Metamorphosis to the Dark

Pairings: HP/LV, HP/TR, FW/DM/GW, SS/LM, HG/O.C.

SUMMARY: The summer of his sixth year, Harry rejects Dumbledore's ways, starts hanging out with the Slytherins, receives love letters from a secret admirer and all the while, there is a new student at Hogwarts! What exactly is going on? Manipulative!Dumbledore, Dark!Harry, Slash!

DISCLAIMER: I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. This is a work of fanfiction and no profit is made. This is an endeavor for fun. No infringement is intended.

AN: Hey… Sorry about being AWOL on O.A. My Muse has been breeding plot bunnies but none are for O.A.! Agh! So, hopefully this will turn out better. Oh, and if anybody knows how to write parodies, could you help, as its my project for AP English…

So! This is my first try at a HP FF, and a slash one no less! Anyhow, I hope this turns out well! CONSTRUCTIVE Criticism is welcomed, and NO FLAMES. Other than that, enjoy!

METAMORPHOSIS: noun.

a profound change in form from one stage to the next in the life history of an organism

a complete change of form as transformation by Magic or Witchcraft

Any complete change in appearance, character, etc.

a form resulting from any change

Prologue: The Music of the Night

"Close your eyes and surrender to your Darkest Dreams

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before

Let your spirit start to soar

And you'll live as you've never lived before."

-Gerard Butler, "The Music of the Night", Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera

Harry was fed up with it all. Voldemort was back, Sirius was dead, he was a reluctant savior, everyone loved/hated him, and Dumbledore, his supposed "hero", did nothing to help.

To hell with it all!

Being isolated from everyone gave him a time to think. To rethink all he had ever heard about the war.

Harry did not truly have his own opinion on the war. His opinions had all been molded by what others had told him. Harry himself saw no reason to care about the war; in fact, he wanted nothing to do with it. The wizards could take care of themselves.

He was famous because his parents were murdered and he lived; how sick was that? And just because he lived, the Wizarding World expected him to save them from the monster they created.

So why should Harry care? Because Voldemort killed my parents? Not much of a loss, as Harry never knew them; he did not even know if they were good parents, good people. All he had was the word of mouth, and not even a credible mouth.

Any yet, they expected him to risk his life on a half-hearted vendetta against the most evil wizard in history?

Forget that.

Voldemort may have killed his parents, but it was Dumbledore who placed him with the Dursleys while Sirius was still free. It was all because of him.

Wankers, all of them!

And when he tells the world that Voldemort is back, they call him a liar and crazy! Harry did not like having his honor questioned.

But fine; he could play that game.

They would come to him, pleading for salvation from their Frankenstein monster. And when they came to him for help, he would take great pleasure in laughing his arse off at them and saying what he had been unable to say for his entire life:

No.

And what of Ron and Hermione? a voice in his mind whispered.

What of them, indeed. Ron was a lost cause that much was certain. He was biased and too close to Dumbledore for his liking. Harry could not believe that he had been so stupid to have seen Ron as a role model.

He must have been insane. Or compelled to do so . . .

Hermione still retained value, even if she was a bossy know-it-all. He would reserve judgment on her.

The twins were a must. After all, he held them in his hands. He was their benefactor—without him, they could kiss their joke shop goodbye. Besides they were open-minded. They would at least listen.

But how to show that he was done being the Golden Boy, a pawn for Dumbledore and the Ministry?

Harry sat up from his bed and checked the time. 1: 17 a.m.

He stood up to stretch his muscles and watched his reflection in a mirror. He took a good look at his clothes and appearance.

No, this would not do at all.

A change in looks was in order, and he could go to Gringotts to get his money and buy new robes and maybe even convert them to pounds and buy Muggle clothes.

A change in guardians was also in order. Sirius was out of the running, dead or not—he had still been wanted.

But his mother's only relative is Petunia and he was the last Potter. . .

Wait, that is it! He was the last Potter, his PATERNAL grandmother had been a Black by birth—Dorea Potter nee Black! He could very well have magical relatives after all. He was sure the Sirius mentioned at least two . . . and yet again, Dumbledore never told him.

It was settled. A trip to Diagon Alley was in order.

When Harry arrived in Diagon Alley, via the Leaky Cauldron, he was swarmed by ardent admirers.

Where were they when I needed them last year? He thought bitterly.

He made his way through the throng of people, heading for Gringotts. He accessed his vault easily enough and went shopping for robes. He also went into a remedies shop and after an assessment, they deduced that they could fix his eyesight if he agreed to a strict regiment of potions for a month; Harry readily agreed. He later made his way to the Magical Historical Society to research his family tree. Sirius had owned one but Harry swore never to set foot in Grimmauld place again.

What he found shocked him to no end, and yet it all made sense.

He had decided to do a specialised blood test that would draw his family tree spawning generations back. From his father's side, from his grandmother, he was second cousins to Narcissa Malfoy nee Black and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.

On Harry's maternal side, he was the great-great-great grandson of a squib by the name of Magnolia Murphy.

Magnolia Murphy had two daughters, Melantha and Marigold. Marigold had married Patrick O'Connell, a Muggle. They had Iris O'Connell and she married Rupert Stevens. Their daughter was Azalea Stevens, who married Mark Evans, and their daughters were Petunia and Lily.

This was interesting and all, but Harry was more concerned with Melantha, Marigold's pureblood witch sister. According to records, Melantha had married her cousin, Marvolo Gaunt (which reminded Harry of Sirius' parents, who were also cousins). Melantha had presented Marvolo with two children before her death: Morfin and Merope. Morfin had died childless but Merope had married a Muggle by the name of Tom Riddle and she had a son . . . one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry was the Dark Lord's distant cousin.

Well, shit. How interesting. He was the only living relative to the Dark Lord. He could work that to his advantage somehow. He also noticed that from his father he was the descendant to one Ignotus Peverell and from his mother he was the descendant of one Cadmus Peverell. He would do more research on them later as Cadmus Peverell also linked him to Voldemort.

Harry took a copy of the tree and left Diagon Alley to return to the Muggle World. It was useless to try to petition Narcissa or Bellatrix for his custody but he had learned so much more. Once in Muggle London, he went shopping for clothes that would give him a look. He did not know what 'look' he would be classified under, but his guess was somewhere under 'Rocker/Rebel.'

Harry smirked as he went to the Dursleys.

Come September, he would be a different Harry Potter.

On a sudden impulse, he began to sing softly the lyrics to a song that he never heard but seemed to know.

Therefore, his heart sang along to the music of the night.

AN: So… how was it? Honest reviews, I can take it, I'm a big girl…. :)