[START]

Sweet Bonding!

Chapter 1

It is a well-established fact that Harry Potter is an abnormal individual.

Yes, he's a wizard who can manipulate and utterly spit in the face of the laws of physics by waving around a piece of holly wood with a magical feather inside of it, but that just made him a wizard. He just HAD to be abnormal even amongst those kinds of people (see stories of dead Basilisks, swarms of Dementors and the survival of the Killing curse.)

Alas, you could write for decades about the abnormalities that flowed from the boy wizard Harry James, with his perpetually scruffy black curls and eyes of the prettiest emerald green (cursed not to shine as bright as they could due to being shielded behind a pair of thick, circular glasses), and still find more to write about for decades to come, but that's far from important.

For, despite his incessant unorthodoxy in all things, Harry Potter was like everybody else who lived in Little Whinging on that fateful night, awoken from his restless slumber by a KABOOM of such a volume and force that the earth was shook even where he lay (a good distance from the scene of the 'explosion'). His eyes flew open to see the orange illumination that lit up the dark streets.

He was sweating, thrown from the throes of an all too familiar nightmare (the dark, glassy, lifeless eyes of his fellow Champion still boring into him every time he attempted to blink away the sleep and fatigue) and into the waking world with a feeling of confusion and a little fear. A more than familiar magic wand was in his hand almost immediately as he tried to make sense of the blaring car alarms, the unintelligible hum of noise in the other rooms of Number Four Privet Drive and the familiar sight of fire from outside of his window.

His wand tip glowed as he mentally prepared for a confrontation,

'Voldemort?' His first thought. Of course, it would be. You could not blame the Boy Who Lived for believing that the murderer of his parents and his arch-nemesis had finally found him and decided to come and finish the job he'd failed fourteen years ago.

Harry waited, holding his breath and straining his ears, not quite sure what he was waiting for. Perhaps for the screams to start? The door to splinter as the Dark Lord and/or his minions broke it down and entered his dark house or room? Or perhaps he was simply expecting that chillingly familiar green light he had known and feared his whole life…

A minute? Two? Fifteen? He could have stood there for an hour for all he knew, terrified out of his mind as he almost came to terms with the fact that he and the Dursley's were going to be murdered that evening. But that wasn't the case.

The master bedroom door slamming open and his uncles familiar lumbering gait on the landing outside of his room shook him from his reverie, he moved out onto the landing where his rotund Uncle was looking about in clear confusion and terror,

"What the hell is going on, boy?!" he snapped, his clear fury and irritation was not enough to completely mask the fearful waver in his voice.

"Tch! How should I know?!" Harry snapped back, his wands tip glowed just a little brighter in the dim light when his uncle's dark beady eyes narrowed angrily, and he was half a step away from striking the thin waif of a boy he called his nephew. But he didn't, for that increase in brightness was a very potent reminder that the boy could very well do something positively freakish to him in retaliation should he not back off. Harry was able to see the man's face transition to an angry red in the dim light, the dim light coming from the open door of the master bedroom then from Dudley's bedroom as he entered into the hallway as well, "I'm going out to find out what's going on."

Harry took the steps two at a time, stumbling a bit near the bottom and nearly falling on his face as he made for the door and wrenched it open. Missing the stick thin figure of his Aunt Petunia as she sidled up next to her dangerously large and round walrus-esque husband on the landing as she watched him go.

The noise, unsurprisingly, was louder outside. Harry wasn't the first out of their homes and on to their porches (or front lawns), he was quick to note a terrified Mrs Figg chasing after a clearly terrified kitten streaking off to his left, away from the source of the disturbance.

Here and now was where Harry could get a clearer image of what was going on, he turned to his right and mirrored the rest of the streets dressing gown and pajama wearing occupants as they stared. A column of black and grey smoke was rising into the dark blue sky, illuminated in shades of orange and red from the burning flames that licked the shattered buildings in the distance.

