A/N: I own nothing. As always Read and Review.
Chapter 2. Freedom by his own hand
Four days.
That was as long as he could last.
A measly, pathetic, unfortunate four days before he found himself clouded by fury and rage, his malevolence leaking out of him as his green eyes were now a burning red, pupils constricted until they seemed virtually nonexistent. The paleness of his skin added to the monstrous sight as his hair was pulled by the wind around them. His face remained as indifferent as ever, devoid of the slightest hint of emotion, well any emotion outside of unbridled fury. Harry was standing over the form of his engorged cousin. The boy was struggling to breath as Harrys power reacted intrinsically, gripping his throat with unseen hands, pinning him to the ground.
This wouldn't have been necessary, had the fat boy kept to himself and minded his business. This could have been avoided had the disgusting muggle had the forethought to question the different Harry that had walked through the front doors, his lack of reaction, and his emotionless face. The change in him was apparent to the other two, apparent enough that when his green eyes fell on Vernon, for some reason the bovine would immediately decide it was time to leave the room. Harry was clueless as to the cause, but it was a benefit even if unexpected. The chores had come very lightly, leaving him time to delve into his machinations. He continued to read, perusing books for any useful information regarding his current dilemma. Unable to use his magic, he found himself feverishly pouring through the books he had managed to pilfer from the school, of course after dispelling them and removing the tracking charms tied to them. He was searching for a means to use his magic freely.
The old mind had once theorized that the Ministry tracked the use of underage magic via the wand, that there was some kind of protean charm tied in to it that would alert them when magic was used by any underage wizard, and that was the lead he was pursuing. He was fairly confident though, that pureblooded wizards benefited from their status and weren't subject to the same rules, or if they were, their lineage gave the credence to be overlooked. As he read he had come to a frank though expected conclusion. He would have to find a way out sooner than later as he wasn't sure what the consequences would be should he use his magic freely. Subconsciously he had taken to carrying the fake Moody's wand he had pocketed during the mess that was the end of the Triwizard Tournament. It was quite easy actually, as he had simply kept it up his sleeve prior to the questioning. The temporary wand he had acquired was tucked in to his trunk.
Crouch Jr's wand had yet to be used, but as fortune would favor, he was going to have the opportunity to test his theory sooner than he expected. The past three days passed by rather unexcitingly, the only points of interest being his plan making and diligent note taking. He had realized that his minds were finding more cohesion as the two become one. It made his thoughts more precise, pristine, gave him clarity and renewed his reasoning and intellectual ability, his renewed logic also gave him his insight into that lingering cruelty, the utter disgust and contempt he felt towards his proposed family, though he did have moments when he felt like one person housing two. The surreal quality would have him delving in to thoughts that the young mind would never had posed, but everything, nearly everything orbited around the prospect and reality of power, It was so tantalizing at times that he would reason that killing the Dursley's was a suitable option to allow him freedom from the muggle hell, their deaths wouldn't be missed, he would be doing the world a favor. He even contemplated lowering himself to muggle means; the thought of blood had no effect on him, it simply meant that his quarry felt the pain he wished them to, though he wouldn't pursue that option, owing to the inevitable mess. In those fleeting moments, he would find himself falling prey to thoughts the young mind had never considered but accepted as part of himself. With each day that passed, he found his patience stretched, whittled down, worn thin.
He was a walking bomb of malevolence and pain. His searching had done him no good. He would catch himself staring through his window, every now and then looking to his owl, in the moments he wasn't immersing himself in his self-inflicted studies. The creature had taken to nipping at his fingers anytime he attempted to release it. He was fairly sure the owl could sense the change that had occurred. Perhaps it was the magical bond they once shared as master and familiar? The bond was most likely cut at the onset of the merger; meaning to him, regardless of his past feelings for the creature, Hedwig was nothing more than a simple owl. He would have to find a new familiar…The last time Hedwig nipped his finger, he found himself staring down at the creature, wand in hand pointed at the infernal animal. He had no patience for it…having disregarded sentimentality and attempting to besmirch his humanity, he resolved that although the owl had held some importance, it no longer served his needs as it would no longer serve him willingly.
The wand tip began to glow a faint green, deepening in hue as all his intent was based on those two words he found came to him so naturally. He was so tempted, his eyes narrowing as he felt his magic slipping again. It would be so easy to take his patience out on the bird. The wand tip grew brighter still, his face an emotionless mask, his heart beating faster, and his eyes slowly changing color. He couldn't deny that he felt an odd sense of excitement, the adrenaline slowly pumping. His empty hand closed into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white as the magic reached a crescendo. With a faint grunt, he dropped his arm; the bird wasn't worth dealing with the ministry. He breathed a touch harder than normal, staring at the oversized winged rodent. He twirled Barty's wand absentmindedly, 'really, I should just call it mine' he thought as he slid it back it into his pants pocket.
Knowing his patience was running thin, he turned around, and bent at his waist grabbed a pair of shoes and decided that regardless of how menial it was, he would venture outdoors. Despite his desire to further disassociate himself from the muggle world, he was forced to put on the tattered hand me downs before slipping on the oversized trainers, lacing them, and making his way down the stairs and out of the front door.
The summer's unusually high heat assaulted him immediately; his only reaction was a slight grimace as he looked up and down Little Whinging. He blinked a long exaggerated blink before stepping forward and idly exiting the front yard, closing the gate as he did. Walking, it was of course against his new character, but he found it expeditious to clearing his mind and enabling his thinking process. It was a habit formed by the young one, a bleak and menial habit that was only suited for the filth that needed to be scourged from his world. It was a disgusting routine that the old mind did not and would not accept, the feeling leaking into the young ones thoughts; though as of late, the thoughts were getting harder to distinguish which entity thought what, which meant that the merger was completing itself. The practice, he realized was below a person like himself. A practice he would eventually break, but being cordoned off in that room, in that house, his mind was left with very little ability to maintain his silent and meek, Harry Potter charade whilst planning an escape that he was having very little success in formulating.
His feet were on autopilot as he began walking, the streets were pretty much empty, though that wasn't surprising, considering the heat. A kilometer and a half or so away from the house he made his way past a park, stopping as he caught sight of his cousin, the magnanimous serial bully. Per norm, the lummox was at it again, poking and prodding a smaller muggle than he. Despite his new disposition, he knew the fat one was nothing more than a simpering coward that wouldn't even have a place in Hufflepuff; a pretentious pretender that hid behind his size and number of people in his group. He had no qualms with the actions themselves, he simply didn't agree with the boy's delivery. Subterfuge, cloak and dagger, secrecy, all those were honorable in their own right, even sheer force against a worthy opponent, but to use excess force on something so much weaker than himself…"Coward." He spat. Dudley was a perfect example of why this filth didn't deserve to exist side by side with their betters, wizards and witches. During his internal diatribe the sky had dimmed as unseasonably dark clouds rolled in, blocking the glaring gaze of the sun as the world around him instantly cooled, giving them a reprieve from the baking light. Harry could feel goosebumps rising on his arms as a strange chill took the day; he chanced a glance at the sky before noticing that the boys finished their torment of the young child. He shook his head in mild disgust, turning to walk back home. He wanted nothing to do with the coming summer storm, though that desire was cut short as he heard his name called. He turned to the speaker, watching Dudley and his cohorts cross the park and approach him. Luckily this area was slightly underdeveloped, leaving a field peppered by alcoves of high bushes and shrubs around the park and a few pathways that led to the streets around it.
