A/N: Ah…hahaha. My first try at a HP fan fiction. Be nice. And to all readers who are actually reading this, the story will be in first hand perspective, second person viewing from the 2nd chapter on.
And regarding my Naruto stories, yes, I've abandoned them. I have a story I'm putting on backlog, but its just one. Its due on March 1st. And yes, it should raise considerable interest. Im fairly certain it's a new concept, or at best, rare one. My stories up till now have been dreadfully…lacking, and well, I don't want to scare my Naruto readers. This fic is for the readers who've subscribed to me and also follow HP. Now, enough talking. Have fun reading.
Oh, and do review.
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Summary: Getting thrown back in time repeatedly has its consequences…and Harry decides enough is enough.
Gray Harry
Chapter 1
0o0
Harry jerked upright in his bed, heart pounding, muscles coiled. His lungs burned, and his face dripped with perspiration. Palming his face and wiping at the perspiration with the back of his hand, Harry concentrated on taking, deep, long breaths. His sleep-fogged brain felt in a jumble. Caught between drugging sleep and abrupt wakefulness, confusion swamped him – until a deluge of memories washed over him like a bucket of cold water and realization sunk in.
Harry seethed quietly for a dozen heartbeats before deciding there was really nothing to do about it. He'd had to concentrate on the here and now…speaking of which…the room was sweltering hot.
With the airtight windows closed, and without a single fan to aid in ventilation, the room reeked with the stench of rancid sweat. His shirt that had once belonged to Dudley clung to him like a second skin. Soaked through with perspiration and random, small blotches of garden dirt and blood, the material itched fiercely.
Standing, Harry sniffed at himself before stripping off the clothes, making a rude noise as he took stock of his own bony frame.
He'd seen enough dead bodies of prisoners during the war to recognize the signs of malnourishment. Making a mental note to stock up on some much needed body enhancement potions, Harry padded over to his window and shoved it wide open. Breathing in the cool night air, Harry pondered his next steps while enjoying the night's quiet serenity.
The trip to Gringotts was at the top of the to-do list, he had things he needed done, and the Goblins were the only help-for-hire at this early stage. The rituals that the Goblins had done for him had dramatically raised his combative capabilities.
If he'd done it sooner, he could have ended the war altogether. Merlin knew the kind of powers it'd afforded him…and the people he could have saved with those powers.
Shame and regret welled up within him until Harry felt he'd positively burst with the need to make amends. Focusing inward, Harry forced his mind to become a blank slate. He needed to control himself.
Closing his eyes and raising his head, Harry took a deep breath. Cold, fresh-air, mixed with raw masculinity and clean sweat filled his nostrils. Harry wrinkled his nose. He really needed a bath – and soon. The goblins would sooner let a thief enter its doors than a hygiene-deficient teenager; provided the thief was clean of course.
Shaking his head at the obsessive nature of goblins to keep things germ-free, Harry made his way back to his bed, dropping himself onto the lumpy mattress lazily.
He breathed in deep, once, twice, than a third time before he held his breath and greeting his teeth, tugged at that something holding his magical cores in check.
Despite having done it once before, the process did not stop Harry's silent screams as he writhed on the bed, skin afire as he fought for control. Unbridled, and unhindered, the magic lashed out at anything and everything within his body, seeking a way out of its confines. Now that the dam had been torn down, Harry was left to deal with the backlash of destroying the binding lock – and the effort was killing him.
The muscles under his skin rippled, bulging and contorting even as they grew. Bones creaked, hardening and then growing longer. His midnight black hair lengthened, curling over the nape of his neck, as wildly unruly as ever. His body was contorting itself to expand the core in an effort to keep a cap on the outflow of his magical energies.
Helpless, Harry bit down on the sheets in an effort to numb the pain as he felt his skin stretch to accommodate the rapid growth.
It was a while later before Harry managed to bring the full mind-numbing force of his powers under control again, and he allowed himself to lay there on the bed, basking in the afterglow.
The fog of his thoughts – which had been closed around him for what he realized, was years had begun to thin. Details now assailed him, and the evidence of the changes within him-self left him…pleased.
There was no longer a need for his glasses.
His eyes saw differently.
Inhuman acuity, motion – no matter how slight or peripheral – caught his attention, filled his awareness - judged inconsequential or defined as threat, prey or unknown: instinctive decisions yet no longer buried deep, now lurking beneath the surface of his mind.
