Never really had much of a plan for this bunny, but it was undoubtably going to be a dark!Harry story. It just stops without any sort of an ending really, sorry.

Peculiar Pain

The first time Harry felt Voldemort's anger through the cursed scar during the Department of Mysteries debacle, it hurt and terrified him.

It next time was worse, but each time after that, he grew a little more used to it.

After a time, he began to enjoy it.

That brain searing agony meant that the Dark Lord was angry, and that usually meant something had gone wrong for the snake-faced bastard. Very quickly, Harry began to look forward to the burning fire erupting in his forehead, for it meant Voldemort was suffering.

It was the front page exposure, the picture of the Dark Lord standing in the Ministry of Magic on the night Bellatrix killed Sirius, that really started it. The picture and following commentary set Voldemort off and left Harry writhing on the floor of his dorm in agony. The Dark Lord's anger and frustration bled into Harry's scar in a torrent and tore into his mind painfully.

Knowing what it was, Harry revelled in it

Filled with revenge fuelled thoughts over the loss of his godfather, Harry didn't tell anybody about the pain, but began thinking of other ways he could make the creature responsible for so much loss angry.

#

"Dobby."

"Yes, Master Harry, Sir?"

"Can you go anywhere? Anywhere in the world?"

"Yes, Master Harry. Dobby be going anywhere Great Harry Potter wishes."

"Brilliant. I need you to get something for me, but it will be very dangerous, but I think you'll enjoy it too."

"Dobby be doing anything for the great Harry Potter sir!"

"You once warned your old master not to harm me, but he ignored you. I think it's time you followed through on your warning, my friend."

Dobby's toothy grin should have made Harry slightly uncomfortable, but it didn't; it reassured him.

#

Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malloy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged

"Sorry to hear about your Dad, Draco," said Harry.

"The Dementors have left Azkaban," said Malfoy quietly. "Dad and the others'll be out in no time…"

"Oh, haven't you heard yet?"

"Heard?" asked Malfoy. "Heard what?"

"About your dad and the rest of his mates? Gee, Draco, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems Voldemort was just a bit annoyed at your dad's failure-"

"Potter!"

The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malloy… whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape… never…

"What are you doing, Potter?" said Snape, as coldly as ever, striding over to the four of them.

"I was just offering my condolences to Draco, Professor," said Harry as innocently as possible, "but it seems nobody has told him yet. That's a bit cruel, isn't it?"

"Told me what?" yelled Draco, his hand moving towards his wand. "What's happened to my father? What's he talking about?"

"Potter, not another word. Leave here at once," snarled Snape.

Harry nodded and walked away, smiling broadly.

Malfoy's yelling cry followed him all the way outside.

It didn't feel as good as when Voldemort found out somebody had murdered some of his followers and he was being blamed for it, but it was still somewhat satisfying.

#

Returning to Privet Drive, Harry's composure unsettled Vernon, who suddenly found himself no longer in a position of power over the boy. The warning form the freaks at the platform was one thing, but the boy himself made Vernon feel very uncomfortable about his previous treatment.

There was something very wrong inside of him. You could tell just by looking into those vibrant Green eyes.

It was because Harry was getting frustrated, and that was quickly turning into anger towards the only people near him; the Dursleys.

Facing being locked away at his Muggle relatives house and almost completely cut off from the Magical world again did nothing to ease the hunger he felt. He wanted Voldemort to bleed, to feel loss like he had never felt before.

Luckily Harry thought of a few ways to get what he wanted, what he longed for; the pain.

Voldemort's pain.

Lucky, for the Dursleys that is.

#

Dear Susan,

I am very sorry to hear about your aunt. At my trial last year, she was one of the few who tried to hear the truth, and that impressed me a great deal.

Although we have barely ever talked, I want you to know I share your loss, and I want to offer you something that while it will never bring your Aunty back, might give you some satisfaction.

