Four Privet Drive. Never before had he seen someone kill so swiftly…so callously…so unremorsefully. He tore his eyes from the dead corpse on the ground and looked at the sword wielding Hunter.

The swordsman stood over the body of his slain foe, his blade, still dripping from his latest kill, pointed at the remaining two Death Eaters, extending a wordless challenge. Underneath the robes he was clad in a dark jumpsuit with a white armor plating covering his chest, and atop his head was shock white hair that spiked in every direction. Like his mask, they were drenched in blood. No longer did the Raccoon mask seem comical or cute. Stained with splashes of red, it looked more ominous, more awe inspiring than even a Dark Mark floating through the air.

“You bastard!” screamed one of the other Death Eaters. He raised his wand, ready to send a curse at the Hunter, but the Raccoon was already far ahead of him. Dropping to one knee, the swordsman twirled around, made a blazing fast cut in the air, and then returned his blade into its sheath across his back.

For a second, nothing happened. And then the Death Eater shrieked in agony as the hand holding his wand suddenly peeled away from the rest of his arm. Blood shot out like a geyser from his dismembered hand, and the man’s anguished screams echoed into the night. The Raccoon did not let him suffer for long. As the Death Eater kneeled over, grasping the bloody stump where his hand had once been, the Hunter sent his sword piercing through the dark wizard’s heart.

The third Death Eater backed away in fear, his wand held trembling in front of him. A jet of green light shot out, but the Raccoon nimbly jumped aside and it slammed into the ground, ripping a crater the size of a fist in the smoothly paved street. Not disheartened by his failure, the Death Eater prepared another curse, but before he could get it off, the Hunter was already on top of him. The Raccoon’s sword flashed in the night, and the Death Eater suddenly found himself only holding half of a wand.

Panicking, the dark wizard dropped the useless piece of wood and backed up. He closed his eyes, screwing them shut tightly as if concentrating deeply, and then opened them again. His eyes widened underneath his mask as terror set in, paralyzing his body in its icy grip as his mind struggled to comprehend this startling revelation.

“Can’t apparate can you,” The Raccoon observed, laughing to himself as the Death Eater continued to desperately try to apparate away without success. “The anti-apparation field we set up the moment you arrived might have something to do with it.”

“What?” The Death Eater exclaimed. “B-but that means you can’t apparate either! You were supposed to get the boy away from here!”

“We had no intentions of running away if that’s what you were thinking. No, even if it meant being trapped here ourselves, we wanted to make sure we could kill every last one of you scum that showed up”

Harry felt Lupin stiffen beside him, and a sideways glance showed the livid rage that consumed his normally passive face. He looked angrier than Harry had ever seen, his fists clenched tightly at his side and his teeth gritting with barely concealed anger. Harry didn’t even need to ask why the Hunter’s proclamation had invited Lupin’s fury. Lupin’s orders were to get Harry to safety no matter what, but here their escorts were gambling with all their lives just to kill a few Death Eaters.

The Death Eater looked around frantically for help, whimpering pitifully as if he was begging for a rescue from the white haired swordsman, but there was no compassion to be found in the faces of those who beheld his plight. The emotions of the Hunters were invisible, hidden from the world by their masks, and even in Lupin’s there was no trace of sympathy. His eyes were as cold as ice as he beheld the Death Eater, a contemptuous scowl distorting his lips into an ugly grimace brimming with hatred.

“Professor…” Harry whispered. He tugged Lupin’s sleeve. “Professor, he’s not going to kill him is he?”

No answer came.

“Please…please don’t let him kill me!” The Death Eater wailed. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to one of the Hunters, the Fox. Grasping the hem of her robes, he began to sob, blubbering incoherent pleas for mercy.

“Professor, this isn’t right!” Harry said, louder this time. Again, Lupin did not respond.

The Fox observed the Death Eater for a second like a person looking at an offensive insect and then viciously kicked him in the face, shattering his nose and sending the bleeding dark wizard skidding backwards across the concrete. The Raccoon roughly set the Death Eater upright, and then placed the edge of his sword against the man’s neck.

