Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.

Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my beta Umar for his great work on this story, as well as Discord users Hedach and Yoshi89 for their help with this chapter.

Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.

Author's Note:

Thank you guys so much for the incredible support on the first chapter! I never imagined this story would have over 300 followers and 200 favourites after only one chapter!

"Speech."

'Internal Dialogue.

Parseltongue.

Memories/In Story Text.

Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos

By ACI100.

Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.

Chapter 1: Beginnings and Truths.

July 1st 1982.

The Wizengamot Chambers.

5:47 PM.

After what had been a very long day of promises, debates and political maneuvering, the speeches, questions and answers had finally been given and Albus Dumbledore could do nothing but sit back with resignation as he watched the display in front of him unfold.

He had been rather disappointed when Millicent Bagnold, The Minister of Magic, had announced that she would not run for office for a third time. Dumbledore could hardly blame her. She had been minister for perhaps the ten most trying years the country had experienced in centuries. Despite that though, Dumbledore really did wish she would have run again. She had not been blessed with a sparkling reputation as a result of the chaos of the war, but in actuality, there had really been nothing she could have done once everything had kicked off. It was true that Albus resented her lateness in acknowledging Voldemort as a true threat, but to the woman's credit, once she had acted, she had done as well as anyone could have hoped for.

Now though, wizarding Britain stood at a crossroads, as the battle for Minister was down to two.

One was a fairly young man by the name of Daniel Shafiq. A true politician, very passionate, very well spoken, and very opinionated. On the surface, Shafiq appeared as if he would be the perfect man for the job. Dumbledore knew better though, as did most people in the room. Shafiq had been a member of The Conservative faction ever since he had joined the Wizengamot and though nobody said it, Albus and most others present knew that he was firmly under the thumb of those in his faction who outranked him; people such as Lucius Malfoy and Tiberius Nott just to name a couple.

On the opposing side stood a man much older and much more hardened by the war. Barty Crouch Sr. was, much like his counterpart, seemingly perfect for the job of minister, at least in the eye of the public. Crouch had been head of the DMLE for the near entirety of the war and in juxtaposition to Bagnold, had been a firm believer in taking action against both Voldemort and her followers, something that made him a hero to much of Magical Britain. The problem, in at least Albus's mind, was the actions themselves. Crouch was ruthless and stubborn and in Dumbledore's opinion, was a bit too much of each. Once the man gained power, it would be difficult, if not impossible to convince him of any path that he himself had not laid out.

Usually, each faction, The Liberals, The Conservatives and The Neutrals would have put forth a candidate for the position of minister. In this election, the tension between The Liberals and Conservatives, or as some would call them, the light and dark was so tense that the neutrals wanted nothing to do with the political landscape. So, for the first time in over a century, there were only two candidates put forward by the Wizengamot for the public to vote on and for far from the first time in that century, Albus Dumbledore felt as if he was in a lose-lose situation.

June 30th 1991.

#4 Privet Drive.

7:23 AM.

It was with a great deal of stiffness that Harry exited his cupboard, trying not to make a face as he stepped into the light for the first time in… he wasn't even sure how long. Of all the miraculous things that had ever happened around him, from the colouration of his teachers hair three years ago, to the way his hair had grown overnight years before that, to even his inexplicable appearance on a school roof, Harry thought the incident at the zoo may have been the most mind boggling one yet.

He had known he was different for some time, known that his emotions, and later even his intent could cause miraculous things to happen around him, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he could do something so outlandish as speaking to animals.

Yes, Harry Potter was very aware that he was different. He was a very well read child, after all, what else was one meant to do when their alternative source of entertainment was to stare blankly up at the dark underside of the stairs? He had always been curious, and in large part, his reading had helped to sage much of that curiosity. So naturally when odd, seemingly impossible things began to happen around him, his first reaction had been to try and find what these things meant and more importantly, what it was that allowed them to be possible at all.

Try as he might, Harry had found nothing of the sort. The closest thing his young eyes had glimpsed were references to similar such things happening in children's tales, tales he had known to have been fiction from a very young age. So, Harry had turned to the next best thing, a term he had read, and later furthered his understanding of through reading an upper year science textbook at school one lunch period while hiding from Dudley's gang in the school library — experimenting.

