This has been udated, changed, fixed and altered as of some date before when you found it. :D
In Greek Mythology when a soul died, if it was pure at heart then it would rest in peace and the tru;y rightious, if they choice it, be reborn.
If the soul was wicked and killed others with little or no reason, it was sent to a damned place to repent and then also be reborn.
But...what would happen to the tainted but not wicked?
Those not of the Light and yet neither of Darkness?
Those of true Shadows...
Chapter one: Pain.
A scream of agony brought a grin of sadistic glee on a man's face and he lashed out again watching the body under him writhe and marveled in the anguish he could inflict.
He loved this...the power he held over this worthless freak.
It started to curl into a ball hands shaking as it covered it's neck, but he kicked its stomach before it could curl completely, the movement forcing ruby red liquid to explode from it's mouth.
He wanted it to cry!
To scream and give him the pleasure he was owed in it's suffering. Beady eyes roamed the blooded pale skin, and then he frowned as the freak started to crawl away.
"Oh, you trying to run away from me freak?" He grinned and took a step foreward.
CRACK
The Freak screamed, and then jerked away, biting it's lip to stay silent, thin body body shaking as blood made a river down its face.
"That will teach you to try to run from me, Freak." It turned to him, eyes closed
"U-" Itfound a fist in his face, and whimpered pitifully hands racking ithair. Gleefully he struck out again and hit its gut, watching it cough up beautiful blood.
"Don't you dare act like you're of my blood, you worthless monster!" It turned to him glossy eyes wide, and he felt his blood rush.
Glazed eyes pupils wide, he looked around hands searching. He narrowed his eyes practically tasting his thoughts
Why...can I not see?
He reached out; fisting a beefy hand into matted hair, and made him stand on his broken leg banging him against the wall.
The Freak freaked.
"NO! Please no please don't! Please!" He grinned
"No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no..."
Down the stairs a woman heard a scream and flinched digging through a cabinet in the kitchen of the house.
"Come on...where is it? Please have been stupid and hid it in plain sight..." Her hand brushed hard metal and she smiled looking down.
"Yes!" It was a plain key, but tied to it was a piece of paper saying Cupboard under the stairs. She narrowed her eyes.
The man never changes, and he never will. Turning she shut the cabinet and threw the key into the hallway, where a boy of about 17 stood. He caught it with ease and dropped a lock pick, throwing the door wide as he opening the cupboard
One look inside and he flinched.
"Shit, hopefully we're not too late." He pulled the pitiful creature out and held up his item.
"Can you do it?" it nodded, making a feble noise.
"Please reach him in time. He's the only one we can turn to now." The woman held food out and it nodded.
"Now go." She nodded again and was gone.
"Mum?" the woman turned.
Her son had changed after that incident two years ago, matured.
"Please let me hurt that basterd." She smiled sadly.
"Your all I'll probably have left, I can't let you get arrested."
A man in his mid thirties, miles away, sat in his study, leg twitching as he bent over the desk, long fingers taping at the table.
Sapphire eyes read an ancient tome rapidly and he absent mindedly stirred a cup in his other hand, liquid long gone cold.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. tap. TAP.
He didn't stir; to engrossed in his reading, until a loud HOOT startled him. His free hand twitched, the wand hidden in it's holtser snapping into view behind him, his other hand aiming to his blindspot, the other before his face, the spoon flying out to hit the window to his left. desterbed by his movements the cup previously in his hand dipped, twisting on it's egde, before falling over.
"Damn it!" Liquid poured all down his front and he looked up blinking.
What. Was. That?
A lump of red, white, and brown feathers flouted at his window. He stood, eyes wide and with a flick of his wand opened the window.
Wind blew through the room upsetting is notes and papers, and he covered his head watching, the...thing drift in, and then fall over. He slowly walked over to it, wand swaying through a massive cleaning spell, showing a snowy owl, eyes closed. it's wings bent at the oddest of places, a note clutched in it's claws.
He picked it up then winced. It was dead. Gently laying it down he undid the scroll and and a few seconds later gasped.
"Shit...shit shit, I knew it, why didn't he-?! Damn it!" He put the note down and threw green dust into his dying fire calling on an old friend.
"Get over here, now." One look and his friend paled disappearing from the emerald flames. His long form appeared in the room and turned to him eyes questioning.
"What is it?" Sapphire eyes looked grim.
"The worst possible has happened."
Pain. White-hot lacing threw his nerves, crawling up his spine leaving is cells screaming as the fire traveled past. That inhumane heat left nothing cool as it traveled through his body.
He flouted in it, lived in, thought he knew it best...yet...this...burn in his body...it was something he'd never felt before.
After all he'd taken you'd think he knew pain. He had thought his whole live was nothing but pain but...this was what you'd die for, just to get away.
Before he'd grown so immune to his nerve's screams that through normal beatings and curses, he wouldn't udder a word until they were gone, and glare the whole time, but...when this happened, The first time after five seconds he's screamed for mercy, begged pleaded, it was no use.
It had only driven the basterd harder.
He knew that concept very well, somehow.
And he knew what to do.
Give the sadist what he wanted.
Evidence of pain. Screams, tears, involuntary shudders, creeping away, he learned how to minimize the pain quickly, yet it wasn't enough.
That man just had to shove in his face how high his tolerance for pain really was.
Slowly he became aware, and tried to sit up, easily ignoring the pain shooting like lightning to his brain.
He'd been left on the floor, next to the wall. His legs wouldn't respond, his head felt like boulders, and the darkness was ready to swallow him again.
'No! I-I have...to do...this!' He reached for the wall, and left a blooded handprint, willing the words to form.
'I-Harry James Potter-Black wish that my secondary will be followed, and name...Him...my heir...leaving him with everything I own...' He started to go under and grimaced.
'That...is...my...Will...I love you brother...' He slipped to the floor and the print flashed.
"I'm sorry...I couldn't do it, I thought I could but..." He passed out.
Seconds later, two men appeared in the room, and one paled.
"Shit."