I happen to know there is a spy in Voldemort's ranks, a spy who probably could have warned the Aurors about the attack on your home, but didn't...

The pain of Voldemort's anger kept Harry awake all night, but knowing he had taken yet another of the Dark Lord's resources away from him granted him peace.

#

Rita Skeeter opened the sealed envelope warily, fully aware that anything sent from Harry Potter was unlikely to have her best interests at heart.

A few lines into the letter, she forgot everything else and grabbed her quill so forcefully that it broke before she could pen a single line.

Here it was, the most exciting story she could imagine, and with facts and evidence she could actually verify!

The Dark Lord was nothing more than a filthy half blood, and it was her job to make sure the world knew it. This was even more important than the exposure of Dumbledore she had been working on.

Only after the second reprint of the special edition came out did she stop to wonder why Potter sent her the story of the century, with nothing more than a request she not identify him as the source.

She never did figure it out, but Harry felt the results of her articles for many days and nights, and it brought tears to his eyes.

Not all of them were from the pain.

#

"Give him an order," said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"

It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

Harry's mind went into overdrive.

With a small portion of his attention, he followed Dumbledore's advice and ordered the beast to Hogwarts, but the majority of his thoughts were on how to use the very expendable resource he had just inherited.

A resource who apparently had access to Malfoy Manner.

And to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Later that night, in a dark corner of the garden at the Burrow, Harry again called his elf.

"Kreacher," he whispered.

A loud crack echoed through the empty night, and the disgusting servant appeared.

"Shut up and don't say a single word unless it is to answer a question I ask you," he commanded.

Then in a quiet voice, he gave Kreacher his orders, and made the elf repeat them back verbatim. It was a struggle, but he was determined, and the elf was forced to comply.

#

"That's disgusting!" said Hermione, pushing the paper away from her.

Bellatrix's decapitated head gaped from the picture taking up most of the front page, the flies buzzing around the macabre spectacle doing nothing to enhance the image.

"Better than she deserves," said Ron.

Harry said nothing, but looked, eyes unfocussed, at the gory picture.

For a second his mind flicked back to the night before, when he held that very woman under the draught of living death, and he felt a small pang of regret. He had wondered if there was a way to let her know what was about to happen, some way he could have made her experience everything she had ever done to others, but she was just too dangerous, and he not nearly skilled enough to do it.

In the end, he opted for the safer way, and let her die without knowing it. Killed by a rusty axe out of Arthur's shed; a pauper's Muggle tool.

After all, it was not her he really wanted to upset.

A sudden stabbing pain made him grasp involuntarily.

"Harry?" asked Hermione immediately.

"What's up mate?" added Ron, when Harry didn't immediately respond.

"I think Voldemort just got the paper," said Harry, rubbing his forehead. "He is a bit angry."

"Can't be too upset," said Ron, "or you'd be rolling on the floor, right?"

"Ron!" admonished Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry, not having to force a smile as the excruciating pain blazed through him like a wave of ecstasy. "Either that or I am getting used to it."

"Wonder what happened to her body?" asked Ron.

"Ron!" yelled Hermione again.

"What? I'm just saying. Whoever knocked her off must have done something with the rest of her."

"That is disgusting. How can you think of such things..."

Harry tuned out their arguing and concentrated on the wonderful agony of his scar. Obviously Bella was bit more important than he had thought, if the intensity of Voldemort's anger was anything to go by.

It might even change his plans for the rest of her body, which was currently hidden in the cold box of Grimmauld place.

#

"Why yes, Professor Slughorn. I'd love to have tea with you. I am fascinated to hear more about your famous former students and how you helped them along.

"Especially how you help them along actually. Can you tell me more about that Goblin liason officer? I hardly know anything about goblins."

#

The first few weeks at Hogwarts passed without anything particular of note happening.

