Summary: At six years old Harry Potter becomes the heir to a Somali Warlord. This story follows his life from six to sixteen years of age as he grows up in a country ripped apart by war before being dragged into the one waged against Voldemort. AU – eventual slash HPDM – dark!Harry

Disclaimer: If I owned the HP universe, I would currently be vacationing in Fiji with Tom Felton. Sadly, I am but a poor student that worships JK Rowling

A/N: I will be incorporating as much of Somalia's real timeline as I can. Anything having to do with Idris and his regime will be fictional, but highly based on fact. I will be tweaking the Somalis' reaction to homosexuality and magic, both of which currently garner a death sentence.

Lastly, thank you so much to Mou'Ikka for correcting my usage of Somali.

"Somali"
"Arabic"
'Thoughts'
//Parseltongue//

Timeline

1979 – Idris Nasri Abri becomes a Warlord in Mogadishu.
1985 – Idris' family is killed.
1986 – Revolution begins in Somalia; Harry leaves Little Whinging with Idris.
1989 – President Mohamed Siad Barre orders a civilian massacre in Mogadishu.
1991 – Barre overthrown; revolution ends; civil war begins.
1992 – Operation Restore Hope launched.
1993 – Voldemort regains his body via an enchanted journal; Ma-alinti Rangers (the Battle of Mogadishu)
1996 – Harry goes to Hogwarts.

May 1986

Harry didn't know what was going on. The night before he had finished washing the dishes from dinner, after having gobbled what food there was left over, when his uncle came blustering in ranting about finally getting rid of him. Before he knew what was happening, he was forcefully shoved out of the house and into the hands of these strange men. After a silent car ride he was ushered into a very expensive hotel and ended up sleeping in a suite with the man with a scar across his face. He had been woken up and dressed in his hand-me-downs that he had worn the day before and after a quiet breakfast found himself guided back into the limousine.

He wanted to ask where they were going, but he had learned to not ask any questions; they usually led to very painful results and no answers. Instead, he stared out the windows and watched the largest buildings he had ever seen pass by. One right after another, buildings were butted up against each other, each a different color and covered with windows. He thought it was a beautiful mosaic. Numerous cars lined the streets and Harry couldn't help but press his nose up against the window when a large red double-decker bus drove by.

And the people! They were all over the streets! People of all shapes and sizes were carrying bags and chatting with each other. Harry watched as they drove by a group of teenagers with colorful hair, including one that had his hair standing straight up from his head. People were smiling and laughing with each other as they walked along the streets. Harry couldn't help but wonder who these people were and where they were going.

He hesitated and then decided to test the waters. Vernon hadn't allowed any questions, but maybe these men would. "Umm… where are we?" he asked the man with the scar across his face, 'Idris' he remembered.

The man smiled at him and Harry found himself relaxing, "We're in London. We are going to get you some clothing before we finish our errands."

Harry stared at him, "Clothes? You want to buy me clothes? My own?" He flinched as he saw a hard glint enter the man's eyes.

Idris' eyes narrowed and then softened when he saw Harry recoil. "Yes, your own clothing. You're not going to wear your cousin's clothing ever again."

Harry's eyes lit up in excitement as he looked back out the window. He was in London and he was going to get his own clothes!

Idris sighed as he watched Harry being measured by the clothier. He knew that Harry had been mistreated and personally knew what it was like to grow up in a harsh environment, but seeing the child's reactions had been difficult to handle. While most children his age would be asking endless questions, yammering on about anything and everything, Harry said very little. He spoke when spoken to, but had only once said anything without prompting. If someone made any sudden moves or looked angry in any way he would recoil as if preparing to be struck.

Idris knew that he had his work cut out for him. He wanted to pull this green-eyed child out of his shell and didn't quite know how to go about it. His own son had been very outspoken. He figured that patience and reassurance was probably the best way to go and prepared himself for the long haul.

"Sir?" the clothier interrupted his thoughts. "We are done with the measurements. What clothes do you want for the child?"

Idris thought for a moment about what would be needed for the next couple of days. They only needed enough clothing to last until his seamstresses at the manor were able to make more clothing for Harry.

