Disclaimer: The Darkness and Harry Potter franchises are not mine, never will be mine, and can't be mine. I only ever heard about the Darkness in the first place because of the videogame (and researching about it from there), and despite me loving HP (not in that way you bastards) I never considered owning him in that way either. They belong to their respective creators, who I'm sure are much too busy to bother me at this point in time.
Advanced Note: Now, for anyone who's even HEARD about the Darkness franchise, you should be well prepared for anything I'm going to write. For those who haven't, well, there's a very good reason as to why this is rated M in the first place. My first and only warning.
Advanced Advanced Note: That said, I'll try to keep the grimness down a bit. You'll probably understand where I'm driving the story by chapter 2 I think, and I really, really hate needless amounts of angst so there won't be much of that either.
Oh wait! I forgot. Due to the nature of the Darkness, religious themes are explored in this story, though I'll try to keep it as minimal as possible.
The Earth was formless and void and darkness was over the surface of the deep. Then God said "Let there be Light." And there was Light. And God saw that the Light was good; and God separated the Light from the Darkness. And the Darkness? The Darkness resented it. And so bitterness and spite were born before time itself. -Darkness Comics: Empire; Part 1 'Nightfall' Page One
It was irritated.
It was surprised that It was irritated, as such emotions would only occur upon meeting any of His servants. The fact that a thing of flesh and blood and crude soul stuff was causing It to feel anything but amusement at their pitiful attempts at existing was surprising. The fact that this surprised It was also irritating, and the fact that It was irritated, irritated It even more. It's own concept of time was limited, or rather, the cattle's point of view of the universe was limited, and the fact that they considered time to be a concept the universe takes with even a stain of seriousness was laughable. As such, It was unsure of how long It was irritated, but was fairly sure it was either a few seconds, or a quarter of infinity.
It felt another tremor through It's domain as the thing pummeled it's hands into the body of it's host. Yes, this was an interesting opportunity indeed.
It was not to interfere, not here, not now. The deal has been made and cannot be undone. On the passing of the cattle's 21st year of life, It would manifest itself and allow the cattle to use It even as It ate at him. Any sooner and any later was a violation of the deal, and the possession of a human child would hurt it, even excluding whatever the Magdalena would do to it should she hear about it. Or the Angelus. The potential gains of this Bloodline, even if they were part of the cult He had spent so much time trying to eradicate, weren't enough to convince it to interfere.
What did tempt It, what made It's entire being sing with dark joy, is that this one was marked by one of His. This one would be an instrument of his will, like the Joan, like the Moses of Egypt, like the human His child had possessed. Upon the conclusion of the cattle's task it would be worshipped and brought up as a standard for all behavior. It's desire to reach into the thing and offer it damnation was strong, and it had never had an opportunity like this before. An opportunity to destroy and ravish his creation like a pedophile in a new born babe's cradle.
And it could feel it dying now, it's little meat stuff and gloriously crimson blood spilling onto the floor. Only a little more until it's soul passed to it, where It could ravish it to It's hearts content.
But doing so would cause the Bloodline to end, doing so would cause it to go out and look for a new host, but that host would not nearly be as excellent as this Bloodline. It looked at the fat man in contempt, and It trilled with delight as the mortal could sense It's attentions on it but ignored it and continued to pummel the child with blades and fists.
Very well. It would try. But It would give it a choice, then, then It would act. But It could not act now, not yet, too direct. It would need to bypass the inherent protection from the host's breeder sacrifice.
Perhaps...yes, yes that would work, would it not? Yes, yes it would.
He was going to die.
Despite himself and his situation, he had to grin at that.
It wasn't the best way to go, he had to say, but it certainly beat some of the other ways he could have died over the years. Stabbed by the Spear of Destiny. Beheaded by the Angelus. Hunted down and dissected by madmen who wanted his powers. Tortured to death by Voldemort's servants. Tortured to death by Voldemort himself. Tortured to death by Voldemort then strewn up like a sack of pigs guts for everyone to see. A quick, clean death was relatively good, all things considering.
He was fast, insanely fast, by the time he had uttered a spell, the bastard would have countered and fired 3 curses so quickly that he could barely dodge them, and so powerful that any and all magical protection he had on him would just collapse. He could tell too, the bastard was playing with him. He didn't stand a chance.
He was an idiot, that was obvious enough. He just HAD to go and get Lily pregnant. What kind of idiot DOES that anyway? He knew the risks when he had manifested the Darkness. He knew the utter stupidity in giving in to his primal weaknesses. Anti-pregnancy potion my arse, he could tell that the thing inside him probably enjoyed it.