"Oi, Potter!" Dudley yelled out as they reached him.
Dudley had yet to learn the consequences of crossing a true wizard, since having a tail removed wasn't enough.
"What are you doing here freak?" Dudley continued, his friends laughing as he spoke. Harry on the other hand eyed the group, his face devoid of any semblance of a reaction. He maintained the passive visage, his eyes portraying his clearly contrived disdain.
"What freak, you don't talk anymore eh? Cat got your tongue?" Dudley continued.
"You should answer your betters when you're spoken to." One of Dudley's friends said, 'Pierce' Harry thought 'No, Piers.' He corrected himself as he turned his deep emerald gaze to the boy.
"My betters?" Harry questioned.
"That's right, your betters Potter." Another of Dudley's friends chimed in, though this one didn't register in Harry's memory, though it didn't matter as he pushed that to the side.
'How simple is this diatribe?' Harry thought to himself. "Let me know when you find these betters, because I am fairly certain it's none of you." He replied, nonplussed by the idle offenses.
"Watch how you talk to us Potter, I can make your life miserable." Dudley replied.
"Is that so Dudley? What are you going to do? Call your fat daddy; tell him when he gets home, explain to him how truly pathetic you are, so pathetic you can only pick on children younger and smaller than you? Or are you going to go home and tell the horse faced giraffe necked mother of yours; or maybe wobble home and cry into her shoulder whilst she tries to console her ickle Dudders, the gelatinous womble." Harry replied, easily knowing how to push the fat boy's buttons. Since he had heard his name called, he was very aware of the coming altercation. He couldn't lie, he had been hoping for a way to release his pent up frustration, his encumbered anger; a chance to revel and escape this lackluster monotony, even if this foolish and brash altercation was a decidedly un-Slytherin action. The argument could be made that it was in fact very Slytherin, bating the boy for his own nefarious purposes.
Dudley's face had begun to grow red with patches of puce. His friends were actually surprised by Harry's reaction. The kid generally ran from a fight, and that would be when they gave chase. Regardless, they had fallen completely silent waiting for their leader's direction.
"I don't need to tell my mum or dad, I can handle you by myself Potter." He paused for a second "But…at least I have parents to tell Potter. Where are yours, eh? Where are they? He smiled ruthlessly and looked around at his friends who were all laughing at the pointed jabs.
"They're dead!" he continued with force. "Poor little Harry Potter, no mum, no dad because the drunks got themselves killed in an accident." His friends were all truly laughing now as if there wasn't anything wrong. Harry though noted that Dudley hadn't been told the truth or forgot it, that information was filed and stored away for future purposes. Only Piers noticed the change in Harry's immediate area. The winds had stilled, though only around them, a strange void of silence slowly took hold as the hub bub of life seemed to be filtered away, relegating them to auditory nothingness.
"Hey Dud, we should get going, it looks like it's going to start raining soon." Piers spoke, his voice audibly captured by a hint of fear.
Dudley turned to look at his friends "You guys can go; I can handle this scrawny git."
"Ok, then bruv we'll see you tomorrow." He said as he turned and began to walk away with his friends.
Once they were out of sight Dudley focused on Harry once again. "Are you sad Po-" He was stopped as Harry drew his wand, his eyes falling to it instantly. "What are you going to do with that?" His voice quivering ever so slightly, his pathetic attempt to maintain his bravado around Harry simply served to anger the boy even more. .
"Does it scare you Dursley?" Harry said, a feral smile creeping across his cheeks. He maintained the expression as he took a step closer to his cousin, Dudley reacting as he took a step back. "I'm certain it does. Fear and cowardice; that's how you thrive, at least until a bigger bully comes along." He paused for effect. "Well, I am that bully." And with that Harry drew his wand upward.
"What are you doing?" Dudley asked his voice a little shakier than normal. "Mum and dad will find out." He continued, a hint of desperation in his voice "I'll tell them myself..."
"No, they won't Dursley, and you won't be saying a thing." Again he paused to simply gauge the boys fear. "Because I won't let you." Silence crept between them, unnerving silence for what felt like hours before Harry extended his arm, his wand tip coalescing with power as red light slowly began to emanate and pulse lightly, rhythmically, pulsating with his heart beat as he felt a raw sensation, a strange tickle that crept up his spine in anticipation. He could feel the shadows he unwittingly longed for undulating and surrounding him in a malevolent embrace, the intoxicating drip of power drawing him in as his apparent superiority gave him more than enough cause, drive, and desire. The recurrent waves of magic that escaped him, beating against the ground, washing away the life of the grass and weeds below him, effectively scorching the ground dry; not even he was aware of the raw magical power he possessed as he unwittingly began to cause slight electrical discharges from the lights that surrounded the park. There was only one way he could entertain the desire that was welling up, one word, a simple word that caused fear and dread in the majority of witches and wizards because unlike many others, this one was powered by sheer hate and the express desire to hurt, the will to maim. Silence had crept over them before Harry gave Dudley the most duplicitous and roguish smile he could, before twisting his wrist, wand in hand aligning its tip for the center of the swollen land dwelling manatee's chest…
"Crucio!"
The wands tip exploded with red power, dancing in the air as the magic in his body, fueled by his seemingly growing hate propelled it with force, exploding in a myriad of tendrils as it struck Dudley in the chest. His screams were instantaneous as the boy buckled at the knees, writhing in agony before Harry withdrew the spell. Realizing his error, he flicked his wand once more, releasing a blue light that hit Dudley. "A silencio Dudley, I don't want to draw too much attention." Harry explained as Dudley twitched on the ground, crying and trying his hardest to wordlessly beg for Harry to stop. Harrys head cocked to the side, sardonic curiosity in his eyes. "Come now Big D, when I would ask you and your friends to stop did you?" Luckily enough Harry and Dudley were hidden by a nice thicket of bushes, so only someone that was truly investigating would find them, though Harry resolved that he would handle anyone that intruded. Harry eyed Dudley, perceived the disgusting mass of flesh as he heaved in pain.
No, it wasn't over, far from it.
