A Day in the Life of Torchwood

gphoenix51

Rating: R
Genres: Humor, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 29/07/2008
Last Updated: 29/07/2008
Status: completed

A Death Eater recruitment center, and a shadow bent on destroying it and everyone else following the Dark Mark. A Glimpse of the Torchwood Universe.

Chapters

1. A Day in the Life of Torchwood

1. A Day in the Life of Torchwood

Title: A Day in the Life of Torchwood - Or How Harry Spends his Nights - and Days (Torchwood Trailer One-Shot)

Author: gphoenix51

Author E-Mail: gphoenix51@gmail.com

Category: Action/Humor

Rated: R for Violence, Gore and Naughty Language…lots of Naughty Language

Pairing: H/Hr…duh. Are there any others?

Spoilers: Books 1-5, because the series mysteriously ended after book 5.

Disclaimer: All copyrighted products, movies, music, TV shows, comics, books, and any other Brand Names are the properties of their specific companies. All Harry Potter characters and places belong to JK Rowling. All original work and characters in this story are copyrighted by me, gphoenix51Â© 2008-2009.

A/N: This story originated as a Challenge that I submitted. I had read a few Vigilante!Harry type stories and got the idea for this. This particular part of my overall Torchwood fic came about from one of my reviewers, What contented men desire. In the review, WCMD said I should make a self-contained one shot, a trailer of sorts like for a movie. I hope I've done that here. My goal was to give readers a glimpse of the Torchwood universe, whetting the appetite without giving too much away. This trailer won't be in the actual story, not like my Sample chapter was, but the situation described here will be referenced at some point. The Challenge is here - http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=27017

Now, since I get this question asked of me a lot, (and it's my own damn fault since I can't come up with a better name) No, this is not a crossover fic with the Torchwood TV show, this has nothing to do with that kick ass show or it's even more kick ass parent show, Doctor Who. There is no team; this is Harry and Harry alone. Harry alone goes into combat with Riddle and his Dark Forces. What it is, to put it simply, is I loved the name. And as I was kicking this idea around in my head, I accidentally attached my version of Vigilante!Harry with the name Torchwood and it stuck. Stuck so much that any other name I tried to come up with didn't sound as good. So, Torchwood it is. Now yes, I did borrow the T symbol from the show too, and the name of Harry's base. But that's it, I promise. Besides, I did make the T and The Hub different from the show versions. But the point is, no crossover, no Harry/Torchwood combo story. Just borrowing some things, I promise to put them back. Now, I'm not promising that there won't be a cameo or two, or at least familiar names, but that's all.

I think that's everything, please read and review, I'd love to hear what people think and get some feedback on how I'm doing. This is my second post to Portkey, but still my first HP Fanfic, so I'd like to know how I'm doing. If anyone has any questions, I'd love to hear from you. I can't promise answers if they would give too much away, but I will answer you back, even if it's a “I can't say, it'll blow the surprise!”

Oh, and one quick plea before I let you go, please give the girls a chance. That's all I'm saying.

Summary: (Warning, some spoilers for the rest of my Torchwood fic, though by the time I'm finished writing it and finally post it, I'm sure everyone who's read this will have forgotten the minor spoilers) A Day in the Life of Torchwood, and a glimpse into the Torchwood Universe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken weeks to get to this moment, this crowning achievement for the loyal servants of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Janos had worked very hard for this day. He had been recruited by one of the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters. Walden Macnair had been sent to Central Europe to spread his Master's influence and terror. Janos knew that his grandfather Grigori would be proud of him; having been a part of Lord Grindelwald's Knights of Walpurgis in the 40's. Janos was simply carrying on the family tradition. At least that's what he liked to think, his meddlesome father thought that was something to be hidden, to be ashamed of. He'd never understood, their status as purebloods in the Wizarding world kept them beyond reproach, no one dared think disrespectfully of Janos' family, or they would pay the consequences. Janos made sure they knew it too. At Durmstrang he was a prince among peasants. He'd led his own group there as well, and they showed the underclassmen who was boss. The only one who never seemed to care about Janos or his friends' way of thinking was that Krum fool, and that was because he had been hit by a bludger once too often. All that moron could think of was Quidditch this and Quidditch that, never once asserting his pureblood heritage on the half bloods that dared show their faces in the hallowed halls of Durmstrang Academy. No Mudbloods of course, they didn't allow that kind of refuse through the doors. “Though, they do make for fine target practice,” Janos thought. He and his friends had snatched and grabbed several of the Muggleborn scum and tried out their newest curses on them. The Cruciatus curse was a popular one, of course. Every time the filthy Mudbloods screamed, Janos' pure blood sang with power.

Janos' thoughts continued in this vein for a long while, walking at the head of his group, head held high, leading his friends to the Death Eater outpost on the outskirts of Prague. The rain put a slight damper on things, but a few umbrella charms took care of that easily enough. The lightning flashed through the night, lighting up the long walkway and surrounding buildings. “Ugh, take a look at that gargoyle. Whoever designed this place should be drug out into the street and Crucio'ed,” Janos thought, looking at a particularly disgusting one. It looked vaguely man shaped and sized, but larger. The head in particular looked grossly malformed. “Probably some foolish Muggle architect.”

Janos led his group up to the door, knocked three times and gave the password. “Pureblood Might!” he said forcefully, pride filling him up.

“Enter Initiates,” a cold voice said.

The door creaked open and Janos strutted in, his friends following close behind. They walked into an opulent entrance hall. Gold figurines, marble statues and tapestries decorated the walls. Janos was suitably impressed, “Being a Death Eater must pay very well,” He wasn't poor by any stretch of the imagination, but this was simply decadent in its furnishings. A figure in black robes and a bone white mask met them at the tall double doors of the hall. The group stopped before the figure and waited.

“Welcome Initiates. You have all done well in the eyes of our Master. Today marks your entrance into the hallowed ranks of the Death Eater Elite. You have all worked hard and accomplished much to be allowed into the Dark Lord's forces. Follow me.” The man raised one gloved hand and snapped his fingers. The doors slid open, smoothly and silently, and the group followed the robed Death Eater in. The Ceremony chamber was large and well lit, but other than rows of candlesticks, the room was bare. Save for the other five robed men, there were no other souls present, not even a house elf. Janos thought this was a little strange, “A House this big, this elegant, and no house elves to keep it?” His thoughts were interrupted when the Death Eater stopped at an altar; the other four were already behind it, silently watching the group file in. The one who led them in took his place at the left side of the altar, in the one missing spot. Janos and his friends lined up in front of the others, along the altar's length. Once the last Initiate was in place, the center Death Eater spoke.

