Disclaimer: Guys, this is a fanfiction of the original story Harry Potter by J.K Rowling. Enjoy the story~

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, major character deaths, excessive use of fire, BAMF!Hermione, Ron, and Harry, possession, dark magic and more that I'll add later. You've been warned.

Note: I was watching Mama when I wrote Harry's segment. Forgive me, I couldn't help myself. I'm always a sucker for demons~

Ron

Fire. That was the word his mother had associated with him the very moments she laid eyes on his fiery red hair. His cheeks burned a deep shade of crimson as he laughed, staring up with her with innocent eyes and an already fire-freckled face.

As Ron grew so did his association with fire. As a toddler, he had a very impressive collection of stuffed dragon dolls, each one just as fearsome and varying red as the last one. His favorite one, however, was one that Molly had made herself, with white hot and orange flames getting from its mouth, it's bright yellow wings outstretched menacingly.

Molly never had reason to worry about her son and his love of fire, but as he got older, she began to notice certain traits of his that stuck out as odd, such as his ever present scent of smoke and ash, his easily to light temper, and the fiery gleam that never seemed to leave his eyes, melting them into a deep orangish red.

Her other children tended to avoid Ron, claiming that he was too hot and liked to burn when he touched them. Molly liked to think that it was just their imaginations taking in his oddly flame-like appearance and running wild with it, despite the fact that they were really too old for such things.

The twins, Fred and George, bless them, tried to get along with their hot-tempered younger brother. At first it was awkward, tense silences of the two identical twins watching the younger, studying him, as Ron did so right back, strange orange/yellow eyes trailing their every move.

It took a while, about 4 weeks of these tense, strange moments, but Fred and George eventually figured out what to do with their four year old brother.

Fire.

It was nothing dangerous. Fire crackers here, sparklers, staring at the stove and fireplace, watching the flames hungrily eat the wood. It was nothing big, not yet, but it was worth it, seeing his eyes light up with interest and excitement, a shade of yellow that could only be associated with flames entering his eyes right underneath the burnt orange.

It wasn't until the very next year, when Ron turned five, that they realized there was so much more to their fire infused little brother. The family had gathered around the fireplace, and the flames had been exceptionally high, and for once, no one had their eyes on Ron.

Molly looked over just as he shoved his arms into the flames, and she only managed a loud shriek before the flames shot up into the air, a hot red that non of the other Weasleys could near.

In the middle of the fire sat Ron, eyes wide and somehow brighter than the white-hot flames that filled the room and an expression of pure unadulterated glee on his face.

As Ron sat there, engulfed in flames that no one else could touch, Molly began to suspect that maybe, just maybe, her little Ron, was a little monster.

Hermione

Hermione let out a pained grunt as her small frame hit the ground, already wild brown locks tumbling around her and doing nothing to cushion the rather sudden fall.

She looked up at her attacker, already knowing who it is, yet wanting to confirm it, to silence that small part of her that screamed that her tormentors wouldn't go that far.

Above her, custom sneer planted on her face, Kate Marsh stood, blond hair falling down her back like a smooth river. Beside her were two extras, two unoticable faces that Hermione was sure Kate kept around to make herself look better.

"Kate." Hermione managed, her eyes darting around the park area where she had been walking, stalling until it was time for her to return home, to her parents that watched her every move fearfully.

The older girl smiled darkly, and the Two brunettes by her left and right side mimicked it, poorly. Hermione stood up, brushing her hand against her jeans to dislodge the dirt and dust that had accumulated there.

Once done, she looked up at Kate. Something dark was in the girls pretty green eyes, and it was something that didn't bode well for Hermione. So, when Kate and her birdies stepped forward, Hermione turned on her heel, and ran.

It didn't more than a few heartbeats of silence for Kate and the other two to catch on and begin to chase after, their loud jeers ripped away by the wind flying past Hermiones ear before she could hear them.

She had to get the woods. It was the only coherent thought in her head as her lungs swelled against her chest, her brand new Hello Kitty sneakers pounding furiously into the dirt, making bright white a dusty brown.

She ignored the small part of her mind that urged her to turn around and fight, to let lose that shimmery little part of her that was all feral and all magic, to make Kate and any other bully think twice about looking g in her general direction ever again.

She ran as far into the park woods as she could go before skidding to a stop, barely managing to stop herself from falling face first into a murky looking body of water, too big to be a pond and too small to be a lake.

Her sharp eyes whipped around, searching for a secure place to hide, but the water was smooth besides the ripples caused by a few bubbles of a creature Hermione preferred to not know about. Behind her, three pairs of feet slowed to a stop, each person's breath ragged and heaving.

Hermione turned them, heart stuttering in her chest from both fear and exhaustion. The magic she held cased deep inside her mind thrummed and hummed eagerly, pulsing in her ears to the beat of her heart.

"You're so dumb, Hermione. Why would you run deeper into the woods where no one can hear us? We're all alone out here." One of the lackeys, Mary, Hermione thinks, speaks up, snide smirk daulteri g as she leans over, trying to get her breath. Mary was the chubbier one of the three.