He would break Dudley's will, make it bend to him. If he couldn't get the respect, he would revel, cherish the fear. "Crucio." He spoke once more, his voice escaping with as much vehemence he could muster. The magic arced over Dudley's spine as Harry maintained the power, pushing it further as the lights that danced over his body created a spectacle of a show as his mouth opened in agony, issuing a silent scream in desperation. He had flopped around enough to break the skin on his elbows and knees, bruises peppered his face and most likely his doughy body. This torture seemed to be a cathartic catalyst of fresh thought. Both the old and young felt an immense, deep flash of hatred. Growing up alone, beaten, mistreated, broken, and meant to cower. This renewed animosity created a massive pulse in the curse that he was using as the same disgust powered the magic that escaped his body. He was vaguely aware of the discharge of energy, and subconsciously tried to stop the flow, but he was already so deeply entrenched in the curse he almost didn't care.
Begrudgingly he broke the spell, leaving the sweaty pig writhing in sheer and complete agony. He was certain Dudley would feel the after effects for quite some time, if not for the rest of his life as muggles didn't have the inert magic that was used during moments of pain or sickness, the reason why magical beings tended to heal faster and almost always never fell ill. Harry stared at the fat boy, as he cried silently due to the effects of the spell. "Now, I'm going to remove the silencing spell. I expect you to be quiet. Do you understand me?" Harry finished, waiting for the blotchy skinned, bruised and bloodied slug to at the least nod his acceptance.
Though as he made no indication, Harry's ire rose once more. "Do you understand me?" He questioned again. "You fat, worthless muggle, you waste of space, you useless abomination tainting the air around you." Harry was unaware that his magic reacted to his anger the same way it did to Barty when he posed as moody, Harry's magic gripped at Dudley's throat, pinning him to the ground as he savored the agony Dudley must have been in, espoused further as he struggled to breathe. Harry had no idea what his cousin was thinking and he didn't care. He allowed his power to maintain, fueled by what seemed like an endless well of magic. He held on until he could hear Dudley's gasps turn into a gurgle as the boy waddled between the line of conscious and unconscious.
With a sigh, Harry willingly concentrated and withdrew his magic, letting the boy return to consciousness. He waited for a few minutes, staring off into nothingness as his mind was a flood with ideas on how to escape the insipid, vacuous, and wretched bastille that was number 4 privet drive. A bit of him couldn't believe what he had done, but the growing larger part accepted it with abundance, arms wide open. The surprise came by the feeling of relaxation, the ease at which he could think as his frustration was sated. He was even more surprised by the fact that nothing had been sent to him from the ministry. He looked down at the wand, a curious glint in his eyes as his theory had been confirmed. He admitted to himself that he was skeptical, but in the heat of the moment and his blatant disregard for rules, he was proven correct. His scientific theory was quite different from many, but worked none the less.
His impatience gave way as he turned to face Dudley noting that he had finally caught his breath yet remained on the ground, simpering slightly. "Now, Dudley, I expect that this will be our little secret. It's better that way, don't you think?" He asked, his voice dripping with acid hidden by a duplicitous haze of sugar. This time Dudley nodded his head, he didn't want to feel that again. "Good. You know, I could simply take away your memories of this, in fact I could make you my slave, but I don't want an unwilling servant. No. And taking your memories would take this moment from you." Unaware that his eyes still burned red, a wreath of flames that burned into the child's memories. "I want you to remember Dursley, remember this forever. I want you to remember how it felt, and above all always remember that you are nothing to wizards and witches; you're especially nothing to me. I want you to always remember who is superior, and who made you cry like the coward you truly are. Will you do that for me Dudley? Will you always remember that you and your family and the rest of the muggles and mudbloods alike are beneath me?" He finished, his rhetoric seeming strangely foreign, but deeply ingrained, a new yet old part of him.
Dudley for his part panted lightly and agreed. He wanted nothing to do with the pain he felt. He could barely open his eyes, but he could still feel the swift light that struck him, burning away at his body as he shivered once more. No he didn't.
"Good, then I'll be going." Harry finished, the faux smile disappearing as he turned away and began to walk back to the house. He felt a renewed sense of ease as the magic he had spent gave him a freedom he thought would be impossible for the next three months. He looked at the wand once more, another beneficial side effect of his seemingly explosive wrath. He would be able to use magic to escape; he could look into easier means and wouldn't have to rely on rudimentary knowledge. Once he figured it out, he could finally purchase himself a new wand and hopefully use his money to influence the removal of the trace on it. Everyone had a price.
For the first time since his announcement and resorting, he could work and revel in a sense of self-satisfaction that the younger one had never felt but was nothing new to the old one.
As he approached the house and stopped in the driveway, he envisioned it swallowed by fire, burning in the eternal and monstrous flames of Fiendfyre. Snakes and dragons roaring and hissing as they rolled and stomped, eating away the wood, melting the metal and glass, and scorching the stone and destroying the three individuals he had trapped within.
Yes, once he escaped, he would return with one purpose…revenge.
It was nearing the end of the fourth day, notes were scattered all over the desk he had transfigured from the old rubbish the Dursley's bequeathed him. His quill was scribbling quickly, and with each dip into the ink his plan was coming to fruition. Knowing he could use magic, he did so, freely without fear or consternation. It amused him to see how low Dudley had bent to him. Fear was apparent in every motion he made, he couldn't even manage to look Harry in the eye. His parents watched him carefully, smothering him with concern as they noticed Dudley's strange twitch. The constant shows of affection disgusted the young wizard. Some would claim that he was jealous; no he was far from that. His desire for familial association had been washed away, along with his desire for connections with feelings or companionship in earnest.
No, he didn't need that.
Harry's eyes moved to the little black book with a hole in it that sat on his desk. Leaning back and setting his quill down, he grasped Tom Riddles diary and flipped it open, tracing a finger around the edges of the hole, his fingers following the ink stains that had once dripped out like blood. Both young and old had felt that although it was destroyed, this relic was more than a souvenir. It was a memory, a testament to failure and survival, and it belonged to him, not Dumbledore, not Barty/Moody, but him, the conquering king. He set the Diary down and turned back to his notes.
The plan in and of itself was pretty simple if not time consuming. Earlier that day he had gone outside and slowly walked up the street, all the while mumbling as he paced out the distance, wand in hand, using it as a detection tool, a slow reverberation of magic echoing from the tip. What he was mumbling was a detection charm that he had read about in passing. Using old memories, he used a combination of arithmancy and what the old young mind remembered to be spell alteration to alter the incantation just enough to alert him to anything with magic, or at last residual magic. He was certain that there had to be a ward stone somewhere, and if there wasn't Harry was fairly certain that there were runes, and if there were runes, it was most likely blood magic, but whose blood was used was anyone's guess, only Dumbeldore would know, but he had the sneaky suspicion that it was his blood that was used.
