Hell and Heaven...

His life had always been hell. Ever since that Halloween some twenty years ago. All because of some stupid prophecy.... And him. Oh how he hated him. Even now, when Voldemort was dead and gone, the hate stayed. Harry hated Voldemort more then his life itself. And that was saying something. Voldemort killed so many people in Harry's life. Or ordered his Death Eaters to kill them. He thought it would weaken Harry.... But it made him stronger.

But the war was over, the dark defeated. But, as everyone else cheered and partied, Harry wallowed in pity. Everyone he cared for, all dead. All because of Voldemort. Sometimes the hate coursing through him scared Harry. All by himself, in a giant mansion with only himself as company. He had never learned to block out the pain in his thoughts. He had never bothered. Things like Occlumency were useless, or so he thought. Now he longed for that ability.

Slowly, his emerald green eyes wandered over to a picture. It was of himself, grinning happily, with his arm around a pretty girl. The girl had rather bushy brown hair, and the most beautiful shade of brown eyes. He felt a painful pang in his heart. Hermione.... Shaking his head to get away from painful thoughts, he let his eyes wander over to the next picture. A man with long-black hair grinned at him, waving. The next picture was of a tall redheaded boy, smiling as he flew around the quidditch pitch, on Harry's firebolt. The one after that showed 9 redheads, all smiling and waving. The second last one showed a tall man, with long pearly white hair, and sparkling blue eyes, standing next to a relatively young man, with greying hair, looking rather pale.

Harry let his eyes move on to the last photo, the biggest of the lot. Two people, one in a tuxedo, the other in a wedding dress, waved at him, smiling happily. He smiled sadly, as his father, with his jet-black hair, and his mother with fiery red, blew kisses, while a third man with long black hair, snuck into the picture and did a peace sign over his father's head while he wasn't looking.

Sighing, he walked over and sat himself on a rather elegant looking couch. He didn't know why he was doing this to himself. Whenever you looked at those photos, all grinning unknowing of the future ahead of them, it saddened Harry. It would sometimes give him nightmares. It seemed, almost, that every bad thing in his life, all came back to one person. The one person Harry killed 1 year ago. Voldemort.

A new surge of hate went through him, as he thought of all the people Voldemort killed. The old bastard made sure that if he had to go, he would take everyone else with him. And Harry despised him even more because of it. Everyone Voldemort killed.... Hermione, his love, Ron, his best friend, Sirius, his godfather killed in his fifth year at Hogwarts, The Weasley family, the nearest thing to a family he'd ever known, Professor Dumbledore, Remus, his parents.... The list went on and on. And with it, went Harry's guilt. Voldemort did all of this maybe, but none of them would have been dead had Harry not have known them. It was as much Harry's fault as it was Voldemort's.

He did not know, why he dwelled on and on. If someone had ever thought to actually visit Harry, they would have him in St. Mungo's in an instant. Muttering under his breath, his eyes, once so brilliant and full of life, now dull, always thinking of his hatred of Voldemort. He had no one. All because of a stupid prophecy by his Divination teacher, whose real prophecies were often few and far between. Sometimes Harry would hate Trelawney, before he would came to the realisation that it wasn't her fault.

Sometimes, Harry would just hate the whole fucking world. God in particular. He hated God, almost as much as Voldemort. He hated Fuckin God. And he hated the bastard fucking Voldemort the most. It was his fault. It was his fault Harry would never see his parents, never see Sirius, never see Ron, and never see his love Hermione... It was his entire fucking fault. It was his fault Harry began to have different moods at random times. Everything wrong in Harry's life was blamed on Voldemort. Sometimes Harry wished he could go back in time, and kill Voldemort again, and again, and again....

He would never forgot, before his guilt for his friends and after his relief, the satisfaction, and the power coursing through his veins when he killed that bastard. He would never forget the look on Voldemort's face, the fear in his voice. And Harry made sure Voldemort would remember the beating Harry gave him. They had duelled for over 10 hours, before Harry cracked. He remembered it, as his most treasured memory. Throwing his wand on the floor, and attacking Voldemort, punching his face in, choking him, kicking him. The feeling of his fingers around Voldemort's neck, the look of fear in the heir of Slytherin's face....

