The Rarest Soul of All
Disclaimer/Plot/Author's Note: SEE FIRST CHAPTER
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to Dominus1389 for giving me inspirations for this story: my recommended reads are The Rise of a Dark Lord by LittleMissXanda, Dark Prince and The Allure of Darkness by LoveMyRomance, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man, The Downward Spiral Saga – Harry Potter and the Homecoming, Harry Potter and Salazar's Legacy, Harry Potter and the Year of Broken Chains, Harry Potter and the Return of the Lost, Harry Potter and the Dirge of Hope andHarry Potter and the End of War – by BolshevikMuppet99, Dark Lord Potter and To Be a Slave by loverofeevee and Harry Potter and The Serpent Chronicles Book 1 The Prince of Slytherin and Harry Potter and The Prince of Power Book 1 Birth of a Snake by ACI100
Key Pairing: Dark/Evil Harry/Gabrielle;
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mental Speech'
/Parseltongue/
Review Answers:
ACI100: Ah, you'd be wrong about that, my friend: I have a plan for the voice that will become clearer at Hogwarts; for now, the cameo there was something of an introduction;
Thelittleking: I agree;
With a satisfied smile, Harry returned to his task, his strength and energy restored thanks to the discovery of a new friend.
Sadly, Harry should have remembered that where he was concerned, good things in the Dursley Household never lasted long…
Chapter 2: Master of the House
When Petunia finally returned from the hospital with a still-trembling, pale and sickly-looking Dudley in tow, the first thing she was aware of was the sense of quiet that filled the house. For a moment, the spiteful, beyond-horrible excuse for a human being that was Petunia Dursley reared her head as she smiled at the thought of her husband finally making good on his word and ridding them of the freak.
With him gone, Petunia would never have to think about her spiteful bitch of a sister ever again.
All right, so they'd lost their favourite slave, but even so…
"Petunia? Is that you, Mrs Ed?"
Suffice to say, Petunia's face paled with a newfound sense of nerve-jarring fright when she heard a low, sarcastic and definitely-unchallenged tone coming from the kitchen.
As she walked towards the door, the fresh smell of food being cooked caught Dudley's attention, resulting in something that could have been described as a miraculous recovery as, quicker than you could say spontaneous regurgitation, the fat boy's emotions went from sickly to excited at the smell of food.
Before Petunia could stop him, he'd raced for the kitchen, intent on eating more than his fill as per usual.
However, while Petunia applauded the healing powers of her darling diddykins' body – not even considering the similarities of that statement to the world she knew and loathed – she then paled with fright once again as she heard a cry that was definitely her son's call.
And not just a call, but a cry of pain and fear coupled with a sound of something large hitting the floor, the sound of which spurred the horse-faced she-devil of a bitch into action.
Running into the kitchen, Petunia's eyes widened with horror at the sight that she saw in front of her: her husband, Vernon was standing over a crying, whimpering Dudley, his hand raised from having struck the large boy in anger while a deep, painful-looking red mark on Dudley's cheek told Petunia where he'd hit his son.
The fact he had hit Dudley, for the first time in the piglet's short, shiftless life, wasn't anywhere near as bad to Petunia as the fact that her thought about the fate of her hellspawn of a nephew was also proved false.
Not only that, but to her chagrin, the freak wasn't just alive: he was also sat at the table, his place there going unchallenged and unharmed by Vernon. He actually seemed to be…normal-looking rather than the servant and waste of space, flesh and oxygen that his sort were meant to be.
He was sat at the table, unchallenged, without a care in the world save the thought of tucking into a freshly-prepared plate of cottage pie, the warm smell startling Petunia as she saw him taking a bite out of his food, almost emphasising the amusement he felt as he slowly chewed on his food, moaning with longing and delight before he made an audible gulping noise as he swallowed his food down before licking his lips for show.
However, at that moment, Petunia had one other concern on her mind and that was the definitely-abnormal attitude of her husband.
Facing him with a curious, but uneasy expression on her equine face, Petunia asked, "Vernon, what…what's the matter with you? Why did you strike our son? And what's the freak doing sat right there eating our food?"
To her disbelief, Vernon was silent, but so was Harry as he put down his fork before, linking his fingers, he stared right at her while Vernon kept his eyes down, almost as though he flat-out refused to answer her.
"Vernon," demanded Petunia, a part of her suddenly frightened by what was happening right in front of her: since when was her freaky monster of a nephew treated so kindly while Dudley was the new punching bag that was used for Vernon's rage? "Answer me!"
"She's talking to you, Worm," remarked Harry suddenly, his voice cold and casual even as he gave a casual look towards his food while his voice reminded Petunia of the darkest alleyways in the world, filled with unimaginable horrors and unseen terrors.
The sound of it chilled Petunia to the bone, but no more than when Harry looked up from his meal as he asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Sorry Master," replied Vernon, much to the horror of his xenophobic wife.
However, before Petunia had a chance to say anything about her husband addressing the freak as his better, Vernon grabbed her and knocked her down hard, letting her head collide with the floor in the process, earning a smug sounding snort from Harry.
"Good Worm," said Harry, though it was a dry remark, like he was addressing a faithful pet rather than a human being.
With his eyes back on his meal, Harry hummed once as he then asked nonchalantly, "Can you pass the salt?"
Suffice to say, the now-named Worm was quick to obey – perhaps even quicker than he'd ever moved before in his short, shiftless lifetime, much to the amusement of his new master – and, as Harry poured the salt onto his meal, a look of disdain crossed his face as he accidentally poured a little too much, practically covering the whole meal in the salty substance.