“The ten of you have done very well; the Master is pleased with your performances. Your tests were all completed to the Dark Lord's satisfaction, and he has seen fit to reward you this night by making you full members of his illustrious army.” The head Death Eater drew his wand from inside his robe, and swept it across his mask. The face of Walden Macnair looked down at Janos, smiling slightly at the newest members of the Death Eater ranks.

“Your tests have done much more than simply prove your worth to the Dark Lord; they have helped spread his message of pureblood righteousness and power. The filthy Muggle hospital you razed, the neighborhoods attacked and dirty Muggles you've put down have all spread this message of fear. And the city is fearful. The Wizarding world would like to think our Master only has his eyes on Great Britain and Her surrounding neighbors, but you and your fellow initiates from around the globe have helped show them that nowhere is safe from the Dark Lord. That there is nowhere to run or hide. Even now, the Minister of Magic for the Czech Republic has already called for the assistance of the British Minister. Little does he realize how inept that fool Fudge is, or how hard pressed the British Auror ranks are. My Master's forces are keeping them all busy with his own agenda. You ten have helped that along, and for that you shall be richly rewarded. Continue serving your new Master well, and you will continue to be rewarded for your services. Now, the Initiation rite will soon begin. Afterwards, my friends and I have a little “entertainment” waiting in the side hall.” Macnair pointed his hand to a side door, and when it opened Janos could see the room was filled with soft looking cushions, couches and pillows. Standing in rows along the walls were several women, all of them clad in dirty, torn rags. The mark of a good house elf. Each of the dirty Muggle and Mudblood house elves had a dazed, slack expression on their filthy faces.

Janos' mouth sneered; he recognized the signs of the Imperius Curse, even if he himself, nor any of his friends, had ever been able to cast it. He'd heard of the decadent and hedonistic parties the Death Eaters had at their gatherings, it was one of the things that drew him to the ranks, that and wanting to show his support for Lord Voldemort, who was doing so much to rid the world of filthy Muggles and Mudbloods. Half of the house elf women were carrying several trays, filled with goblets and flagons of Elderberry wine and finger foods. His mouth watered even more, he couldn't wait to be a Death Eater. Janos turned back to Macnair, seeing the hungry look on the older man's own face, before Macnair turned from the feast and faced the Initiates again.

“As you can see, we do have house elves here. These Mudblood and Muggle bitches are serving as they should. Now, all of you who accept the Mark, raise your left arms and step forward.”

Macnair signaled to an associate on his right, who moved to the fire place and pulled a long brand from the coals of the fire. The end of the brand was white hot, but Janos could clearly see the skull with a snake for a tongue on the end of it. He started a bit, “A branding iron? I thought the Mark was put on with a wand! Fuck, this is gonna hurt!” Janos grimaced. He hadn't been expecting that. But he knew better than to try and back out now, he'd be AK'd before he even got near the door. Not that he really thought about it, he knew that a small flash of pain was little payment for the fun he was gonna have, tonight and the rest of his nights as a full fledged Death Eater under Lord Voldemort. Janos smiled, the impending pain forgotten, instead he concentrated on the perks and pleasures that could be derived from it, like what waited in the other room.

Janos was at the back of the line, as leader of his group, he wanted to make sure all his friends took the Mark first. More importantly, he wanted to know how much it was gonna hurt. As the brand came down, he heard sizzling flesh, a loud scream, a few chanted words, and the screams were no more. Janos looked up, and saw that the first Initiate had a black burn mark on his left forearm, but this mark moved and slithered as if it were alive.

“Thank you, Thank you.” The newest Death Eater said, his right hand caressing the Dark Mark as if it were his most prized possession.

“Don't thank me, Kroenen.” Macnair said, “Thank your new Master.”

Kroenen nodded and moved to the other side of the room, where the 4 older Death Eaters stood in a half circle. Each of them moved up, and each of them received the Dark Mark in turn. A sizzle of skin meeting blazing hot metal, the smell of burnt flesh, the screams that filled the room, a low chanting of words that seemed to slip and slide through Janos' brain, and a new Death Eater was born. Finally, finally it was Janos' turn. He eagerly held out his arm, he couldn't wait to become a Death Eater and make his beloved grandfather proud.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Macnair sneered at the recruit, “It's always the eager ones who prove to be the most useless, the most cowardly.” He thought, remembering back to his own induction, Crabbe and Goyle had been literally bouncing up and down while they waited to get their own marks, and they were the weakest and most useless of the original circle of Death Eaters. Macnair looked across the room to where the other Death Eaters stood, and there they were, Crabbe and Goyle, on loan to him from Lucius Malfoy. Lucius usually kept the thick-headed morons close to him, so he could benefit from their physical strength and not be intimidated by their intelligence, or lack thereof. But, Macnair had needed some muscle of his own to establish this beach head for recruitment purposes. So, the jackass bookends were assigned to him, and Macnair had hated it ever since. The fools could barely tie their own shoes, much less actually be useful in recruiting. That had completely fallen on Macnair's shoulders, and this was the turn out. Ten newly graduated Durmstrang Academy grunts. “Well, it's a start anyway, and maybe with the ties and contacts these kids have, we can get more, and hopefully they'll be more useful than just cannon fodder!”

Walden shook his head, now wasn't the time for this crap. He needed to brand this little bugger and then work off some tension in the party room. Thankfully, they didn't have to worry about those slags waiting in the next room, they were all Imperiused, and wouldn't see the light of day ever again, not after they did their jobs tonight. Not that any of the pureblood Death Eaters would actually touch any of the filthy scum, but they could bask in the subservient slaves' attentions. The ones who weren't being used as serving wenches would be used for target practice. Hearing a few Muggles and Mudbloods scream for mercy would do Macnair's frayed nerves well. He mentally licked his lips, and brought down the white hot brand on the last recruit's arm. The metal seared the kid's arm, and predictably, the kid screamed like a girl, almost like a Mudblood. He mentally rolled his eyes and recited the words, the precious words that had been given to him by the Dark Lord himself. Macnair couldn't remember them on his own; he couldn't write them down or say them at any other time than the Induction Ceremony. The Dark Lord had seen to that, made sure that meddling fool Albus Dumbledore couldn't learn the Mark's bonding incantation. Nothing could, not Veritaserum, not physical torture, not even days under the Cruciatus curse could wrestle those Dark words from Macnair's lips.

