2: Weak No More

Disclaimer: I Don't own Harry Potter or Cradle of Filth or Dimmu Borgir. If anyone wants to know I have based Harry's attitude in this fic off of the character Mordred in the movie Merlin starring Sam Neil. Great movie, which I don't own.

ChAOtiC ReApEr's Joined Souls challenge. EVIL!Harry. HHr. Bashing.

I added the challenge rules to the end A/N of the first chapter for those who wanted to know about it.

ReApEr, I hope this is up to your expectations.

The Dawn of a Golden Age


I Am Atrocity

Chapter II: Weak No More

'My descent is the story of every man. I am hatred, darkness and despair.'

-The Serpentine Offering by Dimmu Borgir

"Now to Knockturn Alley."

Harry exited the house and walked out into the street. He could feel the wards around number 4 and needed to get beyond them. Once he reached the edge of the wards he took a moment to study them. "Dumbledore!" Harry wasn't sure who or what this 'Dumbledore' was but the word was accompanied by an image in his head of the old man with the long white beard.

Somehow he knew that if he dismantled these wards Dumbledore would be there in an instant to repair them and probably Obliviate him. This he could not allow, so he decided to leave the wards intact. Stepping passed the perimeter he concentrated and turned on the spot. He felt like he was being sucked through a straw at high speeds, and when he stopped he felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. He could also feel a drain on his magic, though it was slight.

Harry didn't even question the fact that he could use magic, it just seemed like second nature to do so. Like it was something he had been doing all his life. What was that?"Apparation." What's Apparation? "Think of it like teleportation." Harry nodded in understanding but now something else was bothering him. Who are you? And how am I able to do all of this? How do I even know how? The voice was quiet for a moment. "I am you, and you are me. For the sake of simplicity you may call me Tom. As for how you can do the things you have, you have always been able to do it. Or you would have if that bastard Dumbledore hadn't set a block on our magic. How do you know how to? Because I know how to. What you know, I know. What I know, you know. We now share a soul. We are one."

Harry considered what he had just been told. He shared a soul with someone? He was magical?Someone had blocked his magic! He may have only known about magic for a little under an hour but thanks to Tom's knowledge he knew that this was a serious offense. Tom? Is the block still there? "No, I took the liberty of breaking it while we were joining. That cold feeling you felt was your magic releasing into your veins. Magic is like blood, it flows through our bodies along the same routes as blood and without it we are nothing. If a wizard or witch loses their magic, they will die. Perhaps not right away or even for years after but they will. Because yours was blocked it was draining your strength, that coupled with your relatives' treatment of you was killing you much faster than normal. You were weak. But no more. Now we are strong. Together we are strong." Harry again thought about what he had just been told. But why would he block my magic if it would kill me? "That I do not know, perhaps he wanted you dead, or perhaps he simply wanted you weak and docile enough to be easily controlled. With the amount of information we have, which is near nothing, I can only speculate."

Okay, one more question. Why did you kill my parents?He could sense Tom thinking of a way to word his response."Their was a prophesy as you know...wait you already know the answers to all of this. Why are you asking me?Because I want to hear you say it. Harry answered him. "Very well, they stood between me and immortality."Harry nodded, You do realize that I can never forgive you for that? "Oh course, I wouldn't expect you to. Forgiveness is for the weak. And we are not weak. Turn left."

Harry looked up. He hadn't even realized that he had been walking down a dark, dingy alleyway. He turned as Tom had told him to and found himself in front of a rundown looking shop with a sign that read:

Draven's Wands

Est. 1376

Harry entered the shop and following Tom's instructions stepped up to the counter and rung the bell that sat there. Almost as soon as the bell's toll faded a tall man with cropped dark hair, though it was beginning to gray, and a goatee appeared from behind a shelf on the other side of the counter. "Can I help you lad?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

"I need a wand." Harry told him in a firm, even tone.

"Well, obviously, seeing as this is a wand shop." The man replied. Before Harry could speak he continued. "Give me a minute," With that he turned back to the shelves behind him.Tom, how am I to pay for the wand? "I'll take care of that when the time comes." Harry mentally nodded. The man, who Tom informed him was named Brom Draven, returned with a box in his hand. "Here, try this one."

Harry took the wand and waved it. The result was a bookcase exploding. He handed it back to Brom who shook his head and set the wand aside. He pulled another from the shelf behind him. The result was much the same. They went through countless wands, each ending in disaster. Mr. Draven was rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. He randomly reached behind him and grabbed the first box he felt. He handed the wand to Harry who took it. As soon as it touched his hand sparks shot from the end of it.

"Finally," Mr. Draven said with a sigh. "12ΒΌ inches, Ebony with an Acromantula hair. Hmm. That'll be seven galleons." Harry felt Tom take over his speech.

"Do you have Gringotts charge forms?" He asked.

Mr. Draven nodded and handed him a small slip of parchment. Harry filled in his information and pricked his finger for a drop of blood on the required section. With a pop the paper was gone. With that done Harry exited the shop and disapparated back to number 4.

The sight he beheld upon his arrival made his blood boil. They had not listened. His uncle was out in the driveway packing suitcases in the trunk of his car. When he caught sight of Harry watching him he froze. Harry walked up to him. "Get back in the house, Dursley," he told him in a threatening tone. Vernon didn't move.

"Now, you listen here freak, I'll not have you threatening my family. I say what goes around here, not you!" Vernon spat him.

"Really?" At Vernon's affirmative Harry pointed his newly acquired wand at him and, after quickly reviewing Tom's memories, muttered out a spell, "Imperio!" Vernon went glassy eyed and turned around and waddled back through the front door with Harry following him. Once he was across the threshold he closed the door and locked it. He then drew upon Tom's memories again and erected soundproofing wards. He had Vernon call Petunia and Dudley into the living room. Once they were all gathered he released the curse and entered the room. He looked right at Petunia. "You disobeyed me."

She tried to stutter out a denial but he was hearing none of it. "Silence," he pointed his wand at her, "Crucio!" She screamed and fell to the floor, where she writhed and screamed in absolute pain. "I said, 'Do not try to run, do not try to escape'. Did I not?" As he held Petunia under the torture curse Vernon and Dudley stood transfixed, their faces both showing signs of fear mingled with horror. Harry watched gleefully as his aunt thrashed about, tears running out of her eyes. Finally he lifted the curse. "Tsk tsk auntie, did you really think you could get away? Oh dear auntie, your crying. Are you okay? No? Good."

He then turned his wand on Vernon, "Now Uncle Vernon. You also tried to flee like the coward you are. I refuse to let this go unpunished. Crucio!" Harry said all of this in the mocking, cold yet eerily polite tone that he had used that morning. Vernon thrashed about and screamed louder than Petunia had. Harry felt an immense feeling of joy, here was the man who had beat and starved him since he was old enough to walk, and whereas Harry had always at his mercy before, he was now at the mercy of the vengeful, cruel demon he had created. He had no one to blame for his predicament but himself, and Harry would make sure he suffered for every minute he had lain shattered and broken in the cupboard. No amount of Cruciatus exposure would ever be enough to make up for never once feeling loved, for never being treated as more than a beast. Nothing could ever make up for the hell he had been subject to every day of his entire life. They wanted a beast, well they got one. And it isn't going to bow down to filth such as them.

When he was satisfied that his uncle had learned his lesson for the day he turned his wand on Dudley. "Now Ickle Diddykins, what should we do with you. Should I kill you? Torture you just like your parents? Torture you then kill you?" He tapped his wand against his chin in thought, "Decisions, decisions."


A/N: Well there's chapter 2. Should Dudley live or die? You decide. Review if you want. No Flames.