Still, by his reckoning, it had only been fifteen seconds since the bastard charged in here. Considering that the Darkness had left him now, the fact that he was still alive was an impressive achievement. Even if Voldemort was playing wi-
Suddenly, he felt his chest go through the rough equivalent of being run through a shredder and stabbed with multiple white hot pokers. He screamed, he couldn't help it, and as James Potter saw Voldemort approach him and point a wand to his face he could only really think that it was a pretty good run.
And wonder if hell was really as bad as the Darkness said it was.
He looked up at the figure, determined to die defiant to the end, when he realized several key characteristics that he hadn't noticed before.
While Voldemort was clad in black robes that blend in with the night as easily as he might have once disemboweled a man, the figure in front of him was so dark that the light seemed to collapse into it, like a black hole that promised death to everything it touched. Second, while Voldemort's own figure looked skinny and as pale as a seven foot corpse abandoned in the dark, this figure was roughly proportionate to his own, with no hint of anything but darkness inside. Third, while Voldemort's eyes would glow bright red in the night, much like a snake James thought wryly, this figure's eyes glowed with an unholy yellow that made Voldemort's own looked like the pathetic attempts of a goth teenager at 'looking cool'.
That and the crowd of demon things around him with similar glowing eyes should have really tipped him off as well.
Then the thing spoke, the sound of insanity and death gurgling and cackling from it.
"James Potter, we must talk."
It wasn't speaking, not really. What it was doing was repeating the sounds of pain and fear and despair it had seen and heard over the millennia and manipulate it so that it sounded like human speech. That all seemed inconsequential next to the fact that the Darkness reappeared to him again after all these months. It hadn't spoke to him since Harry was conceived.
He reckoned he should take advantage of this.
"No shit you double crossing bastard. First of all though, why don't you go ahead and rip Voldie over there a new asshole or something, yeah?" James responded, as he glanced over to where Voldemort was when he ripped open his torso. Sure enough, the snake fucker was right there, smiling in amusement, and standing perfectly still as well. If he was still capable of walking, he would have walked right over there and kick the grinning madman in the balls, if he still had them, of course.
The Darkness looked at him impassively, and James took the hint and sighed. "Heh, really am going to die then. You're always so serious at times like these!" another impassive stare "Okay...fine, I expected that. What I didn't expect is for why YOU are still gliding around my forsaken ass and not Harry's" the damned man said with enough bitterness to fill the void.
It ignored the rambling of it's previous host and spoke "James, you're son is in danger."
The Potter Patriarch scoffed at that "No shit you retarded goth reject. There's a mad man with magical powers greater than nearly any human currently alive and filled with the murderous intent to kill everyone in this house, and you say my son is in danger? Really?"
The Darkness seemed to bristle at the insult as the surrounding darklings seemed to chatter annoyingly. "I will enjoy torturing your soul for all eternity James Potter, but I am not talking about the now. I am talking about the soon ten years from now, when your son becomes eleven."
James raised his eyebrow at that "Wait, so you're saying my son is going to survive this?"
"Yes."
"How?" and the hard glint in his eye showed why he was ounce whispered among the Death Eaters as Dumbledore's Strong Left Arm.
"That, I cannot say James." it said, using a combination of a man's last screams as he burned to death and the roar of the crowd as the guillotine fell to get it's point across. "All I can say is that his adoptive parents, your wife's sister and her husband, are about to kill him by repeatedly smashing his head to the ground, which will cause a knife to fall from the kitchen counter and stab your son through the stomach. They will then ignore the injury, and will allow your son to die a painful death. Rather, you wife's sister's husband is the one doing this. The rest are merely enjoying the show.
James' face grew into a mask of hate he hadn't worn since the Darkness abandoned him. "Goddammit!" he said, seemingly ignoring the irony of his curse. "I KNEW I should have killed that bastard the moment I saw him!" any further words that would come from James' mouth would ultimately consist of him degenerating into ancient summerian curse words that consisted of them being painfully violated with large spears and be left out into the sun for the crows to eat. He did not doubt the Darkness was telling the truth, if using the truth was easier than telling a lie, what was the use in the lie? Besides, he could not take the risk that It was telling him the truth, and if so, then the blood of his son was on his hands. The Darkness watched on impassively as James began to regain a semblance of his former self.
"So..." James said as he looked at the Darkness questioningly. "Why are you here then? As I recall, you love the way my bloodline is so god damned evil, so why aren't you saving Harry then?"