He could feel his every muscle, every tendon and bone, could concentrate on each one to the exclusion of all the others, achieving a spatial sensitivity that made control absolute. He could walk a forest floor in absolute silence, if he so wished. He could freeze, shielding even the breath he drew, and become perfectly motionless.
Harry felt positively ecstatic.
In the previously timeline, his body had been warped and twisted - as had been Voldemort's – a battered frame of human skin and bones held together at the very seams by magic, and rigidly controlled.
His ears still ringed with the ghosts of Hermione's screams. It'd been after a particularly brutal confrontation – one that left bodies and debris as far as the eye could see. The results of channeling such an unholy force, tethering it to one's body and soul, wielding it as he willed left him badly misshapen. Spine twisted like a snake, and so thin as to allow one to make out the shape of his ribs from afar, Harry had not been a…pretty sight.
His friends had barely been able to look him in the eyes for months, and then gradually, they'd given up maintaining eye contact altogether. Hermione's pain and Ron's helplessness through it all was palpable – and Harry still cursed them for it.
Better had it been they simply turned their backs on him and left him to fight alone.
It would have been so much easier to become a monster…if only they hadn't cared.
It would have been easier to hate them than to feel their pain and pity. It would have been easier to watch and know his best friend comfort Hermione during the night while he kept watch over them from afar, hidden under heavy cloaks, blood and saliva dribbling down his chain with every ragged breath he took. His body had been so far gone by then…
Banishing the morbid thoughts, Harry sat up and pushed himself up to his feet. Straightening, Harry flexed his muscles, nodding in satisfaction.
At roughly 5'7, he was terribly tall for a boy of eleven – but not tall enough to be considered 'highly abnormal'. He was quite sure Ron had been taller the first time they met on the train…well, maybe.
His body was well-toned. He didn't have the rock hard physique most fighters displayed. He wasn't exactly ripped either, but his body was lean and sturdy, filled with above-average strength – the results of ten years of hard labor in and around the house under his Aunt's critical eye.
Frowning, Harry took stock of his surroundings, eyeing the sparsely furnished room.
His mattress, in addition to being about as thin as a children's novel, was also torn and ripped. Bare spots of a sickly yellow shown through the sheets, and Harry fought the urge to march into his uncle's room and throttle the man half to death. The floor was bare, and the paint on the walls were flaying badly.
A cupboard stood to one side of the room, occupying the corner on the right side of the door. His school trunk and Hogwarts assorted equipment and attire was kept in a separate bag. They were useless now, or, at least the clothes were. The clothes were sure to be a misfit. Harry made a mental note to visit Madam Malkin's and quickly assessed the remainder of the room.
There wasn't much left – there was a spare bed frame, but without a spare mattress, it was a waste of space. A wave of his hand, and the frame, along with its attendant, termite-infested cabinet disappeared.
He frowned. The control on his magic was lacking. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but Harry had come to rely on magic for the most basic of day to day chores. The impediment in his control was frustrating. Not surprising, but frustrating.
He'd need a wand to carry out the remainder of his 'renovations'. The ministry was still keeping tabs on him, and with the amount of residual magic he was about to give off given his current lack of control, he was sure there'd be a visitor or two.
He certainly wouldn't mind if the same Winston twins popped by though. Tall, slim and bubbly with bodies made for sin, the twin half-Veelas had endeared themselves to him.
Their unselfish companionship was great. And the sex was even better. Still, there was work to do. And his eleven year old body was not particularly suitable or ready for any of his more primal urges. The growing and expansion of his muscles and frame looked promising, given that those were his natural attributes that the magical binding had arrested. But it was far from 'attractive'. At least his 'bits' were still the same impressive size… or would be.
He made a promise to himself to find them sometime later. His absent mindedness in the last timeline had cost them their lives - and their deaths had not been pleasant. The torn underclothes, the look of terror on their faces, and the crusted semen found between their legs told a story all on its own.
Sweeping aside the morbid thoughts with ease gained from years of practice, Harry decided to focus on the here and now.
Crossing the room, he rummaged around in his trunk before he found his wand, warmth spreading through his body as he held it. Almost immediately, his magic stabilized. Where before, it had been storm-tossed sea, now, its surface was glassy smooth. The only difference was that the torrents under the top were just as fast and furious…but this time, it was a controlled maelstrom.
Harry's grin when he set up the first of the Potter Wards was just a tad bit feral.