"I think four pairs of slacks, two khaki, one wool and one linen, both black. We need matching shirts, four again. I think green and black. One silk and one cotton in each color. Six pairs underwear and six pairs of socks. We also need a set of pyjamas." After looking at Harry's feet Idris continued, "Do you have shoes by chance?"

The clothier finished writing down the instructions and looked back up at Idris. "Yes, sir. Would you like for me to retrieve someone for you?"

"Yes, please."

The clothier stepped out of the room and Idris turned to Harry who was sitting on the sofa next to him. "How are you feeling Harry?"

The boy looked up at him with wide green eyes before stuttering out an answer, "S-strange, sir."

Idris smiled. "What do you find strange, child?"

Harry furrowed his brows in thought before answering his question, obviously hesitant to say anything. "Umm… well the man is weird," he said as gesturing to the door the clothier had exited through. Idris let out a low chuckle which startled the boy.

"I have to agree with you," Idris said, trying to draw the child further into the conversation.

Buoyed by the response Harry continued, "He put that measure thing everywhere. Why did he do that?"

"Well," Idris began, "We needed all your measurements for the clothes. We have to make sure they fit you properly before you wear them. The clothes you have on are hideously large."

Harry looked at him strangely, "I never had fitting clothes. My Aunt gave me Dudley's. She said it was a waste of money to get me clothes."

Idris stifled his urge to glare. He hoped that the Dursleys defaulted on their loan to him. He would take great pleasure in taking the money out of their hides.

Harry looked like he was about to say something else but another man entered the room.

"Hello, my name is Angelo. I was told that you need some shoes?"

"Yes," Idris replied. "Harry here needs some shoes that fit properly. I think a pair of trainers and some black dress shoes will do."

Angelo nodded before turning to Harry. "It is nice to meet you Harry. Is it all right if I measure your feet?"

Harry looked incredulous, "More measure? What else is to measure?"

Both Angelo and Idris couldn't help but laugh and even a couple of the guards stationed around the room let out a quiet chuckle.

"I assure you, little sir, that there is always more to measure." Angelo knelt down and took one of Harry's feet in his hands, dutifully ignoring the state of his shoes. They were Dudley's old trainers. They had originally been white, but now they were grey and brown and the soles were close to falling completely off. Angelo removed both shoes, obviously intent on burning them as soon as he could before he began measuring Harry's bare feet.

'Yes, we definitely need to get him some socks,' Idris thought, another flare of anger flowing through him. 'How can someone treat their own family like this?'

"Hey! That tickles!" Harry exclaimed between giggles. Angelo couldn't help but attack his feet at this remark and Harry burst into full out laughter. "Stop! Stop! I give!"

Idris smiled. He was glad that the Dursleys hadn't been able to fully break the boy yet. 'Maybe it won't take as long as I thought.'

After another half hour the group left the shop, Harry having hugged both the clothier and Angelo, much to their amusement. They had obviously enjoyed dressing the boy up. He was wearing black wool pants and a green silk shirt that matched his eyes. Angelo had fun putting all sorts of different shoes on Harry's feet causing a never ending stream of giggles.

Harry hesitantly looked up at Idris and said in a small voice, "Thank you, sir."

Idris smiled down at the child, "You're welcome, Harry."

After several more days and a million more stops, Harry was ushered onto a plane at a large airport. He had heard of planes before but had never seen one. Some of them were huge! He couldn't understand just how they stayed up in the air. It must've been so heavy.

They walked out of one of the terminals and entered a fairly small plane. The interior was gorgeous and there were about a dozen seats in all. The flight attendant smiled at him and sat him down near the back between the window and Idris. She asked if he wanted any juice before take off but he declined and waited for the plane to move, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement. Every once in a while he would glance at Idris who was watching him and smiling.

Finally the plane taxied out and took off. Harry found it completely exhilarating. He didn't expect the sheer amount of force that pressed him into his seat and was amazed by how fast they were going.

He watched out the window as the ground moved away from them, the buildings getting smaller and smaller until they looked as large as ants. Harry couldn't believe how large London was. It looked like it went on forever!