"No one can hear you scream, and they won't be able to stop Kate from what she's about to do to you." The other, Cynthia, spoke up, something dark in her eyes as she turned her gaze to Kate.

Kate took a step forward, picking up a stick from the heavily forested ground beneath them. Hermione tried to take a step back but stopped when she felt the back of her shoe dip into the murky depths.

"There's three of us and one of you, Hermione. What are you going to do?"

Her magic had been growing, beating against her skin, her heart, her mind to let it out, to take Kate and make an example of her that no one would ever forget. It roared and rattled and shakes until it broke the cage that Hermione had built and swooped down, filling her every sense to the very brim and then some.

Hermione didn't make a sound, just a strangled gasp as her mouth dropped open and her eyes bled into a milky porcelain white. Clarity hit her in an instant. She was magic, a pure imbodiment of pure power. She could feel the force at in her blood, in her pores, coating her skin. It felt like home and danger, security and anger and ice cream on a hot summer day. It felt right, because it was her.

As the overwhelming magic settled into something more manageable, her eyes stayed that pearly solid color. Kate and her friends had noticed, stepping g back with disgust and fear heavy in their eyes as she stepped forward.

With both her hands raised out in front of her, palms out, she walked forward, a purely white substance growing in her hand. With a simple flick of her wrist, she sent the spheres out and at Cynthia and Mary, sending both girls launching through the woods, their screams lingering long after they had left.

Kate was pale, trembling as she brandished the stick in her hand. Hermione stopped, leaning down to grab one of her own. The wood was white and grey, cut off to a perfect point and rounded towards the bottom. It looked like the perfect weapon and inconspicuous tool.

Kate fell back, her foot catching on an upturned rock hurting from the ground as it had arrived there on purpose, a huff of breath escaping her lips as she slammed against the dirt.

She looked up at the other girl, ignoring the stinging pain in her wrist as Hermione advanced, her eyes honed in on the spot where her wrist had begun to redden. Smiling, struck suddenly by an idea, the 10 year old girl raised the stick and pointed it at Kate, her lips moving but her words carried off by the wind.

"Pain."

Harry

Harry Potter was a monster. It hadn't taken long for Petunia or Vernon Durlsey to realize that there was something wrong with their freak nephew.

The boy was already unnatural, with impossibly bright green eyes that latched onto the closet figure in the room and tracked their every movement, and pale skin that, in another context, might have been beautiful, but only appeared unnatural on the boy in the sense that it made him seem to glow. His hair was black and already unnatural long and growing everyday, inky black locks that splayed out around his head like a halo, mocking the utterly normal family and their son.

Dudley, was an angel. But this boy...that freak, was something of the exact opposite. He never cried, as a child should, never alerted anyone to his presence, yet they were always aware of his every movement. They were paranoid, scared, in their own home, and it angered them. After 5 days, they could take it no longer and shoved the unnatural brat under the stairs, sneers vindictive as they shut and lock the door, bathing the boy in complete darkness.

That night was the first night they ever heard him scream. They turned their backs, went upstairs, and ignored it. But try as they might, they couldn't get any sleep that night, or the day after.

The next morning, when they took the boy out, something had changed. His presence, always quiet and lurking, had changed. It had become darker, something dangerous and insidious. The boy did not make a single sound, his complexion as smooth as always, there was no indication at all of his fit last night.

Uneasy, charged with an unknown energy, Petunia began to care for the child, going through the motions with as little interaction with the creature at all.

So caught up in finishing her task and going back upstairs to her warm, pudgy darling child, Petunia did not notice the little boys arm moving until it was too late, until cold, small fingers clamped down on her wrist. The grip was tight for a toddler, yet weak enough that she easily dislodge herself if she chose. But she didn't, because Harry Potter had thrown up.

But it was normal vomit, like she would have expected. This mess was inky black, as if tar had crawled up from his stomach and through his throat. Petunia looked on, horrified, as Harry gazed up at her, eyes deathly calm and lips still coated in that black...stuff.

She blinked once, twice and the mess was gone. Harry still had a hold on her wrist, and he was still staring, but all trace of whatever that...was, was gone. As if it had never existed.

Petunia refused to do a thing that involved being near Harry after that, and Vernon didn't blame her at all once she told him the reasons why.

After that, they kept Harry in the house, but tried not to interact with him. They had taken to not even calling him by his name, because the uncanny way he would snap his head toward them would only add onto their nightmares.

They lived in an co-existence, and just barely even that. The Dursleys grew weary, paranoid, constantly checking over their shoulders and peering deep into the shadows where Harry would stand, long hair falling into his face and shielding bright green eyes that they knew were watching them.

Harry grew, his hair finally stopping mid-back. It was long, dark, and thick, shielding his fave if he tilted his head just right. He would never brush it, but it never tangled. His eyes shone a bright green, and his skin was just as pale as it had been when he was a child.