"Aw, would you look at it now?" asked Harry coolly, his voice edged by mock disappointment as he drawled, "I wouldn't feed this to a pig…"
"I…I can make you something new, Master," suggested Worm, earning a snigger from Harry as he asked, "What would you like? Cake? Chocolate? Pizza? Tell me, you may have whatever your empty belly demands of me, I swear."
"I know you do, my faithful puppy," drawled Harry, resting his head against the knuckles of his left hand before, pushing the plate away, he added in a dismissive tone, "Tell you what, Worm: while I think of what you can give me to fill my stomach and keep me from punishing you again, why don't you give this…slop to Dudley? And remember what you're to do if he says no."
"Yes Master," replied Worm, taking the plate from Harry's table; as he did so, however, Worm suddenly cried out as he felt a jab of pain hit his head.
Turning back to the dark scion, Worm's eyes lowered while his body trembled as he asked, "Has Worm done something wrong, Master? Worm is sorry; Worm will never make Master angry."
"Then go and fetch the spare dog bowl that your filthy sister bought for when she visits," commanded Harry, indicating the heavily-salted mess on the plate as he added, "When you have it, bring it here and pour that into the bowl, mush it up and then give it to Dudley; then, once you've done that, you can serve me up a fresh portion. After all, you know as well as I do, Worm: freaks don't eat like normal people, Worm. Don't forget that!"
"Yes Master," nodded Worm, though he almost seemed to be smiling at the fact that his master had been so merciful in punishing the broken man.
While he went to retrieve the bowl, Harry rose from his seat and, standing over Petunia's body, he tapped into his magic once more before using it to levitate her, lifting the thin woman by her throat as she was forced to bear witness to the dark power in her nephew.
Once the woman's eyes met Harry's, the dark scion clicked his tongue before he looked at his ex-Aunt with mocking pity, his green eyes almost like the colour of death itself as he looked right into her eyes. "Do you know something funny, Mare? Worm told me a really funny story while we waited for you and the runt to return here. Do you want to hear my funny story?"
Being the pathetic, vile-minded idiot she was, Petunia's response was to spit in Harry's face, earning a sigh of the same mocking pity he showed in his expression as he looked at her.
Wiping the spit from his cheek, Harry casually rubbed it on Petunia's jacket before he told her, "That wasn't nice, Mare: I guess this means you're just as horsey as your face; well, if you ask me, this is one horse that needs breaking just like Worm needed to be broken. First things first…Worm, hit the mare with the bowl, will you?"
Petunia opened her mouth to try and stop Vernon from doing as he was bidden, but her words were cut off when a thankfully-empty metal bowl collided with the side of her face. It didn't kill her – more's the pity – because it was such a light thing, but it did bring a satisfied smirk to Harry's face as he indicated the mush. "Good boy, Worm, now back to work."
As Worm went to obey his master, Harry looked back to Petunia before he told her, "I trust you're ready to hear my funny story now, Mare: you see, according to Worm, it was you that put the knife to my beautiful scaly friend when she bit the runt to defend her nest and my oh-so-lovely abode."
"She…she was a monster!" spat Petunia, but Harry didn't hear her, or rather, he didn't appear to hear her until she went on. "And you're just a freak for bringing such a dangerous creature into my home! You both deserve to die; she just got it first."
"Worm?"
Petunia's screams returned as Worm turned and smacked her again on the side of her head; when Harry saw the treatment, as well as the welt that was forming on Petunia's bony cheek, he smiled viciously as he added, "Good Worm; now would you go and find a chain or something? Runts don't stay in the house; they're bad doggies and, therefore, they eat their dinner in kennels."
"Yes Master," replied Worm, leaving the kitchen once again while, to Petunia's horror, Dudley's face was now buried deep in the salty muck that his Father had been ordered to prepare.
Judging from the sobbing sloppy chewing sounds that came from the bowl, Worm had been forced to convince Dudley to eat his dinner and, even worse, it seemed that he didn't even care that it was his son that he was harming.
All because this freak had ordered him to do it!
Seeing the waste disposal going to work, Harry sighed with a hint of mocking pity before he asked her, "Would you look at it now? Disgusting little creature, isn't he? Barely even a stain on the lives of the truly-decent people out there; nothing more than an insignificant little mongrel that, much like Worm's sister and her vile beasts, deserves to be put down."
Here, he looked back to Petunia before he patted her cheek in a brazen manner before he asked, "And yet, for some strange reason that eludes even my vengeful mind, I choose to be merciful and let filth like him live and breathe the same air as his betters. So tell me, my freakish little filly, am I not a merciful master?"
"Master is kind to his pets," replied Worm, his large frame now bearing a long and old-looking bike chain and what looked like a small belt that he'd made into a collar for the runt of the litter.
"I wasn't talking to you, Worm," argued Harry, earning a flinch of fear from his pet before, giving a wolfish grin that only seemed to add to the image of horror that he had become, he nodded as he added, "But you spoke the truth, so I forgive you: now go and chain runt to the back garden shed. When you do, strip him naked: dogs don't wear clothes, after all…oh and if he tries to escape, you have my permission to go right ahead and beat him…or strangle him with the chain if you want to; I don't care."
Dudley's pleas for Mummy to help him fell on deaf ears as Worm forced another mouthful of the salty mush down his throat while, at the same time, Harry looked back to Petunia as he sighed dramatically before he added, "Ah…kids today, but you know what they say, don't you, Filly? Can't live with them; can't kill them…"
Here, he let out a dry laugh as he indicated the still-helpless woman as he explained, "Well, you can't, but in case it's escaped your narrow-minded sense of reason, I can…and will should the little pooch bore me."