He, against his better judgement but in line with the Statute of Secrecy, stowed his wand in the back pocket of the jeans he had shrugged on before leaving and swiftly stuffed the loose ends of his trainer's shoelaces into the shoes themselves before; setting off in a sprint towards the danger.

Typical Gryffindor…

He ran past many who spared him so little attention that it mattered not. Sprinting down the middle of the still roads, heedless and unthinking of the possibility of traffic and cars. What few vehicles that had been in motion at this late hour were already halted, many simply abandoned with their owners nowhere to be seen, he weaved past and between them on the way to the town center. Years of 'Harry Hunting' ensuring that the panting boy's long legs carried him as quickly as possible to the scene.

The scene being a crater sheltered within the shattered remains of a decimated three story building. Harry was quite unsure what this place was before it had been brutally decimated by whatever had occurred, but he didn't spare it much thought as he looked around.

To go off on a tangent for a moment...

Philosophers and researchers often disagree on what exactly 'magic' is. Is it sentient? Is it alive? Is it a part of the one wielding it or an entirely different being that takes refuge in the body of a host? Hundreds of remarkably intelligent men and women had thrown their hats into the ring and provided answers of their own, yet none of them have ever been pointed to and praised for having the 'right answer', and it is not like the public really cared.

Magic just… was... It did what you wanted it to do so why question it? If it had a mind of its own then it didn't really do much with it now, did it? And who's to say that any one researcher was definitively 'right' or 'correct' and that there was only one possible answer or explanation to the force they so freely and carelessly employed in their day to day? This sentiment was one that many nowadays seemed to be adopting however, and that has only a little relevance to what happens next.

For in the case of Harry Potter, his magic DOES have a level of sentience. Or perhaps it was merely a kind of muscle responding to a subconscious thought or need that Harry was yet to consider. For as he ran closer and closer to his destination, the temperature rose higher and higher as heat and radiation rolled freely from the sight of the crater housing the fallen space rock. Cars overturned, glass shattered and fires here and there, had Harry not been gifted with the blessing of magic he would have been dead where he stood and would have never made it this far.

But luckily Harry was an impulsive individual and his magic was a part of him, so… so was it. Responding without question or instruction to the need of its wielder to keep him safe from the dangers he could not perceive with his eyes, allowing him to come up to the edge of the crater where he stood alone (cocooned in an invisible field of telekenetic force).

His feet slipped, and he slid in far sooner than he wanted to, sliding down and along blackened, burnt dirt. Harry's arms waved all about as he desperately attempted to keep his balance, doing quite admirably before being tripped by a large chunk of building and rolling the last few feet to the bottom of the crater. Sprawled harshly on the floor in pain, having hit QUITE A LOT on his way down. He had a myriad of bruises and cuts on his stick thin arms, his knuckles and cheeks.

He wasn't quick to his feet, but he was to look around once he was. His eyes falling to what he saw as the source of the VERY early morning commotion. There in the very center of the crater, at its lowest point, was a rock.

'It was just a meteorite?' It sat almost… innocently in the blackened mess. Harry felt a surge of relief whilst looking around the mess. The devastation was massive, the building (whatever it had been) was pretty much decimated, as if the middle of this large structure had just… vanished. Likely disintegrated by the force of the space rock bearing down upon it and obliterating it on impact.

A harsh thought fell to whether this may have really been a Death Eater plot, his wand yanked from his back pocket and into his hand as soon as the thought entered his mind and he warily looked about him. A wistful thought allowed his nerves to settle just a little, because if Voldemort could A) organise for a meteorite that could cause this level of devastation and, B) knew where he lived, Harry was certain that the Snake faced bastard would have just dropped it on his house. It made no sense to blow up some building in order to lure him out and kill him later...

He shook his head and looked over at the rock, crouching down and readjusting his glasses on his nose. He noted the thick cracks in its otherwise blemishless surface, looking as if it had been shot rather than it having been dropped from space. And the rock itself… was bleeding?

