The Black Lord's Rising
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Harry is sick of being used. Vying to release himself from a web of manipulation Dumbledore has spun, he leaves Hogwarts and enters Blackshades, an exclusive school of Dark Arts. Part I of the Black Lord Series. Slash.
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Genres: Action & Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance, Suspense
Rating: M; for violence, sex and language
Length: Epic
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Warner Bros, Bloomsbury. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: I have said it once and I'll say it again: this is a HPDM fic, therefore it contains SLASH. There will also be Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore bashing, and if slash and the bashing is not your cup of tea, then please leave.
A/N: For the rest of you interested readers, please enjoy my fic!
Beta: Anglachel - thank you so much!
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Prologue: Flight
I am so tired, so sick and tired of people using me.
Albus Dumbledore, the man whom I've look up since I was introduced to the Wizarding World and its wonders, has manipulated me time and again. All this while as I struggled to keep myself and my peers alive, he just stood back and watched; coming in only at the most opportune times that would make him look like a caring, benevolent grandfather. I was so naïve, to have allowed myself to believe his facades and to be maneuvered into whichever direction that would suit his whims and complete his schemes.
Ronald Weasley, the boy who claimed to be my best friend despite not knowing anything about me. He was only there for me for the fame and glory that would follow me whenever I went, no matter how much I detested it. He was easily consumed by jealousy and would erupt in violent tempers if I were to outshine him in anyway that would make him smaller in Hermione's eyes. I, so naïve, allowed his tantrums because I wanted to keep the friendship intact. Foolishly, I allowed myself to be manipulated once again because I was an affection-starved child.
Hermione Granger stuck close to me because she wanted to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic in history and whose support would be better than the Boy-Who-Lived? All I was to her was a tool, a mere tool that would ensure her the future career that she was wanted. But I craved acceptance and recognition before I could fully understand the concepts behind the words, thus I thoughtlessly made a grave mistake. I will acknowledge her as a prodigal genius but I would add heartless schemer to her array of names.
I am so tired, so sick and tired of people neglecting me.
Every summer I would go back to the hellhole that everyone else called my home. I never actually managed to have a moment's peace with all the suspicious, accusatory gazes my relatives sent me every now and then. I could not see the reason behind Dumbledore's decision to leave me in the place every single summer until was of age. All I saw was the momentary neglect that would soon vanish once the school year started. But it all started again once the school year ended. In the beginning, I told me myself that it was for the best, but as the years passed, I slowly saw the truth behind the hazy illusion that Dumbledore had constructed.
No one cared for Harry. They merely wanted the Boy-Who-Lived to placate their worries as the threat of Voldemort still lingered like a poison cloud, thick and foul. The public swayed with the wind, never steadfast in loyalty, changing their opinions with the speed of lightning. They didn't see young, growing teenager; all they wanted to see was the Saviour who prevailed over every obstacle Voldemort threw at him. All they saw was the Saviour who would lead the Wizarding World to a glorious, magnificent victory.
There was nothing for me to look forward to, nobody for me to turn to in times of need; they expected me to be that person when they were in need. I was their poster-boy for heroic adventures, I was the poster-boy for the Light Side and most importantly, I was their poster-boy who fueled blinding propaganda. I was disposable, just like a poster. I was reusable too because when I am once again needed, they would merely go back to the rubbish bin that they threw me in, rummage for my remains and uncrumple me again.
I am so tired, so sick and tired of losing the people who were, or could have been, a part of my life.
Nearly everyone that had a sincere inclination to get to know the person beneath the Boy-Who-Lived's substantial façade died; namely Sirius, Remus, Cedric and even Hedwig. I had a chance for a family with Sirius, a chance to taste what almost everyone else took for granted while I craved for it. After Sirius's untimely demise, Remus took his pace; slowly but surely, I opened up to him and allowed myself to hope for another chance to know what it meant to have a family and what it meant to be loved unconditionally. But that was a short taste of a fruit that would be taken away shortly as Remus was sent away by Dumbledore, under the pretence of Order work, as the old manipulative bastard wanted Remus out of my life because the werewolf was asserting 'too much' influence over me.
All Dumbledore did was look remorseful and regretful, pretending that he actually cared when friends and family became casualties but deep down, I knew that he was just mourning the fact that he had lost another pawn that could have been manipulated. Instead of voicing my outrage, I tiredly accepted the fact that Sirius's gone and that my second chance at having a family went down the drain with him. Remus – understanding yet so misunderstood – prematurely taken away from me, because of the fact that he was family to me.
I am so tired, so sick and tired of people misunderstanding me.
They never realized who I was underneath the thick layers of masks that I have built up over time, no one actually knew me as Harry. All they saw was a stereotype. What about the fact that I liked to read? That I liked to listen to classical music? Or I liked to spend the whole just basking in the sun's warm rays? And what about the fact that I hated going headlong into situations that could potentially endanger the lives of everyone involved? No one saw that because they were too busy trying to make themselves look glorious and valiant, or too busy worrying about their own arses to care.
They never saw the boy who enjoyed Charms and Care of Magical Creatures; they only had eyes for the Saviour with an amazing affinity for Defence Against Dark Arts. I mean; how do we know how to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts when we have absolutely no idea what the Dark Arts are? Am I really expected to defend myself against a Cruciatus with an Disarming Spell, the Killing Curse with a Shielding Charm or a Severing Jinx with a Stunner? Is there really something called the Dark Arts, or is it merely a category of misunderstood spells that have been misused by certain misled individuals?
I have been forced to bury myself underneath layers of lies and facades, and I was so afraid of losing myself because I never had the chance to allow the real me to see the sun's rays or to revel in the lake's warm waves. Everything I did was for the, but I never received anything from them. To them I was nothing but a weapon and an outlet to vent their frustrations when things do not go well. They thought I was a fixture in their lives, that I was born into this world just for them, that I depended on them to function properly and without them, I would be mere nothing with no reason to exist.
I am so tired, so sick and tired of being weak.
The notion of defeating Dark Curses with mediocre Light Spells is ridiculous. That is why I am leaving Hogwarts and entering Blackshades; a school where I know that I would taught the necessary materials to accomplish what I was supposed to accordingly to the Prophecy:
The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seven month dies…
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,
But he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…
The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seven month dies…
It was rather disappointing that Dumbledore chose to keep this little piece of information from me until I practically destroyed his whole office. I could have sworn that Fawkes was reprimanding Dumbledore as I walked out of the office, satisfied with the momentary destruction.
Right now, I am standing in the middle of the little room I called mine since I was thirteen. I am packed and ready to go; but before I activated the Portkey, my eyes gave one last swept across the place where I spent most of my inadequately provided for childhood. Then I took another look at the yellowed parchment that was my Blackshades invitation, there was an exquisite crest of a magnificent black Dragon whose long neck was encircled by a elegant silver and ebony phoenix. The Portkey was the other parchment that had the golden insignia of Gringotts. I was scheduled to have a private audience with one of the Goblins regarding my Inheritance. As the Portkey whisked me away, only one thing went through my mind:
No regrets.
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Revised Chapter done: 22nd December 2007
A/N: Since it's posted during May. I apologize profusely for the long wait. I know i promised all of you that it would be revised and ready for New Year's but unfortunately, due to some school and family crisis, i haven't been able to keep my promise. Chapter I and II are out, and i am currently working on III. Here you go! Thank you for waiting patiently, my beta and I are bit slow but that's to ensure quality!
Cheers,
Just.a.Slytherin