"You…you're a monster!" snarled Petunia, earning a soft laugh from Harry as he met her gaze, his eyes glowing darkly as he shook his head.
"I'm no monster, my not-so-beautiful horse's ass," explained the dark scion, spreading his arms in a display of self-importance and amusement as he added, "I am simply what you have made me into, which, rather ironically, you also tried to stop me being…your better…in every fashion!"
Petunia's heart turned to ice as she saw Harry's glare lock onto hers without even a hint of familial love and care as he explained, "But, like I said before, I can be a merciful master just like Worm agreed. So, since you're so interested in the wellbeing of my newest pet, I'll give you a chance to convince me to let it sleep inside tonight."
Petunia's eyes then widened as Harry let out a little more of his magic, forcing the woman's whole body to freeze up while her lips were the only parts of her body that she could move.
At the same time, Harry's eyes met his Aunt's as he asked her a simple-enough question.
"What do you know about me possessing the ability to use magic?"
The Rarest Soul
Over the next few months, life in Privet Drive took a turn for the better…well, for Harry it did, but as for the three pets that shared his living space, their life went from being the apparently-perfect life to being a life filled with fear and pain.
To Harry, they were no longer Vernon, Petunia and Dudley: instead, they had become known as Worm, Fraud and Runt – the only reason he called them by their real names was if and when they went out in public, while, at other times, they were nothing more than practice for his powers and pets to obey his wishes, no matter what they were.
Petunia had become Fraud to Harry when she told him the full truth about his family's deaths and how he'd been left with a letter, which she had destroyed before making a promise to stamp the freakishness – also known as magic – out of him, as if she could. She then proceeded to spin an Oscar-worthy sob story about how she'd been a jealous sister and how the bitch – meaning Harry's Mother, Lily, who was a witch, like his Father, James, was a wizard – had been spiteful because she chose the magical world over her own family.
Of course, her remarks earned her a bone-crushing force on her ribs that, had Harry wanted to, could have pierced her lungs and even her black heart, but he found that killing them was too easy. She also told Harry there was some sort of thing she had with him that kept her family safe and that was the reason she'd never allowed Vernon to make good on his threat to send Harry away.
Of course, much like Worm, the fraud had been pushed past her limit when Dudley had been bitten by the snake, but once again, she'd barely begun to insult the one and only friend Harry would ever have before she found her bones being put under a heavy burst of telekinetic magic.
Once the story was told, which included a part about some letter that would come for Harry in the following summer, Fraud finished her explanation, but Harry hadn't finished his punishments as he made her feel the pain she'd put him through for years before, without any fear or remorse in his voice, he told her one simple truth of his own:
"Those wards keep you safe from things out there, Fraud, but unfortunately for you, I'm inside the house."
He'd then proven how unfortunate Petunia's situation was by taking away the one thing she prided herself on more than her precious house being the envy of her neighbours: her shrieking voice, leaving her a sobbing mute that knew that she was powerless against him.
With no Fraud to snarl and bark like a dog, Harry was free to enjoy watching as Worm taught Runt some extreme obedience training about being a liar, a bully and, on occasion, a thief – such as when he found Runt stealing money from Worm's wallet and taking kids' treats at school.
The squeals were like music to Harry's ears and, at the odd time, Worm even offered his master the right and means to exact some payback on Runt for his actions, which Harry enjoyed as it gave him a target for him to work his magic on, much to Worm's delight and the horror of the others.
All the while, Fraud's silent screams did nothing to dissuade them, although when she tried to get involved, she usually found herself receiving the back or the knuckles of Worm's fists.
At one point, Harry even ordered Worm to handcuff Fraud to the chair and watch while Runt was taught to be a good pet for his master.
Pretty soon, the kids at school were cheering the fact that something had stopped Runt from going after his usual targets and, at one point, when Harry had been cornered by Runt's jackals, he hadn't held back.
Weirdly, later that same day, Malcolm was escorted to hospital with a broken leg from apparently falling off one of the bikes kept in the sports sheds while Gordon seemed to require sedation as he jumped at shadows and screamed about monsters coming to eat him. As for Piers Polkiss – whom had been Runt's second-in-command back in the day – he got the only fate that the poor coincidences could provide short of actually killing him.
For reasons no-one could understand, this sweet and innocent eleven-year-old was caught trying to burn down the school with chemicals that no pupil had access to while he was also found trying to douse himself in the same accelerants, apparently on some crazed mission for someone he called the Master.
All the while, Runt's presence was lost since he'd fled for any sort of sanctuary that could get him away from his vicious-minded cousin, but Harry wasn't done by a long shot as he displayed that same night when he had Worm break each of Dudley's fingers and give him ten lashes on the back with his belt – one for each year of misery he'd put Harry through.
Much like Harry had once been forced to do, Runt made up a lie about getting his fingers caught in a door or the cupboards or even a fridge, but he did not speak the truth.
It had taken some time and painful reminders, but he knew what trying to blame someone else, such as his Master, would get him.
Payback, much like his horse mother, was a real bitch!
The Rarest Soul
It was two months before Harry's eleventh birthday when the dark scion made an interesting, if not humorous revelation of his own;
Earlier that day, he'd decided to reward Runt and Worm for their hard work and, using some of Worm's money, they'd ordered a couple of pizzas and some drinks and sat down with a rented movie that Harry let Runt choose.
