The Rarest Soul of All

by DZ2

"Magic blooms only in rare souls. It is granted to those who live for higher things." Born to darkness, raised in denial and destined to die, Harry seeks to change his fate and he may yet do so; once he's learned the truth about where his power comes from. Dark-Lord Harry/Gabrielle;

1. A Rare Soul Blooms

The Rarest Soul of All: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: "Magic blooms only in rare souls. It is granted to those who live for higher things." Born to darkness, raised in denial and destined to die, Harry seeks to change his fate and he may yet do so; once he's learned the truth about where his power comes from.

Author's Note: So, admittedly, this idea is based on a former idea I once had, but, at the same time, the overall idea came to me because of something suggested by a reviewer to one of my other stories, so, as weird as this one's going to sound and as strange and unbelievable as it may seem, I hope some people out there give it a chance.

And, as always, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to Dominus1389 for giving me inspirations for this story: my recommended reads are The Rise of a Dark Lord by LittleMissXanda, Dark Prince and The Allure of Darkness by LoveMyRomance, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man, The Downward Spiral Saga – Harry Potter and the Homecoming, Harry Potter and Salazar's Legacy, Harry Potter and the Year of Broken Chains, Harry Potter and the Return of the Lost, Harry Potter and the Dirge of Hope andHarry Potter and the End of War – by BolshevikMuppet99, Dark Lord Potter and To Be a Slave by loverofeevee and Harry Potter and The Serpent Chronicles Book 1 The Prince of Slytherin and Harry Potter and The Prince of Power Book 1 Birth of a Snake by ACI100

Key Pairing: Dark/Evil Harry/Gabrielle;

Other Pairings: To be determined

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

'Mental Speech'

/Parseltongue/

Chapter 1: A Rare Soul Blooms

At first glance, the small suburban town of Little Whinging seemed to be as normal as anywhere else;

Every day, the sun rose over the same streets that criss-crossed freely through the small town in Surrey, giving it an air of life that seemed to attract several people to its town centre locations or the housing of the areas surrounding the town. While many of the people who lived there came and went with a cheerful, though curious air about the place, there was nothing about the small town that might have suggested anything strange or unusual would ever happen in such a secluded place.

Yet within a small part of the seemingly-ordinary town of Little Whinging, on a seemingly-ordinary street by the name of Privet Drive, there was something there that wasn't quite as normal as appearances might suggest.

In fact, if anyone knew the dark truths of this one small street, they might remember that sometimes in life, appearances could be very deceiving.

Very deceiving indeed…

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Within the seemingly-ordinary, somewhat well-kept household that was labelled as Number Four, Privet Drive, there lived three people that were about as normal as anyone could hope to be. Their names were Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley and, between them, the three of them made up the most-unusual trio that anyone could expect to call a family.

Vernon was an awful lot like his son in that he was large, loud and liked to think he was the centre of the universe.

Similarly, Dudley was like a beached whale calf with a temper that made several of the local schoolchildren frightened of him.

As for Petunia, she was as thin as was humanly possible with way too much neck for an average woman of her age and someone who had a bad habit of snooping on the neighbours for the local gossip or looking to try and make some of her own.

See? Just as normal as anyone else, right?

Oh, except for the fact that within Privet Drive, there lived the silent tenant of the house.

He was known as silent because Petunia and Vernon loathed him to the point they either barked orders at him, beat him for the smallest thing or, more-often-than-not, they pretended that he just didn't exist.

His name was Harry, although to the kids that followed Dudley like a pack of jackals, he was The Freak whilst, to Vernon, Harry was known as Boy, Freak, Orphan and Waste of Space. As for Petunia, she called Harry the sort of things that shouldn't be repeated, especially since the woman saw him as the bane of her existence; someone that was just dumped on her to remind Petunia of the horror of her freak of a sister, Lily.

Not that Harry knew such things, of course: he knew Petunia was his Mum's sister while Vernon was a loathsome, foul-mouthed alcoholic of a brute that took great pleasure in knocking Harry down several pegs when he believed that no-one else was looking.

He knew Dudley's favourite – and only – sport was the game of Harry Hunting where he and his rabid dogs would hunt Harry like an animal before kicking seven acres of shit out of him for nothing more than being there. To the Dursleys, Harry's very existence was a nightmare; his every breath was a theft to them because he was there and yet, for all their hate of him, the Dursleys never did anything to try and rid themselves of him.

