Title: D(a)emons
Summary: In a world where dæmons had existed since the beginning of time, it should really come as no surprise to anyone that Harry Potter was not as golden or light as he had led people to believe. After all, having a dæmon as a fox should be a warning enough. You really shouldn't trust a trickster. Ever.
Rating: Fiction T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes. [cr. fictionratings]
Pairing: HarryMort (Harry Potter/Voldemort)
Themes: grey/dark!Harry, eventual slash - contains same gender relationships, dæmons!AU
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, written by JK Rowling, or any of its characters. I also do not have own His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. This is written for pure entertainment only and not for profitable gain.
Dæmons
They are the external physical manifestation or 'inner-self' of an individual. They take animal shapes and are always near their human counterpart. Dæmons are able to communicate just as well as people. They are able to change their shape at will during childhood but will eventually settle into an animal that reveals their human's true nature and personality - showing their worth and soul.
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Prologue: Of Horses
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Maybe they were right. Maybe he was indeed a freak.
After all, he had grew up going by that name.
A fitting name, for a child like him. Someone who was unwanted by his own parents, who left him in the care of his relatives rather than raise him themselves. They were bad people, alcoholic and always drunk; it was what led them to their deaths. Drunk driving. Or... at least that was what his uncle said. He tends to spout more stuff when he's busy giving him a beating. Though he wasn't really sure if he's saying the truth or not.
Nevertheless, it still stung. To know that your parents did not want you.
He wondered why they even bothered. It wasn't like he had a better future with his remaining family, after all. Look how his life had turned out - him slaving away the day everyday for the past 10 years and so of his life, never experiencing a childhood every child deserved, never experiencing love from his last living relatives nor receive even proper care and resources from them.
He was thrown in a cupboard under the stairs, -the only thing he could truly call his- the minute he was delivered into that wretched house hold, he spent the first four years of his life learning how to do all the chores, surviving and desperate for food. He learned to crawl by himself, he spoke his first word alone and first gained understanding in that little cupboard. He went through 10 years of torture, which he was sure that most people his age could not even begin to imagine, let alone live through, without breaking down. But despite all that he had endured, he wasn't exactly alone. And that was something he was truly grateful for.
Because he knew, that it if weren't for its company - he would've been the perfect abused child, eager to please and, easy to manipulate and mold by the first person that shows him affection. A mellow broken child which will then be painted to be seen as someone who lived the perfect life - seen nothing more but a spoiled child wanting more attention.
The perfect weapon.
A shame really...
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Harry knew exactly what other people thought of him. His relatives had taken the initiative to spread about his juvenile ways, his bad behaviour, laziness and anything negative they could possibly think of him. He was often looked at in distaste and fear.
It wasn't exactly hard to do, after all; for others to believe all the rumours that surrounds him.
A dæmon has always been what defined you. Without it, you were unpredictable. Someone dangerous - a nobody. Having no dæmon meant being an abnormality. A speck of black in a sea of white.
And thats exactly who he was. Or at least... they thought he was - hence the name Freak.
It wasn't that he had no dæmon. No. That wasn't the case.
His dæmon had basically raised him. He was always right there next to him, never straying.
A horse. Yet it wasn't a horse. It was skeletal and had reptilian features. He had wide leathery wings that resembled a bat.
Harry had been frightened when he first laid eyes on it. It was monstrous and horrendous looking, he vaguely remembered having nightmares about it when he was younger. He got used to it after a while.
Harry had first thought only he could see it. That, or maybe he was deluded. An imaginary friend, perhaps? But seriously, who would have a creature that looked like it came from a horror movie as an imaginary friend? Him, apparently. He was a bit relieved, however, ,when he discovered that someone else could see it. Albeit it wasn't really a good reaction from the other party.
It was a woman, sat on a wheelchair with parts of her body scarred and burned. She only had inconsistent patches of hair on her head. Harry thought it was a miracle she had lived.
He was on his way home from school when he met her. His uncle had refused to associate himself with him so he wasn't allowed a lift from their car. The big man had almost ran over him at one stage - although he doubt it would have been an accident if he was indeed hit. She took one look at the creature at his side and screamed in sheer terror. He could relate, he was scared of it too when he had first taken a good look at it.
The man holding on to her wheelchair was startled, of course. "What's wrong?" He had asked her as he continuously looked back to where she had been staring. "There's nothing there."
He apologised profusely for it in the end. Stating how his wife had been through a traumatic experience - having just escaped death and could possibly be hallucinating. Harry knew that wasn't the case. He accepted the apology anyway and did not bother to correct him.
He knew however what to name his horse companion.
After the God of mischief,
Loki.
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Present
Harry yawns as he carefully rises from his cot. He was careful with his head, having the painful experience of hitting his head on the ceiling one too many times. He looked at his bed mate, marvelling about the fact of how he could have possibly fit on the small poor excuse of a bed.
"Loki. Get off me." He grumbled, keeping in mind to keep his voice quiet as to not wake up his other relatives. It wasn't that he particularly cared about their well-being, he just didn't fancy getting a beating.
His companion grunted, stretching out and squishing him agains the wall. Harry sighed and crawled underneath, opening the door to his cupboard and went to start doing his long list of house chores.
Once he got the family's breakfast ready, managing to gobble up some himself. He went to get the daily mail, not quite believing his eyes when he found one addressed to him.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
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A/N:
Thank you for reading you guys.
English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes.
Peace out,
Parsel.