Of course, what he didn't tell them was that the kiddy-sized pizzas that he bought for them to have – while Harry indulged himself in a 14-inch with everything on it – had been dropped on the floor and Harry had actually thrown them into the bin before changing his mind and letting them have the rotten, gut-wrenching, sickness-inducing food.
But anyway, when Runt chose the movie, Harry was amused to find it was a film that contained references to powers that weren't much different from Harry's magic. There were references to levitation and banishing as well as summoning with this power, which the film dubbed The Force, as well as an interesting angle of choking someone and even using this 'force' to alter their memories and toy with their minds.
Easily Harry's favourite moment involved the use of lightning to torture the enemy while, as was the way of these sappy hero types, the apparent villain redeemed himself by saving his family and forsaking real power.
'How pathetic can you get?' thought Harry as he watched the ending scene with the fiery bonfire of memorial and the ghosts appearing, 'Why would any self-respecting ruler choose something as pathetic as family over power? Urgh, it sickens me that love stops the darkness…'
Even so, as the credits rolled and Harry finished off the last piece of his pizza, an image that Harry hadn't really needed to think about returned to his mind as he let everything that had happened to him gather within his thoughts.
Once again, his mind showed him the throne and the army that obeyed him while there were the pets fearing him and worshipping him as their lord and master, but this time, there was an added bonus.
This time, Harry was sat upon his throne dressed in a suit of armour that was just as intimidating as the armour worn by the dark lord from the film.
'Hmm,' thought Harry, giving his slaves a reprieve from their tasks as reward for staying quiet during the film.
As he removed the boxes and the empty drinks bottle from the room, Harry's eyes shone a malicious shade of green as he thought.
'Dark Lord Harry Potter…it's got that ring to it, but…I think I'll need to find me a new name.'
As he deposited the waste into the bins, Harry actually sniggered as he wondered, "So I'm to become a Dark Lord now, am I? That's interesting…"
The Rarest Soul
Nine Months;
That was how long had passed since Harry had started to show his real dominance with the pets that others called the Dursleys and it had been even longer – nearly two years, in fact – since he'd first started to work with the magic inside of him and, in that time, so much had changed that Harry found himself unable to believe he was anything like the weakling that he used to be.
Much like a certain old TV show he'd heard about, it was like his ninth year of life had brought about the death of the old Harry Potter and, in the short space of a couple of minutes, he had regenerated into someone new. Then, when he discovered and realised that darkness was his only ally and the comfort of being an evil, occasionally-sadistic demon of humanity was the only way forwards, he'd regenerated again, becoming someone that was stronger, more-powerful and with a backbone that he wouldn't allow anyone or anything to be his betters.
While Runt, Fraud and Worm did the best they could to earn their Master's praises and occasional rewards – especially since Harry saw the biggest reward he gave them being the fact they were still alive – Harry went through a lifestyle change in the short time since embracing his true power.
Runt moved into the smallest bedroom and had all his broken and disfigured junk piled up to add to the cramped sensations while Harry got the large bedroom that had once belonged to the broken mutt of a child.
Worm and Fraud then provided him with a new wardrobe and everything he needed to be comfortable and content with his possessions.
Since he was still yet to receive his letter to this so-called school, Harry kept an eye on the dates and the post so that he was prepared as best as he could be. He didn't really learn much about the world of magic, but that didn't stop his powers growing stronger as he began to learn the arts of meditation and focus to harness his strength and increase his arsenal of darkness.
Finally, just before Harry turned eleven, he received the letter he'd been waiting for, bringing with it a whole new world of fun for the dark sorcerer.
The Rarest Soul
On the day that the letter was delivered by an owl of all creatures that Harry had guessed as being the one responsible for delivering the news of his acceptance to this school of his, it left a feeling of amusement in Harry as he penned a response and sent it off without waiting for any indication of having to do anything else.
Nearly one week later, Harry had just sat down to breakfast on the morning of his eleventh birthday when the doorbell rang; without even waiting for his master's commands to perform such a task, Worm went to answer the door and, when he did so, he returned to the kitchen accompanied by the strangest-looking woman that Harry had ever laid eyes on.
She was an elderly – or late-middle-aged if Harry had to guess – woman with dark hair that seemed to be done up in a bun while her eyes gazed at Harry and the house with a mix of what the young wizard noticed was relief and surprise from behind small oval-shaped glasses.
However, it wasn't the basic appearance of the woman that made Harry feel curious, but rather what she was wearing.
The woman was dressed in a pretty thick-looking overcoat that might be worn by somebody's grandmother while beneath the coat, he could make out a pretty olden-days style set of clothes that wouldn't look out of place in a Victorian museum.
She even wore stiletto heels that made her look like some sort of strict matron of a school – which he guessed she was since that was why she was here – but it also made her look weird, even for this place.
"Mr Potter?" asked the woman, her tone edged by an accent that Harry recognised as being from somewhere in Scotland.
Given the thickness of her Scottish brogue, he guessed that it was closer to Edinburgh or Glasgow, which both amused and interested him.
"I am," replied Harry flatly, setting down his fork before he looked up at the lady as he added, "You'll forgive my early-morning looks, Madam, but I received no warnings of your arrival at such an early time."
Hearing his casual remark, the elder woman seemed to look shocked for the briefest of moments before she told Harry, "Due to your…upbringing here in the world of Muggles, it was the agreement of my colleagues and I that such an appointment was to be made to answer any and all inquiries you may have about the world of magic."
The mention of Muggles caught Harry's attention.
He took a guess that she meant those whom were born without magic in them like Worm, Runt and Fraud.