Of course, they made references when they believed Harry couldn't hear them: talking about how they would have dumped him at an orphanage while others would have drowned him at birth for being such a little monster and a freak.

When Harry stepped out of line – which was almost every step he took according to the Dursley Gospel – he was beaten and warned about being left out in the cold or being taken into the middle of the woods to die.

And yet, for all their taunts, warnings and abuse, the Dursleys never did anything to make good on their promise.

So, in the end, Harry just stopped listening.

To assist him in this endeavour, the young boy found himself creating revelations that other children could never have come to and, in time, those revelations changed Harry's way of life as well as his personal feelings for the three idiots more than they thought possible.

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The first revelation had come to Harry when he was only four years old: No-one cares for my tears or cries!

This revelation came around because of how, for as long as he could remember, Harry had called a cupboard under the stairs his home and bedroom while old hand-me-downs that could have housed the Russian Circus were the only clothes he wore.

When he did jobs wrong, he was beaten for them; when he asked questions that he shouldn't have done – which was every question he asked as far as the Dursleys were concerned – then he was hurt and locked in his cupboard and even when things Harry couldn't control went wrong, he was targeted by Vernon, Petunia and Dudley, usually by the latter of the trio getting several kicks in just because he could.

So, by the time he was four years old, Harry had come to realise he wasn't getting any help because of tears, discomfort or any sort of pain: when he was ill with a cold, he was locked in his cupboard to keep his freakish germs away from the Dursleys and their precious Dinky Diddums, but then, when they wanted something from him, he was beaten for being lazy.

How he managed to survive, Harry didn't know, but after his fifth birthday, he stopped giving them the benefit of seeing him cry.

They didn't care for him even when he did cry, so why would he give them the satisfaction of seeing it happen?

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The second revelation came to Harry when he was six years old and started school: Nothing I do will ever let the Dursleys treat me like family!

At school, Harry's life was just as hellacious as being at home, if he could call it that.

Because of Dudley's gang and the way that the baby whale turned on the crocodile tears so often, he could have made the Nile burst its banks, Harry was a real pariah at the school. Even his best work was tossed aside and accused of cheating while, whenever the Dursleys heard about Dudley doing wrong, they either insisted hands-down that Harry was responsible or, more-often than not, the teacher that made the accusation suddenly found themselves seeking employment elsewhere.

As far as Vernon and Petunia were concerned, the sun set when Dudley sat down and anything he did wrong had to be Harry's fault.

Dudley failing the simplest reading and writing exercises? Harry's fault.

Dudley being lowest in the class while Harry was practically a prodigy with his reading and writing? Harry's fault.

The kids' complaints about Dudley being a bully?

Harry's fault.

In the minds of the deluded and drunken, it was obvious – to anyone named Vernon and Petunia – that the little freak was making their darling Popkin do those mean nasty things to make him look good.

In the end, Harry just stopped caring.

Oh, he still ran from the hunt and did his best to hide while he also became avoided like the plague by others since Dudley started a rumour that anyone whom got close to the freak would get hurt.

But in the meantime, Harry just stopped caring.

He kept his head down and even managed to hold in the humiliations of having to dumb himself down just for the sake of the human tumbleweed.

Even so, by the time he was six-going-on-seven, he had just stopped caring…full stop!

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The last of the big revelations came to Harry shortly after he turned eight years old: I HATE Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley!

Over the years, a lot of negativity had built up inside of Harry, but because of the way that the Dursleys reacted whenever he looked at them wrong or said something that they didn't like – which, in case one should forget, was every single time – Harry learned to hide his negativity like he hid his tears, his talents and his way with the world.

Even so, by the time he turned eight, the feeling of darkness had grown strong inside the young child, filling him with thoughts, images, dreams and desires that no child should have in his or her head.

There were some Harry liked best of all, such as the one about luring Dudley's gang into the den of a hungry pack of wolves as well as the one about using Petunia as a lightning rod during the middle of a thunderstorm. Then there was the one about having Vernon meet with an accidental lock-in with the lions at the zoo while there was also one that had Dudley being used as bait in a hunt of his own.

By far, however, the dream that sated Harry's hunger for his own hatred and revenge most of all was one that made him smile in the dark solace of his cupboard under the stairs.

Curiously, it was always the same one too, but it was his favourite.

