I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I most certainly would not have had Harry be paired with Ginny, nor would I have made Hermione what is essentially a universal Band-Aid. No, I would have made Harry much more powerful, not a whiny little bitch that can't do anything for himself.

The shadowed figure stood, a silent sentinel, atop a cliff high above the sleeping town. It stared down in to the clearing down at the monoliths base, the fires light flickering within the group of men.

The shadow slowly stepped forward, before coming to the edge. It paused, head cocking to the side, before leaping over the edge, and falling at extreme speed. The wind whistling by, the phantom fell through the darkness, coming ever closer to the ground. As the shade neared the unforgiving earth, it drew upon its considerable power, the magic stored within its body, to harden its muscles, bones and organs, while simultaneously softening the hard-packed dirt.

The phantom crashed into the ground, leaving a crater in its wake. The Death Eaters spun, startled, some reaching for their wands. But it was already too late.

The figure, now obviously masculine by his silhouette in the moonlight, raised his hand, his fingertips glowing darkly before black flames burst hungrily towards the unfortunate Death Eaters. Screams echoed in the clearing as the closest men were turned to ash. The dark flames spread, devouring all in their path, before halting, as if contained by invisible walls, trapped in a perfect circle.

The shadowed man strode forward, unimpeded by the demonic flames. The Death Eaters quivered in fear, before a brave, though the argument could be made for idiotic, few charged forward, wands coming up in front of them. They ran, screaming a wordless battle cry, before they were repelled by an unseen force. They flew through the air, before crashing into the trees or the colossal cliff, the sound of bones snapping sounding out. The remaining men stared in fear.

"W-We surrender." A particularly cowardly vermin screamed out, the stench of urine heavy around him. His companions, those that were still among the living, hastened to agree with him. The dark man paused, as if considering it. The Death Eaters held their breaths. Would he let them live? Would he allow them to go free? Their hopes were dashed when he next spoke,

"So?"

Seconds later, every one of them was sent flying. It was as if the hand of God had come and swatted them away like inconsequential insects. The man, if he could indeed be called a man, walked, strolled, leisurely, like he had all the time in the world, toward each of the fallen men. Some had their necks broken, dying instantly. They were the lucky ones. The few that had survived the initial onslaught each had a conjured spike of steel shoved into their stomachs. Without medical attention, they were in for a long and painful death as their stomach acid spilled over their organs and into their bloodstream, slowly dissolving and poisoning them at the same time, all while they bled out.

"H-How could you do th-this? W-We s-surrendered!" The final survivor pathetically whimpered out as the dark man stood from the man he had just thrust the miniature spear into. He turned toward the man, slowly taking long strides toward him, his gait was confident, deadly, a feline predator on the hunt.

"Surrendered?" he queried, his voice sounding darkly amused. "Tell me, how many have you slaughtered that 'surrendered'? How many have got on their knees and begged you to spare not only their lives, but that of their families? That is how I can do this. In vengeance, in Justice for all you have taken, whether life, possession or innocence. All the lives you have destroyed! But most of all, I can do this..."

The man gracefully took the last few steps to the prostrated wreck of a man, dark fire springing to his fingertips. He bent down, placing his mouth next to the fallen grunts ear.

"...But most of all, I can do this because I am a bad man."

Was all he said before plunging his fire-coated fingertips into the nameless man's stomach. A horrible gurgling noise tore from his throat as blood splayed from between his lips, before the screams of a doomed man echoed into the night as cursed flame erupted from his skin. The fire moved slowly, as if to savour the fallen man's flavour, prolonging his suffering. Finally, suddenly, there was silence, bar the crackling of the charred, burning corpse. The dark man's glacial green eyes never leaving the horrific show, from the first gurgle, to the man's final, dying spasms.

The pale man stared at the carnage he had wrought around him, a flicker of disdain appearing on his face, the first emotion he had shown that night.

"Pathetic." He muttered, wiping the crimson liquid off of his hands. He pulled a foot-long wooden stick from within his sleeve, before flicking it in a complicated series of motions. Dark fire spewed from the tip, vaporizing everything in its path, leaving only scant ashes in its wake.

Underneath the light of the half-moon, and in the bright light of the roaring cursed fire, Harry Potter turned away, disappearing into the inky blackness of the desolate night.

I'm not re-writing my fic, just going over it for mistakes and maybe adding a few things. There will still not be any new chapters till at least after the new year.