My Silver Lining- a Dark Harry story.

Disclaimer- we all love J.K., but her story is always in need of a little tweaking. Don't worry, I am not, will not, and can not make any money off this story. The characters are all hers, yada yada ya… just enjoy, people!

WARNING- some of the events orders have been changed to suit my stories needs- please don't flame me about it. Also, this is one story that been brewing in my head for days, and is my baby. No flames allowed. It might also take a while for me to update, as I am working on two other stories at the same time.

Now, on with the story:

You know that old saw, 'every storm cloud has a silver lining'? Well, mine didn't. Not for a long time, anyway. But before I go there, let me tell you a little about myself.

For most of my life, I had no idea that I was 'fated' to kill a Dark Lord. My magic was repressed by idiotic muggles with a superiority complex. I was beaten for the least infraction, and barely sustained on a starvation diet. Treated like an unpaid child laborer, I did everything I was told. Because who would stick up for me? My 'no-good' parents? They were dead. A social worker? Didn't have one. My friends? Didn't have any.

Then one morning my entire life changed. I'd received a letter in the mail, the first one I had ever gotten. But before I could open it, my uncle ripped it out of my hands and tore it up. He had thought that he'd put a stop to my oddity, my non-visible deformity. He hadn't counted on the persistence of my wizarding, well, family.

Eventually they gave in and sent me off. And my cloud grew a little lighter around the edges. I was baptized by fire into a world I had barely even dreamt about, one with goblins and dragons, intelligent animals, and freely used magic. But the most shocking thing was that I was famous. How could that have happened? I wondered as I followed that large man, Hagrid, through the alleys teeming with people. What did I, scrawny nobody that I was, do to earn the respect of people I hadn't even met?

It confused me until it was explained. I, as a year old babe, had defeated the 'Dark Lord', this 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. I wanted to ask how a people could fear a name, but decided not to. Instead, I focused on my status. Hero of the Wizarding World, indeed. How could I have done anything but drool when I was that young? It seemed to me that I was like a sandbar in the sea. Actively doing noting, I can still manage to destroy things far greater than myself.

Yet the attention was nice. I, starved for it as I was, basked in the fact that people were happy about my presence. And my happiness increased when Hagrid bought me Hedwig. Of course, she was not what I would have picked for myself (I had a thing for pythons), but she was, admittedly, beautiful.

Then I saw him, the boy who would one day become my greatest rival but was now nothing more than a potential friend. We talked a bit, but there are only two things I remember clearly. First was your name- Draco Malfoy. Second was the fact that you seemed like you could care less who I was, so long as I admired you. So I did. And I realized when I was looking you over, that you were my opposite. Blonde to my sable, silver to my green, pale to my tan, a bit chubby to my scarecrow frame. I wanted to be your friend, but you didn't ask, and I was too shy.

I left that store, frustrated. The only person I'd wanted to talk to all day hadn't done what I couldn't- make the first overture.

When I met the Weasley's, and Ron, I made friends with them, although their awe at a scar was annoying. And when you finally asked for my hand in friendship, I rejected you, to make you jealous.

When we were sorted, I fought as hard against being put in Slytherin, not because of the stories that had spewed out of Ron's mouth, but because you were there. Odd how easily children can be influenced, isn't it? When the hat shouted Gryffindor, I could care less about the fact that the people there were going nuts for me. All I wanted to see was your reaction, but I couldn't read anything on your face. Your mask was perfect; it had no flaws.

All of this came together and molded me into want I am now. My abusive childhood made me cynical, and my fame gave me power. I'd been forced into a friendship I hadn't really wanted, while the person I did became my greatest rival.

Then, still not understanding my role in the wizarding world, I was forced to kill a man who'd taught me all year, because he harbored the Dark Lord on his head. Second year, I had to kill a memory, and an animal I longed to talk to. Third year saw my only family escaping from wizarding jail, and just as we got to know each other, he was forced into hiding. In fourth year I was forced to participate in a dangerous, potentially fatal tournament that ended with a boy being killed, in fifth year my godfather died, and in sixth I almost killed Draco. I'd been surrounded for years with death and misery, all of it directed at me.

My very presence seemed to create havoc, and so I resolved to change, and it happened over the summer between sixth and seventh year. I came back to school a recluse, pushing away my friends, speaking only when spoken to. Sarcasm had become my native tongue. Neither my friends nor rivals knew how to react to this new, darker me. I left or ignored my friends when escape wasn't an option, and allowed insults to slide over me. I allowed nothing to affect me.