Not that Dumbledore would use the Cruciatus curse, or any of the rest of it, save the Truth Potion. Albus wouldn't be openly hostile, he and his Order only used non-lethal techniques to capture and contain his fellow Death Eaters. Dumbledore still clung to the belief that forgiveness was divine and a trip to Azkaban was an effective deterrent to any Dark supporter. “Old fool; it's hardly a deterrent anymore is it? No Dementors to guard the prison, only weak Aurors and MLE security forces. Easily dispatched, especially when the Dark Lord sends the Dementors to visit their old home.” Any captured Death Eater would be quickly set free. Ever since the Dementors had abandoned Azkaban for Voldemort's forces, no Death Eater had ever stayed longer than two weeks in prison. “Course,” Macnair thought, “Living with the Dementors would be preferable to a solid day under the Cruciatus curse, which was the fate that awaited any Death Eater foolish enough to get caught.” Macnair spoke from experience, having been captured earlier that year in the Department of Ministries debacle, as had Crabbe and Goyle. Macnair shook off the memory and led the other Death Eaters across the room to the door where the night's festivities would begin, their footsteps echoing across the white marble floor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janos looked with reverence at his Dark Mark. Yeah, it had hurt, hurt like hell, but he was now officially a Death Eater. Now that he was a part of the group, Janos regained his swagger and asked Macnair some questions.

“Where are all the real house elves? I wouldn't let a filthy Muggle or Mudblood touch anything in my house. Surely you have some real elves to take care of this place?” Janos said importantly.

Macnair grunted, “Course we have house elves, idiot! You think I'd stoop to doing an elf job and clean this place myself? That's what servants are for after all. They aren't here on recruitment and induction nights, they're security risks.”

“Security risks? You just don't have them trained well enough then. None of my house elves would even think of betraying me!” Janos said.

“Yeah? Tell that to Lucius Malfoy, newbie. He thought so too, and then Harry Potter freed his elf, who is now working at Hogwarts. You think that old meddling bastard Dumbledore hasn't pulled all the info he could out of that dirty creature? Better this way anyway, won't be tripping over the little bastards while we're trying to have fun.” Macnair sneered.

Damn newbies were stupid apparently, and this Janos prick reminded him too much of Malfoy's son, Draco. Puffed up on his own importance, when he didn't have a lick of real ability and couldn't tell his ass from his elbow. Yeah, he could kill defenseless Muggles, but Draco couldn't even put that Mudblood bitch of Potter's in her place. The only thing that kept Draco in good standing was his family's money and influence.

“What about this Torchwood guy? Is he really real? Are the stories they tell about him true? That he is killing anyone who supports the Dark Lord?” Kroenen asked. Macnair froze on the spot, then slowly turned and fixed the new Death Eater with a glare.

“No, he isn't real, none of it is. It's only a bedtime story to tell little Death Nibbler's like you to scare the piss outta ya.” The other Death Eaters laughed at Kroenen, who flushed with embarrassment and anger.

Macnair pointed his finger at Kroenen's face, “You really think there's someone out there so stupid as to challenge the Dark Lord like those papers say? It's just some freaky story concocted by that bullshit rag The Quibbler, that's all it is. Everything they write is a load of dung. Guy ain't real, ain't no one that powerful, except the Dark Lord, which is the only thing you have to worry about anymore, staying on the Master's good side.” With that, Macnair dropped his hand and walked faster toward the side room, eager to finally get some tension worked out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janos laughed again at Kroenen's expense. Of course there wasn't a Torchwood, only fools believed anything that was in The Quibbler. Yeah, maybe the Daily Prophet had printed a similar Torchwood story as well, but he'd heard from his mates that they'd retracted it and fired the reporter who printed the bogus story. And the “Torchwood stories” had never been picked up by any reputable paper ever again, not by the Prophet, or by any of its affiliates, like the local Wizarding World paper, The Seer. It was all a hoax, and Janos had better things to do than believe in hoaxes, like relaxing in the bath with some of the party favors.

Had Janos known that that would be his last complete thought; he might have paid more attention to those “hoaxes”.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He'd heard enough, his DarkEyes had caught the whole conversation and recorded the ceremony from 5 different angles. He'd watched the entire procession, from when the DE recruits had swaggered up the walk, through the whole initiation. His vantage point was a good one for the initial recon, though it was a pain in the ass. Sitting on a stone ledge, pretending to be a damn gargoyle bit the bone. But, it paid off. The moron of a leader, Janos, had looked right at him, but didn't notice anything out of place. Considering that he didn't look a thing like any of the other gargoyles on the roof, he figured that Janos either needed his eyes checked, or had to lay off the firewhisky.

He'd also discovered something that made his blood boil, the new “house elves” that Macnair had talked about. Twenty women, some of them barely old enough to be called women, were currently being held in a large room off the main ceremony chamber. He absolutely hated mind control; from Love Potions to the Imperius Curse. Only these fucking Dark wankers would stoop so goddamn low as to Imperius a group of innocent women and keep them as slaves and living targets for the new recruits to practice on. The first thing he did, right after Macnair had shown off his new slaves, was to wandlessly lock and seal that room off, so even if he failed here, the women would be safe from these demented fuckers. But he wouldn't fail; ten raw recruits, five experienced fuck-ups, all human (supposedly). This one would be cake, though it didn't make his anger go away. At least he could put a stop to this DE recruitment drive. “Maybe they'll try again with a bake sale?” The smart ass in his brain snarked. “Strike that, these bastards won't live to see the dawn.” His more pragmatic half said. With that parting shot, the figure that had been sitting outside in the rain for five hours, the figure mistaken for a gargoyle by Janos, winked out without a sound.

He reappeared directly behind Janos, and struck with a roundhouse kick to the base of Janos' skull. His armoured boot connected with the soft tissue just behind the right ear. He felt the bone buckle and fracture, and the body dropped. He wandlessly cast a Silencio, so as to not give away his position with the corpses' noise. He Jumped again, this time appearing in front of the remaining Death Eaters.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The figure silently appeared, blocking the door to the women, and stared balefully at its enemies, its silver eyes boring into them. It was wearing a long, black leather trenchcoat that covered most of its body. They could see some kind of dark metal underneath the coat, and Macnair realized it was armour. Its head was covered in a dark metal helmet, the features human, but it wasn't. Demonic horns just added to the inhuman nature of the figure. Not that they could even see its face behind the helmet's mask, but the DE's seemed to feel its gaze all the same.

The Death Eaters flinched, then Macnair yelled “Who the bloody, fucking hell are you, asshole?! How'd you get past the Anti-Apparition ward? I know it's still up, I can feel it!”