Harry often was like this, first calm, before he looked at the pictures. Then he would berserk. Then the hate would surge more powerful then before. It had been like this since July 31, 2002. Harry had once been an innocent boy, caring and loving. Then he began, slowly, to almost lose his sanity. Another thing to blame on Voldemort. He was like this for some time, before, all of a sudden, his doorbell rang.

This was not unusual to Harry, in fact it happened every day. Stupid reporters wanting to get an interview or get more detail on the "Insane" Boy-Who-Lived. Just like everyone else in the world, Harry despised him. Slowly, dragging his feet, he headed for the door, and very carefully, opened it.

"Hello Potter, good to see you...."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The man sighed deeply, as his eyes took in his surroundings. Where the hell was he? What was he doing here? He had pondered over the answers of those two questions for nearly three hours, and he was no nearer the answers. It irritated him. If he didn't know something, it irritated him. He remembered a man, with jet-black hair, and emerald green eyes, saying this and laughing merrily. Then a rather pretty woman came to mind, with long flowing auburn hair, and a pretty round face, followed by a short stocky blonde woman. Who were these people?

The man stifled a yawn, and stretched his legs. He was in some sort of room, a rather comfortable room if truth were told, which leather couches, bookshelves and several windows. He hated windows. He hadn't seen a window for a while. In fact, the last thing he remembered was talking to dead family members... The man quickly shook his head, as to get rid of these thoughts, before standing shakily, as though he had not stood in a long time. Slowly, he wobbled to a nearby newspaper, which was called The Daily Prophet. Curious, he flipped it over and read the date. His heart froze.

"What in the...?"

What was this? This paper had to be wrong. It had to be. Either that or someone was playing a joke. Yes that was it, he decided, someone is playing a rather unfunny joke. But he couldn't help his eyes wandering over to the paper, the date in particular. How could this be? It couldn't be possible. All of a sudden, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as something flashed before him...

The two glared at each other, deep hatred in the air. The two each had a wand in their hands, and were perfectly able to strike each other at any moment. None of them did though; they just threw intense glares at one another. Blood surrounded them, from the casualties of the battle. The air was bitterly cold, trying unsuccessfully to grab both men by the scruff of the neck. Bodies lay at their feet; some loved ones, some fearful of their leader and some who just wanted to protect the Wizard World, in general. A deep silence surrounded the two men. Slowly, one of the men walked to a dead body.

It could be said without a doubt that his features were extremely different from the other men. You could tell by just looking at him that there was no good in his heart, if he even had one. He had skin that was unusually grey, indicating he must have died and had somehow risen up again. He had chilling eyes that could give you nightmares for weeks. No good in him, no love, nothing but power and darkness. His eyes stood out from every other feature. It was a deep crimson, quite opposite from his counterpart. He had a very chilling presence about him, sending fear to all who stood near him. He had ice in his veins and an ice-cold vengeance burning in his soul, next to his jet-black heart. He leaned down and looked at the body, smirking in a way that disturbed the other man.

The other man was the complete opposite. While the man with red eyes had no goodness within him, his enemy had the opposite shining through him. Love and goodness shined through the man, mixed with determination and hate for his enemy. He had emerald green eyes, sparkling in the darkness. His hair was jet-black, sticking up in odd directions. He was obviously very much a powerful wizard, but unlike the other man, he had no darkness in him. Scars were all over his face; his head split open, blood rushing from the cut. He seemed to ignore it though, to watch his enemy.

It was obvious hatred was alive and well between these two. They were natural enemies, like cats and dogs, good and evil, God and Satan. They had both came from families that hated each other for centuries but as soon as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened, their two families would never be the same. Of the four that was involved in the opening of the school, only two families were left. The lions and the snakes.

Slowly, the red-eyed man began to speak, in a cold calculated voice.

"Have you figured out this is the final battle?" he whispered, still looking at the body before him.

"If you think that Salazar, you are stupider then I thought," the other man replied, glaring at the man named Salazar.