He had realized that he didn't need to completely destroy the wards, considering that as the merger progressed, and the two became one even more, he was realizing that he could feel the magic around him. Although that was new, he didn't allow his mind to wander. He didn't have to completely implode them, he only had to modify them, modify them to give no alert if he left, and would continue reacting as if he was still there. It had become harder to implement his plan when he realized that he was being watched. He didn't really fancy the idea of a silent observer, though soon he learned that whoever it was, they were exceedingly inept. The man was easy to stun, Harry had half the nerve to kill him in his sleep, but he didn't, it would draw attention. He hid the fool under some bushes, his nose wrinkling slightly as the man smelled of liquor and smokes, a pungent combination. Having handled the unwanted voyeur he proceeded with his plan.
After what seemed like hours, his wand finally reacted and he was very glad. The wand, though more suited to him than the wand he had found in the room of requirement, was still not a match at all. It was like wearing socks too small, they may have slid on, but they weren't doing the job. This wand worked for what he needed, but he needed his own. He had already decided that that was going to be the first thing he did. He still had his winnings, so there was no reason for him to go to Gringotts, though he would eventually.
Following the pulsation in the wand, he walked, around a neighbor's house, down a back alley that trash trucks used to collect waste and finally to a tree stump. He cancelled the spell and stared at the stump, a smirk crossing his lips before he brought the wand forward. "Bombarda" he spoke, decimating it. As the dust cleared, Harry made his way to what remained of the stump. 'Dumbledore, the fool, what a pathetic hiding spot…' He looked down; looking around the stone. It had been etched with different runes that gave off a slightly yellow glow. He paced around the rock for what seemed like hours. It was a good thing he had begun at 6am, it left him ample time to tinker. He was thinking, and thinking hard as he drew on the knowledge of the old young mind. His first thought was to take it home, but he quickly discarded that thought. If this was its hiding spot, he was fairly certain Dumbeldore would have taken precautions. It was almost like he was daring someone to try. No, the ward stone would have to stay here. He had transfigured a piece of wood into a clipboard, and another piece of wood into something like paper before he accio'd his quill and ink bottle. Having been there for so long, the paper was completely covered in various symbols, runic letters, markings, and glyphs.
As frustration began to build, he had to admit that the way the symbols were written were defeating him, although as he admitted it, he had a sudden and moral boosting breakthrough. 'The old man and his tricks.' He thought as he looked closer. They had been stacked, the runes, and not just stacked, Dumbledore had managed to write the first layer upside down, the second layer were written reversed and right side up. Once he figured that out, it became much easier. The runes on it were a plethora of protection symbols. Harry deciphered a few but wondered which one was directly tied to him. The complexity of the warding was somewhat lost to him, but he was driven by a singular desire. By the time he was able to discern the one rune he needed, the sun was high in the sky. Luckily it wasn't another sweltering day.
Now after figuring out the one he thought was correct, he had to create a loop hole. That took him almost an hour, but once he figured it out, it was a simple task of mastering the correct adage, and including it without permanent repercussions. He took to the ground as he observed the rock. Taking out his wand, he leaned forward just enough to gingerly poke it with his wand.
That had been a mistake. An electrical discharge came from the rock, throwing him three or four meters away. Shaking his head he rolled over and stood, returning to the stone. He had acted foolishly and therefore deserved that. The old young mind agreed, as did the young old mind. If he had to a percentage of completion on the merger, he would say 70%, his thoughts seemed to echo from both now. He observed the stone once more, and this time for a short while longer before he realized what he had to do. He hurriedly out lined a pentagram around the stump before scribbling what would have looked like nonsense to a muggle, but a wizard would instantly recognize it. As he completed it, he took a step back pointing his wand at the marking before speak "Reddere iners." He smiled as he felt a static reverberation, before he stepped forward and picked up the stone. Setting it down, he immediately set to work. He had to be quick to avoid detection, and quick he was as he looked at his finished product. If all worked out well, he would be able to leave this evening. Placing the ward stone back, he repaired the stump with a reparo maxima and retraced his steps back home. As he approached he looked to see if the man was there, and indeed he was. Casting a nonverbal stun, he made his way in.
Now he was at his desk, counting the money he had on him. Even with the robes he bought in Hogsmeade, he still remained with 988 galleons. That was more than enough, now his only task was passing whoever was on guard detail this evening. Harry knew he had to do this under the cover of night, however cliché it was. He turned his head to look at the clock, "10:47PM" He said out loud. He continued to write, peering out of the window every few minutes. Since realizing he was being watched, Harry had begun to follow their routine. These idiots were not covert in the least. He smirked as he watched them now, his head down, pretending to be busy doing homework, all the while watching as the disillusioned figures attempted a silent change in guard. Though they were far from silent.
As they passed on information, Harry stood and crossed the room, turning off the lights before moving back to the desk. Now it was merely a waiting game. He had deduced that they changed guards three times a day, and circulated guards through a closed loop of maybe eight to ten individuals. Apparently none of them had the funds to invest in an invisibility cloak of any sort, they had to rely on the darkness of the night and disillusionment charms. He was able to get a vague read as to who it could be by their gait and their attention to their task. Judging by the translucent ripple of the disillusioned wizard, it was the drunkard. 'Mundun-', he paused 'A terrible name' he thought as he finished his writing. Unbeknownst to him, for the last few days, he had subconsciously begun to write in parseltongue; anyone would wonder how you could write in a different language without noticing, though with parseltongue it was simple, the language was as much a part of him, as his hands and feet. One could learn parseltongue, but they would never understand it as understanding came from within, it was truly in the blood and magic. It was a hereditary trait. Harry had already decided that when he had the time and the means he was going to investigate his lineage. Regardless though, you could blame it on his natural secrecy; he had no reason to trust anyone around him. Though this year secrecy appeared to be easy to maintain while at Number 4, easier than normal. His muggle family seemed to be trying to avoid him at all costs, while Dudley's fear ruled his actions. The boy moved with exceptional caution, his eyes darting here and there, always on the lookout. His fear was palpable and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to no longer be the apex predator. His body still suffered from Harry's gentle ministrations as he would be hit by sudden tremors, beyond that his eyes never met Harry's as the memory played through his thoughts endlessly. He would never forget that day and the minutes that felt like hours.
In the darkness Harry moved about the room, collecting his things and discarding what he felt was useless. He had already changed; exceptionally glad to rid himself of the ghastly muggle clothing he would never wear again. As he finished packing, he quickly looped his wand in the air finishing with a slight jab as he proceeded to shrink his trunk and the remainder of his belongings, all the while casting featherlight charms on the lot, before pocketing them all. He looked around once more, his eyes performing a quick sweep before landing on the bird cage and its inhabitant. Those dim green eyes moved over the bird calculatingly as he closed the distance between him and Hedwig. He cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed in thought, observing the creature though clearly unsure of how to proceed. He would be a fool if he didn't believe that this bird had once meant the world to him, the first sentient mammal to acknowledge him as more than a nuisance. The sentiment had meant the world at that time, and its affection, however diminished by its lack of human ability had helped the boy thrive through low times. But now, now it virtually meant nothing to him. With their master and familiar bond broken, she was nothing more than a pet, as useless as a muggle. It was now a burden, a burden he didn't think was worth it, he did not subscribe to maintaining waste, and that's what she was now. He could leave it here, but the Dursley's would most likely starve it. He could give it to the mudblood, but that would give the girl false hope, a reason to believe their relationship could be reestablished. He would not deal with that. He pondered the filth ridden Weasley's, but that thought vanished as soon as it came. That would require him tolerating their existence for the few moments it would require to pass the bird over.