He was older…much older, and his relatives were on their knees before a large black throne, which Harry was sat in, all three of them surrounded by bloodthirsty, vengeful shadowy faces and images that screamed for their blood while they worshipped the figure in the throne.

Then, at Harry's command, the Dursleys were torn into a million and one shreds by forces and powers unknown, even though their bodies showed minimal damages. Then, when Harry believed that they'd had enough, he gave the order and, in each dream of the same scenarios, they wound up dying in several different ways, each one different each time he dreamt about their deaths, though his favourites involved them begging him for mercy as they screamed their lungs out.

Of course, their screams only made Harry tired and he fell asleep in his throne, his faithful followers surrounding him as though he was a King and they were his servants.

That was Harry's favourite desire to make them pay, but he knew that it was only a dream.

So, instead of hiding his desires, he let himself grow ever-hateful and even continued to fuel his desires on thoughts of how the three dimwits – he stopped calling them his family a long time ago – would die in his next daydream.

They weren't willing to show mercy to him, so why, given the chance, why should he give it to them?

And so, with the dark thoughts fuelling his mind and ambitions, Harry James Potter grew up in darkness, surrounded by misery and fuelled by hatred, anger, sadness, anguish, disdain, fury and thoughts of blood and death.

Then, one day in the autumn of his ninth year of living, Harry's life was changed forever when he made a new revelation:

One that would change more than his way of life; it would change everything for Harry James Potter and make things better…

For him, anyway!

It all started, rather weirdly, with a blackout;

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Harry couldn't really remember the how or why behind it, but by the time he'd gotten back to his prison where the keepers – as he called the Dursleys since they were no longer his family, his guardians or even his wardens – gave him chores, beat him once for wasting time – also known as patiently waiting for the meal to finish cooking – and sent him to bed without dinner, he managed to figure out enough to come to a revelation of his own.

It had begun with Dudley and his pack of starved jackals chasing Harry as they usually did, their cries, calls and yells of excitement only punctuated by the sounds of heavy footfalls as they gave chase. Harry, meanwhile, being both light on his feet and experienced in ducking the assault and would-be-torments of the Dudley Dursley yes-men, ran towards a dark corner of the school and, in a moment powered by adrenaline more than anything else, he took a leap over one of the bins in a bid to reach a high vantage point.

As he did so, however, Harry was more-than-surprised when he'd suddenly found himself huddled next to a chimney stack.

Fortunately, where he was hidden was in a blind spot to anyone that might have looked up, so Harry was able to regain his breath while the impotent hounds gave up the chase all too easily.

As Harry heaved dry gasps of air, he listened as they went back to their favourite pastime: namely kissing Dudley's fat behind and doing his dirty work. Heck, they probably even wiped his ass for him when his flabby hands found themselves unable to reach his soiled blubber butt.

Anyway, as he waited for the all-clear, laughing to himself at his rather vile, but funny thoughts, Harry felt an air of surprise and curiosity as he wondered about what had happened.

Once he was sure that the coast was clear, he climbed down and made his way back to class, but the thought was still there in his head.

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Now, as he nursed his wounds where he'd been beaten, Harry thought on that moment: as he did, a feeling of newfound spiritedness came to him.

There was a possible explanation for what had happened, but the fat blob that was Vernon had said that there was no such thing.

If that was the case, then how did you explain what had happened to Harry?

And, the more that he thought about it, the more that Harry realised that this moment matched other inexplicable moments from his lifetime: there was the strange case of the many futile, violently-sadistic and humiliating efforts the female keeper had made to cut Harry's hair, only for it to grow back the next day.

The way Harry always found himself getting strong again no matter how badly he was beaten; the clothes that kept shrinking whenever Harry found himself discomforted by the elephant skins that the keepers tried to force him into.

Then there was the one moment that stuck out in Harry's memory more than any other: it had been over a year ago and he'd been making Sunday dinner for the Dursleys, only for him to accidentally drop the roasting dish and send the remains of the meal all over the floor. Not only was he forced to clean it up, but the retaliation from the largest keeper was for him to take Harry's arm and, without even considering the damage that he'd do to Harry in the process, the keeper slammed the oven door on it…repeatedly!

The only way that he stopped was when a large crack sounded from Harry's arm, indicating the man had broken the bone, leaving several burns on Harry's arm in the process as well as a pain that Harry had been left with no other choice than to scream.