Mind you, if it was up to Harry, they wouldn't even get the right to call themselves Muggles and, as for the Muggle world, he'd be much happier watching it burn to cinders and ashes taking the scum and filth with it.
"I guess I can understand your thoughts, Madam," replied Harry, keeping his eyes on the woman while he noticed Worm had disappeared, more-than-likely so that Harry could be left alone in peace to talk with his new guest.
Indicating the seat next to him, Harry then asked, "Would you sit down, Madam? Perhaps a cup of tea while we talk? Coffee?"
When the woman responded in kind, Harry made his way to the kettle to prepare the drinks before, as he poured the hot water, he heard his visitor inform him, "And, for future reference, it's Professor, Mr Potter: Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of Gryffindor House and Mistress of Transfiguration."
"A pleasure, Madame McGonagall," replied Harry, hiding a smirk as he saw the woman's expression actually look both surprised and a little outraged that he had ignored the basic address. As if reading her expression, Harry added, "We are not in school and neither are we in lessons, Madame, so unless you'd like me to call you Minerva, I think I'll hold off calling you anything else for now."
Unseen by Harry, Minerva actually looked stunned at the boy's mixed sense of logic and respect for the older woman;
However, as he handed her the drink, the young boy didn't even seem fazed by her looks as he asked, "So, where shall we begin?"
The Rarest Soul
If there was one thing Harry hated more than his pets being disobedient, it was having his time wasted;
So, after nearly three hours' worth of questions and answers that could have been answered in some sort of introductory pamphlet or package like most normal schools would do, when Minerva McGonagall finally told him it was time to travel to Diagon Alley for his possessions and acquire the necessities for his education, Harry had to rely on his months' worth of dark resilience to stop himself flying out of the door.
Even so, his mind still buzzed with everything he'd learned from the Deputy Head: she'd told him about the four Hogwarts Houses, which attracted Harry's attention as she seemed fond of talking about Gryffindor while mentions of Slytherin House were quickly followed by changing the topic.
She also told Harry about his classes and how they worked out, including electives that he could take in third year and the sports of Quidditch and hobby of music and the school choir. She also told him about the village of Hogsmeade, though that was only accessible to students of third-year and above, and how the whole point system worked with gaining achievements and accolades for working hard.
Harry also asked about the different kinds of students, which triggered a chat about the different classes of students and a rather hinted discussion about Harry's Muggle-born Mother and Pure-blood Father.
The mere fact his Mother had been cursed by the blood of these magic-hating freaks was painful enough, but learning there was a whole band of these sorts of people at Hogwarts, it turned Harry's stomach as he pictured people with cameras, telephones and asking about things they would never understand.
Even the whole class system – with pure-bloods clearly being the cream of the crop as far as Harry could tell – sounded like something out of a wartime drama or older, though there was the fact that Harry found himself amused by the way that students like him were known as half-bloods.
As far as he was concerned, his Father had been magical and so had his Mother, so that made him a pure-blood: in terms that this backwards, more-than-medieval world might understand, it made him a 1st Generation Pure-blood. Half-bloods, as far as Harry was concerned, were those whom were born of the cursed blood of the freaks – Muggles – and witches and wizards that were stupid or desperate enough to lie with them.
Little did he realise just how much this little thought of his would influence his time at Hogwarts.
According to Minerva, Harry was also required – though he saw it as being forced since he had nowhere else to go – to return to Privet Drive over the summer unless other arrangements were made with friends while he had the option of leaving Hogwarts during the Winter Holidays for Yule –Christmas – and for a long weekend break in Easter.
Then came the part that Harry had been really interested in: using all his skill in masking his true intentions, Harry asked Minerva, "I've only known a few things about Mum and Dad for now, Professor; would you mind telling me more about how they died?"
To his annoyance, Minerva actually seemed reluctant to do that, but when she saw Harry's pleading look and the way he seemed almost humbled, if not a little uneasy about the truth himself, she caved and told him what he wanted to know.
Hearing the truth was hard for Harry, especially when a part of him wanted to strangle even more life out of Fraud for leaving out parts about their deaths and how he had survived – which, he also noticed, was something Minerva didn't reveal either – but hearing the very mantle that the magical world gave him, thinking him their saviour and golden boy, it didn't just hurt Harry, it sickened him right to his stomach.
'Mental note,' thought Harry as he kept his head bowed, giving Minerva the impression he was weeping when, in reality, he was gritting his teeth so hard, it wouldn't have surprised him to hear them crack under the strain. 'Take great pleasure in tormenting anyone that thinks of befriending me just because of this Boy-Who-Lived crap!'
Finally, they were on their way to Diagon Alley and, with a heads-up from Minerva that told him he was coming back once they were done, Harry picked up his coat and left with the Deputy.
The Rarest Soul
The entrance to Diagon Alley was located through a building known as the Leaky Cauldron;
When Harry passed through the strange place with Minerva next to him, their arrival earned them both a few curious, even interested glances, but Harry kept his head down while Minerva's own glare seemed to be enough to deter any sort of interruptions from the patrons. On the other side of the building, Harry watched as the Deputy Head pressed a sequence of bricks, which then proceeded to open to reveal a street that was both impossible to behold and yet wondrous to the eye.
Shops of different shapes, sizes and contents lined both sides while people came and went from the doors and window displays of the buildings, though none of them could match the glamorous and daunting-looking building that seemed to loom over all Diagon from the furthest end.
Indicating the building, Harry asked curiously, "What's that there, Madame McGonagall?"
