A/N: This one-shot is dedicated to Englandwouldfalljohn over on AO3. It was written for a Valentine's Challenge in the Facebook group "DRARRY: fanfiction and art" (who is always happy to accept more members, by the way!) and I was given a lot of freedom.
With that freedom, I decided to try my hand at dark!Harry. It's something I've been thinking about for a bit and had a lot of fun with. I might even eventually make this into a full-length fic if the response is good.
Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy and please be sure to tell me what you think in the comments!
There was a darkness inside of Harry.
It had been there for as long as he could remember. For his entire life, he could feel it deep within. At first, it was far off. It was tucked deep down inside of him, unattainable. But over the years, it had festered into something more. Something real. Something he couldn't keep contained no matter how hard he tried.
And oh he tried.
As he was currently sitting right in the middle of this scene of devastation, it was safe to say that he had failed. Miserably. Tears trekking down his cheeks, he kept curled up in the center of it all. Right in the thick of it, but still just removed. His arms encircled his knees, keeping every single limb in check. Although that wasn't the problem here. The physical was something he could keep to himself.
The darkness within, however….
"I didn't mean to," he whispered, very aware of the people watching him. At first he had worried that they were officers. They were going to arrest him. He would spend the rest of his life in Wakefield. What he did…it was unforgiveable.
But the longer they stood there staring at him, the longer they surveyed the scene before them with something like amazement, the longer he was left to sit there without being arrested….. There was no way they were here to take him away. Not in the sense he had feared, at least.
"We don't have much time left, Lucius. What have you decided?"
"I think we can safely rule out an Obscurus. The wounds don't match up. And I think it would have lashed out by now if that were the case. We are safe to take him."
A pathetic little squeak squeezed up Harry's throat before he could think to stop it. Most of what these two men had discussed meant nothing to him. He could still, however, understand that they were judging him against a certain standard. They were trying to determine if he was still dangerous. If they were presently in any danger. And once they had realized his threat was no longer imminent, they had obviously come to the decision to take him somewhere. The possibility of a prison still remained. He would have deserved it. The acrid smell currently stuck in his nose was enough to prove that.
Behind him, Harry could hear footsteps coming closer. There were sirens sounding close by, adding to the theory that the time these men had was limited. He shrunk further into himself, trying to shut it all out. Trying to go back just a few minutes to when he lost track of himself. To before the shouting and the pain and the stench of death in every breath he took.
"Everything will be fine." Harry refused to unbury his face from his knees, even when he could feel himself being lifted into the air. The man with the voice soft as velvet had him in his arms and repeated this statement a few more times. They were words meant to calm them both, but Harry could find no solace in them. Not when he could still see the flesh on fire burning right behind his eyelids. Not when he could still feel that heat inside of him, roaring for release.
"They deserved it, Mr. Potter. Don't you dare be ashamed of what you've done. Don't you dare think this is your fault."
Although he wasn't sure he believed it, Harry nestled deep into the man's chest. He wanted to believe he wasn't at fault. That, though he had caused the flames, he wasn't the one to blame for the destruction they had caused. The lives they had taken.
For the last ten years, this was the place Harry had called home. In the loose sense of the word, really. It was never a place of love or comfort for him. Just a place for him to feed his darkness until the inevitable.
And in the end, he was walking away from all of it with nothing more than a miraculously unscorched envelope.
The start to the life he was destined to lead.
XxX
Regret could always essentially be narrowed down to one defining moment. One thing gone wrong that could cause an intense trickle-down effect. Like dominoes or a crack in a foundation.
For Harry Potter, that one moment of his life that changed everything all came down to a single letter.
It was something he had been thinking a lot about lately. He wasn't all that sure why. Or perhaps he was and just wasn't ready to accept what that could mean. It was all just a bit of self-doubt and anxiety. Nothing more. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to voice aloud.
It was nothing.
"Lay. Still."
With a heavy sigh, Harry forced himself to lie flat on his back. "Sorry," he whispered, watching the shadows form ghosts upon the ceiling.
Everywhere he looked, something new haunted him these days.
But it was still nothing.
Not far off in the house, the sinister grandfather clock struck a mocking toll to signal the beginning of the day. For something like six hours, Harry had been tossing and turning. The sheets felt strangling, but the cold air in the room was too real without them. Seeking warmth, the kind that nestled right into the bone, he reached across the space between him and his companion. His lover. His point of stability. Perhaps sensing his need, the man reached back toward him and laced their fingers together. Just the touch of him sent an instant calming wave through every nerve-ending Harry had. He breathed out a soft sigh of almost relief, gripping back perhaps just a bit too hard.