The figure didn't move, didn't speak. It was Kroenen who answered his question. In a terrified whisper, he said, “It's Torchwood! He's gonna kill us all!”

The figure's helmeted head snapped to the new Death Eater, and he flinched. The figure then pointed at Kroenen, as if to say “He's right, you're all going to die down here.” A pointed finger became a flat palm, thumb up. Something metal and gleaming slid out of its long sleeve and into the figure's hand. The metal object jumped three times, but made no sound. But Kroenen did, a strangled scream followed by a gurgling moan, as three bullets slammed into his chest. Kroenen's body was on the way to the floor when the remaining Death Eaters went for their wands, but the figure wasn't there anymore. It Jumped to a position a few feet away from the stragglers, a bolt of red light issued from its left hand, and a huge Reductor curse flew through the air and impacted on the upper back of the closest DE, his bones shattering on contact, the shards and splinters punching holes in the bloody sac that was the DE's torso. The next three Death eaters died quickly, two from gunshots and one from a Diffindo aimed at his upper leg, which was lopped off and bled a startling scarlet all over the white marble floor.

Wands from all directions converged on the figure's position, nine “Avada Kedavras!” were shouted, nine bolts of searing green light issued from nine pointed wands. And not one of the Killing Curses hit their target. Instead, two more bullets struck home, bringing down one Death Eater with a gurgling, gaping hole in his throat and crippling another, driving directly into his back and punching a fist-sized bloody hole out the front.

The attack seemed to be coming from all directions; none of the Death Eaters could get a bead on the figure, so they all started firing at anything that moved. Which, more often than not, were their own people. Two Death Eaters fell from AK's fired from their own ally's panicked shots, another lost his right arm and part of his chest to a Cutting Curse, another felt his torso erupt when a purple Flame Cutter slashed through it. He collapsed in a twitching heap, his heart and lungs burning from the magical flame moving through his chest.

In less than twenty seconds, only Walden Macnair, Crabbe and Goyle were still standing. The figure Jumped into being ten feet in front of the remaining Death Eaters. The metal object in the figure's left hand slid back into its coat sleeve. Crabbe and Goyle, thinking their opponent was unarmed, quickly shuffled forward and bellowed curses. The figure never moved, at least it didn't look like it did. But the curses never made contact. Hex after hex, curse after curse flew from their wands, but nothing seemed to touch this figure. Crabbe and Goyle just stared at it, not understanding what was happening.

The figure responded to their ineffectual strikes by lifting its right arm swiftly and then the startling sound of metal clearing metal resounded throughout the room. The figure had pulled a sword from its back; a black curved blade was twirled once and brought to a ready position in front of the figure. It Jumped again, appearing on Goyle's right side, the sword already moving. The razor edged blade sliced deep into Goyle's arm, making a thud as it hit the ground. But the blade kept moving, cutting a gory path through Goyle's body, from back to front, severing his arm, collapsing his lung, nicking his heart, severing his spine, and killing him instantly. Crabbe stood in shock, his friend dead on the floor next to him, so he never saw the figure Jump into position, this time appearing three feet in the empty space in front of Crabbe. The blade cut through the air, meeting Crabbe's left shoulder and entering there, exiting at Crabbe's hip on the opposite side. The two bloody visceral chunks parted ways and hit the floor with a wet smack.

Macnair stood frozen in fear; the figure had completely decimated his forces. Four experienced Death Eaters and ten promising new recruits lay on the floor, dead or dying, some in several pieces. And the figure didn't have a scratch on it. As far as Macnair could tell, none of the curses had even come close to hitting it. The figure slowly stood from the crouch it had fallen into after splitting Crabbe into halves. It turned slowly, and Macnair's fear became tenfold, those horrible silver eyes were looking right at him, and he knew he had to escape. Quickly, Macnair concentrated and lowered the Anti-Apparition field, and he let out a laugh of triumph. He spun on the spot and Apparated…or at least he tried to. Without warning, a second Anti-Apparition field shimmered into place, and blocked Macnair's escape attempt.

Slowly, the figure stalked toward him. Macnair tried every spell he knew, tried every Dark curse and lethal hex in his arsenal, but none of it mattered. They never touched the figure, one minute it was right in the path of a spell, the next it wasn't. It kept blinking in and out and it multiplied Macnair's terror. Soon, he ran out of space to run, his back was to the wall of the Initiation Hall. And that face, that horrible face, the face of Death was inches from his own. Macnair suddenly heard a strange noise, one he'd never heard before. The figure's mask seemed to split, the flat silver eye pieces moving up and away from their position on the figure's armoured helmet.

Macnair thought he knew what fear was, he thought he had felt it before. He thought he felt fear when Albus Dumbledore had arrived at the Ministry to help Potter and his friends. The great white wizard looked terrible in his anger, power radiated from him while Macnair was being stunned. He thought he had felt fear when the Dark Lord freed him from Azkaban; the look on his face was horrible as he was Crucio'ed for a day. Macnair thought he felt fear as he watched a strange and silent figure destroy his Death Eaters and Initiates; he carved a bloody path through them with nary a sound or a word. But none of that, nothing could compare to the fear Walden Macnair felt as his eyes met those of the figure in front of him.

As he met Torchwood's eyes, fear as he had never known, never felt before screamed through his body. For Torchwood's eyes were a solid, shining black. Black pools of nothingness, of hopelessness. He saw no fear, no hate, no anger, no emotion at all. What Walden Macnair did see was Death, his death, and the death of every single person on Earth who followed the Dark Mark. As he stared into the black orbs Torchwood used for eyes, Macnair's fear was shutting down his body. His lungs stopped working, his heart stopped beating. His mouth opened, and he tried to use the last bit of air in his lungs to scream. To scream for what, he didn't know. Mercy would never come; mercy wouldn't find him this day.