"Is that all London?" he asked Idris, bouncing in his seat and staring out the window.

"Yes, it is," Idris answered, his amusement obvious in his voice.

Soon the city gave way to farm land and Harry found himself drifting off to sleep.

Harry startled when a pair of hands were shaking him out of his sleep. He looked up with wide eyes to see Idris leaning over him, his scar shining in the low light of the plane.

"Morning, sleepy head. We've arrived in Mogadishu," Idris said, smiling.

Harry shook himself out of his slumber and followed Idris up the aisle, pausing to thank the flight attendant who couldn't help but smile at the polite boy.

As he climbed down the steps onto the runway, Harry glanced around at the 'airport'. His eyes widened at how different it was from the airport in London. There was no terminal to be seen, only a runway. The airstrip was surrounded by barren land, dotted by occasional brush and debris. In front of him was a line of vehicles. There were trucks at the front and back with men standing in the beds with heavy artillery. In the middle were several black armoured cars. Harry found himself ushered into one of the cars in the center and scooted across the seat to the far side. Idris climbed in behind him, settling down in the seat next to him. Across from them were two men with rather large guns in their laps.

After a few minutes wait the car turned on and they took off. It seemed like forever to Harry before they started encountering buildings; or rather, what was left of buildings. Harry scooted up next to the window to get a better view. One out of every three or four buildings seemed to be standing, and it usually had its windows blown out. Most of the buildings were in ruins, a wall standing here and there surrounded by grey rubble. The further they got into what Harry figured was a city, the more destruction there was. Fewer and fewer buildings were still standing with a few outcroppings of houses.

Very few people were on the street and those who were, were either engaged in gunfire or dead. Harry couldn't help but stare at the people in various states of decay. There were men, women and children, some looking like they had been torn apart by wild dogs with arms, legs, and in one case, half their face missing.

He saw one man lying in the street with his arm and one boot missing. He wondered what could have happened to the boot. Why would anyone want a single boot? As they drove further down the street he saw a group of people shooting at each other. He looked at the men, wondering why some of them had shaved heads and others wore long hair. One man was even wearing a garish floral shirt. Harry couldn't help but stare as a red stain spread across the shirt, blood blotting out the flowers. The man fell and was completely ignored by his comrades. Harry found it interesting that this man was also missing his shoes.

"What are you thinking, Harry?"

He looked at Idris and tried to determine what he should say. He furrowed his brows before answering, "I don't know, sir. This is confusing."

Idris laughed and smiled down at Harry, "I'm sure it is. I'll explain everything when we get to my manor."

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Harry observing the dead and wondering what had happened to kill so many people, and why were they still lying in the streets. Where were their families? And why didn't any of them have shoes?

Soon they pulled up to a gate, the only entrance into a compound that was surrounded by solid concrete. Some more men armed with guns stood at the gate and checked the cars before they were allowed in. They drove up a long driveway, finally reaching the largest house Harry had ever seen. It was a dirty white color and looked like it had been fashioned after the Romans with its columns and statues.

Idris ushered Harry out of the armoured car and up into the manor, leading him down spectacular gilded hallways with numerous paintings and sculptures. He was lead through a door into what looked like a study before being sat down on a plush red sofa. Idris gestured for their guards to stand outside the door before shutting it and sitting down in a matching armchair across from him.

"So," Idris began, "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here?" He paused, waiting for Harry's nod before continuing, "Several months ago there was an attack that ended up killing both my wife and my only son. It was set up by another Warlord and was actually meant to target me. We were at the airport when a person ran up to us and triggered a bomb that he had strapped to his body. I was thrown back and caught shrapnel across my face," he paused and ran a finger down the scar across the bridge of his nose and cheek. "Unfortunately, my wife and son were not that lucky. They caught the brunt of the explosion. My son died instantly, thankfully, but my wife ended up dying several hours later."

Harry began hesitantly. "My parents died in a car accident. I was one. I lived. They didn't. I got this scar," he raised his fringe, showing the lightning bolt scar that marred his forehead. He was surprised when this brought a smile to Idris' face.