He had indeed experimented, starting with his hair, as he knew it was something that he could control from experience. When he had utterly failed at any attempt at growing it out, he had focused on smaller, more subtle changes. After awhile, he finally had managed the change he sought out, that being to force his hair to lay flat; something he much preferred to its wild, more natural state. Upon later reflection, it was perhaps the only thing that he and his relatives agreed on. At first it had been temporary, but the more he did it the longer it lasted until, one day, he had not needed to force his hair to change at all.

This had spurred him on further, as he now wondered to what extent his new gift stretched. He had managed to turn on and off the small light in his cupboard simply by wanting it to, though that trick had taken him several months of practice before he could call upon it at will. Once, he had even managed to repair an old tea pot of Aunt Petunia's he had knocked over while running from Dudley's gang while she and Uncle Vernon were out in the garden. He had never managed to repeat that particular feat again, though in fairness, he had not spent a whole lot of time trying. Perhaps Harry's favourite trick was to make objects come to him of their own accord. This was difficult in the sense that he had to focus quite a bit for it to happen, but it was something that Harry found unbelievably convenient. The object had to be directly in his line of sight, something that unfortunately prevented him from bringing his glasses to himself on command in the mornings, but he thought it an impressive talent nonetheless.

In terms of usefulness, the only ability that he thought topped summoning objects to him at will was the ability to know what those around him were thinking just from a glance. Without much effort at all, Harry just knew — he could sense their emotions and general thought processes on most occasions. If he really wanted to know though, on a more intimate level, he could always look them in the eyes and will their thoughts to present themselves to him. It was not mind reading — not really, as he had deduced long ago that it only truly worked with surface thoughts and images, but Harry always got quite the rush from seeing these flashes just by looking someone in the eye.

Even compared with all of those incredible things, Harry still thought speaking to animals may have been his most impressive feat yet, even if, at the time, and much like many of the things he had managed over the years, he hadn't even realized he had done it at all until later. As he walked towards the kitchen though, any and all pride he had for the act was quickly washed away by the sharp pain that ran up his neck, causing him to wince slightly. He may have been small for his age, but that did not make it any more pleasant to be curled awkwardly in a cupboard for god only knew how long.

He entered the kitchen and quickly made his way to the stove, not needing further instruction. He had learned a long time ago that the fastest and easiest way to appease his relatives was to act without being asked. Petunia had woken him for the first time in what felt like ages, so logicallly, Harry thought it was safe to assume that she wanted something. She, nor any of them, never did him any favours unless they had wanted something from him.

That thought may have made any other ten, almost eleven year old child frown, sigh, or even scowl, but not Harry. He had accepted this fact many years ago, and had resigned himself to the reality that no matter what he did, his treatment at the Dursleys would only improve so much. This had been proven rather early on when he had been punished for getting better marks than Dudley. So, in an effort to avoid further repercussions, Harry completely bombed his next examination in order to finish below his cousin. Unfortunately for Harry, this only prompted the Dursleys to punish him even more harshly, this time prompting Vernon to put hands on him in retaliation for what he perceived was Harry's way of making him look bad.

"I will not have any of them believing that we have raised incompetent children!" Vernon had complained. Harry, even then, had been rather tempted to ask him why, if he was so worried about the impression that was being put out about them, he had yet to punish Dudley, but even at such a young age, Harry realized that would have been akin to suicide.

So Harry had given up on getting low marks there and then, choosing instead to do the best he could, putting his near eidetic memory to the test. It was, in many ways, the one main way he had been able to defy the Dursleys. After awhile they had stopped punishing him for scoring higher than Dudley, seeming to accept the fact that he was an arrogant child who wanted only to flaunt any shred of competence he may possess. It turned out that Harry had a rather large amount of competence if his marks said anything on the matter. He had been offered to skip grades several times, but Vernon and Petunia had always resolutely refused. It seemed that the Dursleys drew the line at Harry getting preferential treatment of any kind even if, unlike their son, he had at least earned it.

He knew he was competent, he knew in fact, that he was far more competent than most, if not any child his age he had ever met. He didn't think he was overly arrogant though. He certainly believed himself more than capable, better than most in terms of intellect even, and he certainly knew he had his other strengths such as his knack for charming his teachers into not writing home about his mysterious exploits. He had always been good at that, though unfortunately, the ability had never extended onto his own relatives. In spite of all of that though, Harry knew his limitations, and had no delusions about them.