The Darkness spoke simply, using the screams of Vlad the Impaler's victims to communicate. "I cannot. It will breach the contract, and I allowing control to a pup will cause the Angelus to come for me, even faster and more doggedly than before. I cannot guarantee my host's survival should that occur. As such, I am here-"
"...to ask me to give Harry's soul to you?" James finished quietly.
"Yes." it said, as the Darkness began to walk around James's miserable form. "He and his will not expect it, neither will the Great Deceiver and his. He is ten years early, and given that much time, he will easily survive whatever pathetic thing comes after him by the time he reaches of age. You are dead now James Potter, your son is not, not yet. Give him to me, and he will be far greater than you will ever know."
"So...you're asking me to damn the soul of my eleven year old son so that he'll survive from being beaten to death?" James spoke quietly.
"Not quite. Your son is already damned James, you know this." the Darkness spoke as the screams of the holocaust echoed in James Potter's mind. "All I ask is that you allow him to have the option to use me earlier than his twenty first birthday. It will give him strength, and all you are doing is hastening the inevitable."
James Potter sat there quietly for a very long time. "Fine. But only on the conditions I set, understand? You can have him, but you can only have him the way I SAY you can have him, understood?"
The Darkness thought deeply "Then how will it come to be exactly?"
James Potter smiled and spoke.
The Darkness narrowed It's eyes.
They stood there like that for a very long time, the physical embodiment of all evil and it's soon to be deceased host. The Darkness stood there, a dark mirror image of James himself, quivering with the slightest hint of rage. James Potter, smiling indulgently at It's expense as the Darkness broke it's silence.
"That is a steep price to pay, but I am willing. In exchange though, you must give me your wife's soul when she dies."
"Lily?" James spoke in surprise and not a little bit of anger before he relaxed and said "I don't think she falls into my purview. Considering how she's been holding me back, I'm pretty sure taking her soul will REALLY piss off the Big Man. How about the souls of ever person we've ever killed hmm?"
The Darkness scoffed at that "I already have those little cattle James. Don't play with me."
James chuckled at that. "Fine, fine. How about the souls of every dead person, still on the mortal plane derived from the Potter Bloodline then? I'm fairly sure those are still in the market. I think there's around ten of them hanging around since the deal."
The Darkness looked at him for a moment and chuckled ,a deep sickly sound more akin with a tuberculosis patient than anything else "Ah James, your ruthlessness does bring back so many memories..." and laid out it's hand, well within reach of James' own.
James Potter looked at it and gave off a sarcastic laugh. "You know what? I'm gonna enjoy the look on your face when Dumbledore figures out how to kill you."
The Darkness growled at him then, and James could practically feel it in his bones, like a storm over the horizon. "Do not mock me James Potter. Albus Dumbledore's own innate belief in his own superiority will be his undoing."
James smiled, a genuine smile this time, and reached out his hand to grab that of his dark doppleganger. "Maybe, but then maybe YOUR own arrogance will be your undoing, yeah?"
The Darkness said nothing as it shook hands with it's former host for the last time.
All of a sudden, the world snapped back into place. The pain from his wounds reappeared with a vengeance, and he found himself looking down the tip of a wand as Lord Voldemort opened his mouth to deliver the killing curse.
and though the Dark Lord didn't see James Potter's grin or hear James Potter's muttered last words, he did see his eyes.
They were filled with utter hatred and spite, but a hint if triumph as well, just before they were filled with nothing.
Life hasn't been kind for Harry Potter.
Truth be told, existence would be a better term for the first 10 years of Harry's life. He was not cared for like other children. He was not taught like the other children. He was not cherished like the other children. He was not lived like the other children. A life would imply a difference between life and death, but to Harry's te-, no, eleven year old mind, death would be preferable.
He knew he was different from other boys, that was readily apparent when Dudley had pushed him into the mud and kicked him in the ribs three years ago. Of course, the children had laughed at Harry then, they always laughed at him, and he had come to the point where he almost convinced himself that he didn't care. Of course the teachers had gone and put Dudley in detention for his act and phoned his foster parents, they were obliged to do so. Of course his foster parents would beat his brains out when he returned home hours later, he had made their son look bad. Harry knew that he wasn't like the other children, he realized on that day that he didn't have the advantage of a loving family like the rest of them, thus, he had a disadvantage in life in general.