Salazar just chuckled, in a vile, evil way. He seemed over-confident, as though he had won the battle and could not be stopped from taking over everyone and everything. "Oh really, Godric? You disagree? There are very few wizards left, whet they may be Gryffindor, Slytherin or neither. I would say, that by next year, there would be no wizards There are far more Muggles than Wizards nowadays, Godric," said Salazar Slytherin, greedily.

The other man, Godric Gryffindor, stared into space as Salazar continued.

"Which means the Potter boy will not exist and neither will my last heir. The prophecy by Christ will not go down. Godric, whether you like it or not, this is the last battle."

Godric then looked up, and said just one word.

"Lily."

Salazar seemed confused by Godric's comment. He looked thoughtful, before speaking. "What do you mean 'lily'? What does a flower have to do with anything?"

Gryffindor looked up, smiling at his enemy.

"Your heir will figure that one out, Salazar," Godric said, turning his back to pick up something, which looked suspiciously like a sword.

Salazar took his chance. In a quick movement, with his wand in his hand, he walked up to Godric, before muttering, "Expelliarmus!"

Godric's wand flew straight into his hand. Gryffindor turned almost immediately, glaring at Salazar.

"The time for talking is over, I'm afraid," Salazar said, smirking.

"Crucio!" He roared, a sick smile on his face. Almost immediately Godric cried in pain, as he seized up and rolled from side to side. Salazar smirked at his enemy. I'm winning, he thought to himself. For once, it is Godric who is losing. He then did a casual swift of his wand and all of a sudden, the pain stopped but that didn't stop Godric's shaking.

"Come on then Mr. Brave. Let's see if you can walk the walk," Salazar mocked, smirking at Godric's pain.

"Rictusempra!" the snake-speaker said, the spell striking Godric right in the stomach, making him almost fly back some 20 feet. Slowly, Godric stood up, and to his shock, Slytherin slung his wand at him, smiling.

"I don't want you to have any excuses when the few remaining wizards tomorrow find your dead body, Godric," Salazar spat, as though the name, "Godric," was a disease.

"Incendio!" Godric suddenly shouted, aiming at Slytherin. Salazar stood still, a look of fear on his face. Quietly, without Godric hearing, he muttered something and the fire disappeared.

"Looks like you do have a sadistic side," Salazar said almost sarcastically, as Godric fired another spell at him.

Quickly, he sprinted out of the way, the spell missing him by an inch.

"Salazar, you shouldn't have given me my wand back. Mimblewimble!"

Salazar laughed.

"Mimblewimble? What's that--"

But before he could speak, a blue light struck him, causing him to stagger.

"Damnit Godric! What type of wizard are you, doing simple spells?" Salazar said, holding his eye.

"Sometimes, simple spells are best spells. Expelliarmus!" Godric said, but strangely, the spell didn't work. The air was getting cold.

"Dark Magic," Godric whispered, glaring at Salazar.

Suddenly, Salazar's voice rung throughout the air.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Salazar's laugh went through the air, as Godric weakened, falling to the ground...

The man's eyes bounced back to normal, as he jumped out of his reverie. His heart pace was quickening by the second, as the main events of what he just saw raced through his head. That man that got killed, Godric, he was familiar. In fact, he was very familiar. Was he a brother? No, he didn't feel like he was his brother, and didn't look like him either. Maybe a friend? No, but The Man was smart enough to realise that this man called Godric was familiar to him. Or maybe he just knew someone who looked like him.... No, he felt like he knew this man. Suddenly, the man he saw before, with the jet-black hair and emerald green eyes, swam before him. He compared the man called Godric with the other man, which caused a surprising thought. The two men...were the same men...

Strange.... Did he know that man being killing then? And the other man was most definitely familiar. He reminded the man of someone, someone he knew a long-time ago. Stifling a yawn, he stretched his legs and slowly stood out, as his eyes met the ones in the mirror. Chestnut hair falling loosely to his shoulders, grey eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. The man supposed this was because of a lack of comfort and sleep, and walked gingerly to the door. He went to open it, but the trouble was, it was already open. A man stood there, with unearthly grey skin, crimson red eyes and very little hair. He was smiling in a way that disturbed the man, while his eyes flashed dangerously.

"I am Lord Voldemort... Good to meet you Sir Slytherin...."