"Were you able to sleep?"
Turning into the familiar source of heat – always just a little warmer than was normal – Harry shook his head against the small of the man's back. "I couldn't," he whispered, his tone heavy with the weight of everything he had to keep locked inside.
In the soft, early morning sunlight streaming through the lunette window, Draco Malfoy looked much like a ghost himself. If Harry wasn't currently pulling the man against him, he would believe that was all he was. A figment of his imagination. Just another thing he had lost over the years. Just another regret to add to the insatiable pit within him.
Draco's silences always spoke more than his words ever could and today was no exception. Around them, they could hear the subtle sounds of the manor waking. Of everyone starting their day. And beside Harry, Draco had stiffened. The lack of sleep often signaled the coming of a long day full of thin patience. With that looming over him, he was already making plans to harden his emotions. The familiar mask of indifference was painting over his pale face and his silver eyes were darkening to a cold steel.
Harry desperately wanted to say something of comfort, but the words just would not present themselves.
XxX
"I still see the flames when I close my eyes." They were the first words Harry had spoken since leaving his childhood home in ruins. It had been weeks, at least. He had lost count of the days.
Mr. Malfoy had told Harry this place he was being kept was his new home. But it too was nothing close to feeling like a home should. He didn't feel safe here. It was always cold despite the fireplaces constantly alight in nearly every room. The hallways went on forever and he was always getting lost when left to his own devices. Strange creatures lurked in the shadows, doing whatever was commanded of them like slaves. A few days ago he had seen no less than three snow-white owls fly right through the kitchen window. Nothing about this place made sense.
Nothing about this place felt comforting.
There was always something off about even the most mundane things.
He had been told on the first day he had been carried there, trembling and covered in ashes, that this was a world of magic. That he was magic. A wizard. A mythical creature from the storybooks he was never read to as a child. Everything fantasy was real and he was now right in the middle of it.
If he were to believe what they told him, he had always been in the middle of it. He had been born into the magic. His parents had been just like him and because of their death he was now destined for great things. Mr. Malfoy said the great power he had exhibited was a perfect example of that.
The least comforting of everything was the boy his own age. Draco, his name was. It was a name just as strange as his father's and his mother's and of every single person that came strolling through the manor's doors. This new world he had somehow fallen into was always strange in little ways like that.
Draco was nearly never away from Harry's side. He seemed lonely. In a house as big as this, how could he not be? But Harry hated his presence more and more with every passing minute. He hated the privilege that rolled off of him in waves and the way he looked at Harry like a caged animal. Like his pet or his plaything. And he hated the way he talked to him. He hated the jealousy behind every word when he spoke of the incident back on Privet Drive.
He hated Draco for thinking the murders he had committed were worth something.
And he hated himself for believing more and more with each passing day that they were.
"I can still smell their skin burning and hear their screams. And I can still feel how…happy it made me to watch them burn."
In a surprising show of comfort, Draco didn't hesitate a second to lace their fingers together. He was warm. A heavy warmth that had the darkness inside of Harry urging him to stay close. A warmth possibly just as dangerous as his own had been. Giving in to how good it felt to feed the darkness, Harry let out a broken noise and caved into Draco.
XxX
The darkness always manifested itself in the form of fire.
Flames that consumed everything in their path.
Lucius had called it his secret weapon since he was 'rescued'. And Lucius firmly subscribed to the idea that he had saved Harry as a boy. In turn, it was Harry's duty to save this man and everything he believed in. He owed his life in this bottomless debt.
"My Lord?"
Snapping out of his daze, Harry looked up from his untouched breakfast. The table, full of his most devoted, was clouded with a stale feeling. Silent but for Lucius who always had the first chance at his attention. Or so he believed. The real winner would, however, always be Draco. There was not a soul alive Harry trusted more. "What is it, Malfoy?" he muttered, pushing away his plate in favor of a steaming cup of tea. The heat inside of him desperate to be fed.
Slightly ruffled from being ignored, Lucius shifted on his feet. He stood directly to Harry's left, looking down his nose at everyone else gathered. "What is your plan, My Lord?"
Closing his eyes and sinking back into his chair, Harry took a moment to sift his thoughts from the last few minutes for the background noise. For the words he had been tuning out in favor of an internal crisis. Lucius had been relaying the aftermath of their actions yesterday. It was all predicted far, far ahead of time. They knew this rebellion was coming. They knew that the instant Harry showed his true self….