Black ichor, goop, slime, Harry wasn't actually sure what it was that was leaking from within the steaming stone, but it really did leave the impression that it was some kind of thick blood oozing out from the cracks in the meteorite and slowly sliding through and atop the dark ground. Harry was tempted to cast a Lumos to get a better look, but was reminded of the law just before the incantation settled on his tongue. But he still made to analyse it further.

Which really translated to poking it with his wand…

A wave of nostalgia hit him like a brick as he looked upon the pulsing, slithering black goop leaking from a rock that was the darkest black Harry Potter had ever seen. He absently thought back to the Pensieve's silvery surface within Dumbledore's office where he had come up with the same absolutely 'ingenious' ploy in examining foreign substances.

He poked it ever so gently with the no longer glowing tip of his wand, noting the stickiness and elasticity of the substance as he drew his wand away and it stuck to the wood and came away with it.

Then it lunged at him, a movement reminiscent to a serpent as it seared through the air towards Harry's wide, horrified eyes.

Everything went black in an instant and Harry Potter knew no more.

…

Thought.

It liked to believe that it was a creature of thought.

It's true form, an amorphous goop of limited mobility and viability alone, had plenty of time to think its current state, hurtling through the stars within a casing of stone and metal within a meteorite. Awash in feelings of nostalgia, it pensively looked back on what events had occurred to ensure its return to space.

'Parker. Spiderman. The bell tower. Brock. VENOM. The rocket.' How long had it even been on that oh so pretty blue and green planet before it was back to the cold and the dark? A month? Two or three?

It had no real way of knowing for it had paid so little attention to the passage of time. There had been so many other things to consider, its first host so perfect and worthy, abilities of his own enhanced excitedly by 'the symbiote' as it tried to maximise Parker's abilities and make him the best Spiderman he could ever be.

Then he'd rejected him, forcing it out and leaving it to die (knowing that it would likely cause its death) ignoring all the power and assistance it had provided the Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman so selflessly.

Finding Brock there had been nothing less than an act of providence!

But it came at a cost. His anger, his hate. It became THEIR anger and hate. The two negative persona's merging into Venom, tunnel vision taking hold to send them hurtling on the path to revenge against the one who had wronged them both. Leading to their separation in the end, and its current circumstances.

But it seemed that fate saw fit to give it another chance. For it sensed that the odd trajectory of the space rock was leading to a very familiar sphere hurtling through the local solar system…

Heat. A weakness shared by its entire species that sent ripples and waves of agony through it unrelentingly; trapped within the falling stone it had no choice but to endure for it could not flee. If it could have screamed it would have ruptured its throat and lungs in its cries of agony.

But just as soon as the pain started it was gone, it had completed its passage through the atmosphere.

It was back on Earth.

The sudden cold that came through its 'body' at the lack of the pain left it disoriented. So, it did not return to 'consciousness' until after it had crashed. Its vessel had cracked under the force of the impact but had not shattered into pieces or broken apart in the way one may have expected a stone so fragile looking to have done on impact from orbit.

But it didn't care about that to be honest. IT WAS FREE!

It leaked from its carry case like dark ichor from some unholy body, oozing slowly from the cracks to gather in a sticky pool beside it before slowly slithering a few feet away before stopping to make a plan of 'attack'.

Time was now of the essence! It had been given a pass whilst within the meteorite and whilst in the vacuum of space, for it was safe in those environments from the ravages and dangers of not having a host. But, within an atmosphere and on the surface of a planet, it had no such safeguards. So, it needed to get moving and find a host to ensure-

'Wait? Is… is that?'

A human. Bright green eyes behind a pair of circular glasses that magnified the orbs behind them. He was male, black (slightly curly) hair sticking up and out all over the place, his skin was pale and looked almost sickly in the flickering light of the nearby flames. Scars (gaze drawn to a particularly irritated red scar on the kid's forehead) stood out harshly over the face and exposed arms of the boy.