"That is Gringotts, Mr Potter," replied Minerva, though Harry noticed she kept her voice low enough so that only he heard her, most-likely to avoid any sort of reaction given that Harry was someone famous in the world of magic. "The bank where witches and wizards store their fortunes along with any other items valuable to their families: it is our first destination as we will need access to the Potter Vault to retrieve your funds."
Harry suddenly stopped dead, though it was a few moments before Minerva followed suit, "Excuse me, but did you just say the Potter Vault? I have my own vault in a bank that I never knew existed?"
"Of course you do," replied Minerva, her eyes watching Harry through her spectacles as she told him, "As with all sons and daughters of magic, it was set up by your Father, James, to provide you with funds that you would use during your time at Hogwarts."
Harry latched onto this information like a limpet attaching themselves to a rock, "So there would be another vault for me for after Hogwarts?"
"I believe so, yes," answered Minerva, though Harry noticed that her cheeks seemed to adopt a slightly-reddened look, almost as though she was either surprised or embarrassed that he had figured this out.
Ignoring the ominous feeling that started to rise up his neck with the rage that came with the insinuation from Minerva's expression, Harry coughed once before he asked calmly, "And how would I access this vault?"
Unbeknownst to Minerva, she was about to fall into the first of many traps that Hogwarts would discover on the side of Harry James Potter as she told him, "As you are recognised as being magically-orphaned, it fell to the Headmaster to be recognised as your magical guardian, which granted him the access to your key. As you are now returning to the world of magic, I have been given your key for you to access your vault here and now."
Harry had to try very hard not to let his rage show as he politely nodded and followed Minerva towards the largest building in the Alley:
Someone else had taken it upon themselves to call themselves Harry's guardian?
They had taken something that, by right more than anything else, should belong to him and him alone?
Well this would be the first and last time that Harry let that happen!
As he walked into Gringotts, taking careful notice of the battle-hardened warriors at the doors and the stations in the bank, whom Minerva informed him were known as goblins, Harry took a moment to let his eyes wander over the bank's interior, paying special attention to the way the goblins lined the walls in their stations, which meant that they could clearly see who came and went from the bank.
Behind them, there were several dark-looking corridors and alcoves that seemed to hold what looked like old mining carts on tracks that seemed to be magically-reinforced: either that or they were just kept in the best state by their keepers, whom, in this instance, Harry could only assume to be the goblins themselves.
When Minerva cleared her throat to gain his attention, Harry followed the witch towards a free goblin, whom looked up as the woman approached, her voice lowered once again as she explained, "Mr Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal."
The goblin, whom from a nearby identity plaque, Harry read to be named Barchoke, let out a soft ah before he leaned over his counter and, peering right into Harry's eyes, he asked in a rather baritone voice, "And does Mr Harry Potter have his key?"
"I have it right here," replied Minerva, but as soon as she said the word, Harry's neck prickled once again and, as he looked back for the briefest of moments, he noticed the entire bank had suddenly gone very still, the eyes of every goblin now on Harry and Minerva, which both amused and unnerved Harry.
Given what he'd noticed on a plaque near the main doors, Harry had good reason to be intimidated by the way the whole room had suddenly gone very quiet.
Flashback Start
Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware of finding more than treasure there.
Flashback End
Even in his dark mindset, Harry couldn't help but think, 'You'd have to be borderline insane to try and rob this place…no wonder they've all gone still since Minerva's made her mistake known.'
However, Harry then looked back as Minerva explained to the goblin named Barchoke, "I have done this at the request of Mr Potter's magical guardian, whom has carefully protected his key for ten years since the untimely deaths of Lord and Lady Potter."
"Whether or not that is true is insignificant, Madame," growled Barchoke, his eyes fixed on Minerva as he explained, "It is Mr Potter's vaults that wished to be accessed and so, by the laws set down by our chieftains and their predecessors, it is only Mr Potter that should hold his key!"
Something about the way that he seemed intent on defending the honour of Harry's treasures caught the young man's attention.
However, as the young wizard looked up at Minerva, he noticed that she seemed to have gone pale and shaky at the remarks made by Barchoke.
Gathering the courage he had tried to hold onto ever since walking into such a fortified place, Harry heaved a sigh before he asked, "May I have my key back now, Madame McGonagall? Something tells me it would be a foolish idea to try and insult the goblins further."
For a moment, Harry thought that he saw Barchoke's expression turn into a wolfish, almost-bloodthirsty smile before Minerva, sliding her hand into her pocket, slowly removed it from her coat once more, this time holding a small key, which she handed to Harry.
Once that was done, business in Gringotts seemed to return to normal, though Barchoke's expression was neutral as he looked back to Minerva.
"And now, Madame, if you would be so kind as to leave Gringotts and do not return, if only for the rest of the day at the soonest?" asked the goblin, his eyes fixed on the pale witch as he explained, "I will personally escort Mr Potter to his vault and assist him with matters concerning him, but your slur on our ways has earned you this one and only warning: next time, your possessions will be sealed and, if such matters are needed, steps will be taken to ensure you never set foot on Gringotts soil again."
"I…I will wait for Mr Potter outside, then," suggested Minerva, but when she turned and left, Harry sensed an opportunity.
Looking back to the respectable goblin, whom was now standing in front of him, his head equal with the bottom of Harry's ribcage, the young wizard coughed politely before he asked, "Barchoke, sir, would there be a way for me to leave Gringotts without passing her? I have things to do today and I'd rather not have people whom would prefer to think they can steal from me looking over my shoulder."