Harry knew he was different from the other boys because he would read where they would play. History, science and so much more information was available in his library, where he typically hid when Dudley was in a particularly bad mood. He had picked up a psychology book while he had hid five years ago, and while most of the terms were utter gibberish to the six year old, he appreciated them because it gave a reason as to why his foster parents were like that. Harry was very adamant about it by the time he was seven years old, though he would tell no one about it. Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were all psychopaths. Or sociopaths, Harry forgot the distinction between the two, but it was better than the alternate answer. That it was all his fault, and his psychology books said that was unlikely, and he held on to the fact that it was the Dursleys fault like a man holds onto a raft at sea.
Harry Potter knew he was different because of all the impossible things he could do. He realized this only when he had foolishly imagined his uncle's mustache was polka dotted color when he and the rest of his foster family were eating dinner and it happened. That was approximately ten minutes ago, and Harry realized something that put a new light in his situation.
You see, Harry Potter, in response to the massive emotional and physical and mental abuses done upon him, had forced himself to become as cold and as logical as he could possibly be. He had learnt early on that losing his temper was a sure fire way for a beating, that crying would allow Dudley and his gang to jump on him, and in response, he tempered his emotional responses accordingly. This was only augmented by the fact that Harry liked to be alone, and didn't speak much to people. He had learnt early on that the only ones that would talk to him were part of Dudley's gang, and were only talking to him to get a rise out of him. No one else really wanted to be involved. Because of these things, he had grown perceptive to accurately predict when Dudley was going to jump him, and as such, he could analyze most situations fairly well.
For example, Uncle Vernon did not ask Harry how he had done what he did, but merely asked him if he did this and, upon getting that confirmation, began beating him. The beating itself wasn't slow and careful or even particularly angry, it was fast, brutal and powered by, and this really surprised Harry, fear.
Then, connecting the dots, he realized that they were afraid of what he had done. That the reason for his horrible childhood, in comparison to other children his age, was because they were afraid of him.
He reflected that it was somewhat useful to know as the punches began to cause him to lose consciousness. From what he had read, it was considered a bad thing if someone died without knowing why.
Which was when he felt it.
It was a difficult thing to explain. The closest thing he could compare it to is the feeling of blood rushing to his head, his vision blurring, and a sense of him falling as the hard floor underneath him gave way to...something else. Harry opened his eyes and took a look at his surroundings.
He was still in the Dursley's household, but it seemed like all the color had escaped from it. Well, that wasn't exactly true, it was more along the lines that the shadows and darkness present in the room was amplified to such an excessive degree that the light inside the house seemed pitifully weak, like a candle in the darkness. The Dursleys themselves were merely standing still, as though time had stopped for them. Uncle Vernon, his pudgy face contorted into a visage of rage as one of his fists were stuck in the air forever, never falling down to hurt Harry. Aunt Petunia, her face showing nothing but contempt as she held onto her son. Then of course, Dudley, his face filled with a kind of sadistic glee, looked on with a stupidly vacant grin in his face.
It can be said without exaggeration that, naturally, Harry Potter is an emotional boy. It is not a theory, or belief, but a fact. The trauma he endured from the Dursleys may have suppressed those traits but, in the end, he was an emotional boy. He felt things very, very strongly, and while it may never show, rest assured, he does feel it. In a way, he was desperate for any kind of emotional interaction, and would jump on the first person to show him kindness, if there was any to show him that. Despite his trials, he still believed in goodness. Not the goodness preached by through traditional means perhaps, but goodness all the same.
Which is why, as he stared at the people who were supposed to love and care for him without question, the people who have abused him completely and utterly his entire life, Harry couldn't help but feel a mind breaking wave of anger and sadness and disgust, though whether it was directed at himself or them was uncertain. Harry, struggling with this strange combination of emotions, did the only thing he could do. He got sick, he got sick REAL bad.
At length, he discovered that he had purged his stomach contents all over his uncle's shoes, and he realized that they weren't fooling around with him then. Those shoes were really expensive, and he knew without a doubt that his uncle would beat the living shit out of him if he had even touched the shoes, much less throw up the spam he had for breakfast earlier.
He crawled away from his uncle then, leaning on the nearby wall and bringing his knees to his chest and hugging them tightly. He was disgusted at himself for his obvious show of weakness, Dudley always took advantage of him when he was like this, and his shivering and shaking caused him to despise himself, but he found he couldn't help himself.
His current situation made no sense whatsoever. There was no real reason for them to freeze up like that, no prior incident that had caused his eyesight to become so strange, no reason for them to let him barf on uncle Vernon's shoes...