But before Macnair could scream, he felt a cold, unyielding force, punch into his chest three times, sharp and quick. He looked down and saw his red life's blood spilling out of three puncture wounds surrounding his heart. Macnair saw a flicker of movement, and looked up to see Torchwood calmly and coolly cleaning the scarlet blood from his sword, then reaching up and slamming it back home in its sheath. As Macnair slid to the ground, pain racked his entire body. He watched, in horrific silence, as Torchwood moved among his fallen Death Eaters. He watched as Torchwood once again summoned the metal object from his sleeve, and fired a single shot into each Death Eater forehead. He watched as Torchwood wandlessly collected the bodies and put them in a pile. As his eyes slipped closed, the last thing he saw was Torchwood's armoured form approaching him again. Walden Macnair's last thought was “It's only a bedtime story.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Torchwood walked up to Macnair's body and put a .45 caliber Hollow point slug into his forehead to make sure the fucking Death Eater was dead. Then he banished the body to the pile of the other Death Eater corpses. He hated this next part, but it had to be done. Wandlessly, Torchwood made all the DE's stick out their left arms, the arm holding the Dark Mark. Wandlessly, Torchwood used a Cutting Hex to remove all 15 arms at the elbow. He conjured a bag and directed all the arms inside it. “A little gift for the British Ministry of Magic.” He thought “After The Quibbler gets their exclusive story of course” Albus Dumbledore had actually done something useful one day and devised a spell that, when cast upon a Dark Mark, identified the person that was bonded to that particular mark. Granted, he'd made it so a non talkative Death Eater could be ID'd, when Veritaserum wasn't available, but it worked just fine on a dead and severed limb. Made it much easier to identify the bodies, especially when there wasn't much left of some of them. And arms were easier to carry than a whole body. Alastor Moody liked to keep score on dead DE's, an unofficial one since the British Ministry was useless, but Moody appreciated it all the same, and it would be useful when Torchwood finally ended this war. Torchwood Jumped the bag back to The Hub. That could wait, this couldn't.

“Actually,” Torchwood thought “This is the part I really hate, Goddamn bastards.” Silently he walked to the door that he had sealed earlier, the one that held the women. Taking a quick look with his suped up contacts, Torchwood waved a hand and put them all in a dreamless sleep, wandlessly catching them before they hit the hard ground, vanishing the trays in the process. He wished he could Obliviate their memories of this night, but he couldn't tamper with anything the Healers might need, or evidence the Aurors might be able to collect, for all the fucking good it did. At least the Czech Ministry wasn't denying the Death Eaters' existence among them, like the British one was, but then again, they weren't led by a jackass either. Granted, the local Aurors weren't much help, but then, they were bound by laws and evidence. Torchwood had no such boundaries; he was a Black Knight, a Ronin. He has no master, he answers to nothing and to no one.

He unsealed the door and simultaneously vanished the tattered rags and conjured robes for each of the twenty women and covered them all, trying to preserve as much dignity of the abused women as he could. The robe belts cinched tightly around them, his symbol was the only marking, exactly the same symbol that was on his chest on the left side of his black leather trenchcoat, only his was black to match the coat. The symbol was a stylized red letter T, engulfed in gold and red flames, surrounded by a circle, also in flames. That would help tell the Healers and Aurors what happened to them. Since the ones who had them under mind control were dead, the Imperius Curse was broken. Swiftly, he scanned their minds to make sure they were clean. Torchwood then waved his hand and attached a silver bracelet to each of their arms; the bracelet also sported his symbol. These were bracelets that were only given to victims or innocents he met as he battled Riddle's forces. These one time use Jump Bracelets sent them to the closest hospital; in this case, it was St. KÅ™išÅ¥an's, if memory served correctly.

After the women all had one, Torchwood activated their Jump Bracelets and sent them to people that could help. He sent a prayer winging after them, and then turned to finish his bloody business. “Accio bullets and casings.” It sounded weird, but it got the job done. He'd tried “Accio spent ammo” before, and while it worked too, it sounded just as stupid. The spent rounds and bullet casings all flew toward Torchwood, who caught them and separated them into their respective coat pockets. Then he summoned his DarkEyes surveillance devices, he'd need to absorb their recordings for the Evidence memory as well. Next, he snapped his fingers and the Death Eater bodies all erupted in flame. Picking up a few of the obscenely expensive wine bottles, he slung them at different paintings and tapestries. Snapping his fingers again, he set them all alight. Trusting the magical inferno to finish the job, Torchwood Jumped outside.

Casting one last, dark look at the building, Torchwood raised his right hand to the sky. A blazing red and gold fireball erupted from the palm of his hand and flew into the night sky. The fireball exploded when it reached its designated height, and a huge version of the flaming T on his left breast blazed in the sky. He'd designed it to be a mockery of the hated, ghostly green Dark Mark that Riddle was so fond of using to mark his kills. So, Torchwood did the same. After every kill he made, he sent the Torchwood T into the sky. To tell the world that there was someone out there who was taking the fight to the Death Eaters, instead of ignoring it or sitting back and merely trying to stem the flood with stop gap defensive measures, like Fudge and Dumbledore. He made it to give the people hope. Hope that someday, this war would be over for good, and they'd be safe from Riddle and his minions. His job done, Torchwood Jumped back home, back to The Hub.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the sight of his home/training center resolved into being around him, Torchwood let out a tired sigh. “Damn I'm tired, all that Jumping and fighting really takes it out of a guy. Thank God it's the weekend; I can actually sleep for once. Since there are no other DE gatherings scheduled that I know of, I might just sleep the whole fucking Saturday.” On that happy thought, Torchwood started toward the weapons rack. His eyes roved appreciatively over the many rifles, sub-machine guns, pistols (his twin H&K .45 caliber USP Match pistols were still in his coat sleeves), and his prized Barrett M107 .50 caliber Sniper Rifle. Then, on toward the swords, short and long, daggers, stakes and various other tools of his trade. He unloaded each of the weapons he carried, cast a quick cleaning and lubricating charm (his own design, made maintenance a hell of a lot easier), and placed them in their proper locations around the rack. He slipped off his Basilisk skin-backed leather coat and hung it in its spot on the armour rack.

Torchwood unbuckled his sword, SoulForge, from its back sheath and placed it carefully in its place. It had taken almost 4 months of hard, sweaty work for him to create that blade, and it was the jewel of his arsenal. His armour he called DarkStar, and it came in at a close second. He had forged that too, and it took almost as long to be completed. Torchwood took his time disassembling the armour; he had the time to waste. He could have used the reversal attachment charm that he always used when he had to suit up in a hurry, but he liked to take his time whenever he could. At long last, the only piece of armour left was his helmet, and as he slowly raised it above his head, Torchwood turned to look at himself in the mirror that hung close by. And the tired, weary face of Harry James Potter looked back at him. Harry sighed, “God, I gotta get more real sleep, Hermione's gonna kick my ass if she sees these bags under my eyes.” A smile flitted to his face at the thought of her. Hermione Jane Granger was the Light of Harry's life, his best friend, and hopefully, one day, more than that. They had been steadily getting closer in the months since the Department of Mysteries disaster. He hadn't known it then of course, but seeing her wake up in the Hospital wing had cemented the feelings that had been brewing for the beautiful and intelligent Miss Granger, probably since he first saw her on the train. Harry knew it now; he was completely and utterly in love with Hermione. And he had no idea how to tell her. Oh, he had ideas, plans, each one more far-fetched than the other. Cameron and Rose kept telling him that they just knew she was in love with him too, but Harry didn't think too much of his luck, so that was hard to swallow. Cam and Ro just said he was a stupid prat whenever he told them this, but that's the way he felt.