Surprisingly, Harry heard Barchoke laugh with a sense of dry, almost cold humour before he explained, "With all due respect, Future Lord Potter, do not be fooled into thinking we goblins are blind to the ways of wizards."
Narrowing his eyes, Harry watched as Barchoke pointed a single finger at him before he went on, "Your soul is stained by darkness that even we goblins realise would be foolish to ignore: therefore, using our security methods and rules, I managed to remove that woman from your side so that you could speak freely."
"Sneaky," muttered Harry, earning another wolfish smile from Barchoke as he indicated one of the nearest carts.
"Thank you, my young and future lord…shall we proceed to your vaults?"
"Vaults?" asked Harry curiously, a part of him almost amused by what he was hearing from this clearly-devoted aide. "But I thought I only had one?"
"You are Harry James Potter, First-born Son of Lily and James Potter, Last Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter and all tributaries therein," explained Barchoke, earning a bewildered, but interested look from Harry as he went on. "As well as a second accord we will discuss at a later time, when the coast is clear, it is my solemn duty to inform you that, according to the last will and testament set down by your Father, your full fortune status and rightful heritages are to be presented to you on this, the day of your eleventh birthday, in the event of their deaths and your dear Mother's wishes overlooked."
Once again, Harry was interested.
Not so much about his Mother's wishes – after all, she'd been related to the scum that the magical world called Muggles – but about everything else that he had heard.
While there was a part of him that sorely hoped that he wasn't about to make a mistake of his own, Harry swallowed lightly before he asked, "I hope that you will forgive my insolence to your customs and ways, Master Barchoke, but I am currently unaware of such wishes: might it be possible to see such copies and details of these arrangements myself?"
Once again, Barchoke gave Harry the same dry laugh he'd used before as he answered, "Lord Potter, as Overseer of the Fortunes of the Family of Potter and its tributaries, it is my solemn honour and privilege to oblige you of that request. Although the details are many, I guarantee you that you will not regret this."
"I hope you're right," muttered Harry, following Barchoke into the bank's depths while he was also amused and a little honoured by the way that this battle-hardened, strict-mannered warrior seemed to offer such commendable service to one as young as him.
As Barchoke led Harry towards what looked like an office that was just one of many located within Gringotts, the young wizard spared a moment to look back, a part of him wondering how long it would take the rough-edged Minerva McGonagall to realise she wouldn't see him again until his first day on September First.
At the same time, he was also a little amused, if not disgusted at the way that the woman had gone on almost-endlessly about Hogwarts and pride and honour and yet, when Harry asked her about things that mattered, she was quieter than Fraud during one of the less-favourable punishments that the dark scion had been forced to endure prior to becoming the king of his castle.
This wasn't someone Harry wanted to waste his time with, no matter how much the spiteful witch believed she might be helping Harry by keeping him in the dark.
No-one would keep him in the dark ever again!
That was a promise he'd swear in blood if he could.
Reaching the office Barchoke had led him to, Harry stepped inside with the goblin warrior by his side, both of them finding themselves in what looked like a plush, but official-looking chamber filled with shelves as well as racks and rails that held an array of trophies made up of battle victories and bloodstained weapons, each of which was stored like a badge of honour.
In the middle of these cases and shelves was a circular table, behind which Barchoke took one seat while he offered the other one to Harry, who calmly took his own seat before the goblin warrior reached over to one of the shelves.
As Harry watched, Barchoke retrieved what looked like a solid stone bowl along with a ceremonial dagger that seemed to be decorated with jewels from every walk of life.
Finally, Barchoke also removed a thin red file from one of the shelves, which he set down next to the bowl before he explained to Harry, "This basin is infused with Gringotts' own Blood Recognition Magic; a few drops spilled onto the enchanted masonry will present us with everything we need to give you the answers that you seek, Lord Potter."
"I…see," muttered Harry: the truth was that he didn't see, but he wasn't about to allow this goblin to see that, even if he did allow himself to show impartial respect and homage to the Dark Lord-in-Training.
Extending a hand to Barchoke, Harry winced, but only slightly, as the dagger that Barchoke retrieved cut itself deep into his skin, spilling blood into the basin; at the same time, as Harry scowled at the pain that he'd been forced to endure, he was a little surprised to notice that the wound had already healed by the time he had his hand back by his side.
"By the Ancestors," whispered Barchoke, earning a curious look from Harry as he explained, "Your magic is far stronger than you would seem to let it show itself to be, Lord Potter. Truly, it is now more than an honour to be of service to your household: it is an absolute privilege and a delight!"
As Harry hummed in unspoken agreement, his eyes remained on the red file next to the basin; as he watched, Harry raised an eyebrow as several pieces of parchment began to fill the file, one or two of which he could read as describing things called betrothal agreements and consent forms that were apparently signed and sealed with his Family's Crest.
Once the file had taken in the last piece, Harry reached over and grabbed the file before he pulled it back to himself.
Ignoring the details that filled the first few pages, Harry found himself drawn to the contracts and agreements that he had noticed filling the file.
Removing said parchments from the file, Harry slid the remains back across to Barchoke before he asked, "What would something like a betrothal contract be doing in a file such as mine?"
"If I had to guess," answered Barchoke, watching as Harry slowly leafed through each of the contracts – coincidentally, there were thirteen in total, each of which had Harry's glare hardening as he read the details involved in each of them – before he went on, "I would surmise your parents, prior to their deaths, or your magical guardian, whomever they may be, set up these contracts in the event of you being unable to fulfil your rightful duties and claim a future bride for your own."