He was a beautiful child, by all rights, but he was strange. He never talked, or laughed, or smiled. He would just stare, and watch. He was like a doll. Dudley was told to stay away from Harry, and headed his parents advice for the first few years.

However, as school began, he befriended a few of the more troubled kids in the neighborhood, and became cruel, enticed in their games of beating up and attacking the younger, smaller children in their class. But they never attacked Harry, or looked at them.

The last time they had tried, Harry just cocked his head and stepped into the shadows, as if beckoning them to follow. They almost did...almost. Dudley and Piers had stayed back, too scared to move, but their other friend...the leader of their so-called gang, did not. He was ensnared, and followed Harry into the dark corner of the room.

Dudley and Piers did not follow, did not call out or move to stop him. By the time Ethan's form had disappeared, the spell had dropped, and Piers screamed and lunged forward, but the cold that surrounds the dark was intense and sent him reeling back with another scream. The teachers had shown up and dragged them both away, ignoring their cries of alarm about the cold shadows and Ethan, and called home and advised their parents to not let them watch scary movies at night.

Piers' parents took the message to heart, and he was grounded for a week from the TV and his video games. But the Dursleys, they knew better. They knew the truth. That night and the next, neither Harry nor Ethan were seen. And when they finally appeared again, Ethan had changed.

He was no longer the proud, tall figure he had been. His skin was ashen, a darker shade then use to be, and his eyes were empty, lifeless. He didn't talk to Piers or Dudley, ignoring their cries of relief as he stumbled through the doors of his classroom, ignored his teachers questioning but disinterested glances, ignored the whimpers of fear from his victims, and sat next to Harry in the shadowed part of the classroom.

Piers, already angered by his grounding, was seething at the fact that Harry had someone took Ethan and turned him into...whatever that thing was. Dudley, however, took it as a reason to stay even further away from Harry, as further reason to listen to his parents and their reasons for going pale white with fear whenever they were alone in the dark, or whenever one of their friends said his name.

But Piers was his friend, and in only took a while before Dudley was infected with the boys self-righteous anger and forgot his warnings. Four weeks later, on the swings at recess, Piers and Dudley approached Harry and Ethan, who were staying side by side and simply staring at the others. Ethan's once blonde hair was just as dark as Harry's, but not as long, stopping short once it hit his ears. His already dark eyes were darker, empty except for when he was looking at Harry.

The two boys stood before them, anger in their eyes. Harry didn't say anything, only looking up at them through inky dark hair that seemed to absorb all light. A small, pale hand splayed itself against Ethan's chest when the other boy made to stand, an expression of anger and hate taking over that blank, emotional slate that had always been on his face.

Suddenly overcome by rage at the fact that Ethan, Dudley's first friend, was so far gone that he would attack them at the drop of the hat, he raised his hand, cocking his fist back and preparing to slam it against Harry's perfect, terrifyingly calm face.

He would never get the chance. Harry's hand shot up, faster than Dudley or Piers could react, and gripped tightly onto the chubbier boys wrist. Dudley froze, staring down into Harry's eyes that seemed to glow even brighter than ever. His mouth opened in an scream, unnaturally wide and distorting his face into something from a nightmare.

That same pitch black tar began to creep from his mouth, and Dudley suddenly screamed, jerking his arm this way and that, his skin turning an sickening white from the cold that emitted constantly from Harry's hand. Piers backed away, turning to go get help before he gasped. The playground seemed so far away. He ran forward and was pushed back by an invisible wall.

Piers screamed, banging desperately against the wall. He never noticed Ethan walking behind him until it was too late. Piers screamed again, in pure terror as cold grey hands wrapped them self's around his neck and snapped with a sickening twist.

Dudley didn't look behind him, didn't need to as he heard the body thud towards the ground. He screamed louder, tears streaming down his face in a rapid fire waterfall.

Harry finally clicked his mouth shut, and the tar dropped down into his hand, hardening and moving itself until it formed something like a stick, that was perfectly smooth and straight with random ridges and cracks towards the end that resembled dripping candle wax.

Harry stood, dropping Dudley's arm, and the boy fell back, his other hand gripping his violently shaking arm to look at the deep frost bite that had began to settle in the shape of Harry's fingers. He didn't notice Harry leaving down until the boy placed the tip of his wand against Dudley's head and whispered something to low for him to hear.

A second later, he was out cold, back in the playground with Piers right behind him and perfectly alive. Ethan and Harry where nowhere to be seen, watching from the shadows as the teachers began to shout in alarm and rush over to the two boys.

I have a small challenge for anyone that made it this far!

Why were Dudley and Piers able to break out of Harry's thrall when Ethan, the strongest of the three, was instantly ensnared? (This question is on Ao3, check me out there if you want a chance to win the price for answering correctly)

Fanfiction Question: Can you guess what Harry is?

Challenges and questions aside, I hope you guys enjoy the fic, and stay tuned because I'm updating again, somewhere on the 20th of this month.