No, none of that would do.
It was decided then. With a speed that Harry had never shown before, he drew the wand once more, the tip facing the animal. Coalescing with his magic he spoke, "Avada Kedavra." The deep green of the curse lit the walls for a brief moment as the whisper of death created a faint gust of wind that washed through the room yet disappeared as soon as it had come. Those large amber eyes saw nothing as the life giving sheen vanished into nothingness and ambiguity, not even a slight hoot, only silence. Hedwig fell off of her perch, its lifeless form causing a slight thump, accompanied by a rattle of the cage. It was no longer a concern. Sentimentality, humanity, morality…he didn't care for them. The trivial pieces of his past life were nothing more than a hook connected to a weight that drug him back down to the depths of a lake of self-pity. It had no place in his life, nor was any of that worth the time they could take. The bird was dead weight and was treated as such. He eyed it once more before turning around, opening the door slowly as he had already cast silencing charms on all of the hinges of the doors he would have to use.
He made his way down the stairs silently before making his way through the house and to the back door; drawing his own invisibility cloak around him as the boy vanished into the night. Quickly he moved toward the fence and opened it with little protest as he walked around the hedges, carefully passing the front gardens before he succumbed to pettiness and placed a foot down in the center of a nice quaff of roses, the childish thought and subsequent action were not as pleasing as he had believed they would be. He slowed his departure as his eyes looked around quickly; attempting to catch the all telling shimmer of disillusionment, but it was his nose that found the apparent guard. The stench of liquor and smokes and whatever filth the man bathed in was hard to hide. He stared at the location, noting that he could faintly catch the man's shimmering outline. 'Sleeping.' Harry thought as he quickly made his way past his would be protector and finally found the sidewalk before he broke into a run. He had already paced the distance of the wards using his self-formulated spell and his own innate ability to sense magic so he knew how far he had to go before escaping. As he neared it he could sense the changes he had made in the wards structure begin to take effect as they slowly yet loosely wrapped around him pulling gently before snapping back as he broke through the perimeter of the wards. He turned just in time to catch a faint, ghostly image of himself pivoting on its heel as it began walking back towards the house, only to vanish into the wind.
"Perfect." He said aloud, a nod of approval for himself before he turned around and looked to the sky. Though anticlimactic, the taste of freedom, a freedom that he had engineered had never tasted so sweet. He wasn't certain how long the farce would hold, but he only needed a short while to get his affairs in order. He turned once more to look at the accursed place he first learned the meaning of pain, hate, and loneliness, "Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain." It had seen many things, secrets, blood, tears, screams, the broken body of a 4 year old as his magic, already exceptionally strong began to heal him. The cries of a 7 year old who had been forced to have his haircut, his aunts hands not comforting at all as she nicked him here and there, leaving him with a bleeding head and ratty patches of hair, though his flesh healed itself and his hair grew back, defying the logic they knew. It had been witness to his beatings as his uncle threw a 9 year old down the stairs, the fragile thing breaking his wrist, a few ribs, three toes, and sustaining on orbital fracture. So much had happened in his young life, the old one knew the pain the young one had felt as they shared a common and strangely mirrored upbringing, it was partially why the merger was happening so quick, and beyond that remained so stable. Harry was barely able to tell their difference, though he didn't care, he thought of both as one and invariably, both were him, though the oppressed youth he had maintained had all but vanished as he had promised himself that he would dive into the endless black that was so tantalizing. Leaving his thoughts by the way side, he looked down the street once more….
Revenge was not enough, he would come back to Privet Dr. and he would kill them all.
Turning on the spot, he subconsciously meant to disapparate but stopped himself just as he was about to make the jump. To any passerby or curious onlooker it looked like Harry had twirled in place, in reality though he had stopped himself because he realized that although he had the memory and the knowledge to perform the feat, it would probably be best to practice elsewhere in fear of leaving a piece of himself where he had once been. Considering he didn't have the necessary sundries, splinching himself was not something he wanted to deal with whilst escaping the clutches of Dumbledore and his sycophants. Drawing his wand from his pocket, he jabbed it into the air, the tip lighting momentarily before dimming. He only had to wait a few moments before his senses were assaulted by a bang, smoke, and the site of the purple double decker. He barely remembered his status, drawing his hood over his head just as the doors opened, he was greeted by a uniquely ugly wizard, ears too big, freckled and ugly, thick, curly reddish brown hair, all tied together by a pair of overalls and a hat that dipped low enough to hide his eyes.
"Oi, 'Ello there mate. Nuffin wid ya eh? Efficient travela are ya?" He paused, a massive smile on his face, expecting the hooded stranger to reply, but was met by silence. "Me names Stan, Stan Shunpike." He continued as he moved to the side, allowing Harry to pass him, stopping for a moment to turn back to the pimple ridden ginger. "Diagon Alley." Harry muttered. "Righto, ya 'erd him." As Harry made his way to a spot, the bus lunged forward with blinding ability and speed. He took a seat far away enough and settled himself in for the ride.
No matter what he became, one thing would remain irrevocably unchanged, the lack of comfort that came with this ride.
His breath escaped his lips as white puffs of smoke, the cold barely noticeable as his skin, taught as ever had been reinforced my by magic's both arcane and dangerous; he reveled in the knowledge that only he had hunted these spells down, and they would be shared with no one. Rain trickled down his face, his cruel smile moving in and out of vision with each peel of lightning, thunder following suddenly as the clap of sound covered the more nefarious screams of death and begs of the weak and broken. His black robes rippled and danced in the wind, catching his sheer malevolence as his own deep, dark red eyes cut the obligatory darkness like two distant camp fires, roaring madly, threatening to spillover and consume everything in its path. Tendrils of his magic escaped him, assessing the level of power it would take to forfeit the wards that surrounded just the doors of the fortress. It was amazing, the intricacies of the island fortresses wards, the level of thought and precision put into each layer, they were beautiful a true testament to witches and wizards, magic was might indeed.
Voldemort was a tingle with internal dark mirth as he watched his Death Eaters pick through the limited Aurors that guarded Azkaban. He was remiss to admit that his plans had been pushed forward, but he had endured enough internal arguments to appease the lingering something in his belly. He was far from understanding the ominous pressure he had once felt, but as soon as it came, it had gone. He intended on hunting down each item he had used, once he freed his most valuable followers. He needed their power to maintain order as he went from place to place, only they could be trusted in earnest, they had suffered for him, and that suffering had earned them a right to stand above their peers, elevated in his esteem. As he thought idly, he walked forward, not minding the spell fire that surrounded him. A few errant arrays were batted away with ease as he stood himself before the doors of Azkaban, at least 7 meters away.