"None of it makes sense." Harry said, and he cringed at how pathetic it sounded. "That doesn't make sense at all."
"What doesn't Harry?"
The Boy-Who-Lived jerked up at that, but knew that wasn't his Uncle's voice. It was too strange, too inhumane to sound like him. Besides, he doubted that any of the Dursleys could somehow make it sound as though they were both drowning and sick with tuberculosis at the same time.
Harry paused at that, how did he know it sounded like that? He had never even seen a tuberculosis patient, much less one who was drowning. Overcome with curiosity, he looked up.
The figure he saw was...strange. It was basically the dark outline of a person, a person who seemed the slightest bit familiar. In place of where his eyes should be were two glowing pits of yellow light, reminding him of the giant furnaces the Nazis threw their vic-
Wait, how did he KNOW that?
The figure chuckled then, and the sound was so horrible that Harry Potter closes his eyes and tried to ignore it. He was somewhat successful, but he couldn't block out the thing's next words.
"Oh dear Harry. Look at what those cockroaches did to you. Are you hurt? Do you need help?"
Harry gritted his teeth at the sound. It...it sounded so much like his mother, or what he thought his mother sounded like, or the little memories he had of his mother that always ended with a flash of green li-
He shook the thought away. Those were dreams, figments of a hyperactive imagination. Dreams could not hurt him, getting angry with dreams was irrational. Mocking his with his mother's voice though, that was perfectly rational in it's cruelty. He could tell that it was mocking him, clearly see that the thing was mocking him. Mocking him in his mother's voice. He could normally take those kinds of barbs, but this time he lost it.
"Shut up" he said softly, and the dark figure began to laugh.
"Why should I, son of James Potter? Why should I stop? Because you're hurt? Because you feel bad?" it said mockingly, It's laugh growing more and more inhumane. "You don't have the power to make me, or anyone else, do anything Harry Potter."
He stood up then, unable to take it any more, hands closed in rage. "What do you EXPECT I'm ten years ol-!"
It was at this moment that something came out of the dark and knocked him over. Harry, in the dim light if the room, could barely make it out. It was a small creature, like a rough combination of a hairless monkey's form, the intelligent cruelty of a shark, and the obedience and loyalty of a dog. The thing, and it surprised Harry by having a thick Jersey accent, spoke "Hey punk, you don't get to insult the boss like that alright! Do that again and I'll rip your fucking throat out!"
Harry, by this point, was too frightened to move, and he realized now that the shadows around him were filled with yellow lights. Much the same as the one's above him, and not all were the same as the monkey-shark-dog thing had. Some snake like, some grotesque, some so horrible that his mind refused to process them, but they all had the same yellow eyes. He found himself beginning to appreciate his situation. He was going to die, a comforting thought.
But to his surprise, the shadow man thing sighed and motioned his hand, and the monkey thing quickly moved out of the way.
"You'll have to excuse Benedict over there, he gets rather excited, and even with the chainsaws it is is difficult to control him." the Darkness said, his voice sounding vaguely like a tired pet owner.
Harry shook slightly and resumed hugging his legs. "What do you want from me? Are you here to hurt me too?"
The Darkness sighed and squatted next to Harry's prone form. "Dear boy, I am here to make a deal with you."
Harry Potter turned his head to look at It then, and whispered "What kind of deal?"
"A deal to give you power." the Darkness whispered "A deal for you to never be hurt again. A deal for you to never be beaten by obese failures. A deal for you to be the master of your destiny. A deal-"
"with the devil." Harry finished fearfully.
The thing looked at him and laughed. "I am not the Morningstar Harry Potter. I am not Lucifer. I am not Satan. I am not whatever the nations of the world call him. I am not a demon either, or any servant of his. I am merely offering to give you power to escape your predicament and master your destin-"
"In exchange for my soul." Harry finished impassively.
Harry sensed that, if he could, the Darkness would have raised it's eyebrows. "No you idiot, and I would appreciate it if you would let me finish this time. Good? Very well. No Harry Potter, your soul already belongs with me."
Harry's eyebrows reached his hairline at that.
"...your soul, like that of your father's and grandfather's, like that of your son and your grandson, is already mine. Your Bloodline has harbored me for a very long time. I am merely asking if you would like to use my powers now."
Harry Potter was not an unintelligent child, and he pieced together the dots that didn't make any sense. "But why now? Why at this exact moment? Why ask me if I want to use it, when I had it all along?"