Minutes later, Harry was done. He couldn't yet bring to fore the more powerful spells that altered the size and shape of the room – they'd shatter the fragile wards keeping him under the radar – but he'd managed to make the room rather…posh.
Satisfied, Harry flicked his wand again, conjuring himself a heavy cloak. Shrugging on a new set of attire and the cloak, Harry twisted on the spot – and disappeared.
0o0
The snowy white building that was Gringotts towered over the little shops that lined the streets of Diagon Alley. Kenryllah demons, over a man and a half's height with muscles like bunched ropes stood guard beside the burnished bronze doors, fingering their battle axes. Coupled with their odd spiked armor and their rather large hulking frames, one would be a fool to so much as storm the goblin bank.
The duo ox-headed guards eyed him warily as he made his way up the ornate marble steps. Just as he was about to enter, their axes blurred into action, cutting through the air to meet a bare inch in front of him, throwing a shower of sparks into his face and knocking his hood askew.
"Halt, stranger," one of the beasts growled. "State your name and your purpose."
"Harry Potter, Last Remaining Heir of the Great and Noble House of Potters. My purposes are classified information."
"Brother," the demon on his left called to his companion. "Call for HookSlinger, this one's purpose are not meant to be discussed within the Great Hall of Gringotts."
As Harry watched the apparent brother of the demon Kenryllah disappear into the bank, the last remaining demon withdrew his axe, slinging it over his shoulders. Harry raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. The inner instincts of the Kenryllah demons were famous through the lands for their distinctive ability to identify friend from foe. Friends were normally welcomed with open arms.
Foes would find themselves hacked to pieces without a moment's hesitation.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the demon brother came lumbering back into view, a tiny goblin following on its heels.
"Mister Potter," the goblin greeted as he bowed slightly, eyeing him over the disturbingly alike half-moon glasses.
"HookSlinger, Mediator of my Interests." Harry reciprocated in return, smirking at the goblin's surprised features. Clearly, HookSlinger had not been expecting a wizard who knew Goblin Lingo. It was such a shame, Harry thought. A healthy relationship with the goblins in all of Harry's time had always proved…rather rewarding.
"This way, esteemed guest." The Goblin gestured, and Harry stepped forward, falling into step but a half pace behind the Goblin. HookSlinger it seemed, had by now gauged Harry an individual worthy of his respect, as was displayed by their lock step procession across the gold-veined marble halls and into one of their more private rooms – rooms, Harry recognized from his past lives as the ones that Goblins had reserved for catering to Pureblooded families exclusively.
Harry smiled. Things were going along nicely.
One they had settled themselves comfortably into the arm-cushions provided in the admittedly posh office with a drink of Qastav(a goblin drink that Harry had taken a slight addiction to), Harry immediately dived into his request. There was no sense in wasting a goblin's time.
Time was gold – the goblins were loath to waste their precious coins.
"Mediator," Harry began, pleased to see the goblin straighten in his seat. "The matters I wish to discuss today are of a more…sordid nature. Their contents therein must never leave this room. I humbly request a binding oath of anonymity."
HookSlinger paused, eyes closed, his back straightening, before jerking awake. "Gringotts would acquiesce to your demands, Sire. However, in return, we ask that you partake in an oath of similar stature and of a similar purpose. We are loath to do this to our esteemed customers, but we cannot afford to leave ourselves vulnerable. Will this influence your decision on any undertakings with the Goblin Nation, My Lord?"
A feather light touch emanated from his Occlumency shields, and Harry allowed a patina of resolve and trust to seep through. They were emotions he possessed well in abundance of with regards to the Goblin Nation. No other race had seen fit to stand their ground and fight when the giant berserkers had seen fit to attack.
Unbidden, and all too abrupt, a small sliver of his memories leaked out of his shields – and HookSlinger was suddenly unconscious, his soul travelling within the memory.
0o0
Within the memories…
***
A legion of Inferi, chained and shackled, bloodied feet dragging over the Sahara desert turned inwards onto themselves, devouring each other, limbs rendered apart, jaws chomping. Even so, a creature was being formed - made of sinewy muscle, dripping blood and liquid fat.
And into the maelstrom of flesh and blood waded a tall gaunt figure. Lambent red eyes alight with murder, inhuman…cold. And then, the Dark Lord and his Legion seemed to blur, to meld together in an indistinct flicker of barbed stripes, a single form, massive, low to the ground – that suddenly flowed forward, cat-like. Clouds of green noxious gas colored the air with every breath.
