Harry Potter: The Master of Death

AN: Starts very soon after the events of the seven books, ignoring the epilogue. Not a lot of direction, more of an idea-fic. Exactly what being the MoD means, the abilities Harry has, etc.

Sort of a super-Harry fic, but it's justified, in my mind, by everything Harry goes through in canon. This is his reward. You'll see what I mean. Hopefully. :)

Wizarding Paris was nice.

It was nice to do something so normal as window-shop. Not to mention he could afford to buy anything that caught his eye.

Harry glanced at the sky, bright blue and cheerful. The weather here, compared to England, was like the food: lighter and brighter. Not what Harry was used to, but it was a nice change.

The sound of plate glass shattering, complete with screams of terror, signified the destruction of his peaceful afternoon.

Harry heaved a sigh even as he turned and moved towards the disturbance at a dead run. "For Merlin's sake - what *now*?"

Most people, wizard or muggle, would have done the exact opposite, run in the direction away from what was obviously some sort of violence, Harry mused in the few seconds it took him to arrive on the scene. Years of getting in trouble had obviously made him abnormal in yet another way he concluded, half-amused by his own idiocy.

He skidded to a stop, new muggle sports shoes on old wizarding cobblestone. Black robed figures throwing curses in all directions, check. Apparently the French had their own problems with Dark wizards.

Harry announced his presence my whipping out the Elder Wand and banishing a laughing, cursing dark-robe so hard he skidded down the rough cobblestone street like a stone being skipped across a pond.

Soundtrack: "Smack My Bitch Up" starts playing

Harry blasted away with both hands, the Elder Wand in his right hand, his familar holly-and-pheonix-feather wand in the other.

PON!

A dark-robe slammed into a convenient fruit stand, his melon busting open a succession of melons until he lay face down in a puddle of fruit, twitching.

Two dark-robes spun from hexing a cowering shopper into goo. "Who-!"

PON! PON!

A two fisted set of banishers transformed the Dark wizards from tormenters to projectiles. Tumbling backwards at high speed, they slammed violently into a plate-glass storefront window, just as Harry intended.

Harry's eyes widened as his targets rebounded from the window (obviously charmed by the prudent shopkeeper to be unbreakable) and sailed straight for him.

PON!

A two-wands combined banisher redirected the hapless wizards skyward, their awkward flight finally ending with a meaty thud seconds later.

With a grin, Harry snapped out two long fire-whips, one from each wand and sliced them through the enemies ranks at waist level. The dark-robes yelled and swore as their robes smoldered and their asses were burned painfully.

PON! PON!

"That's right you gobshites, focus on me..." Harry muttered to himself.

Only seconds had passed since the 17 year old Wizard had appeared on the scene. Time passes in battle with either absurd rapidity or at a glacial, terror-fueled crawl. Usually. Harry had been in so many life-or-death situations that it was starting to have less effect on him. In the heartbeats between casting spells Harry again mused on his complete and utter abnormality.

CHANGE MY PITCH UP!

Harry continued to advance, moving deeper into the enemy formation. With an irresistable sweep of the Elder Wand, wizards were knocked to the ground and set afire with a blast from his other wand.

"Still...I suppose after Riddle a few thugs in dark robes wouldn't seem like much..."

SMACK MY BITCH UP!

A few more flails with the fire-whips and the Dark wizards were definitely paying their full attention to him and none to the last of the rapidly fleeing shoppers.

"That's right you idiots, surround me..."

"Qui est vous?!" demanded a tall dark-robe. His words were wasted, as Harry's knowledge of French was pretty much nonexistent. Harry smiled politely at him in his best infuriating-Snape manner. It seemed to work as the man's body language spoke of imminent violence.

Sure enough, the tall wizard leveled his wand at Harry's chest and spoke a short incantation, not one that Harry recognized, he figured it was probably in French, for obvious reasons. The familar eerie noise and flash of green light were completely recognizable, however.

Harry continued to smile as the light passed through him as if he were as insubstantial as mist, instead impacting on a hapless dark-robe behind him, killing the unlucky wizard instantly.

"ZUT ALORS!"

Harry glanced around. Fear, panic, all that sort of thing. Also, just dark-robes, no shoppers, in a ring around him (though the ones behind him had edged a bit to the sides, forming a small gap).

As he prepared to finish it, a bit of French came back to him. Fearlessly, he bowed to the astonished Dark wizards.

How did Fleur introduce herself? Ah yes.

"Je suis-"

Harry racked his brains for the rest of it. Ah! That was it. He smiled and the dark-robes in the front shuddered to see it.

Still smiling, Harry crossed his two incredibly powerful wands across his chest and flared his magic.

The approaching French magical constabulary, on foot due to the anti-transport ward put up by the wizards attacking the market were just in time to see a tremendous green flash and a ghastly, echoing thump as over a dozen dark-robed wizards simultaneously toppled to the earth, instantly, irresistably converted to dark-robed corpses.

"-le Maitre de Mort."

AN: How's that for an opener? :)