Hey, his arm was broken pretty badly.

Who wouldn't scream from the pain?

Rather than take Harry to a hospital, the large keeper had left the boy to rot in his own pain and muffled screams – as Vernon had literally stuffed a dirty old sock in Harry's mouth so the neighbours wouldn't hear – in his cupboard.

And yet, somehow, almost-miraculously, Harry had woken the next morning to find both skin and bone had healed, although the memories were as fresh as ever.

Ironically, or perhaps it had been fate, but that was the same day that he decided that he well-and-truly hated the Dursleys too.

And now he knew what it was…

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Magic!

Whether the large keeper claimed it was real or not, Harry knew it was the only logical explanation for everything that had happened: either that or he was some sort of god or other deity in human form with supernatural powers.

But if that were the case, Harry was sure his divinity wouldn't have allowed the keepers to treat him like they did.

No, it had to be magic!

Harry had magic…and the more that the three-word revelation coursed through his mind and filled him with a raw sense of excitement and surprise, the more Harry came to realise something else as well. Something that his innermost voice, his conscience, if you will, seemed to whisper to him as he lay there in the darkness, clutching at rage, anger and the delicious taste of his newest revelation and what it meant.

'That's why they don't get rid of you…'

Alone in the dark, Harry was only aware of how his conscience seemed to whisper the truth of his revelations to him, its words reaching each and every part of his mind as it whispered its dark melody into his ears. Curiously, the voice of his conscience was a cold, darkened voice that filled him with warmth and care, as well as a sense of newfound strength that rose up inside of him like a flower getting ready to bloom.

Why it felt this way, Harry didn't know, but he still listened as the voice went on.

'They can't because they fear what could happen; they fear what you can do and so they try to do whatever they can to stamp it out of you. Think, dear Harry…remember your greatest dream…consider, if you still believe you can, your heart's desire!'

Suddenly, the image of the throne and the merciless nature that Harry showed to the Dursleys in his favourite dream came shooting back into his mind, filling his dreams with wonder and raw delight that Harry hadn't felt in…well, in ever, really.

"I have magic," whispered Harry, his words barely audible in the muffled silence of his cupboard while his eyes seemed to shine as he revelled the feeling of euphoria that his revelation gave him.

'Yes you do,' agreed the voice within, its words soft, yet empowering to hear, while Harry filled in the blank all on his own.

"And they know it: I have it and they don't and they hate me for it. They hate me because I have something they don't, something they only get when they believe they knock me down a few pegs with their hate and painful punishments…"

Clenching his fist, Harry actually felt his skin seemingly burn with newfound strength as he hissed, "I have power!"

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After that rather fated night's revelation, things took a…rather unusual turn for Harry, mostly-because he seemed to become two different people despite being one whole nine-year-old boy.

When he was around the Dursleys, he was just plain, ordinary and unloved Harry: he let them think they could still hold dominance over him by barking orders, hurting him, denying him the simplest of rights and generally treating him like he was the freak, the unwanted orphan, the stain on their oh-so-perfect lives and the monster.

However, away from the keepers, Harry became someone else entirely as he started looking into mentions and references to magic, though, for obvious reasons, the only place he really managed to find anything was in the fiction section of the library.

He found references to what was known as street magic and the apparently-explainable arts of magic that involved silly-looking wands, audience distractions, sleight of hand and silly words like abracadabra, hocus pocus and shazam, but as for real magic, no, Harry didn't find that anywhere.

So, instead, Harry let his mind focus on the art of magic through the false magicians.

Using books from the library – since he knew that the keepers would never watch anything to do with magic on television – Harry took the information on certain arts to heart.

He started off small with moving objects with the power of his mind.

A later examination of a book on the paranormal revealed the title of said power to be Telekinesis, although it was mostly a fraudulent claim in the world of magicians involving wires, magnets or some other flimflam.

Harry, meanwhile, actually found himself able to learn the ability for himself.

Even though his mind was strained from the pressures of living with the keepers, he still managed to focus enough to move objects without touching them. For added proof of his newfound ability, Harry even put his hands into his pockets or distracted himself by doing things that needed his hands like flipping coins or juggling them between his fingers as well as attempting to solve a Rubik's Cube or casually doodling on paper.

After learning to move objects, Harry went onto other abilities using magic as a guide.

