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Fallen by Bristar
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Fallen

Bristar

Fallen
By:Bristar/ Brianne Crandle

Chapter 2



Four years later........


Darkness.

He had become used to it. The darker and lighter shadows it created. The tastes and feelings it stirred. It was almost as if it was no longer a thing, but a living breathing beast that he could control, bend to his will. He moved and shifted in its depths, bidding his time and waiting for the opportunity, his eyes flashing over the ghastly creature before him.

It was tall. Enormously so, and thin, made mostly of snow white bone turned silver by the light of the half moon, and disgustingly rotting skin hanging by tendrils of flesh. The creatures head was inhumanly large and empty of anything that resembled a living person. The face of death and pain. The face of evil.

The Undead being was hunched over a body, a body that appeared to have been recently killed. The dead human was a young obviously pretty girl, no older than thirteen, her long blonde hair painted silver against the snow, her paling skin glowing. A large gash parted her stomach and only recently stopped bleeding, a pool of warm blood beneath her in a crimson puddle of what had been her life. Blood. Sometimes he wondered if the ground was made of nothing else but the spilled blood of innocence.

Shifting his grip on the sword in his hand, Harry Potter watched the Undead creatures every stomach churning movement.

It took a shacking breath. It shifted its feet in horrible anticipation. It clenched and un clenched its boney, flesh hanging fingers, hungry for the flesh before it. Harry knew his time had at last come.

With a wild cry of rage and force, the black figure sprang from the darkness, as if he was a living shadow the night had produced. The Undead creature turned to face the loud, angry noise slowly, its dim nearly dead mind confused and caught off guard. It took it a long moment to realize that a silver shinning blade was buried in its black heart.

It screamed.

The scream was like a thousand blood curdling cries of death. It shook the ground, it shook the trees. The snow around it blackened and melted into white steam with the force of the pain and agony. The cries of all those the Undead creature had killed, the bodies and souls it had possessed, streaming from its being. The death was suffocating and its potency would have made most men crumble and cry like frightened children.

Harry didn't move.

The creature caught fire around his blade in a brilliant silver blaze, that licked Harry's black leather gloved hands, tickling his flesh in the holy flames. Then the Undead was gone, not even a pile of ash was left, only Harry glittering blade remained, the moon reflecting gently off its surface.

With a swift well practiced motion, Harry re-sheathed his sword, pulling his heavy midnight black cloak around him, green -almost black eyes- locked on the young body before him, careful not to step in the red tinted snow around her. Wide blue eyes, framed by long black lashes, were still open and staring in pure fear, and Harry reached out his hand slowly and brushed then closed with a gently flick of his wrist. He stood for another moment or so, his intense gaze shifting over the frozen body, then from within his robes he withdrew a pinch of salt and a flask of milk. He threw the salt on the body, and poured a bit of milk over the dark wound, then uttered an ancient prayer, its words made more of breaths and hums than words, and they flowed through the air like a sad entrancing song. Suddenly, as if lightning had struck, the body was gone. Taken. Never to be used for the Undead purposes.

Replacing the milk flask back into his cloak, Harry slowly lifted the black hood over his ebony hair, then as silently as a whisper, he slunk back into the shadows. His shadows. The night, the dark, was his.


Sometimes, when he was completely alone. He would return to that night. That horror. He would remember the screams and the pain. He tried to block it out to, erase the memories and faces that haunted him, but he couldn't, the anger, the hate was to hot, to real. Then from those hate filled, familiar shadows would appear fonder happy memories.

Tonight under a thicket of large willow trees, he had decided fit for his shelter for the evening, another of those terrible, painful, good memories flooded over him.

"Harry!" a familiar jovial voice cried, full of happiness and joy. Harry turned away from his bouncing team mates to see Ron and Hermione bursting through the crowd in a full out gallop. Hermione looked beautiful, her curly hair flowing out behind her like a soft chocolate brown cloak, eyes alight and praising. And Ron. Ron was wearing his famous congratulating smirk, the grin of a person who had been right... again.

Harry embraced Hermione and swung her about, holding her tightly against him . The crowd around him shouting his name and hugging his team mates. Griffindor had won the Quidditch cup for the fourth year in a row, and Harry had caught the snitch thirty minutes into the game.

"I told everyone there was nothing to be worried about," Ron drawled lazily crossing his arms over his chest, "Your the bloody best Quidditch player the school's ever seen, why the hell wouldn't you win?"

Harry laughed, over come with happiness, and lightly embraced his other best friend, who gave him an awkward pat on the back.

"Come on Harry mate don't get all mushy on me, the other guys are watching."

"Ron your impossible."

"Well I bloody well hope so!"

Everyone laughed and Ron winked at Harry warmly before giving him a light punch in the shoulder.

"Good job buddy......."

The memory faded and flitted out of his mind and dreams so quickly Harry physically reached out to grab it. For a moment. A small nearly insignificant moment, Harry's eyes were no longer cold and lost, but their old, shinning warm green that flamed and sparkled with laughter and mischief. But it almost to small and quick to be mentioned. And his haggard gaze returned a half second later. The happiness gone, and only darkness was left.

Ron. He couldn't save Ron.

Sighing softly, a breath of white emitting from his blueish lips, he knew he had better return home. The thoughts and dreams that solitude brought him, were dangerous to his being, and his mind. Tears saved no one. Hate was the only thing that kept him alive.

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Yes.. I KNOW that was short, but the next chapter will be much longer I promise, this is just to give you a feel of the "New" much DARKER Harry, and don't worry the story wont always be this.... DEAD and dark.... next chapter will be better, and you guys will get to meet Hermione! Well sort of... *evil grin* Thanks for the reviews! *Passes out cookies* Thanks for the review Bg and CC *huggles them and gives them extra cookies*

~Bristar