"Dumbledore's death was bound to bring them out of the woodwork. Anyone caught sympathizing with his old way of thinking…will receive the same fate he did."
"You plan to kill them all?"
Harry slowly opened his eyes again, looking to his direct right and raising a brow. "Not personally," he said softly, daring Draco to say another word. Daring him to defy him so publicly.
This was the only person he would ever accept a challenging word from. He would not, however, ever accept it in the presence of anyone else. If he allowed that, the fear surrounding him would surely begin to deflate.
Draco averted his eyes with a simple nod.
XxX
"You can't let anyone make you look vulnerable. You can't let them see you break. You are the Chosen One and you must set an example."
Harry was thirteen and pliant. He was soft and Lucius knew this. Lucius knew it only took firm suggestion for Harry to become the person he was destined to be.
"Father, please…."
It was summer and the rain hadn't stopped for days. The ground was soaked, little puddles as far as the eye could see.
"It was only an accident."
Everything was vibrant and green and full of color. Everything was beautiful.
"I didn't mean to…."
Except for the boy on the ground with the blood on his hands. The cement around him ran pink as it washed away. The tears streaming down his face mixed with the rain, impossible to tell where one began and ended.
It was only an accident. A childish mistake. They had been sparring in the house as boys are prone to. It was all completely innocent. Until it wasn't. Until Draco pushed just a little too hard and Harry went slamming into a suit of armor. They hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings. They had been too consumed with laughter and feeling like children for those few stolen moments.
They hadn't even noticed the spear until it was too late.
Harry stood just next to Lucius under the awning of the front porch. He avoided looking down at Draco, knelt in the rain before them, as best he could. He was almost as unsuccessful in that as he was at keeping the sobs contained in his chest. They kept leaking out of him like the blood that had poured from the wound just above his heart.
He was fine. Nothing was damaged. It was an easy fix with a simple spell. The blood had stopped running and he could almost no longer feel the pain.
Draco didn't deserve what was to happen to him for that simple mistake.
"Take your punishment like a man, Draco," Lucius sneered down at his son. There was a glimmer of fear masked inside of the hatred in his eyes. That, of course, was the real reason for this display. After everything he had been working towards, it had all nearly been wiped away because of boyish nonsense.
"My Lord, you must make an example of him."
The way Lucius referred to him still caused Harry to cringe. He was to be a replacement for the thing this man missed most – purpose. That fact had never been concealed from him. But it still made him uncomfortable, even these couple years later. He was only a child.
Why was he in charge of making these decisions?
Closing his eyes, Harry thought back to how he had felt that day in the house on Privet Drive, eager to get this over with. The shouting filled his ears and the darkness ran through every inch of him. He clenched his fists, trying to hold it back. Trying to keep it contained. But once he called upon it, once he set it free…. He couldn't stop it. Couldn't control it.
Harry knew the task he had been given had been accomplished when that familiar stench of burning flesh hit his nose. He gasped on a whimper, eyes flashing open to see the pain he had caused. To find the darkness manifested upon his very best friend. The one person he could trust with his darkest thoughts.
Deep down, Harry hoped Lucius had chosen to do this in the rain for the sake of his son. He had to believe the man cared for his child in some capacity, even though he rarely showed it. Thanks to the moisture, Harry's dangerous conjuration of fire lasted only a short moment. Just long enough to lick at the boy cowering on the ground. Just long enough to cause an angry burn to singe across his tear-streaked cheek. Just long enough to bring about a betrayed mewl before disappearing like it hadn't been there at all.
XxX
Harry learned long ago that to show vulnerability was beneath him. It was a fact Lucius had drilled into him from day one. Harry was exactly the picture Lucius Malfoy had painted of him. He was the master student and he was Dark. He was the newly groomed Dark Lord, after all. The answer to the prayer of any Death Eater or Dark sympathizer in all of the British Isles.
But in here….
In this room, he was just Harry and he was weak.
Weak for touch and weak for feeling. Weak for this man and anything he could make Harry feel.
Weak for feeling something good. Something that wasn't the darkness.
Weak for feeling powerless.
Weak for Draco down on his knees, worshiping him in a way that had nothing to do with the ease with which he could administer death.
When Draco held him, Harry felt whole. Normal. When he was inside of him, he didn't feel as filled by the heat of burning darkness. When they were close, connected, the only heat Harry felt was from his lover.
When Draco was near, Harry was exactly the person he wanted to be. Not the person he had been molded into. Not the person the darkness exploited him as. Just Harry Potter.
The young, scared boy cowering in the midst of a fire he created.