He didn't really try conjuration of things like cards or flowers, but, to his amusement, he found he could create small wisps of flame and even small sparks of lightning in his hand.

As the autumn turned into winter, Harry moved on from small possibilities to the larger things as he tried using TK to manipulate more than just movement; he soon found himself able to shift and even break locks while he also toyed with certain favourite things of Dudley's.

A brand new pair of supersized jeans that Dudley had once worn strangely found themselves splitting each and every time the baby whale of a keeper tried moving; no matter how many times the other keepers forked out money to get them repaired, the seams always broke with a sound that was like music to Harry's ears.

There was also the incident involving a bar of chocolate – king-sized – suddenly melting in Dudley's pudgy fingers and being sent all over Petunia's precious new three-piece suite.

Of course, Harry was forced to clean it up, but he did so with a victorious feeling building up inside of him.

His personal favourite incident was whenever Dudley was watching one of his favourite shows and the television suddenly went on the blink, losing sound and picture and even turning itself off. When Vernon checked the electric meter, only to find its readings still plentiful, he had the television taken away and a brand new, much larger television bought for his son.

Weirdly, the remote control never worked on that one and, when Dudley tried to change it using the control panel located in a flip-down area on the television, he received an electric shock that had him screaming for Mummy.

Vernon sued the company for damages, but when it was proven that there was nothing wrong and his was the only fault involved, the Dursleys had to fork out once again, but this time to pay for expensive lawyers' bills.

It was safe to say that Dudley wasn't happy.

Harry, on the other hand, was having a blast!

After the young magic user was certain he'd toyed with the keepers enough – though a small part of him started to see them more like his pets than anything else – he went back to discovering other feats of magic.

It was because of this that Harry discovered a rather weird, but enjoyable ability in the summer just before he turned ten years old.

One that, although he didn't know it at the time, was his first taste of real magic…

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As punishment for something else he didn't do, Harry had been ordered by Petunia to re-plant all her precious flowers with a warning that he wasn't coming back in the house no matter how hot he got or how thirsty.

As he worked on the plants, a part of him feeling sorely tempted to use his newfound ability to conjure flames and really teach the horse-faced freak of nature a lesson she wouldn't forget, Harry was aware of a soft sound coming from the bush nearest to the garden shed. While he tried working on the flowers, he was aware of the sound growing louder until, to Harry's surprise, he saw a small, dark-coloured head poke through the flowers and look right at him.

It was a snake: the red and yellow bands told Harry what it was right away, although Harry thought that it was strange to see such a creature in this part of the country, let alone the world. It was a coral snake, one of a rather venomous bunch of serpents in the world and, judging from the size, Harry took a guess that it was a new-born snake, a hatchling.

As he swallowed down a sense of hidden fear at such a poisonous creature being so close to him, Harry was surprised when, as the snake turned its head, Harry heard a soft voice hissing at the air. /Where am I? I don't know this place; where is my nest? Where are my nest-mates?/

Harry's eyes narrowed as he looked around, but when he saw no-one except the curious-looking snake, the young magic user swallowed again before he asked, "Um…hello?"

The snake suddenly recoiled while, at the same time, had anyone been listening in, they would have heard a rather frightening hissing sound coming from Harry's lips rather than the common tongue of everyday people.

As for Harry, he was more than a little shocked when the snake looked up at him before the voice spoke again. /Speak? You…you Speak?/

/Um…yes?/ asked Harry, though he didn't mean to sound so bewildered, but then again, it wasn't every day you realised that a dangerous serpent was talking to you either.

As the snake met his gaze, Harry's eyes widened as the serpent bowed her head – as he realised that she was female from the tone of the voice he'd heard her use – before she spoke to him again, /I have heard tales of Speakers, but I never thought them true. I am honoured, Speaker./

/My name's Harry,/ replied Harry, a part of him actually feeling a little amused, if not comforted, by the feeling that filled his mind while he spoke to the snake, /Do you have a name?/

/I was not given one,/ answered the snake, now slithering closer to Harry so that she could move into the palm of his hand, coiling herself up in the process – remember that she was only a small serpent. /I was hatched in darkness, but I was lost: my mama and papa are gone and I am alone./

Harry felt a strong burst of pain fill his heart as he listened to the serpent. /My parents are gone too,/ he told her, his voice edged by its own dark pain as well as mutual respect and care as he added, /But it doesn't bother me much: even if they were still alive, it wouldn't change how I feel for them leaving me with these…these…/

/Humans?/ asked the coral snake, earning a soft laugh from Harry as he shook his head.