"I guess we're more alike then I had originally imagined. But enough of this melancholy stuff. The past is the past. I was going to explain to you why I took you from your Aunt and Uncle's." Idris stood and poured himself a glass of what Harry recognised as Remy Martin X.O., the one bottle he was not allowed to touch because his Uncle said that he couldn't trust him with something so expensive. "You remind me of myself when I was young. I had a very tough childhood and I feel a certain sort of kinship with you. Because of this, I decided to bring you here and raise you as my heir, my son."

Harry's eyes widened at this statement. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting him like that, "What you want with me? I'm worthless!" He was startled when Idris began to growl.

"You are not worthless and you will never say such a thing again, understood?" He waited for Harry's nod before continuing, "I want to raise you as my son and heir, if you are willing."

Harry sat for a few minutes, thinking about what Idris wanted. This man had been incredibly kind to him; far nicer than anyone had ever been before. He had taken him away from his abusive relatives, clothed him in the nicest clothes Harry had ever seen, and fed him. For the first time in his life he knew what it was like to be comfortable, well rested and full. He wanted to thank this man in whatever way he could and if he wanted him as a son, then so be it.

A small smile spread across Harry's face as he looked back up at Idris, "Yes, sir. I want to stay here. With you. If you want me, I'll be your son."

Idris smiled brilliantly, "Well then! You can just call me aabbe, that means father in Somali. I will talk to you more about the expectations I have of you and the tuition you will have here in the morning. For now, you need to go to bed."

After motioning for Harry to stay seated, Idris stood up to open the door and spoke to one of the guards in a rapid language Harry did not recognise. When he reentered the room he was followed by two men in black military clothing and large guns strapped to their backs.

"Harry, I would like you to meet Asad and Roble. They will be your personal guard. You will not go anywhere without one of them if not both."

Harry looked at the men, trying to memorise their faces, "Nice to meet you." Asad was a tall, thin man with features that spoke of both African and Arabian decent. His brown eyes were wide set and he had a sharp nose and chin. His café au lait skin was smooth, belying his profession.

In contrast, Roble was shorter and thicker. He had a round face with wide nose and lips. His skin and eyes were almost midnight black. Harry hadn't known a person could get so dark. Both men had their heads shaved and while they exuded danger, Harry felt strangely comfortable around them.

Harry's attention was drawn back to Idris when he continued speaking, "Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

Harry couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes, "I get my own room?"

He flinched at the sharp glint that sparked in Idris' eyes but relaxed when he softened with a smile. "Harry, you will never want for anything here. Not food, not clothing. Nothing."

He turned and led Harry out of the room and down another lavishly decorated hall while the guards trailed behind. The halls seemed endless and he was hopelessly lost by the time Idris stopped in front of a large set of double doors.

"I will never find my way out!" Harry exclaimed before flinching, expecting to get hit for his outburst. His was shocked when instead of a hand, he heard Idris laugh.

"Don't worry, maandhow wiilkeyga, Asad and Roble know their way around." He opened the doors and stepped into a room that must have been as large as the Dursleys' entire house. Harry's eyes were wide as he took in the luxurious room and the overly large bed. He was brought out of his daze by Idris.

"You will be rising at six every morning. Ayann will be waking you until your body adjusts to the schedule. She will be attending your needs when they arise. You are to bathe every morning and evening. Breakfast will be at half past six in the dining room. We don't have many clothes for you yet, but what we do have is in the dresser over there. You are to dress appropriately dependent on what we are doing that day. Ayann will assist you in choosing what to wear until you become familiar with our sartorial customs. For tonight, you will wear the pyjamas in the second draw. Any questions?"

Harry shook his head, still dazed by the opulent surroundings.

"Very good. Tonight, don't worry about bathing. It is late and I'm sure you are very tired. Either Asad or Roble will be stationed outside your room at all times so if you need anything, let one of them know. Have a good night, Harry."

Harry shook himself out of his daze and threw his arms around Idris, "Goodnight, Aabbe."