He remembered their last cell phone call vividly. Rose had been telling him about her day at the store in the mall she worked at, complaining that there weren't any more handsome, rich young men who came in and bought half the mall and left her a huge commission. He'd laughed at that, it wasn't his fault he needed an entire wardrobe from scratch after he decided to set all of the Dursley's cast-off's on fire. Though, it probably was his fault he'd let this crazy girl talk him into hiring her as his personal shopper so she could show him all the stuff he'd missed out on in his 15 years of Hell in Durzkaban. Cam had broken in at that point, saying she missed him and wanted to know when he could hang out with them again. Harry had actually used his Jump ability to get away from Hogwarts at times and he visited his new friends whenever he could. He told her to find out when Rose's next day off was and a time when she herself wasn't teaching at her dojo and he'd be right by. Then they both asked if he'd told Hermione that he was in love with her yet, Harry had said no of course. They called him a stupid prat again and said he better get a move on, or they'd find Hermione and tell her themselves. The girls had signed off with that parting shot, saying they'd get back to him about a day when they could all meet up again.

Of course, Cam and Ro had no idea he was a wizard, had no idea he went to school in a hidden castle in Scotland and could make the almost thousand-mile trip in a second. Harry wanted to tell them, but didn't want to on a clandestine day off. Harry figured it would take a good long while to convince them (or calm them down) and a few stolen hours wouldn't cut it. He liked them a lot though, Cam and Ro. Yeah, they teased him a hell of a lot, good naturedly of course, trying to get Harry out of his shell. They tried to make him crazy by walking around the apartment half naked and purposely making out in front of him. He'd almost completely freaked out when he got a video message on his cell that showed Rose and Cameron enthusiastically on third base. Any more enthusiasm on their part and he was sure they'd be breaking some government communication code. Thank God he hadn't been in class when he saw that. He'd sent them a message complaining that these crazy bitches were trying to kill him, and they called him up right after, laughed at him, then hung up. Minxes only did that because they knew that Harry was completely in love with Hermione and had made it clear that he wouldn't touch either of them. Not that they hadn't tried to convince him otherwise at first. But they hadn't tried seriously after that. Cam and Ro were totally devoted to each other anyway and only teased Harry because they could and they loved seeing his face go red. He swore if the Death Eaters didn't get him first, the girls in his life would give him a heart attack.

Harry was thinking about all this as he finished putting all his equipment away and got dressed in his normal clothes; the Disturbed shirt Ro had picked out and the black cargo pants Cam told him looked great on him. Harry couldn't tell, but Cam had insisted. He discovered a long time ago with Hermione that it was never smart to argue with a woman, so he did as he was told. He did have to admit, he felt loads more comfortable in stuff that actually fit and had only ever belonged to him. Harry turned toward his desk and the war map, wandlessly flicking on his MP3 Player Boom box on the way. The heavy guitar riffs of AC/DC came pouring out, and Harry let it wash over him. He was thankful every day since he'd discovered music and a way to power Muggle stuff by magic. Things were so much more enjoyable and relaxing with a little music every now and then. And he'd never have half the equipment he did or the ability to call the girls when he wanted if he hadn't created those perpetual magic batteries.

Harry marked off the latest DE safe house he destroyed, and then took the rest of the map in. Riddle had started his worldwide recruitment drives at the beginning of July, soon after the Department of Mysteries battle. He'd been quiet all summer, and Dumbledore had thought that Riddle was lying low as he planned to break out his forces. As usual though, the old bastard was wrong again. Riddle had actually been secretly sending envoys all around the world. Central Europe was only the third DE recruitment center that had reached Initiation status. Using his DarkEyes, he had managed to bug several high ranking DE's by using Severus Snape as a starting point. Snape had Apparated to Malfoy Manor for a DE meeting and Harry had managed to spread out the DarkEyes through the Manor, which seemed to be a major DE staging area. Riddle's fortress was still unknown, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he managed to get its location. Looking across the map, Harry saw that Riddle had DE centers scattered across Europe, the Mediterranean, the Middle East and Asia. The Americas had resisted Riddle's attempts, since that pureblood shit didn't fly too well over there. Most of the wizards in America had originally left Britain during the Colonial Period because of that pureblood mania, after all. Harry knew that Riddle was biding his time and building his forces so he could make a move on America, but before he could, he'd take over Britain. Harry wouldn't let that happen, he'd die first.

Looking over at his armour, he knew that was quite literal. Torchwood was the only thing that was holding Riddle back. Britain's Auror forces had been cut down severely in the years after the end of Riddle's first war, and it only got worse under Fudge. “Fucking bastard, how the hell that prick managed to stay Minister after all those fuckups last year,” Harry still couldn't believe it. He knew that Fudge had blown most of his family money with bribes and threats to keep himself in power, but discontent was rising. And Fudge was sitting on top of a pot just waiting to boil over. Dumbledore wasn't helping either; his exalted Order of the Phoenix was pretty much just sitting on their collective ass, waiting for Harry to “grow up” so he could be trained in combat. He laughed out loud at that, “Trained in Combat, if only the old bastard knew just how trained in combat I really am,” Those two groups were the only forces that had been opposing Riddle, however ineffectually, before Torchwood had hit the scene.