/These three are not humans, my friend,/ hissed Harry, but as soon as he hissed the last word, a new feeling of warmth filled him up.

Had he just called someone…something else…a friend?

He'd always been deprived of friends because of the keepers, but here…now…this beautiful small creature was here talking to him.

She didn't allow herself to be taken from him because of lies, false beliefs and rumours that just weren't true – just another reason that he hated the Dursleys with a vengeance.

/Then they are prey,/ hissed the coral snake, earning a wide-eyed look from Harry at the venomous tone of her hissing as she told him, /If I were bigger, I would gladly eat them for you, Speaker. I smell the pain they cause you when they should be acknowledging you as their one, true better./

/I appreciate the compliment,/ sighed Harry, gently stroking the scales of the serpent before he asked, /I'll tell you what: why don't you stay with me? I could use someone to talk to that won't betray me or my heart./

/I would be honoured to be yours, Speaker,/ replied the serpent, earning the smallest, briefest of smiles from Harry before, giving the creature a thoughtful look, Harry gently tapped her scaled head with his forefinger.

/Asha…/

/I'm sorry?/

/Your name,/ replied Harry, watching as the snake coiled herself around his wrist like a bracer while he explained, /The colour of your scales, they remind me of ashes, but calling you Ash would mistake you for male. So I'll call you Asha instead./

The snake's tongue tickled the palm of Harry's hand as the serpent, Asha, hissed at him, /I like that name…my little master./

With a satisfied smile, Harry returned to his task, his strength and energy restored thanks to the discovery of a new friend.

Sadly, Harry should have remembered that where he was concerned, good things in the Dursley Household never lasted long…

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Four Months Later

It was Halloween Night;

For Harry, it wasn't really a special night as, when he should have been looking forwards to trick-or-treating or Halloween parties like a normal child, his duties instead involved fetching and carrying buckets for Dudley to throw up in because he'd eaten too much chocolate while playing the lie that the Dursleys never had any candy on them.

Mostly because by the time the first trick-or-treaters called to the house, Dudley had already wolfed down everything they had, usually chomping loudly and spraying Harry in crumbs and spittle as he mocked the young emerald-eyed boy's misfortune.

What made this particular Halloween different for Harry was the fact that, once he was done emptying his twelfth bucket of puke, he would be able to escape to his cupboard and spend time talking with Asha. Ever since he'd found her, she had been a good friend and a greater companion, both of them spending a long time talking about anything and everything.

She even encouraged Harry's training in magic to continue, usually helping encourage him or soothe him with her gentle hissing tones and the feel of her scales rubbing against his skin – especially any wounded areas – was better than any massage for Harry.

Of course, Harry had asked her to stay hidden when he wasn't around, because he feared what would happen to such a beautiful creature if the keepers got wind of her.

Well, as Harry was to learn in the next twelve months, Halloween just wasn't his day.

As he opened the door to the hallway, letting out a soft murmur of I'm back to show that the pain could begin and so could the sessions of sick and disgust, Harry's eyes widened and his heart stopped dead as he saw a sight before him that wiped away any hopes of light remaining inside him any longer.

Asha, his beautiful scaled friend.

Her body had been pinned to the door of Harry's cupboard with her jaws and part of her upper body sliced almost savagely, but cleanly, making her resemble the world's scaliest necktie as she hung there like some sick-minded trophy.

"No…" whispered Harry, but before he had a chance to get to the snake, he found his body being tackled and pinned against the hallway steps by none other than the obese keeper that Harry had been forced to call his Uncle.

Vernon's pudgy fingers found Harry's throat while the man's temples actually seemed to throb a disgusting shade of purple as he snarled, "You little monster: how dare you keep such a beast as that without my permission! Because of you, my son's been poisoned and Petunia's had to rush him to hospital: this is all your fault, you little shit!"

"Let…" Harry began, but before he could say another word, Vernon used one of his hands to give Harry a strong and very painful punch to the chest, filling Harry with a feeling of sickness, pain and dark thoughts.