Another field he was certainly competent in was that of cooking, something his relatives had seen to at an early age. At first he had been gripped by the injustice of such a thing; why should a seven year old boy have to cook for his adult guardians? Now though, he didn't really mind; the time he spent cooking allowed him to be alone with his thoughts somewhere other than his cupboard, something that was a rarity which he cherished more than he would ever admit.

Today was no different. The time he had spent cooking up a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast felt like no time at all for Harry. He served the Dursleys their plates and sat down himself with the meezely piece of toast that remained after Dudley had insisted on seconds and Harry had provided, his customary, artificial smile sliding easily into place.

Harry had not sat down for more than a moment when the unmistakable sound of the mail arriving made itself present.

"Go get the mail, Dudley." said Uncle Vernon from over his newspaper, having evidently seen that Dudley had already plowed through his second helping of breakfast.

"Make him get it!" Dudley retorted, gesturing vaguely in Harry's general direction as he reached for the remote on the couch which controlled Dudley's favourite thing in the whole world — the television.

"Get the mail, boy!" snapped Vernon, not giving Harry the option of an out as he had Dudley. Harry stood, easily resisting the urge to sigh as he plastered that same, artificial smile onto his face and made his way towards the door.

At first glance, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the pile of mail. A postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, a magazine, and a bill, but upon a second glance, Harry froze, his jaw falling open in slack jawed disbelief as he saw the yellow envelope with vivid green hand writing that was oh so clearly adorned by his name.

Harry Potter,

The Cupboard Under The Stairs.

#4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

"Hurry up!" cried his uncle from the living room, snapping Harry from his revery as he reflexively flinched before quickly blanking his face, something else he had become rather adept at in the last number of years. Making up his mind, Harry slipped the piece of parchment into his pocket, his natural curiosity overriding his sense of self preservation. He knew that his uncle would never allow him the letter and Harry could not have found himself more intrigued as to who on earth could possibly be writing to him, or why they might find the need to do so. He had never been important. Smart and talented yes, but unimportant, simply Harry. The small, quiet boy who kept to himself as his relatives did everything in their power to cast him in their shadow.

Little did small, unopposing Harry Potter know that the letter which he held in his hands would change his life forever, even if he would not get to read it for several hours due to the extensive list of chores that awaited him upon his arrival back to the sitting room.

June 30th 1991.

8:47 PM.

The Cupboard Under The Stairs.

#4 Privet Drive.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall.

Deputy Headmistress.

Harry read the contents of the letter over for the seventh time, still hardly daring to believe what lay in front of him.

'Magic,' he thought, 'that's how I can do it all.'

Any other child would likely have scoffed or perhaps even laughed at the ridiculousness of such a letter; but not Harry. He had searched for years, tried everything he could to find how he could do the impossible things he could do and had come to no logical conclusion. In his mind, that only meant that the conclusion, whatever it may be, must have its roots in something illogical and this letter, perhaps more so than anything Harry had ever encountered, fit the definition of illogical quite precisely.

He took a deep, calming breath, a rare, true smile spreading across his face at the idea of magic and its possibilities. Perhaps even more exciting to him was the idea of a boarding school.

'No Dursleys for ten months.'

He was not going to delude himself into thinking he would acquire friends. He was hardly opposed to the idea, but years of experience told Harry that such a thing was rather unlikely. Nobody ever took him seriously, nobody ever became friends with him.

'Yes, but there isn't going to be your horrid oaf of a cousin to scare them all away at Hogwarts, is there?'

This thought did give Harry pause, but he pushed it away ruthlessly. He would not go looking for friends, that always ended in disaster. If by some lucky coincidence he managed to acquire some, all the better, but he refused to allow his hopes to rise too high; that had only ever led to disaster and heartbreak in the almost eleven years of his life.

'Well, maybe not the first year, but I can hardly remember.'

The only thing Harry could remember at all from his first year of life — at least he assumed it was his first year of life, was the sensation of something soft running through his hair, and an odd, green light so bright it was blinding along with two words. Two words that Harry now suspected may have something to do with the world in which he was entering. The first two words Harry had ever known.

Avada Kedavra.