Idris was momentarily shocked before raising his arms hesitantly and wrapping them around Harry briefly. Uncomfortable with the contact, he quickly untangled himself from the child and left the room, giving rapid instructions to the guards in an unknown language.

When the doors shut, Harry walked over to the dresser and changed into his pyjamas before hesitating at the edge of the bed. He had never had his own bed before, well unless you counted the thin mattress on the floor in the cupboard as a bed. He was afraid of messing the gorgeous bed up. It was done up with a huge downy comforter and pillows. As he climbed on the squishy bed he wondered if the bed was going to suffocate him, it was so fluffy. He burrowed down under the sheets, surrounding himself with pillows and fell asleep smiling.

Harry was in the middle of a wonderful dream. He was surrounded by a bunch of people he had been playing with before one small boy looked at him and said in a rather feminine voice, "Farsameeye Yar, it's time to wake up." He looked at the boy strangely. "Farsameeye Yar, it is morning. You need bathe before breakfast."

Harry started to stir, wondering why his aunt would be talking about bathing before breakfast, he always cooked for them first, and why she suddenly had a thick rolling accent. As he came back to consciousness, he noticed that he wasn't on a hard mattress and was instead very warm and surrounded by a comforter. Confused, he opened his eyes to see a woman standing ar the edge of the bed.

She smiled at him again. "Good morning Farsameeye Yar, my name is Ayann. I am your… adeegto" she trailed off, struggling to find the right word in English, "I think maid in English?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and looked for his glasses. He put them on and looked at the woman sitting next to the bed. She had a warm smile on her thin, mocha colored face. She was covered from neck to toe in a loose dress and a scarf was tied around her head and neck. The only parts of her that were visible were her face and finger tips. He sat up and looked at the strange woman, very confused.

"What did you call me?" He asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Farsameeye Yar," she said. "'Master Little' in Somali. I have bath draw. Please follow."

Harry rose obediently, following her across the room through a door he had not noticed the night before. He walked in behind her and his eyes widened as he saw the size of the bathroom. It was easily the size of the Dursleys' master bedroom. It was tiled floor to ceiling with white tiles with an occasional green tile thrown in. There was a door on the far side of the room with a lavish sink next to it. Other than that, the majority of the room was taken up with a huge bath. It was made out of green porcelain that matched the tiles and was full with sudsy water.

Ayann was standing at the side of the tub her arms folded. They stared at each other for a few minutes before she smiled and broke the silence.

"Not get in?" She asked, her voice rich with an accent.

Harry stared at her in shock, "You want me naked in front of you??"

"Yes," she replied, looking quite confused. "How else I bathe you?"

Harry's hands came up in front of him and he stepped back, as if to ward her off, "Bathe me?! Why bathe me?"

"I don't understand. I say it wrong? You get in the tub so I wash you." She made the motion of scrubbing with her hands and the wash cloth she was holding, trying to get her point across.

Harry shook his head at her, "Why?"

She looked at him, her brows furrowed. "Because I must. In bath, please," she gestured to the tub, her English obviously beginning to break down.

Harry looked at her warily. He knew he had to take a bath before breakfast and obviously he couldn't get rid of her, so he had the choice of either upsetting Idris or taking the bath. The man had been so nice to him and Harry didn't want to disappoint him.

He turned around before stripping, trying to pretend she wasn't there. By the time he got into the tub his entire body was flush in embarrassment. He relaxed when he felt the hot water. It felt so good! His aunt had never allowed him to use the hot water when he showered, saying it was a waste. He didn't know a bath could feel this good. He was startled out of his pleasurable trance and his blush deepened as Ayann started running a wash cloth over him. He shut his eyes tightly trying to pretend it wasn't happening. He had never been touched this much in his life, or at least the part he could remember.

Thankfully the woman was very efficient and he soon found himself led out of the tub and toweled off, never having opened his eyes. Ayann led him back into his room over to a chair where she had laid out a pair of slacks and a black button up shirt. He jumped and opened his eyes when she started dressing him and was incredibly grateful when the whole ordeal was over. He had never been that exposed to someone before.