"Did you read about Malfoy?" asked Ron, shovelling another mouthful of breakfast into his mouth while holding the daily paper in his free hand. "Blimey, Harry, you look like you haven't slept a wink in days. What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, Ron. Just happy to be here but didn't sleep very well. Anyway, what's that about Malfoy?"

"Apparently all his money has disappeared. Gringotts are denying a break in, but Malfoy's mum caused a big scene when she found her vault was empty. Nearly got arrested for disturbing the peace when she started cursing Goblins. Skeeter is saying You-know-who took it."

"Guess Draco is having a bit of a bad year then?" said Harry, taking a seat at the table and helping himself to some of the pile of food.

Ron grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "Between finding out You-know-who isn't a Pureblood, his dad getting knocked off by the sod, and all his money going missing, I think Draco might not be so mouthy about his allegiance eh?"

"Don't bet on it," said Hermione, joining them at the table. "Morning Harry. It might just push him further into the fold, since he has nowhere else to turn now."

"Surely even he can't be that stupid- oh, wait. You could be right," said Ron grinning.

"At any rate,' said Hermione. "I don't understand why Voldemort would need to take all of that money from Gringotts. All he has done is made himself more unpopular with the other purebloods, and now with Gringotts."

"If it wasn't him, then who was it?" asked Ron.

"Dunno," said Harry, peering into his plate. "But I don't think snake-face will be very happy about it if it wasn't him."

He grinned in a way Ron could not recall seeing before. It was not a nice grin.

"No, not happy at all."

#

Several days later the rumour mill was again active with something new and juicy to discuss.

"I hear Snape is not allowed to leave the castle," said Dean Thomas confidentially as the Head of Slytherin house walked passed on his way to the head table.

He looked decidedly worse for wear, as if he had not slept in a very long time.

"I heard the only reason he is not in Azkaban is because Dumbledore vouched for him again, and You-know-who has put a bounty on his head. I bet all the upper year Slytherins are looking to cash in," countered Seamus.

"Wouldn't want to be Snape right now," said Ron.

"Ever," said Harry.

They laughed, but Harry only half heartedly. The whole time he couldn't take his eyes off the man he had hoped to never see again.

Killing Snape would be satisfying, but it might make Voldemort happy, and that was not an emotion Harry wanted coursing through his link.

So Snape would get to live another day, but one day, his time would be up.

After all, Harry was going to need something else to do after he had destroyed the Dark Lord.

#

Harry carefully turned the pages of the worn potions book and made another note on the Muggle pad in front of him.

Whoever this 'Half Blood Prince' was, he certainly did have a nasty streak, like Hermione said.

Luckily, his book had fallen into Harry's hands, just the right person to make use of the many spells and potion variations scribbled messily into the margins.

For Enemies he wrote neatly, and then proceeded to copy out the incantation and wand movements precisely. It took a bit of work to understand the scrawls, but it was usually worth it.

Tonight he would return to the Chamber of secrets and see if any of the Basilisk venom remained, but even if it didn't, there were more than enough deadly concoctions in the standard material to give him a wide choice.

The Prince's variations were just the icing on the cake.

Dobby was happy learning how to use a blowpipe, but Harry needed to find a more discreet delivery mechanism. He wanted something that would have no chance of been seen, and no chance of defending against when he poisoned his target with one of the aforementioned concoctions.

Speaking of variations, he carefully noted all of the different versions the Prince had gone through to get to the end result. Later, he would try them out in the room of requirement and see what they all did. Sometimes he found ones that worked differently, but were just as useful, if not more so, and there was something to be said for having a few spells in his repertoire that were not on the standard menu.

The same went for some of Neville's potion disasters of previous years. Volatile and explosive potions made from common, cheap materials were just begging to be used in previously unthought-of ways. With his faithless but enslaved house-elf as a delivery mechanism, and a second less expendable by infinitely friendlier one as a backup, opportunities were bound to make themselves known.

Harry knew he had a very long and difficult year ahead of him, but he was determined to make every effort to get some pleasure out of it.

Finite