"Don't you dare speak unless I permit you to speak, you little bastard!" snapped Vernon, his spittle flying across Harry's face as he roared like an elephant in a field of mice. "I've been lenient with you before now, but even your Aunt agrees it's time we show you what happens when you defy us: hope you enjoyed the daylight, boy, because you're never seeing it again!"

Harry's eyes actually started to cloud over as Vernon's look then turned into one of mocking amusement as he asked, "What? Did you think you'd keep it, freak? Didn't you learn the lesson with your freak parents? Everything that gets close to you dies!"

As he said the last part, something that had been building inside of Harry ever since the first moment he'd given the darkness its first taste of his hate broke through: it was like everything Harry had been put through had finally decided enough was enough.

However, to the boy's disgust, Vernon wasn't done.

"Well now you're going to do exactly what your masters tell you, boy, because if you don't, to hell with warnings, you're dead!"

What happened next was something Harry wouldn't be able to forget or figure out for a long while.

Maybe it was the way that Vernon believed that he was Harry's master; maybe it was the mention of some sort of warning that had Harry thinking about the many times the keepers had come close to leaving him in the cold and dark to die, only to change their minds at the last minute or maybe it was just the added fury of seeing his first true friend murdered at the hands of a self-obsessed egomaniac of an elephant-man.

Harry didn't know; all he knew was that, for some reason – or perhaps for each one of those reasons – Harry decided enough was really enough.

Using his hands, he grabbed Vernon's fat wrists and poured years' worth of malice, pain, anger, darkness and hate into his will.

Harry didn't care what happened next: he understood what had to happen.

He hadn't been the one they'd held back on, it was the other way around!

He had kept his magic secret for too long, but now, with this latest in a long line of crimes against him, Harry had reached his breaking point…and been fired from a cannon straight through that point!

'Yes Harry,' laughed a voice he hadn't heard in a while, 'Do it…liberate yourself…set yourself free from their lies…you have the power inside of you; now…use it…unleash your power…take your vengeance…make them remember who you really are!'

Calling on every ounce of magic inside of him, Harry poured every single drop of his rage into the power inside him, fuelling his power with sheer force of will and every negative emotion they'd ever made him feel.

To his delight – he would have been horrified had there been any light left in him to hurt, but there wasn't, so he didn't – he saw Vernon's hands suddenly tremble with pain. At the same time, a smell reached Harry's nostrils that reminded him of overcooked barbecue, though at the same time, he was aware of the flesh of his Uncle's wrists turning a dark and dangerous shade of red with burned pains.

Finally, unable to hold his pet any longer, Vernon screamed and released Harry, clutching at his burned wrist as he barked, "You dare use your freakishness on me, you little monster? I am your master and you are nothing to me but an insect that deserved to be drowned at birth…"

"Oh will you just shut your fat mouth?" snapped Harry, glaring daggers at Vernon.

As he did so, he was unaware of the colour of his eyes glowing with such light that they appeared to resemble that of a certain curse that Harry wouldn't learn about for a while yet.

Rather than innocent emerald, the empowering shade of green filled Harry's gaze and, without any real care for what he was doing, the young magic user let his power do its worst to Vernon.

And Magic obeyed him…

With the last words flying from Harry's mouth, Vernon suddenly became very still; his hands seemed to fall to his sides while Harry, feeling both confused and a little surprised by this newest form of magic, waved his hand in front of Vernon's eyes, snapping his fingers several times just to make sure that Vernon wasn't pretending.

Seeing no natural reactions, Harry rubbed his neck once before he whispered, "Look at me."

Vernon obeyed without question, his once-piggy gaze now apparently glazed and so distant, it gave a whole new meaning to the term the lights are on, but there's no-one home.

"Listen," added Harry, his voice edged by a darker, more-powerful tone of voice than the one that he'd used to talk to the Dursleys before now. "And listen well: if you ever touch me again, you will die: I promise. I don't know how it'll happen, but I will kill you, is that clear?"

"Yes," replied Vernon, earning a fierce look from Harry that was almost like a dragon glaring at his prey.

"Yes what?" asked Harry coldly, though he didn't know why he said it.

He just felt like he had to hear it; to have this insignificant other say it, so he knew this was real.

Grabbing a broken piece of a picture frame Vernon had slammed Harry into, the dark-minded youth pressed it to the man's neck, jabbing it right into Vernon's flab – not so deep that he bled, but deep enough to feel the sting and know he would hear and obey Harry's will and wishes – before he commanded, "Say it! Who am I?"