Harry found it off, almost odd that he could not remember more. His memory truly was near eidetic. He could recall, without issue, almost everything he had ever done since his arrival at #4 Privet Drive; even having vague memories of that first day. As time progressed, his memory became more vivid, to the point that he could easily and confidently say he remembered everything that took place after his sixth birthday in vivid detail, and could recall even the most unimportant margins from hulking tomes that he had read years earlier without issue.

In fact, one of his earlier memories with the Dursleys was of Dudley's third birthday party. Harry had tried to correct the magician that Vernon and Petunia had hired as entertainment, telling him that his Abra Kedabra was not right. He had got a firm reprimand from Vernon and he had not left his cupboard for several days. He had not been physically punished; he had been too young at the time; that had not started until he was around six or seven.

Harry smiled bitterly at the memory, not lost in the irony that now, he very well may have been correct in his criticism. He did not reflect on it for long though, he tried to think as little on the Dursleys as possible, even while under their roof. Instead, he waited several hours until he thought it safe to sneak out of his cupboard and found himself a piece of paper and a pen. He had become quite adept at sneaking around in his life due to pure necessity, and before he knew it, he was back in the safety of his cupboard, pen and paper in hand, and only then did he begin to write.

Dear Deputy Headmistress,

Thank you very much for your letter. I do very much appreciate your correspondence and would love to accept your invitation, but I find myself facing several challenges that may prevent me from doing so.

Firstly, I did not know that witches or wizards existed until the receiving of this letter, so I must admit I have no idea on how to proceed from here on out.

Secondly, without getting into more detail than necessary, my guardians would certainly not support me on this venture, which leaves me with no money and a lot of logistical issues to overcome.

If you have solutions to any or all of these issues please write back as soon as possible.

I hope very much to see you on September the first!

The best of regards,

Harry Potter.

It took him two drafts, but Harry was fairly happy with how his final product had come out. It pointed out all of his issues without sugar coating any of it, but at the same time, it did not give away facts he very much would like to keep to himself. He did, however, come to a startling realization upon the completion of his letter.

'How do I send this thing?'

He had no idea what "we await your owl" meant, and for some reason, he doubted very much that the post office would deliver this message to a school of magic. Sighing, he rolled over, resigning himself to the fact that he would just have to come up with something tomorrow.

July 2nd 1991.

The Kitchen.

#4 Privet Drive.

8:01 AM.

Harry set the final plate of food down in front of his aunt, slumping himself down into the final chair at the table, knowing that he would be expected to clear the table and wash the dishes once the Dursleys had completed their meal. There had been nothing left today, which meant that Harry would have to wait until lunch, where his aunt would likely provide him with a piece of bread, or an apple, or something else of similar quantity to pass him over until dinner. At that point, he would be expected to make enough food for the family, plus a meager amount for himself. If he left too much, Vernon would insist on seconds, making sure he got no more than he deserved in the eyes of his uncle.

He was a bit nervous as his intense green eyes surveyed the four of them. Breakfast was almost sub standard today, as it had been the day previous. He couldn't help it, Harry's mind was just in other, far more interesting places. He had managed to send the letter off to wherever it was going that following morning when, to his bemusement, an owl was waiting for him out on the front lawn. The creature quickly took Harry's letter in its beak and took off, causing the boy to blink and shake his head, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into when it came to this new world of magic and mystery. He had comforted himself rather easily, justifying that whatever he was going into, it could not be worse than where he had come from.

He was however, quite apprehensive about the reply. He did not think he had been tricked, he had a sort of sixth sense for lies, and he did not think this was one. On top of that, it was, as crazy as it sounded to Harry, the best explanation he had been given thus far as to how he could do any of what he had done in his life. In spite of that, he was still quite nervous.

'What if the owl just flies in with the reply letter?'

He would never get the letter off of his relatives, and they would know exactly what he had done. He had only been taken to the hospital once when one of Vernon's reprimands had gone too far, but this time, Harry suspected he would be staying several nights if the Dursleys found out what he had done.

Just then, Harry was snapped out of his reverie when the thunderous sound of a very loud — much too loud knock on the front door caught his attention. Vernon grunted, gesturing for Harry to go and open it as his mouth was full of French toast. Harry stood, nodding to his uncle and making his way to the door, expecting the milkman, or a Girl Scout, or someone else. What he did not expect though, was whatever it was that greeted him.

'How is that even possible.'

The man in the door had to be ten feet tall, and he was without a doubt twice as wide and twice as thick as the average man. