Hy guys! So this is my first Harry Potter fanfic, and I have a warning: it will be very loooong. I'm going to talk about sometimes violent or hard themes, which might bother some, and there will probably be slash (much further). This fic is rated for a reason! I may do some mistakes as English isn't my native language, feel free to point them out if it annoys you. Anyway, I hope you will like it!

Warning: violence, blood

A New Order

Prologue

Harry was 10 when he heard the voice for the first time.

He was waiting in the living room, his eyes staring at the floor. He knew what was coming. He was used to it.

Monster. They liked to call him that. Freak, Degenerate, Animal. His uncle liked to beat him; Harry knew that. He could see it on his uncle's face, he could read it in his mind. His aunt Petunia just sat and watched, but she never moved or did anything. She was just staring at him with contempt, while her son was laughing and encouraging his father.

Harry had learned to stop screaming. He stopped crying, he never begged, for it would only bring more pain. Uncle Vernon liked to see him hurt, because he was scared and hateful. Harry knew it. And uncle Vernon, through his dull mind, knew that Harry knew as well, in a way. It only enraged him more.

This time, Vernon had chosen a metallic bar to hit his nephew. He didn't have any purpose to it, he was angry, and Harry existed.

But this time, Vernon didn't look like he would stop beating him. Harry heard his bones crack, until he couldn't hold his screams, and started to see black dots in front of his eyes. He was already so fragile, he hadn't eaten anything in the last three days.

He was staring at Petunia. Help me, his eyes said, for it might be your last chance to help me.

Then the voice came.

Harry...

He didn't notice it. He was in pain, like never before. He couldn't concentrate on anything else than the pain of the cold metallic bar breaking his bones into pieces, the screams of his cousin, the blank stare of Petunia until he passed out from the pain.

Harry woke up at the same place he had fainted, in the middle of the Dursley's living room. Everything was dark around him. The clock's ticks were the only sound in the room.

He tried to get up, but he couldn't. He looked at his leg. Broken, obviously. The pain was unbearable, but he didn't scream, nor cry. Doing it would be admitting that they had won, that they had broken him. He wasn't broken. He only needed some bandages, he told himself, and a safe place to rest.

But the pain doesn't stop when you want it to. It isn't that simple. The biggest part of his wounds had already healed. He tried to breathe slowly, focusing on it for a moment.

It was one of the reasons they hated him. He was able to do things. They couldn't understand it, so they wanted it to disappear. He hated them for that. He could forgive the hate, he could forgive the insults, but the pain, even after he had healed himself, the pain stayed.

Harry felt his heart rushing trough his feelings. He couldn't fully understand how he felt. He was sad, terrified, angry, and tired, so tired; and that combination was literally hurting his heart. He pressed his hand against his chest, screaming silently, trying to make it go away. But it wouldn't. Around him, a dark dust was slowly spreading, and everything started shaking.

He looked around, seeking for anything that might help him. This was when he saw them: the knives, waiting patiently, shining coldly under the moonlight illuminating the room.

He felt his heart calm down. Somehow, he finally rose, while staring at the knives.

They were hypnotic. He wasn't thinking anymore. He only took one of them, slowly, enjoying the noise of the blade against the folder. It was a real melody, something cold, calm. A blade's lullaby. The pain in his legs seemed to have moved into some sort of determination, of nothingness. He could feel it, but it was like it was somebody else's. He wasn't even shaking. His body and mind were blank. He only remembered what his cousin said to him, only a few hours earlier, when he saw Harry trying to escape the house silently.

" Nobody would even notice if you died, freak". If that so , he thought, nobody will never notice if I happen to kill you, my dear . They would notice the Dursleys's absence, and in a day or two find the bodies, but who would remember the little pile of rags which used to be somewhere in the corner?

Slowly, he limped into the stairs, one step after the other. His leg was bleeding, and he did his best to ignore the pain, which was slowly returning. It was a living hell. Not that it changed from usual, but for the first time he was acknowledging it.

Somehow, he felt like someone was helping him. He felt like someone was actually trying to cast the pain away. Poor me, he thought, Am I so lonely that I'm making imaginary friends?

He pushed the door to the Dursleys's room. They were here, silently sleeping, peaceful. Disgusting. At this very moment, he knew how superior he was, how scared of him, how tiny, how helpless they were. He knew that he had something more. His shadow grew on their sleeping bodies, and for an instant, he thought it was like death was already over them.

His hand tightened on the knife.

Do it...

He moved silently, and stood on the mattress, over his uncle. He will start with him, not only because he was the most dangerous, but because Petunia loved him. And above all people in this world, it was Petunia that he hated the most. He wanted to hurt her.

Suddenly, Vernon opened his eyes. They looked at each other for a second. Harry could see himself, pale, green eyes glowing from the inside, unpleasant smile on his face, the knife shining in his hand.

The hit Vernon sends into Harry's belly made the young boy fly across the room. Fear came back as he crashed on the corridor's floor and felt his ribs cracks. He immediately ran for his "room", the small cupboard under the stairs, half limping, half crawling, his uncle on his heels. In the panic, he had let the knife go.

"COME BACK HERE YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF-", he heard upstairs.

He had to heal, he had to leave. Otherwise, he would die, he knew it. He tried to concentrate, but he was too frightened. He heard his uncle's footstep's on the stairs, he heard his mad thoughts. I'm going to kill this little brat, he doesn't belong to this world, how dare he raise his filthy hands on me... Harry couldn't breathe anymore. Partly because of the concentration he needed to fix his leg, partly because he now had ribs trying to pierce trough his lungs and every movement was painful.

He tried to think of an escape. His neighbours wouldn't help, they never did. They were the same as the Dursleys, more quiet in the hatred, maybe. One of the children looked a bit like himself, he had the same cadaverous features, the sames wounds on his body, but not as often, maybe was he in a better situation, but what could two children could do more than one? He had no family. He couldn't have any friends as he was locked up most part of the year. He couldn't deal with the police, he was seeking freedom, not jail. Unless...

His uncle was drumming at the door, but Harry wanted it closed, so it remained in place. But he couldn't go on like that. He had nowhere to go. His emotions were like a storm in his chest, and he felt like his skull was going to explode, to split in half from the lightning shaped scar he had on the forehead.

" Get out of here! I'm going to fucking kill you!" his uncle shouted at the door.

"No."

The noises stopped as Uncle Vernon stood still under the shock. That was his chance. Harry threw himself through the door and jumped on him. He only needed a single touch.

He put his hand on his uncle's, and looked into his eyes.

Images came to his mind. He saw his uncle meeting Petunia. He saw the birth of Dursley. He saw many things he didn't want to, but he didn't care. Everywhere he passed, he destroyed everything. Memory after memory, neuron after neuron, in an instant uncle Vernon didn't exist anymore. He had become an object. A doll, a big reddish doll.

Harry only noticed Petunia's screams when it was over. The boy violently turned towards her. She was holding her beloved son against her as if her only arms could save him from the boy. In the corridor, of her dull-faced husband, two green orbs were staring at her in the shadows.

It only took an instant for Harry to put her out of his way. When his cousin finally fell on the floor, he sat into the couch. He never had the right to do so before, and the feeling was exquisite, even with the pain that made all his body shiver. He was exhausted, but he was mostly sad. His anger had faded away at the exact moment he knew he had won, and that he had won so easily. Now, he knew it was the only way, and that at one point or another he would have had to come to this. He had no way out, and this situation was the only one he could have ended in.

He watched the bodies of his family laying on the floor, slowly breathing as he felt asleep, and for the first time in his life he wasn't afraid to wake up.

He woke up at midday, and his leg was almost healed. He used to heal a lot quicker, but exhaustion and the gravity of his wounds had made his body weaker.

The Dursleys were still on the floor, not giving any sign of independent movement. Even if he had the strongest will to get rid of them soon, Harry needed them. He needed money, and he needed to avoid suspicion. Luckily, it was Sunday, so their absence wouldn't be noticed. He rose his hand and focused on what he wanted them to do. They rose in the same shaky movement, and started to prepare breakfast. Their faces were blank. He would have to work on that, but for now he was full with joy as he commanded them to do as he saw fit.

It was only after he painfully took his first shower of the week that the idea stroke him. He wasn't alone in this. He had seen the other boy making things levitating, he had seen how he was looking at him. He had to go and talk to him, to offer a sanctuary in this house. Here, he knew, they would be safe from the others.

He went into his cousin's room, and started to move the furniture, as it would be his for now on. He chose his cousin's best clothes, dark trousers and a well-cut shirt, admired himself in the mirror. The clothes were obviously too big for him, but he felt better.

He sat on the bed, which he had put just under the window for it was the first time he could look at the street without being chased or cleaning something, and thought about his plans. He had to make a choice. Would he himself enslaved (because he saw no other words to described what he has done), or allow the other boy, his family has he did? And if the boy actually wanted more...

Even if he was only 10, Harry's mind was dark and cautious. Partly because for him it was the only way to survive, and partly because of his own temper, which happened to be calm most of the time, well, except when his life was in a real danger. And even with his abilities, the dilemma he was in was too difficult for him to sort out alone. And, he thought, he had no right to have it. He had already made his choice, and the other boy would have to make it too. He had the power, but he couldn't possibly choose for him what was the best. The only thing he could do, was to offer peace and safety.

He went back downstairs to find the Dursleys casually waiting in line for new orders, eyes in the mist. He waved a hand, and Petunia started to make lunch, as Vernon and his son sat on the couch, looking at the black TV screen. Everything was settled, and Harry put a note to himself in the kitchen, in order not to forget to feed them when he'll came back.

For the first time in his life, he went freely into the street, and even if his leg wasn't still functioning as it should, he enjoyed the walk. He tried to think about everything good he could possibly have in mind, because he wanted to be sure to remain calm while facing the other boy's, he knew that deep down his anger hadn't exploded yet.

He had merely scratched the top.

As he was small, even for his age, he managed to sneak into the other boy's garden. He cautiously watched through the window what was happening inside.

The house was the exact same as Harry's. The boy was standing in the kitchen, making food. He wasn't looking well. Harry could see that he had difficulties moving his back, and therefore his head lowered, always looking at the ground. He was taller than Harry, and had sharper features, but he was just as pale and unhealthily thin. His dark hair were cut in a very strange way, and it took minutes for Harry to understand why: he had a long scar running down on his skull, on the right side of his head. As he turned to grab ingredients, Harry could also notice that one of his eye was entirely white, blinded somehow, while the other was icy gray. If it wasn't for his scars, he would have been handsome, with his thin palish face.

Harry felt his anger come back, and his aura around him grew, causing the garden's flower to fade. The other boy felt it. As he was turning toward Harry, the boy waved his hand, asking him if he could go outside. Slowly, the boy nodded, placing himself so that his father, who was in the living room watching TV, just as everybody in the neighborhood, couldn't see Harry.

Harry heard the boy mutter something about getting the trash out, and the door shutting down in the minute. Harry went into the street, and they just stayed in front of each other, evaluating each other for a few seconds. Then, as Harry didn't feel any bad intentions into the other boy's mind, he got closer to him.

"I'm Harry." he said, in the most friendly voice he could.

"I'm Damien." the other answered, shaking Harry's hand.

Harry could feel that Damien was like him, he could feel the energy running in his veins, and as he looked into Damien's eyes, he knew that the other boy felt it too. He smiled at him, and it was the first real smile that he had given in his life, and he didn't leave his hand. But the smile vanished as he felt the pain into Damien's body.

"Does he hurt you?" He asked coldly.

"Yes. "

There was no need of further explanation. The boy was shaking in fear. Harry nodded and made a sign of the head toward his own house, asking Damien to follow him.

"But I sh-should be back now..." Damien said. His only eye was black of terror.

"You won't regret it. "

Harry's voice didn't leave any room for discussion, but there was sweetness in it. Still holding Damien's hand, he led him to his house, slowly. He didn't want to scare him more than he already was, he was even afraid that the boy would have a heart attack if he was touched by a leave. Somehow, Damien followed him calmly. He had seen Harry before, and he could still see the marks where his shirt let his skin appeared. But, more, he could see something around him, something powerful. He didn't know why he was sure Harry would not hurt him at any cost, but he was. They both felt like a man meeting a compatriot in a far away place.

The door opened before Harry, without him touching it. Damien's jaw dropped. This wasn't strange accidents, this was magic.

They both went to the kitchen, and it was only at this moment that Damien noticed that something was wrong. Nobody was moving except for Harry.

Two plates full of food were on the table, set up, and Harry made a sign for Damien to sit next to him, and the boy obeyed. He was scared by the family. They all had blank stares, and looked like corpses, but the woman was standing behind the counter.

Harry looked at his own with a smirk. At least, the boy didn't run away in the firsts seconds, but he expected that. It took bravery to live in these conditions, or maybe some insanity.

"What happened to them ?" Damien finally asked after he ate all his food, which only took him five minutes as he was quite literally starving.

"It is something I can do. They just don't think anymore, you see, not that they used to."

Damien laughed.

"So they do what you ask? "

"Yup, they do what I order, I can make them do anything. "

Harry looked at the other boy in the eyes:

"And they can't hurt me anymore." he answered to his silent question.

Damien nodded, half scared by Harry, half amazed in front of the possibilities.

"You're lucky..."

"You could be too."

It was the moment. The moment when Damien would decide to join Harry, or not. Harry looked at his new friend anxiously. He waited minutes, but when Damien locked back at him, his eyes were filled with acceptance, and somewhat of joy. He was thinking of revenge.

Harry smiled, and nodded to him.

They had an understanding. They sat silently, finished their plates, and Harry waved his hand for his cousin to wash them. Damien looked at that with admiration.

They started to talk. They were counting their experience, the accidents, and agreed on calling it magic, whatever it was. It was like they were alone in the world, into the silent house in the silent Sunday afternoon street. Eventually, they started talking about their wounds. Damien could heal too but he wasn't as efficient as Harry. He explained that he had lost his eye because his father didn't want to spend money sending him to the doctor as he was sick, and the skull's scar was from an "accident" falling into the stairs. Harry was angry, but mostly relieved. Even without their common experience, the boys would have got along, as they founded themselves finishing each other sentences. It took them a moment to understand that it was mostly because they were somehow reading each other's minds. Well, in fact, Harry was the reader.

It was almost dark when they heard Damien's father voice calling him.

Harry told his friend not to move, and slowly opened the door.

It took them almost a month to decide what to do with Damien's father. On the one hand, it was hard to manage two houses while going to school, without anyone noticing, but on the second hand they couldn't get rid of him without dooming Damien to an orphanage, as he didn't have any other family.

They decided to train their abilities, they needed to know what they were able to do. Harry was obviously more powerful that Damien, but the other boy had some things to show. He was smart, and had a real talent to foresee what was going to happen. But, and it was far more important, he was able to calm Harry's anger with his only presence. Damien knew how to handle Harry, and the boy was glad for that. It was only the two of them, the others didn't matter.

They hated school, as the other children still treated them as garbage, but now they were together and planning their revenge. They needed a way out.

One day, it became too much. One of the school's children, his name was Paul Nwet, much older than Harry, maybe around 13, decided to bully the boys. He was tall, big, strong, and one could see that it was the only thing he could rely on. He had come across them as they were leaving home, shouting at them.

"Hey freaks!"

They didn't answer. Damien took Harry's hand. Breath, he said silently. Their link had grown enough for both of them to talk by thought if they had a physical contact. It was like Damien always opened his mind for Harry to send messages. Harry took a deep breath, and they hurried. But the other boy didn't look like he was about to let them go. He took a rock, and threw it at Damien, hitting him badly.

The second Harry saw the blood on his friend's face, he lost control. It was the only thing he couldn't stand: someone had hit his family. A non-magic dared hit his brother in front of him. It wasn't only the pain and the fear, now it was also a question of honor, of rightness. It was unfair, all of this was unfair.

You want to do it... he heard.

Yes , he thought, this time I want to do it

He looked into Paul's eyes.

"Pain" he said. His voice was cold as ice.

Immediately, Paul fell on the ground, screaming. Harry's eyes were glowing greed, and his pupils dilated of pleasure as he went along the nerves, burning them one by one. He could feel his own energy around him, like a dark wind. He was powerful.

He didn't notice that he was getting closer to Paul until he was almost stepping on him. The boy was twitching from pain, and Harry could see in his mind that he had gone mad. None of his thoughts were logical, or even complete. A puddle of blood was growing around Paul.

Harry rose his hand put it on Paul's head. He took a deep breath, concentrating. He had to stop this, but he couldn't let the boy go. To tell the truth, he didn't want to. A green light exploded between his hand and the boy's head, and it was all. Paul was dead, even if his legs didn't stop twitching.

Harry didn't know how he did that, he didn't know how he was so sure on how to do that, but the boy was dead indeed. He felt more free somehow, like he got rid of a weight in his mind. He couldn't move. His mind was processing the fact that he had killed the boy. That he had had the power to do so.

The hot summer's wind in his dark hair brought him back to reality.

He turned to Damien. The young man was sitting, watching him with a glitch of fear in his eyes. He nodded, there was no other way of ending this, but he could still see the green light into Harry's eyes, and a smirk curling his mouth. Everything around him seemed to have darkened, as if even the light didn't want to approach the boy. But they were in this together. He couldn't let Harry go, or we would be all alone, if not dead. But he discovered something in him that surprised him according to what he was looking at. Loyalty. At this moment, he decided that he would never go against his friend, as it was for him that he had killed.

He stood up, and concentrate his energy to push the corpse away from the road, into the ditch. Happily, they were alone and no one was living nearby. Harry didn't make a move. He was still thrilled by the sensations.

They didn't talk about it later, and went back to their "normal" life. It was their secret. But Harry found himself sleeping less than he should, not that he had nightmare of any sort, he just couldn't sleep more than a few hours.

Bit by bit, they made Damien's father disappear from his social activities, and one day they send him to a psychiatric hospital, nameless. Even without controlling him, his brain was too burnt for him to be able even to talk, nor think correctly. It seemed to be the best option, and the only one which didn't involve a casual accident.

They kept the Dursleys, as they still needed money to eat, and if Harry's cousin went to disappear, it would be noticed by the school, which was on the edge since Paul's body was found, about a month after he died.

Even if they were careful, they had a good time, and an almost normal family life. Harry found the way to make the Dursleys have facial expressions, and in one or two months, it was almost as if they were still free, on the surface.

Harry and Damien eventually found the way to make objects levitate. The first tries made things explode or fly around the room, but as they learned to control themselves, they managed it. Damien couldn't lift more than a hair, but Harry, as he was close to his 11's birthday, could lift many objects at the same time, he managed once to make their bed levitate. It was obvious that Damien didn't have a lot of power, in fact, he almost didn't have any. Harry suspected that Damien's magic was stuck somewhere because of what he had lived, and he didn't blame him. The boy seemed afraid of his own power. Somehow, he was afraid to become as powerful as Harry, therefore, he wasn't jealous of his brother.

Harry's marks remained too. He couldn't lift his shirt even in front of his friend because of the scars which were running on all of his chest and back. He avoided people he didn't know, and hated skin contact. He could know too much with a simple touch. In fact, only Damien could touch him, because he knew where it hurt and where it was fine.

They talked a lot about the possibility for others like them to exist. They decided to stay in the shadows and hide from the others, as they seem to always attack whatever looked like magic, but if they were others, they couldn't stand to let them grow into the non-magical hands, and live the life they had. The personal anger they felt grew into hate at a much larger scale, but they were smart enough to understand hating everyone didn't make any sense. But it was still words, and they were conscious that they didn't have enough information to do anything, even if they eventually had the power.

They still didn't feel safe, so they always managed to do everything together. They had put two beds side to side into Harry's room. Step by step, the house came to look life theirs, but they never called it home.

It was on the summer of their 11's birthday when Harry received the letter.

As they were reading it, their mouth agape. It was a confirmation of what they had imagined, but it was more. They weren't alone. There was a whole society. But the thing that stroke them was that they didn't understand most of the information, including places they had to go and things they had to buy. They talked about it for hours before Harry was struck by an idea.

"Someone's gonna come" he said, his face brightened by the solution

The other boy looked at him with admiration. Of course, why didn't he thought about that?

"They know who and where you are, he stated, but not about what we can do... I didn't even receive one."

"This mean that they know that we are complete ignorant on whatever they talk about here, declared Harry while he shook the letter. And it may means that they don't know at all about you."

"But it also means that they are complete ignorant of this, gravely said Damien as he pointed at Petunia with his head. "

"They mustn't find out. "

Of course, they both knew that. What they did was wrong, and they didn't want to lose their only chance to escape from the situation, which had been deteriorating week by week. They decided to hide Damien's power, to act like he was only a close friend and a guest. Controlling the Dursley tired Harry, and he was feeling strange, sometimes his scar even hurt. He didn't know where he had it, but from its reaction and the pain he sometimes felt, he and Damien had supposed that it was magical, as in view of the letter, it was effectively question of magic.

"Whomever is going to come here, he is going to have the same type of power as we do..."

"So we need to hide them well" concluded Harry.

Even if they apparently stayed calm; in fact, they were panicking. Under the pressure, it only took them an hour or two to clean up the house, making it look like the family still lived here and Damien was only a guest. They had to do the other house too, just in case, and it took them almost half of the night as it had become very dusty. They were good to cover themselves. They put food in both of the fridges, undid the beds of both houses, checked on everything, starting the electricity and the water.

They had decided to lock the Dursleys in their room, which used to be the couple's chamber, and to reduce the magic control that Harry had on them at a minimum range, hoping that the witch that was going to come wouldn't notice. Then, they waited, all the night on the couch, watching TV in a desperate attempt to change their mind. They had no remorse, they had done what needed to be done (mostly), but at this moment it was them against the world, and the world seemed to know too many things about them already. They hated the unknown, and they hated that this very feeling looked too much like what had made the others cruel towards them. But they were together, so they remained calm, doing things as if they were natural, even if they were looking at every second for a pair of unknown eyes to look at them. Eventually, they fell asleep.

Harry found himself in a dusty room. A bathroom, actually, gloomy and dirty like the ones in abandoned houses. There was a mirror, but he could't quite recognize himself in it. The man that was in front of him didn't look like him, quite older, he looked to be around 25, but Harry could sense that he wasn't. He had sharp, aristocratic features, black hairs, he was handsome, but something in him was disturbing.

His eyes. Harry couldn't move away of their crimson stare. Strangely, he didn't feel scared. No, he had the impression that he had always knew the man, even if he couldn't say from where. It was something at the back of his head. His reflection was looking at him with interest, studying his face like he was a strange insect and needed to decide if he was worth of attention. None of them talked for a moment. Harry felt a dizziness on the back of his mind, an intrusion. Focusing on everything he had, he pushed it away as gentle as he could. The imprint of the intruder felt familiar, and Harry didn't want to be aggressive, but he couldn't quite control the forces to defend himself. The expression on the man's face changed: he looked pleased, surprised, and actually quite friendly, even if he looked more like the kind of men you have to respect than those you can be close to.

A man will come to your house , the man said, do not trust him.

The man's voice was warm, but sharp. Harry felt his scar burning, and somewhere behind them he heard a woman scream. He nodded, more confused than scared. He opened his mouth to answer.

Suddenly, he was overflown his a storm of images, sounds, information that came from somewhere else, about things he couldn't have had imagine. They were all about an old man he didn't know. It took a second, but the man's face remained into his memory. His skull was about to explode under the pressure. He couldn't make a sound.

He blenched. His scar was burning and his chick hurt. It took a moment to realize that Damien had just slapped him. The other boy was looking at him with a mix of worries, interrogations and fear. Feeling something running on his face, Harry found out that his scar was bleeding. He ran to the bathroom to stop it, be when he found the bandages it was already gone. He washed himself, changed his clothes and went back downstairs.

" What the hell was that! " gasped Damien

"I don't know, Damy, I don't know."

Harry was shaken. He sat on the couch to think. He wasn't sure about what was real and what wasn't. Inspecting his mind, he found the image of the old man.

"I had... a vision I think, something like that. It said that an old man is gonna come, and that we can't trust him."

"Didn't you just dreamed? I mean a nightmare, and hit your face somewhere..."

"We will know. I have a very clear image of this man. It felt so real... If he is the one that come, I'll do a sign for you, and we'll know what to do. "

Damien nodded. He had stopped wondering a long time ago about the possibilities of things to happen around his new brother, and all he could do was trust him. And none of them knew where their abilities stopped; they had to take every chance.

"It's not like we were going to tell everything to the first witch we met" he said ironically smiling, his only icy eye sparkling in amusement.

"It doesn't look like a good idea indeed" agreed Harry.

"And, may I say that I'm not aware of anything on magic or else. "

"Do I even know you? "Asked Harry, a malicious glimmer in his green eyes.

He was reassured that fear had gone from Damien's face. He couldn't possibly manage to get out of the situation without him, and in the end, he didn't even want to. To be alone, and he knew it better than everyone else, was the worst thing imaginable. Being alone was dooming himself to weakness and confusion, and Harry was a child that despised both.

They didn't even finish their breakfast when Harry felt something at the back of his head. Magic. He made a sign to inform Damien and a few second later someone was knocking at the door.

Harry went to open it.