"Master," answered Vernon, his voice as dazed and distant as his appearance as he added, "Yes Master."

Lowering the shank he'd picked up, Harry smiled thinly, giving him a look that made it impossible to tell if he was actually smiling, before he went on, "You are nothing to me, Vernon; you are meat…a worm that deserves to be crushed and, rest assured, my pet, the day will come where I crush you for everything you've done to me. So know this, worm, if your son or any of his gang touches me, you get hurt; if your wife says one word about me, you get hurt. If either of them hurt me as bad as they used to, you will die, do you understand?"

"Yes Master."

"You are nothing," hissed Harry, his eyes still glowing with emerald fire while his spirit seemed to become stronger with the darkness that grew inside him, nourishing itself on his hatred for the man.

And, though he didn't fully acknowledge it, the dark voice inside him loved this feeling too as it hissed, 'At last, you are free, my child…'

In this manner, Harry almost seemed to drawl out his next words as he made it clear what Vernon was to him.

"You will always be nothing, you were born as nothing; you will die as nothing and only your filth will mourn you. Now say it: what are you?"

"Nothing."

"And what else?"

"A Worm."

"And what do bad worms get?"

"Crushed."

Lifting his eyes to meet the Worm's, as he called him from then on, Harry patted the flabby cheek of his pet as he replied, "Good boy; now…Worm, for that is all that I will ever call you…but I digress. Here are your new orders. Disobey any of them and…well, you know what'll happen."

With the incredible new feelings of power coursing through him like a perfected blend of the world's most-addictive drugs, Harry went on, "First, from now on, you're to beat your son, often to within an inch of his life if I let you, and feel nothing. No matter how loud she begs, you'll do it; no matter how many times he cries, you'll do it. If I become bored and desire entertainment, you'll do it."

"I understand, Master."

"If she speaks out or tries to stop you, you'll hit her as well and make her sorry that she ever spoke, do you understand?"

"Yes Master."

"In the meantime," added Harry, relishing in the power he had over his pet while he also began to really like the idea of being Master to those whom were beneath him.

He didn't care anymore, about anyone or anything but himself, and he would not be denied any longer.

"I will be fed like a normal person and, once I'm sure I can manage a full meal again, I will be given more so that my body can become better. You'll also give me anything and everything I want when I want it, no matter the cost, time needed or moment when I ask it of you. If I change my mind and trash it later, you'll accept this and consider it your fault: deny me, I'll hurt you. Continue to deny me, I'll hurt them: stand in my way too often and I will make you burn, is that clear?"

"Yes Master."

"Now…Worm," continued Harry, brushing down his clothes before he asked, "One more time, who are you?"

"Worm."

"And is that everywhere?"

"Yes Master."

"No!" snapped Harry, slapping Vernon across the cheek, albeit with the hand that held the shard from the picture frame, which left a small scar on the fat man's jowls. "That's here: out there, you're Vernon Dursley and you will be a better man for everyone, including those you work for. But once you're through that door and in my presence, you are Worm and you will do as I command whenever, wherever, understand?"

"Yes Master."

Smiling coldly at the dominance of his new magic, as well as the fact that it didn't seem to have a limit, Harry sighed deeply before he informed his new slave, "Now, Worm, take my friend and go and bury her somewhere nice in the back garden. Once you've done that, come back: it's nearly teatime and I'm starving!"

"I will be quick with Master's dinner," replied Vernon, practically tripping over himself as he made his way to fulfil Harry's wishes.

Harry, meanwhile, casually made his way towards the cupboard and, running a last finger over the destroyed form of his beautiful ex-friend, the young magic user sighed deeply before he whispered, "I hope you rest in peace, Asha…"

Turning towards a picture of the three Dursleys – or, as Harry called them after that, his three pets – the young magic user released his power once again, this time causing each of the pictures to snap, crack and become torn in their casings while Harry's eyes shone with dark magical power.

"Thanks to them…I may never do so again!"

Wow, talk about a dark beginning and it looks like Harry's officially gone off the hero-list, but what could be the catalyst?

The death of a friend? The emotional overload that left him colder than cold? Or this mysterious voice in his head?

Who or what is that, anyway?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Relishing in the throes of power he now possesses, Harry takes his revenge to the next level, much to the amusement of his unseen supporter;

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