It smiled and spoke softly "Because you are about to die Harry Potter. My hosts typically become aware of me by their twenty first year of life, their coming of age. But you, dear boy, are special. Far more than you know. Since these circumstances are most unusual, I must ask for your permission before I am manifest."
"Then what are you?" Harry asked quietly.
It shrugged.
"Does it matter?"
Harry Potter pondered that. For the first ten years of his life, no one had helped him, no one had cared, and no one bothered to. Now he learnt that he was always damned, that his fate had been decided upon before his birth, and there was no escaping it. He was damned. Indeed, in light of that, is his savior's identity that important?
Perhaps not, but he had to ask the most important question.
"Right now, in our entire conversation, did you lie to me?"
It answered simply "No."
He pressed on, "Are you capable of lying to me?"
"No."
"Since I can't actually prove that, I'll just have to take you at your word, don't I?"
A smile. "Yes."
A frown. "Why am I special."
He could not see it, but It smiled. "Because you are my host Harry Potter. Because you have a great destiny. Because you have the potential to be the greatest of my hosts that has ever lived."
Harry Potter didn't know how long he sat on the ground for, it might have been only for a second, it might have only been for an eternity.
But he could tell that it ended when he shook the thing's hand.
Then time resumed it's constant march.
I thank you Harry Potter. I appreciate your trust in me, and in exchange, I'll tell you a little secret.
Uncle Vernon looked down upon that wretched bane of his existence with rage and surprise, and was hammered by a wave of irrational fear. What was happening?
Dudley Dursley looked at his cousin with a kind of dulled surprise. Why was he standing up all if a sudden?
Aunt Petunia looked upon the form of her sister's child with suspicion and a growing sense of terror. Surely nothing was wrong?
You had asked what I was, and I said I was neither Lucifer or his minions, and that is true.
Uncle Vernon's eyes widened in fear as Harry Potter's eyes began to glow with a demonic green hue.
Dudley Dursley held onto his mother, more frightened and confused than he had ever been in his entire life.
Aunt Petunia stared at Harry Potter in a near catatonic shock. No, it wasn't possible.
I am not the Devil. I was his teacher.
Uncle Vernon flinched his eyes as all the lights in the room turned off at once. A moment later, he screamed in pain.
Dudley Dursley screamed in terror as he saw the child he had been teasing so mercilessly wave his hand as his father was disemboweled.
Aunt Petunia regained her senses as she began to drag her child away from his father. She would not let her son die.
When Lucifer began to doubt, when Satan began to rebel, he turned to me for guidance, for vision, for power. All the Morningstar knows of pain and evil, he learned from me.
Uncle Vernon looked up into the eyes of his foster son as his life ended. He closed his eyes.
Dudley Dursley screamed as dark spikes stabbed through his father's head from seemingly all directions.
Aunt Petunia screamed as she noticed the pairs of bright eyes approaching her from every direction.
I was the one who made Lucifer fall. I was the one who made Satan what he is today...but I don't think you care, do you?
Vernon Dursley opened his eyes again, and found himself in a barren world that he had never seen before. He was afraid.
Dudley Dursley cowered in terror from Harry Potter as his darklings laughed.
Aunt Petunia begged that she would do whatever he wanted, just as long as he didn't hurt her son.
As long as they pay, as long as they bleed, as long as they DIE, you don't care. As long as I give you the power to shake the very foundations of this world, you won't care. Will you?
Vernon Dursley screamed as dark figures began chasing after him as he realized suffering would never end.
Dudley Dursley screamed as dozens of things descended upon him and ripped him apart.
Aunt Petunia screamed and never stopped.
Author's Notes
Right, I'd like to make this point clear to those unaware about the The Darkness. It is, for all intents and purposes, a gift and a curse. Harry Potter will have access to powers almost as dark, if not more so, than Lord Voldemort's. However, the price in being a host of the Darkness will be such that Harry will resent the embodiment of pure evil hiding in his skull, and attempt to remove or gain more control over it (since he only has minor control over it, and will cause extensive plot points should he try). Rest assured, this won't be a Harry Potter curbstomp fic. He has a long way to go, but I would like to make it awesome all along the way. The fic itself might be really dark for the next few chapters, hence the M rating, but it will get better, then worse, then better again before averaging at grey.
I also realize I'm probably being a bit unfair to the Dursleys but, in all honesty, it serves the story's needs for them to be utter sadistic bastards to Harry. As such, while I do kinda feel bad for them, in the immortal words of something I once recalled watching long ago, I regret nothing!