"A future bride?" asked Harry, lifting his eyes to meet Barchoke's informative, but amused glance, "Mature, I may be, Master Barchoke, I am only eleven: I don't even know what love feels like, so what sick and twisted notions would I have for giving away something I never had to begin with?"
"It is an old custom of many Pure-blood Houses such as yours, Lord Potter," answered Barchoke, his words edged by his amusement at the young lord's dark soul and darker mentality. "As the only living heir, it is often a duty of yours to become betrothed in agreement to a potential household that was either agreed by your parents or, in the event of their deaths, your familial or magical guardians."
"And since my pets wouldn't notice if they crapped fire out of their asses before I made them fear me rather than cause me harm, I think it's safe to say that my parents aren't behind this either," reasoned Harry, his eyes narrowing as he then asked, "Who is my magical guardian, Barchoke?"
"Check the declaration at the bottom of the contracts, Lord Potter," suggested Barchoke, earning a bemused look from Harry as he looked back to the parchment.
As he did so, his eyes narrowed with a mix of suspicion and hatred as he read the name printed at the bottom of each of the thirteen contracts.
Albus Dumbledore!
Pressing his hand down on the small pile, Harry cleared his throat slightly before he asked, "Can they be undone?"
"By your will? Yes," answered Barchoke, noticing the air around the young lord rippling with his magic as he explained, "You are Lord Potter now, my young friend; even if they wanted to, these households can do nothing against your will. As for your magical guardian's claims to being such, I think that we can arrange a suitable punishment for falsifying claims without your official consent!"
"Amen to that, Master Barchoke," smirked Harry, his look making Barchoke think of a dragon circling a wounded prey as he went on. "I want each of these contracts nullified with full effect, effective immediately. If, and I mean if I am to choose a bride to share in my power and blood, then it will be my decision and no-one else's! Do you understand?"
"Of course," answered Barchoke, watching as the contracts suddenly burst into flame, undoubtedly by a mix of the lord's will and the power that he had inside of him. "I shall ensure that all dowry payments are returned to your vaults, Lord Potter, and, in light of this, what shall we do about Mr Dumbledore's claim to being your guardian?"
"What can we do?" asked Harry, lifting his head to meet Barchoke's gaze while the few remaining parchments Harry had pulled from the file rested under his clenched hand.
"That would depend on the message that you wish to send," explained Barchoke, his eyes shining with dark amusement as he told Harry, "For instance, and please keep in mind, my lord, this is merely a suggestion. But one of the ways you might send a message is to literally do that: send a missive to the parties affected and inform them of the falsehood. Once that's done, you may offer them a small fee as compensation from Albus Dumbledore's own fortunes to cover for any and all expenses involved, which, in this case, would be quite a tidy sum given the dowries offered."
Harry raised an eyebrow curiously before he asked, "And what about Dumbledore? Even I can guess he'll only try and stick his nose in my business again if he realises that I have become the Head of my Family."
"Then allow me to act in your stead, my Lord," insisted Barchoke, earning another curious look from Harry as he told him, "Assign me as your chief fortune liaison, both of which are as treasured and honourable a rank as Overseers in Gringotts. As long as you have my services, my lord, I would become equivalent to your vassal: any transactions that would affect any and all vaults and assets under your name would go through me and, of course, your will and decisions would be final and ironclad under goblin laws and rights!"
"And what?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowed as he asked, "I'm just supposed to hand this post over to you, Master Barchoke? How do I know that you won't betray me once you have full control of my wealth and power?"
"I'm going to pretend I did not just hear that slur on my honour, my Lord," growled Barchoke, earning a smirk from Harry.
Seeing the smirk, the goblin's eyes widened slightly before he cleared his throat as he asked, "Did…did you just…my lord, forgive me, but did you just test my resolve in service to you?"
"I told you that I was mature, but not an idiot," remarked Harry, earning a soft, but definitely-amused snigger from Barchoke before he explained in a calm, but respectable tone of voice, "I did not intend any offence, Master Barchoke, but as you might have already guessed, I have been used, abused, neglected, lied to and deceived for far too long and, as of this day, I'm officially saying never again! Therefore, if I must test the mettle and even the honour of those whom wish to be of use to me, then that is what I will do, but I will never be fooled as easily ever again."
"I understand perfectly, Lord Potter," agreed Barchoke, watching as Harry returned his attention to the parchments that he had left.
"Then take whatever measures you need and welcome to the new Family, Master Barchoke," Harry told the goblin, his eyes never leaving the parchment as he went on. "Now, these others mention transactional agreements that are definitely NOT by my will; therefore, am I right in assuming that, as my Overseer and Liaison, you can see to it that they're renounced as quickly as the contracts were?"
"With full effect, my Lord," answered Barchoke, before he hid a smile as he saw a sly look cross Harry's face, "Unless you have a plan?"
"You know what they say, Barchoke," answered Harry, lifting his head to meet those of the goblin warrior as he rapped twice on the desk with an amused smile on his face.
"When opportunity knocks…don't knock the opportunity!"
A long and complex second chapter filled with some of the usual tropes, but also a few surprises: now Harry has control of what rightfully belongs to him, what will he do with the opportunities presented to him?
Also, what could this other business be that Barchoke mentioned and why would it be safer to discuss it at a later date?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: After a long, dry summer of unknown and anticipations, Harry finally makes his way to Hogwarts where he makes more than a few impacts on one or two familiar faces: however, it is a meeting with a certain cold spirit that leaves Harry curious…and hungry to learn more;
Please Read and Review
AN: Portrayal
Barchoke: Peter Dinklage