Looking back, I see that I was using this secluded nature I adopted to protect myself and my friends. I figured that if I allow nothing to affect me, then there will be no consequences to my actions. But this seclusion of mine had some pluses. I'd stopped obeying preferences that weren't my own, started wearing clothes that fit, in styles I liked. The first time Ron saw me in a Slytherin green tee-shirt, he gulped and walked away.

What did get their attention, and a reaction, was when they found out about my tattoo. It was an accident, I hadn't meant for them (of all people), to see it. The day they found out about it, she (my tattoo), was in her favorite position. As a magical tattoo, she could change he position to suit her mood, and that day she had been giving me her version of a hug. Her head was draped over my left shoulder, her body stretched along my back, wings primly tucked against her side. Her tail curved around my right side, slipping under my bellybutton to disappear into the jeans on my left hip.

I'd been getting changed in the bathroom of my dorm when the door slammed open and Ron came in. "Harry, I…" his voice trailed off as I cursed. "What is that, Harry?" he asked. I sarcastically replied, "Why, Ron, it's skin." But he wouldn't leave it.

Of course, if my tattoo had been any other color than Slytherin green with black wing membranes, spines and eyes, he probably would have left it. "Don't blow me off, mate. I know its skin, what I want to know is why you got it?" I sighed and said, "I got her because I wanted her." He huffed and I lost control. "What, Ron?" I asked in a dangerous voice. "Are you afraid that I'm going over to the Dark Side?" He nodded, angrily. "You haven't talked to any of us in months, you're unpredictable and moody, and now you're turning into a, a Slytherin!" He shouted that last bit. Pissed, I pushed him to the door. "What, you think that just because you're my friend, you have the right to force your tastes and ideals off onto me? That just because I'm your Golden Boy, your Savior, I can't be who I really am?"

I pushed him out of the door, ignoring the startled and scared looks of my other dorm mates. "Well, you don't have to worry about me any longer, Ron. From now on, I want nothing to do with you. With any of you, understand?" I added venomously, pinning the other boys with a stare. "If you can grow up and become men," something I couldn't begin to imagine, "then I'll talk to you. But until then, don't bother talking to me. You won't like the results." I went back into the bathroom and softly closed the door.

Five minutes later when I left, there was no one in the dorm. Gliding down the stairs to the common room, I wondered where they'd gone. Then I realized what happened when I entered said room. All conversation stopped, and a pathway opened between me and the door. I was halfway across the room when someone detached from the crowd. I stood in front of me, and I stopped. I stared at her, and she looked back, unflinching. There was a look in her eyes, one that suggested a kinship, that she knew what I was going through. With a smile, I gestured for her to go ahead of me. I opened the portrait and closed it behind us. Her presence, though I wouldn't admit it, was a comfort.

Halfway to the great hall for dinner, she stopped me with a softly spoken "Harry." I turned to her, and watched in surprise as she undid the buttons of her uniform shirt. I went to say something, but a flash of green on her shoulder stopped me. Withdrawing her right arm, she answered all the questions I had yet to ask. Wrapped around her shoulder and upper arm was a black snake with silver and green diamonds. Its head rested on her shoulder, its body wrapping towards her back then around her upper arm twice, ending with the tip of its tail pointing towards her elbow.

After a minute, she put her arm back in her shirt and re-did the buttons. When she was decent, I placed my arm around her shoulders. I had grown so much over the summer, and was well over six feet, that the top of her head came to my chin.

A comfortable fit.

We walked into the Great Hall like that and sat together, across from each other at the end of the table closest to the doors. It was amusing, for us, to see the rest of the Gryffindors avoid us as they came down for dinner. It was even more so when we saw that the cowards had left two seats empty between us and the rest of the clan. Apparently, we were now officially outcasts.

As the rest of the houses came in, they cast curious glances at our table. It was obvious that they wanted to know what was going on, but no one could think of a way to find out. I snorted; the gossip vine would be exploding soon enough. I looked at Hermione, and asked, "So what's the deal with you?" She put her finger to her mouth, and cast a charm. It would muffle our conversation. Then she sighed and said, "Well, for the past, I don't know, year, I've been getting fed up with the way people have been treating me, as though I was nothing more than a bossy know-it-all. But I'm not." We were silent for a minute, then she added, "And I'm also not perfect, not made to fit the Gryffindor mold." I nodded, understanding; after all, hadn't I broken out of the same mold so spectacularly? Hermione continued. "I used to try to fit in, but…" "But what?" I prompted her. "But, I fell in love."