He drew his wand with a flourish as his hands free hand remained by his side before both arms began to elevate slowly, palms out as he began to chant in Arabic. As he did a soft reverberation ran through the ground as an austere heaviness began to settle on the area around him. His chanting continued, now gaining attention from a few nearby as the power he was drawing in converged around his one free hand, forming in his outward facing palm as the same power formed at the tip of his wand. By now those that remained had stopped to watch the Dark Lord, even the Aurors that had taken to hiding watched with fear and curiosity as Voldemort unexpectedly rose both of his arms, his hands crossing over above his head; his eyes snapped open suddenly as the weight of the magic vanished as the same power he summoned escaped his hands with a snarl, a wave of sheer black, an arcane spell he learned in Egypt during his three decades of journey. The magic collided with the wards with enough force to shake the ground simultaneously rocking the castle. Voldemort continued for a few minutes longer, his eyes squinted, his power flowing like chaos as he willed the ward to bend, past their point of no return before snapping with an explosion that blew the doors apart. Voldemort breathed deep, a sense of completion coursing through his veins as he stood straight up.
An unknown Auror stood to his feet, all wands drawn to him as he threw his wand to the ground. "An Arch-mage, the Dark Lord is an Arch-mage…" he began, fear and sadness in his voice. "We can't fight an arch-mage, we don't have a chance." He finished.
Voldemort watched the man wearily. "Indeed I am, boy." Voldemort spoke and nodded his voice deep, an unidentifiable edge to it as his red eyes burned into the Auror, no sense of sorrow, no visible indication of fear. Almost gloating in his strength, the sheer force he controlled, compelling people to give up before they even begun. . "A pity you did not think that before. I do hate to spill the blood of wizards and witches, but at times it is…" He paused to look around, gesturing to the corpses around him "… a necessity." He paused and looked around before coming back to the man "Kill them all." Voldemort ordered his death eaters. The courtyard was momentarily lit green as Voldemort made his way in to the prison with all the grace of a lord.
The Auror's within stood no chance. For a moment, they claimed the strength that the red of an Aurors robe gave them, remembering their teaching, calling upon their knowledge and pride. They had been taught to fear nothing in their pursuit of justice, do not shake or tremble before evil and tyranny. Their power must triumph to keep the magical world safe for the plethora of innocence. But right now, all of it blew away, crumbling as their lives were snuffed into nothingness. All of the teaching, all of the training, it meant nothing as the captain stood, slack jawed, rooted to the spot; one wizard, even if it was the Dark Lord, it was just one wizard…Even as the pain he felt vanished as his spine was severed his body still standing, even as his tongue was overcome by the distinct metallic taste of blood. His eyes were fixed on the carnage around him, the body's that dropped, the body parts that rolled around, the blood that splattered. Even as he slowly fell to the ground, unable to comprehend what was happening. Even as he hit the ground, his hands trembling as he tried to move his legs, to at least crouch. He wouldn't die on the floor. His head was full of thoughts, realities; fear…Even as he turned just to see a set of legs still standing though wobbly. Had this been a cartoon, he would have laughed; but it wasn't, it was real and those were his legs. His hands moved for his waste, his fingers feeling a warm liquid before they plunged into the blood, guts, and sinew that came from him; though as he felt the adrenaline give way to terror, his eyes growing wider before he opened his mouth to scream, he never saw the Dark Lord watching him, a small almost imperceptible upturn on one cheek. His wand moved with lightning fast precision, his magic escaping its tip, bathing the bisected Auror in green as life left him.
Turning to face the main hall, he waved the scene away, these pitiable wizards; they could have spent their lives on a worthy purpose, his purpose. They could have even surrendered, but even he knew he would have killed them in the end. No, although it was inevitable this was his only viable option, he would have preferred to wait just a bit longer. Though, no matter how much he had wanted to wait to free them, he had wanted to first reestablish his numbers, and douse the magical world in fear before he stormed Azkaban, he knew that with him unsure, questioning his belongings and their safety he would have to leave for a short while, an impromptu trip. During his absence, he wanted his best by his side, his most loyal, his most powerful, his most savage to handle his will.
It was decided, he didn't know why he hadn't decided this before, but the night bus was a farce at least in the area of travel. It wasn't as if the other forms of travel were expeditiously comfortable, in fact they weren't but at least they were immediate, instantaneous. The discomfort was worth it if he could be anywhere in the blink of an eye. This, this was uncomfortable to say the least. It was well below him, it was meant for mudblood filth, and all those that didn't have the ability manipulate magic.
He exited the bus in silence, even as he was bade goodbye. Stepping on to the cobles, he drew his hood around him, letting it fall further down than normal before he cast a silent sticking charm to the hood, he couldn't have anyone knocking it off, exposing his identity. Just like the bus, that would not due. His face and identity obscured as he pressed forward, glancing at the sign above the door before glancing around, noting that the muggles paid the locale no mind, despite the time. He entered into the deceivingly loud pub and inn. Moving with subtle ease, he maneuvered himself through the crowd and busy tables. It wasn't late enough for the young and some old witches and wizards to go home, no, it was the type of time they found themselves enjoying life the most.
As he approached the bar, he pulled out a stool, his hand raising as he flagged for the tender and inn keeper. The jovially round man came over, scrubbing a mug as he did, regardless of the iconic cliché picture it captured.
"How can I help you, sir?" He questioned.
"I need a room." Was Harry's simple reply.
The keeper nodded "How long do you need the room, sir?, Tom replied, stressing the last word of his sentence, searching of course for a name.
Harry eyed the individual, calculating the risk. He didn't want to be caught but this individual was of course encumbered by secrets, a price of tending an inn. His green eyes searched the man before locking eyes with him. Performing a legilimens could have given him the information he wanted, but again, as with apparition, he had the knowledge and the technical skill, the theory behind it, but without practice he could cause problems, possibly damage himself or expose his late night departure. Coming to a conclusion, he looked at the man once before speaking.
"Indefinitely, and you can put it under my name, Romulus Kensworth." He said, thinking of the most obscure name he could fathom in a few seconds.
"Right you are, Mr. Kensworth. Do you want to pay every morning?" Tom asked.
"I'll pay for the week now." Harry replied.
They made the money exchange, Tom handing the hooded wizard his keys as he moved around the bar, gesturing for one of his floor servers to come over and manage it while he showed their guest to his room. Harry followed Tom before he came to a door and gestured towards it. With a terse nod, Harry passed the wizard, opening the door, and entering just as Tom turned to walk away as well. As he locked the door from the inside, Harry dispelled the sticking charm as he drew his hood off and looked around the room. Drawing his wand, he cast the cleaning charms he remembered, the room had to be impeccable, before he decided to rest his head on it. Withdrawing his belongings he began to arrange them, unshrinking his things before he sat on the bed, looking around once more as the silence enveloped him, though he didn't fear, it was wanted.
With this part complete, Harry could now face the days to come, the tasks he needed to complete to further disassociate himself from those he had once trusted. Were this a few weeks ago, he would have found this jaunt into real life arduous. Perhaps he would have pursued it, but not as calculated. He would most likely have asked for help, but with his mind open and thirsty for knowledge and power, he sought answers on his own. His decisions were his and his alone, and any consequences that came from them were just equally his own, but, consequence would never come to pass if he could manipulate the situation to his advantage. He knew that was one thing he would have to master as he entered the house of snakes. Indecision made him a target, fear made him easy to conquer, insecurity drew unwanted attention. Those were traits of the weak, and a king was not meant to be weak.
Each decision he made as he pushed forward in this path was premeditated, even if loosely planned, they were deliberate; even as he was forced into thinking on the fly, he stood by his decision unashamedly. As he sat on the bed he pondered the next day and the week in full. Contacting solicitors was easy enough, searching his vaults would be simple. He would have to get a wand, a new one, though he couldn't go to Ollivander. The man was an unknown entity, he had no idea if the crafter associated with the headmaster and his affiliates, but he was not willing to take the chance. Perhaps he could find a different wand maker of repute. He faintly remembered the Krum boy mentioning something about a European wand maker named Gregorovitch, He decided to collect his school supplies early, giving himself more time to test and grow. He would find himself a new familiar, one that suited his new guise.
The problem he knew that would cause him the most issue was his age, and concurrent need for a chaperone, a legal guardian. He would have to speak to the solicitors to find out if emancipation was an option, but he was forced to believe it wasn't viable. If that was the case then he was forced to pursue other options. His planning was of course covered by a supplemental blanket of security as he had thought of secondary options, though he was loathe to use this option, he took to heart that corruption was an easy way to succeed in his plans, and Fudge was a corrupt as them all. With a bit of manipulation the idiot would be putty in his hands. His celebrity was of course a means to an end, and if he was a wealthy as those around him seemed to indicate, spending money would be simple enough. Harry felt a faint sense of completion as he envisioned his plans coming to fruition. He was unaware of the storm that was blowing towards him, unsure of the struggles that would present themselves with unmitigated hatred and fury. He was unaware of the darkness that would ensnare him, the black that he would dive into. Though the young and old would not waver in their pursuits, power was what he wanted, no matter the cost.
Free from that home, he could unleash his thoughts in full. He undressed before getting in bed, flicking his wand as the lights in the room blew out leaving him ensnared in darkness. The two weeks after the merger began as well as the time he spent at the Dursley's could have been considered an epilogue, tomorrow though, started the first chapter of his new life.
Closing his eyes, he willed sleep to take him as he cleared his mind, allowing the young and old to further blur the lines of their identity into one cohesive being.
He should have stuck to the plan, but the idea of entering Knockturn Alley seemed to be simple enough, and he was admittedly drawn to it, pulled to it by its inherently mysterious and shadier personage, combined with the memory of his last and expeditious foray, his young mind coupled with latent desire of the old ones pushed him to wander the shaded and dark streets. He found his ambivalence swayed, only a little bit as he looked up and at the sign that read Borgin and Burke, the old mind combined with the young felt a faint note of anger; the only emotion he would succumb to. He had justified this decision by necessitating the need of a new set of cauldrons, those that were imbued by magic's that were a bit off of the Hogwarts traditionalist views and standards. Should he be caught or questioned, he already had a lie in place. To get what he wanted he wasn't above disregarding the morality of the common. After all, didn't a wise wizard once say…"All for the greater good." This path, his path, his decisions, his desire for power at no cost…the merger was all for his own greater good.
Looking at the door he pushed it open, walking in, he began wandering about, his eyes searching the obscure and odd objects that lay here and there. He palmed an orb of some type of crystal, perfectly smooth, perfectly round. It emanated a distant power, magical though foreign.
"Ahh, you have quite an eye their friend. In your hand is a relic of a time long past. One would say from a world that existed parallel to ours, or maybe before ours, regardless it is called a Palantíri."
Harry's eyes snapped up to the man as he released the crystal like ball, allowing it to drop the insignificant distance as it landed on the cushion below it.
"I've never seen you in here before, sir, may I inquire as to who you are?" Such a vague and otherwise innocuous question duplicitous in its own deception, a guise to root and dig. "I Perhaps I could help you find what you need so you don't need to move about aimlessly?" He finished. A staunch smile crossing his lips, exposing brown and rotted teeth. His false sincerity, so blasé. The young and old mind felt a diluted disgust as it looked the man in the eye, nodding his distaste before speaking lightly.
"No need, I was just on my way out." The young heir replied before attempting to side step the owner. Call it taciturn fate, a sad and militant conflagration of chance…but as he moved to get around the man, the man's hand snapped up barely catching the hem of Harry's hood aided by the boy's movement and the slight gust of wind that rocked the door to outside on its hinges, the hood falling because of the gentle ministrations of fate, the dower bitch.
Borgin's eyes grew wide as they settled on the young man's face. Though paler than he ought to be, he couldn't mistake those Avada Kedavra green eyes, the circular framed glasses and albeit longer than he remembered, the messy hair as black as midnight.
"Harry Potter." He whispered, awed, incredulous, sneaky, mystified, all these words meant nothing as gain was what he saw. He was amongst the populace that knew the Dark Lord was indeed back. Oh how he would benefit if he handed him the boy who lived, the perfect gift for the ambitious and powerful man. "I really wish you had not done that." Harry said, voice low, almost unheard. Borgin tried to hide his movements as he tried to draw his wand, but was a touch too slow. Harrys hand was already resting on the handle to his wand by the time Borgin moved to draw his, call it luck or age but his arms moved almost instinctually before he released an overpowered stunner, sending the elder flying into shelves, breaking some of his wares as he fell to the ground, unconscious.
The moment the rennervate struck him, Borgin woke with a start, grunting and clearing his throat, mumbling as he looked around, somewhat disoriented. His head felt heavy, muddled, his back and neck were soar, and he only just realized that he was bound to a chair, however rudimentary that was. His eyes searched the growing darkness, he was faintly aware that he was in his own basement. He tried to string his thoughts together, collecting what memories he could. "Potter!" he gasped in surprise, remembering exactly what happened. He jerked in the chair, trying his hardest to break free, his magic attempted to aid him but it was a futile attempt. "That idiot child, stupid halfblood. When I'm free I will kill you! I'll kill you and give you to the Dark Lord; I'll kill you and all of your friends. Do you hear me boy?!" His frustration had given way to anger.