Jeez he was so thin! His slight, stick-thin frame was accentuated by the clothes that hung off of him, several sizes too large and very much faded and old. The boy was almost like a scarecrow, looking down at it with a wary but curious expression as he made a move to jab it with the shiny stick in his hand.

He looked so… fragile. If it could have sighed or winced, it would have done both of those things and more. This scrawny little thing absolutely was not its first, second or any kind of choice.

But beggars can't be choosers, so it did what all klyntar or 'symbiotes' did best. It attached itself to its completely unsuspecting host, flowing in through every pore and orifice to install itself in the new hosts body…

And immediately came to regret it!

'Toxic! This body is toxic!'

Pouring into the suddenly horrified kid, the being was soon made deathly aware of the dormant venom that was somehow a steady component of the boy's blood and flowed around the child's body without doing any part of him any harm. In a split second of morbid fascination, it perceived the boy's body producing cells of the venom to replace those that died out.

This should not have been as much of a problem as it was, one of the majestic qualities of its species was that it could bring its hosts to their physical peaks and negate/ignore any physical abnormalities in the process. But as it instinctively moved to counteract any negative effects this venom was having on its hosts body it was stunned to find that not only were its efforts for naught, but it was in fact weakening the creature to even attempt to do so. There was something about the substance that just… drained it.

Realising this, it tried to pull away. This factor alone proved that entering this body was a mistake, but it was in too deep. Trying to exit the way it had come was like trying to punch through a steel wall. It was stuck!

Then it sensed IT, two and two being put together as something roared to life 'distantly' in the core of the hosts being. The invader realising what component hid within the venom that was causing it so much distress as a much larger volume of it rushed forth to deal with it. Another of its species deadly weaknesses… magic!

It had lay within the boy's core, wary and waiting before lashing out harshly at the invader as soon as it had niggled its way under the child's skin and had begun to spread itself throughout his body. The symbiote was not the first to try and take refuge within this particular body (and likely would not be the last) but it was not only small fry, but easily dealt with…

It fought, as best as it could anyway, it's limited idea of consciousness fading with every passing millisecond as it fought a futile war for supremacy within the body. Coming to realise that even if the venom hadn't weakened it first the magic present would still have effortlessly wiped it out. It was everywhere, surrounding it on all sides and unleashing a barrage that again, it had no choice but to endure in all of its brutal agony.

Then… all was still.

The symbiote was given reprieve.

The magic was still all around, daring it to move and watching it in a way that only a being with no eyes could, all-encompassing and far from pleased. It moved, the magic moved with it. It ignored the venom this time and tentatively worked on the child's muscles, its bones, seeping into every last crease and crevice under the merciless 'gaze' of the child's power as slow as it had ever moved, but the process far faster than the blink of an eye. Coming to the brain of its host, it delicately inserted the power and knowledge of its former hosts into the child it was now a part of quite warily, quick to realise why it had not been murdered.

A Dark Lord and his followers hunted the boy, intent on killing him now after so many failures in the past. The boy himself, and his magic, understood that they were not strong enough to beat them as they were now, knowing that it was only through luck that they had even managed to live this long.

The boy, Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Voldemort's target, he knew that the Dark Lord (the murderer of his parents) was going to continue to come after him until either he was dead, or Harry was. A relentless blight on Harry's life that Harry actually had no way of dealing with on his own.

Until a being capable of enhancing Harry's own natural abilities and providing him with some new ones to hone arrived and attempted to forcefully bond with him without his knowledge. Finally offering Harry with the edge he subconsciously knew he needed in order to actually combat the most dangerous dark wizard of all time. So, in some kind of sick, one sided bargain, if the symbiote wanted to tag along within Harry's body then it would assist in its new hosts quest to survive and defeat the Dark Lord.

And until that task was complete, until Voldemort and his cronies were broken or dead… it wasn't going anywhere…

[TO BE CONTINUED]

I have been thinking about this one for a while, would love to continue it and hope y'all are interested. Feedback is appreciated, hope you liked this introduction :-]