It had taken place the first week of Sixth Year; he had been called into a meeting in Dumbledore's office. He hadn't wanted to go, but figured he should just get it over with. In a nutshell, The Great White Hype had told Harry point-blank that the DA was not going to become a proper school club this year, in actuality, Dumbledore had told him that there wasn't gonna be a DA period. He had allowed it last year since Umbridge had made a mockery of the DADA classes, even more so than Quirrell had. “And he was being mind fucked by Riddle for God's sake!” Harry snarled mentally. This year, he had said, DADA classes would be taught by rotating Order members and select Aurors, in hopes to make up for Umbridge's failings and to sidestep the curse on the DADA job. Harry hadn't minded that, it actually sounded like a good idea, but when he had broached the subject of making the DA a school sanctioned club, Dumbles refused. Said it was too dangerous for children (Harry had bristled at that) to learn those curses and hexes without a teacher present, and it would be too hard to get one to chaperone. Least of all, Dumbledore didn't want Harry to be training students to fight, not just stun and capture, but to use Maximum Force. Harry privately thought that Dumbledore was still pissed at him for shutting him out of Black Manor and not telling him what had happened when he had blown up his office at the end of Fifth Year. Dumbles had again refused to train Harry to fight, said just leave it to the Order and to not worry about it. Harry then asked if the Order was actually taking the fight to the DE's, if they were actively trying to hunt them down and destroy their meeting places and members. Dumbledore had actually laughed at that, and Harry had the sudden urge to blow the office up again. Bastard actually said that everyone was entitled to a second (or in many cases, a third or fourth) chance, so they were just capturing any Death Eater they happened to run across and chuck him into Hotel Azkaban, where they broke free within a week. Never seemed to bother Dumbledore, so Harry had decided that he was gonna have to do something about it himself. He'd been training in the Hub for the past 2 months (at that time), but that was so he could survive a random Death Eater attack, and maybe get a jump on Auror training when he graduated. But he realized that with an inept Minister and a “Great” Wizard willing to just sit back and do basically nothing while Riddle ran rampant through the countryside, Harry knew he had to do something. So, he had crafted Torchwood and set about training harder than ever and finding out info on his own about Death Eaters.

Using stolen Muggle weapons and technology, he had forged weapons and armour, and used it to wage war against Riddle. That had been a fun little adventure, breaking into a London HMAF Armoury and making off with several training manuals, state of the art weapons, and thousands of rounds of ammunition and reloading supplies. Loading the manuals into The Teacher, he had learned in hours what would have taken a Muggle soldier years. The purloined weapons had all been given a magical overhaul, upgraded to be more useful against Death Eaters and the Dark Creatures they were allied with. “Thankfully there weren't any Dark Creatures tonight.” Harry thought. They made missions much more difficult than tonight's cake walk. And put the usual captured Muggles and Muggleborns in much more danger.

Not many of the Death Eaters would actually stoop so low as to “fraternize” with a Muggle or Muggleborn, thank Christ. That was a guilt trip Harry really didn't need. The ones that would were always held back by their buddies, “Can't taint the pureblood body or blood line with a filthy Muggle, now can we? Sick bastards.” The Dark Creatures, on the other hand, had no qualms about touching a Muggle or Muggleborn, though they used them for food instead of a carnal plaything. Riddle had managed to recruit several Lycan Dens, some Vampire Kisses, many Troll Clans and several Giants to his cause. His surrogate godfather, Remus Lupin, was trying his damnedest to keep any more Dens from going over, but there was only so much one pissed off Lycan could do. Especially when being held back by Dumbledore. Remus was trying to gather support by showing his Alpha Wolf, but it was made harder when he wasn't allowed to kill challengers. Sirius' death had changed Remus. He had finally embraced his Lycan side after the will reading. Harry had been shocked when he'd seen Remus the next time after that. He looked 20 years old again, no scars, no exhaustion, just youth and strength. Turned out that blocking his Lycan side had also blocked most of the good benefits of being one, namely the strength and regenerative abilities. After losing his last best friend, Remus was also much more willing to fight, to kill, do anything he could to just end the war, before more people died. Dumbles, of course, didn't see it that way, he figured just talking would do the job. For a supposed teacher, Dumbledore was really stupid about lots of unsavory practicalities in the world. Like the fact that Lycan Dens would respond better to a powerful messenger, who was willing to kill challengers. Lycans, as a species, respected strong leaders and powerful fighters. Came from the pack mentality of the wolf in their veins. That's why so many Dens supported Riddle. They saw him as a powerful figurehead, one who had promised them free reign to hunt whatever they liked, not constrained by human rules. They saw Dumbledore and Fudge as weaklings since they weren't willing to kill their enemies. Remus was trying to change that, if he could become a force to be reckoned with in the Dens, then more Lycans would follow him, or at least listen to him, instead of Riddle's pet dog, Skoll.

“Sadistic son of a bitch!” Harry snarled. That one Elder Lycan alone was responsible for countless attacks on Muggle and Magic alike. Skoll infected almost as many people as the bastard slaughtered. Another reason for Remus to work as quiet as possible, if he ever openly challenged Skoll, he'd quickly be outnumbered and killed. The likelihood of running across a Dark Lycan was growing, one reason Harry kept two magically expanded clips of Silver Hollow points and several silver stakes on his person every time he went out as Torchwood. “Speaking of that,” Harry thought, he needed to take his expended ammo and casings and set them in the reloader. His magically augmented reloader melted down the casings and spent bullets; recast them and reloaded the new bullets. “Waste not, want not, after all.” Harry pointed his finger and the aforementioned objects floated out of their pouches in his coat and flew into the reloader's hoppers. Snapping his fingers, Harry set the device in motion; it would run by itself, saving him valuable time. Much of Harry's equipment was designed for speed and automation, time was a factor that was never on his side. Harry sat back at his desk and pored over the map again, noting the various Dens, Clans and Kisses he had identified.

The Vampires, on the other hand, preferred subtlety and subterfuge to an all-out attack. And they followed a council of Elders, for the most part. The ones supporting Riddle had broken from the Vampire Council and pledged their respective Kisses to his cause. They joined for more or less the same reason as the Lycans did, free hunting privileges on an unsuspecting populace, and revenge for years of Slayers and Hunters exterminating their respective species. Though, the Rogue Kisses had more than just Aurors and Torchwood to worry about. Katrina, the Council leader and Oldest Vampire on Earth, was severely pissed that some of her Kisses would dare break from her and the Council; she had several teams of Vampiric Assassins out looking for the Rogues, and would kill on sight. Harry had managed to find out where the next Council meeting was going to take place and had gone there as Torchwood. They had reached an agreement, neither side would harm the other and they would basically stay out of each other's way. While Katrina had been cordial with Torchwood, even flirtatious, the other Council members hadn't. So, while Harry didn't ever expect any real help from Katrina's Assassin teams, he could count on not getting a stake in the back either, and vice versa.

The Giants wanted some peace and room to roam, free of Human controls. Hagrid had ended up trying to talk to them again, this time with Madame Maxime and Grawp's help, to convince the New Gurg of the Giants to at least stay neutral. The last Gurg, Golgomath, who had been supportive of Riddle, was overthrown. This time, the Gurg listened a little more, but didn't promise anything, but at least Hagrid, Grawp and Maxime had gotten out of there with their skins intact.