A Nundu.
The surrounding prairie grew colder with every breath; the lush grass on the battlefields quickly wilting. And the creature – was suddenly gone.
"Incoming!" BloodDrinker hissed, shouldering his massive war axe even as he leapt forward with his battalion, chaotic green sorcery weaving interlinked threads amongst the warriors as they charged across the killing field: warriors that charged to their deaths.
The scene blurred.
***
Moving to the head of his legion, a commander – a Goblin Knight by the looks of it – watched the Aegis of the LionHorn's Battalion approach. The woman reined in even as he arrived.
"I greet you, sir," she said, only the lower half of her face visible beneath helm's broad, flaring cheek-guards. "We are about to advance upon the enemy – would you flank us?"
The Knight grimaced. "No, Honored Aegis, we will not."
She hesitated, then gave a brusque nod and gathered up her reins. "As you wish, sir. No dishonor in refusing a suicidal engagement."
"You misunderstand," the Knight interrupted her. "My legion leads, you follow in our wake – as close as you can. We'll drive across that stone bridge and head straight for the gates. Granted, it looks to be built of solid granite and is guarded by wards, but we might still batter it down some."
"We are seeking to relieve The One Who Lived, agreed, Goblin Knight?"
"Aye."
'And we both know we will fail.'
They turned at the sound of horns, the sudden staccato of drums. The standard bearer – sorcery swirling from the man like flecks of gold – seemed to have taken command, calling together the company officers. Along the line, shields were readied, locked overlapping. Pikes, twice the height of a man, wavered like wind-tugged reeds above the ranks of soldiery – an uncharacteristic steadiness that the Goblin Knight found disturbing.
Calatran – commander of the LionHorn's Battalion had dispatched a rider who rode towards the two at a gallop, the wizard reigned in.
"Sirs! The High Mage would know your intentions!"
BloodTooth bared his teeth. Working with humans as a Goblin Knight would never have been accepted under normal circumstances. Still, he had seen the bravery of these pin skinned creatures, watched them ride to their deaths, and witnessed firsthand the power of their hero – a monster in his own right.
"Randolphus, is it? Let's hear his, first."
"Sirs, the Dragon's Spawn must be broken, the gate breached, an assault on the defenders – "
"And what of the High Mage himself?" Aegis enquired.
"Enemy warlocks and mages are lined on the city wall sir. An entire cadre of them. Our Lord will endeavor to deny their involvement. The Order and its allies will seek to assist us in our attack upon the lizards, as will the shouldermen of the Centaurs."
"Inform the High Mage," the Aegis said, "that my Legion will initiate the charge, supported by my company."
The wizard saluted and rode back towards the wizarding line.
"Aegis."
"Sir?"
"'Ware the cadre on the city wall."
"We await you, sir."
BloodTooth nodded.
A moment later, the Goblin Knight and his Legion were one, bones and muscles merging, identities – entire lives – swept under a deluge of cold, animal rage.
A tawny swirl, surging forward, wings spread high and wide, jaw gaping, a thunderous cacophony of shockwaves gathering into its gaping maw as it launched itself forward. Ahead, the Dragon Spawns raised weapons.
And stood their ground.
The beast that was the Goblin Knight and his Legion seemed to flow in and out of Aegis's vision, even as she and her comrades raced behind it and their war cries rent the air. The beast blurred – deadly motion – and struck the line of Dragon Spawns. Sorcery stained the air around the impact in blood-spattered sheets. Within the savage maelstrom, blades flashed.
A Dragon Hunter reeled away and toppled, its bones shattered. The Huge dragon lowered its maws, and then a scorching heat, a pulsation of sorcery exploded outward, tearing a bloody scythe towards the gate. Bodies were sent cart wheeling, and the path of the sorcery was covered in a fog of red. The dragon twisted from side to side, claws flashing and jaws snapping as swords descended, tearing into its wings and flanks. Where each blade struck, goblin figures fell away from the beast, limbs severed, torsos cut through, and heads crushed.
Sorcery was building along the top of the city wall.
Aegis and her men charged under the dragon's protective hide and clawed foot, under the belly and inwards, into the red fog of blood and towards the gates.