But his voice stuttered, strangely. His mouth felt heavy, his head fogged and muddy. Had he been drugged? No, possibly, but his private store of poison was under lock and key and charms. What was happening? He could hear footsteps descending down the stairs and in to the basement. The light was distorted as whoever it was walked in front of the lantern. He tried to move his head, eyes searching as he opened his mouth to speak but found that for some reason, he didn't have the strength to manage it. The footsteps continued as he followed the blurry figure before landing on the creator of those steps. "Potter…" he muttered, but he did so in confusion, as if he was stepping out of fog. The man blinked several times and shook his head as if trying to dispel the feeling.
The overtly innocuous feeling of desperation, the feeling of being surrounded and swallowed, the feeling of being crushed.
The closer Harry came to the seated wizard, the more intense the feeling became. This was unnatural, this wasn't poison, it couldn't be, this was something he had encountered once, but he couldn't think of where and when. Power…he thought fleetingly. It was oppressing and dangerous, it was almost like his body innately understood that right now, he was prey. Slowly his breathing increased, his chest heaving as if he was hyperventilating. His eyes were wide with something Harry couldn't discern.
Fear, undiluted fear. That's what it was, His eyes were wary, his face pale.
Borgin was having difficulty keeping his head up, maintaining his cognizance. He could barely manage, and it didn't bother the boy in anyway. The way his arms seemed to tense in anticipation as if he were waiting for something to happen, yet his power seemed to drain itself… Borgins head lawled freely, as if his neck was incapable of holding it up. He managed to clamp his eyes shut as his head felt the pressure increase, his blood vessels protruding with each beat of his heart…He could barely take it. The miasma that was Harry's power threatened to escape, his eyes dark and clouded with his symbiotic relationship with his darker emotions. It seemed to be his purest form of release. The red in his eyes shown clearly as he stepped closer to Borgin, taking a soft breath before he attempted to reign in his power, with the help of the old mind. He intended to become more adept at that in the coming future, considering it could cause him problems at Hogwarts.
When the magic was reined in, Borgin inhaled heavily as if he had been submerged in water, unable to breathe for minutes at a time. "As I said, I wish you hadn't done that…" Harry's voice escaped like a cold pristine note encumbered by malevolent undertones. His red eyes watched the wizard callously, devoid of emotion as he parted his lips to speak, licking them quickly "You wouldn't be in this position had you not been so keen to pry. That is a problem I am ashamed to admit we share with the muggle filth just a stone's throw away."
Borgin looked up, startled by the hauntingly chaotic and malicious look in those red eyes, so perfectly framed by the pale skin and deep black hair. 'Red eyes?' He thought, confused, before he formulated a response. "My…lord?" He muttered, confused as his eyes finally focused. He gasped as his eyes once more took in the form of his captor. "Potter…" he muttered, realizing exactly what happened…"Your eyes…What are you doing?" He questioned, looking around, hoping that there was something he could use to escape from his predicament.
"My eyes?" He paused "I suppose a consequence of my decision. " Harry finished watching Borgin's frantic glances. "It's futile you know?" Harry said to Borgin. "You can't escape." He continued pausing as he moved a chair to sit in front of his captive. "When I initiated my plans, I didn't factor in that there would be slight deviations as they were prompted. I had intended to enact and conquer the list I had burdened myself with. But as I came to Knockturn alley, my mind wanted to visit this place, it is the darkest store I've been in and I was curious to see if it had changed. Obviously that's not the case, though it seemed a bit more full from my accidental appearance here in my second year." Harry finished his wand in hand.
"I can understand your desire to know who frequents your store, ascertain their worth. It's only fitting as a proprietor of such niche items, but your prying has led you into such a precarious situation. " Twirling his wand he stood…
"What are you doing…You know I serve the Dark Lord, he will be looking for me." Borgin paused. "Perhaps I could help you like I help him? Find things you need." He paused, his nerves tingling with fear as he watched the boy circle him once before stopping.
"You have no pride do you?" He asked, his nose wrinkling in disdain. "I've already thought about that, but to be honest, the only way I could be sure was if I used the imperious curse on you, but I have to be honest, I've already thought that. Although you could be of benefit, it would be too easy to figure out you were being controlled, and I personally don't care to waste time with a memory charm…"
Borgins eyes suddenly grew wide once more. "Please, don-"…
"Avada Kedavra." The words escaped Harry's lips, the commanding tone willing death to greet the man. Though Harry felt a slight sense of freedom; It would be a lie to say he hadn't been concerned with how he would react to death, especially if they died by his hand. Moody was different, in that moment he hadn't been given the chance to ponder its effects on his being, besides, that was a necessity 'Kill or be killed' he thought. An animal was of no concern, they were essentially subjects to test abilities and sustain him how he saw fit. This though was different, the acrid scent of death clawing at his nose, the empty look in his eyes as his body lay there limply. The quickened thumping of Harry's heart wasn't of fear or repercussion, it was of a serene comfort.
Emotion was disappearing, leaving only his purest form.
As he turned to leave, he paused for a moment. A decaying body would draw attention. He wracked his mind for a moment before memory brought him to a particular spell. He turned and mouthed the Latin words, moving his wand in the designated pattern as he cast the stasis spell. Simple enough, and it gave him time to inevitably search Borgin's shop in the coming days, there had to be things he could use. Leaving the basement, he crossed the store before pushing the doors open, stopping for a moment to lock the shop up; using a few different spells to insure it wasn't burgled. When finished, he quickly drew his hood, looking around before making his way to the cobbles that lead back to Diagon Alley.
His unexpected foray into the darker region of their world hadn't gone as planned, but that was of no concern. He managed to conquer a potential foe, and in the process, conquer something within him. The hold morality had on him was vanishing quicker than expected, facilitating the merger and swallowing his humanity. He was fine with it perhaps reveled in it, this new freedom he was reaching for. It gave him purpose.
As Harry made his way up the path, he was unaware of two set's of eyes following him, curiosity piqued by the once golden boy and what he could be up to in this depraved corner of a world Dumbledore would never allow him to come to alone.
A/N: As always read and review constructively. I hope you all liked this chapter. As I said things are going to speed up because I want to get to it. I'm excited. Harry is disregarding morality and humanity more and more. It something I thought would happen in real life, especially after abuse, silence and apathy were your best friend and the only emotions you thrived on anger. As I said the, the merger isn't complete yet, but it will complete soon, The actions going to pick up more and more. I also want to point that in my version of fifth year and on, Harry and Voldemort do not share the link because he and the horcrux united and it was no longer a sentient symbiote. The way I've differentiated his inner thoughts is with old and new mind, but eventually that's going to phase out once it is complete. No this will not be slash, not really my cup of tea. I want to show him get more and more dark and evil, progressively. I think these forays into a world he has never known are a perfect set up as Harry begins to thrive, succumb to dark magic, considering he has unwittingly adopted horcrux/Voldemorts hatred of muggles and muggleborns, his agenda to a point . Question, have I made him cold enough?
Read and Review. Cheers fellow readers.