“Lupin!” Harry yelled. “We can’t let him do this!”

“Any last words?” The Raccoon asked, ignoring Harry.

“I…I don’t want to die…” The dark wizard moaned.

The swordsman shrugged. The blade rose…

No! Harry’s mind screamed. This is not right!

He deserves to die…

No! You can’t just let him murder him! He deserves a chance…

Would they have given you a chance?

No!

Before Harry realized it, his wand had leaped to his hands. He pointed it at the Hunter’s back and screamed, “Stupify!” The curse shot through the air, but just as it was about to hit, almost casually the Hunter flicked his sword behind him and deflected the spell harmlessly into the ground.

“Harry!” Lupin cried, starting towards Harry. He stopped immediately when Harry pointed his wand at him. “What are you doing?” He demanded.

“We can’t let him execute this guy,” Harry said. He looked Lupin straight into the eye, and with conviction that he really did not feel, he added, “It’s not right.”

Someone laughed scornfully. It was the Raccoon. He had lowered his sword and was looking at Harry and through the small slits in his mask Harry could see the disdain in the man’s eyes. With utmost contempt in his voice, he said, “Morality. Harry, you surprise me. You of all people should hate these bastards the most.”

“I do hate them,” Harry replied angrily. “But that doesn’t mean we should just kill them every chance we get! We’re no better than them if we do that!”

“Do you really think they would have shown you mercy, Harry, if they got the chance?” The Raccoon asked angrily. He shook his head. “They’d gladly kill you in a heartbeat, as well as all your friends and their families. Not for honor, not for some half-assed noble ideal like the one you suffer from, but it’s because that was what they were told to do. What do you think of that?”

Deep inside Harry knew everything the Hunter said was true, but he refused to be swayed. Gritting his teeth, he aimed his wand at the Raccoon. “We’re not killing an unarmed man. Dumbledore would not want it.”

“Harry, Dumbledore is dead.” said Lupin. Surprised, Harry looked at him. Surely Lupin did not agree with the Hunters. Almost bitterly, Lupin muttered, “It’s because he was merciful to men like Snape that he’s dead.”

“But…”

Lupin had a right to be bitter, a right to be angry, Harry realized. He had lost so many friends to men like the ones the Hunters were ready to execute. Harry’s father and mother, Sirius Black, and then Dumbledore…

“We’re not killing anyone.” Repeated Harry firmly.

A long moment passed. Finally, the Fox sighed resignedly. “We’ll do it Potters way this time. Put it away, Racoon.”

“Anata baka,” The Raccoon scowled, but he stowed away his sword. The captured Death Eater sighed in relief having just evaded death, but it was short lived because a moment later the Hunter smashed his fist into the dark wizard’s face. With a choked cry of surprise, the Death Eater collapsed, unconscious.

Harry also felt his body involuntarily relax and he pocketed his wand. Two of the other Hunters moved forward to secure their prisoner, while the rest moved out to ensure that no other dangers lurked out in the woods. Lupin was walking from house to house down the block, casting memory altering spells on their occupants in case anyone had overseen the battle. Harry rushed to meet up with him.

“Professor,” Harry asked timidly, walking by Lupin’s side. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Lupin looked at his former student and smiled faintly. “Time shall tell, Harry.”

---

Author’s Notes:

I had fun writing that chapter. I love adding hints of anime into all my writing (anime is my one absolute obsession) and it should be pretty obvious where they are if you’re also an anime oktau. Just having a Japanese speaking guy (my Japanese is terrible; I had to get help from one of my friends. Apologies if it offends the eyes) swinging around a katana in modern day London should be enough to hint that this won’t be your normal Harry Potter story, and I guarantee you it won’t. I’ve always believed that the magical world in the books could be expanded in so many ways to encompass other different realms of fantasy, and I strive to do so in my writing. Notice the inclusion of necromancers in the Prologue. Never seen before in the HP novels, fans of Garth Nix or Diablo should be able to figure out what these guys do.

Any critiques, comments, questions, or whichever would be very welcomed. Thanks!