He was sat down in front of a mirror and Ayann took a brush to his hair. The battle was almost violent as she did her best to tame his wild black locks, but in the end the hair was victorious. She threw her hands up, muttering something in a language Harry recognised as the one Idris had been speaking the night before. She kept grumbling to herself as she tidied him up and eventually stood in front of him.

"You are handsome! Time go," she led him out of his bedroom where Asad and Roble were waiting.

"Good morning Farsameeye Yar. Did you sleep well?" The thick set man asked. 'Roble', he remembered.

He nodded and looked down, still flushed with embarrassment. His guards led him down a series of hallways before ushering him into a room with a long table and several chairs. At the end of it Idris sat, nursing a drink.

Harry sat down next to Idris, looking at the table and attempting to sit up straight. He might be embarrassed but he didn't want to give Idris a reason to send him back.

"Good morning Harry, why are you so flushed?"

Harry glanced up at him and flushed deeper before mumbling out a response.

"You will always speak clearly Harry. Mumbling is not allowed," Idris rebuked gently.

After sitting up straighter and clearing his throat Harry responded, "I have never been washed before."

If possible, he turned redder as Idris laughed. "You'll get used to it, I promise. While we are alone it is fine to skip any titles, but in front of other people you are to call me either sir, Aabbe, or Father. You will learn when it is appropriate to use which one." After Harry nodded he signaled a man in a crisp suit by the door and soon food was brought to the table.

There were a variety of dishes that Harry almost recognised except for a few minor differences. Idris took the time to point out each dish and tell him the name for it. One plate had what looked like pancakes, but they were thinner and lighter in color. Idris called them 'canjeero'. The bowl with what looked like porridge was 'mishaari' and the dish of eggs with onion, tomatoes and some sort of meat was 'shakshuka'. Harry later found out that it was actually goat meat.

After dishing up some of the food, Idris spoke, "I wanted to take this time to tell you what you'll be doing here in the next year."

Harry's ears perked up and he listened to his aabbe very hard.

Idris smiled at him and continued, "As I told you last night, every morning you will rise at six and bathe before meeting me here, in the dining room for breakfast. After we break fast, you will proceed to the library where you will learn our languages. You will first learn Somali and once you master that you will move onto Arabic. For each language you will be given a week to learn the basics. After that everyone will be instructed to only speak in that language. It is easiest to learn a new tongue by immersion than anything else.

"After language lessons, you will come back to this room for lunch with me at noon before proceeding to your other lessons. These lessons will be in various places depending on the subject you are covering that day. You will be learning maths, literature, business, politics and culture. After that you will be going to the formal dining hall for dinner at five. We will often have guests during dinner so you will be expected to dress formally. After dinner you will be spending time with me until bed at nine. When you master both Somali and Arabic your language lessons will be replaced with martial arts lessons. Do you have any questions?"

Harry hesitated and started to mumble something before clearing his throat and beginning again, "What will we do at night?"

Idris smiled, grateful for the fact that Harry was so amenable despite what happened to make him this way. "You and I will do various things. We'll talk, play games, read, watch movies, whatever you want to do. It is time for the two of us to spend together."

Harry smiled back, "I would like that, Aabbe."

Idris' smile widened at the endearment and they finished their breakfast in silence. After all the dishes had been cleared away he stood and spoke again.

"Today you will be spending the entire time learning Somali. It is imperative that you learn it quickly so try your best to get all the basics down. Tomorrow you will start the rest of your tuition."

Harry nodded eagerly; he really wanted to impress the man that had been so kind to him. "Yes, Aabbe. I will do my best."

"I'm sure you will, maandhow wiilkeyga." Idris ruffled Harry's hair, wondering why Ayann hadn't brushed it. He would have to speak with her.

Harry bounded away enthusiastically, following Roble to the library as Asad walked behind him. He really wanted to make his father proud and was eager to begin.

Aabbe: Father

Maandhow wiilkeyga: Son; used when speaking to the son. Pronounced 'Maandow Wheelkayga'.

Asad: African name; lion.

Roble: African name; born during the rains or rainy season.

Ayann: African name; beautiful blossom.

Farsameeye Yar: Little Master

Adeegto: Maid