Sorcery was building along the top of the city wall caroming in the sky towards them, and the Aegis urged her horse to go faster. A golden wave suddenly appeared behind her troops, trailing the horses' hooves but a dozen paces distant. Blistering heat-
-and then it was rising, building, a towering inferno of raging white fire, tumbling into the highest points of the stone fortress, tearing the grey sorcery apart. The ground it rolled over burned with fierce zeal, and then the wave lifted further, climbed down, towards the Dragon Spawn, striking them in the rear. A clap of thunder split the air, and then a concussion that rocked the ground as the flanks of the Dragon Spawn were consumed in red-
0o0
HookSlinger awoke with a gasp, jerking backwards into the seat, eyes wide with horror.
The magical memories of this wizard had revealed untold amounts of information. Goblin military had never before worked with the human armies in any confrontation – goblin pride dictated that there would be no exception to the rule. They fought and died as a single race and unit.
For them to do so would mean that the very world itself had been at the very edge of crumbling.
Eyeing him warily, HookSLinger decided to lend voice to his concerns. "May I ask, Sire…what were those memories?"
"I cannot answer your question, Mediator." Harry replied after careful consideration. "But I can swear an oath."
Raising his wand hand, he crossed it over his heart, and pointed the wand under his chin. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my soul and on my magic, a Binding Oath, to never mistreat the goblins, to never betray them, and to never in any manner or form, cultivate, or allows others to do likewise – negative actions towards the Goblin Nations wherein my powers allow me to."
A blinding golden halo encircled him, than pulsated before dissipating.
HookSlinger nodded his assent, than formally bowed to the wizard before resuming his seat.
"I HookSlinger, hereby represent the will of the Goblin Nations, to do unto our sire, what our sire, Harry James Potter, has sworn to do unto us. May the Goblin Nation suffer a thousand retributions should we break our vows on our sire and his allies and our race forever dishonored, henceforth, I, HookSlinger, Representative Mediator of Gringotts swear an oath of secrecy, and loyalty to our Esteemed Sire, Harry James Potter."
Harry nodded at this. The formal introductions and spell work was now out of the way. It was time to state his intentions, come to an agreement with HookSlinger, and leave.
"Mediator, I will be frank with you. There is a ritual that I wish…to undertake. The difficulty of the situation lies in the extraction and procurement of said ingredients. They must be handled with extreme delicacy. The Goblin Nations, I realize, have long been the forerunners in knowledge and experience, in both alchemy and potions. I trust your people to handle this request with the utmost…finesse. There are also multiple issues I would like to raise with regards to certain contraptions and their technical…configurations. It would honor me should your people choose to take on the tasks, Mediator."
HookSlinger blinked once, than nodded.
"We would need a list of the ingredients, sire, it would be of a great help should you provide their uses if it would not…complicate things for you. We will also require the Human device in question as well as the modifications required."
"Very well." Harry replied without a moment's hesitation. He had, after all gone through a similar process with a similar goblin. The only difference in this timeline was that he saw no reason to delay the ritual.
Raising his wand, Harry tapped it against his temple, than did so again against the parchment provided. HookSlinger's eyes widened as the ink in his bottle on the desk drained onto the document, and started reforming themselves, melding, into words.
'Sixty four arrays of suppressors…narcotics…blood transfusions…blood modification, body enhancements…In the Name of Lord Ragnok!'
As the goblin continued his perusal of the list, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Details of the ritual aside,the cost for these undertakings would be substantial…
"There is little doubt now, Sire, of what you plan…it is certainly a venture that undertakes plenty of risk. Fear not for the lives our goblin brethren, for our warriors were born to fight, and have done so since young. However, the costs of these requests would likely be on a rather large scale. One that would put a dent – even against the substantial coins of the Potter Family Vault…are you sure this is wise, Sire?"
HookSlinger regarded the boy-no…man before him curiously. He hated to head such a promising young wizard off, but the man before him was worth more alive than dead. Better wizards than he had tried and failed in what he was sure Mister Potter was setting out to do…still…
"Mediator," Harry countered. And the goblin immediately straightened. "I will pay in cash. Do not under any circumstances resolve the costs for these ventures from the Potter Family Vault. Half before the setting of the quests, and half after the deeds have been done. Is that acceptable?"
The goblin considered it for a moment before nodding his assent.
"Yes, Sire, it would be. When should we have the preparations ready?"
Harry smiled, than answered.
"Immediately."
0o0
A/N: The idea for this story is simple. Harry has been thrown back into the past multiple times, and this time – its one too many. So he decides to take some rather drastic measures.