The Trolls just wanted to cause death and destruction. Each Troll Clan was a separate entity unto itself, and most of them just wanted to break things. Following Riddle gave them plenty of opportunities to do so.

Harry rubbed his eyes and sat back, thinking of what else he needed to do before turning in for the night. “Surveillance memories, and gotta have the Evidence Memory ready so “Icarus” can deliver it to The Quibbler offices later.” Harry was very fond of Luna's strange paper. Not only for the interview he gave last year, but also since it was the only paper that would print Torchwood information, the only paper that would tell people the truth. The Daily Prophet had printed one story, when Torchwood had exploded onto the scene two months ago, and that was it. He had delivered his “Letter of Intent” to both The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler, and they had both ran it. But the next day, the Prophet had retracted the story and fired the reporter who had published his letter and written the accompanying article. When he had asked why The Prophet was refusing to print any Torchwood info, the reporter, Izzy Coats, had said that the Editor was being paid by Fudge and his cronies, and threatened by Riddle and his cronies. So Torchwood himself had suggested that she go to The Quibbler for a job, and had made her his personal correspondent at the now weekly paper. Luna's Dad, Hyperion Lovegood, isn't afraid of Riddle, can't be bought by Fudge, and realizes the Magical world needs a true source of war information beyond The Prophet's message of “All is well”. Of course, The Quibbler is by no means a completely legitimate paper; it still runs the more questionable articles that it became famous for. But it is more widely accepted now, since it is the only paper that is printing war news on a regular basis. Hyperion had upped the printing times so that The Quibbler was a weekly paper instead of its monthly magazine, with plans to directly challenge The Daily Prophet if subscriptions keep going up and he's able to buy enough equipment to become a daily paper. Harry had been toying with the idea of personally investing in The Quibbler, but still hadn't figured out a way to make it legitimate and not seem like he was “pulling a Fudge” and trying to control the media.

Harry went through the task of copying the “memories” from his DarkEyes bugs and his own recon and aftermath memories, bottled them and set them aside for delivery. Harry never gave memories of the actual takedown or cleanup, he didn't want the other side to know exactly how he operated, or to give away one of his biggest aces, his Jump ability.

Harry sighed and looked at his watch, “Great, 3:50 in the morning. I guess I will be sleeping all day, least until Hermione throws a bucket of water on my head.” He smiled again; Hermione was his anchor, his rock, the one thing that could keep him sane by just thinking about her.

“Enough musing Mr. Potter. Time for bed…Now.” Yeah, his pragmatic, logical side always sounded like her.

“Bit annoying sometimes, really.” He said with a half laugh. Standing, Harry stretched his back and heard several pops and cracks. “That's much better,” he groaned. Yawning, he flicked his fingers around the room, powering down for the night. He looked toward his bed, some 2 stories above him, and scanned it with his contacts. The x-ray spell he'd purloined from a magical eye like Moody's allowed him to see through the various walls and floors. Seeing his dorm mates all asleep, Harry hopped into the air and pulled his legs up, Jumping as he was coming back down. He appeared in the center of his bed, landing feather quiet. Harry always kept his curtains drawn and sealed at night, so no one would be the wiser if he needed to leave quickly on Torchwood business, like last night. As his head hit the pillow, Harry remembered he still had Transfiguration homework to do.

“Dammit, Hermione is really gonna kick my ass.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another A/N: For anyone who doesn't know, HMAF stands for Her Majesty's Armed Forces. For another, “draw/get a bead on something” means to take careful aim at.

Ok, anyone interested in a visual of the Torchwood T, head over to my deviantArt Account. (http://gphoenix51.deviantart.com/) Please try not to laugh; like I said in my horrible post, I'm not an artist. Not even with MS Paint. I can't even make a stick figure look good. So if anyone has any tips, hints, ideas or just simply won't let me mangle the name of art anymore and is willing to re-make it, please feel free.

Now, about Cameron Phillips and Rose Knight. My intention was to create two carefree young women who are in love with each other, but are not against having Harry join them. But, once he makes it clear he's in love with Hermione and won't be with them that way, they become his friends and tease the hell out of him. Believe me, I'm not trying to give Harry a harem, nor is there gonna be any sex scenes between Harry and the girls. I ship Harry and Hermione and that's it. They will get together before the end of my fic, so don't freak out about the two sexy, flirty girls who love to mess with Harry's head. My reasoning for their kind of teasing is that if Harry has two gorgeous girls who openly flirt with him, because they think he's cute and they genuinely like him (instead of bitches like Ginny who just want to have “The Boy Who Lived” on her arm and in her bed) I think that will bring him out of his shell. Being messed with good naturedly, flirted with, and also being girls that won't stand for this "Brooding Emo!Harry" crap. And, since they didn't grow up with Harry like Hermione did, they aren't afraid to do things that Hermione wouldn't. For example, Hermione is too afraid to lose Harry's friendship to just openly flirt and seduce him. Not like Cam and Ro are, though they don't actually try to seduce him, but they have no compunctions about frying his brain with naughty images and ideas. And, speaking from a guy's perspective, it does the self-respect a load of good to know that there are two gorgeous women that think you are handsome enough and sexy enough to flirt shamelessly with. And dealing with the aftermath of having his self-respect blown to all Hell by the Dursleys and Dumbledore, Harry needs someone to rebuild that, or two someones. Which is where Cam and Ro come in. Plus, since they're Muggles, Harry can forget about the Magical world when he's with them, can forget that he's the Chosen One, that he's the only one who can kill Riddle, that he's the only hope for the whole world. With Cam and Ro, he can just be a normal 15/16 year old guy.

So, I guess what I'm asking is that everyone give them a chance, before you flame me to death…please?

Now, my Beta brought this up. I am leaving out certain details, like what the DarkEyes are, what the DarkStar armour looks like, what it and SoulForge are made out of, his Jump ability, and I'm sure tons of others. But, that's kinda what I was going for here. What contented men desire mentioned I should make something similar to a movie trailer. And in movie trailers, they show you lots of stuff to kind of hook you in, but they don't explain too much (well, most don't) so you'll have that much more reason to come see the flick. That's what I'm going for here.

I think that's everything, please read and review, I'd love to hear what people think and get some feedback on how I'm doing. This is my second post to Portkey, but still my first HP Fanfic, so I'd like to know how I'm doing. If anyone has any questions, I'd love to hear from you. I can't promise answers if they would give too much away, but I will answer you back, even if it's just to say “I can't say, it'll blow the surprise!”

-->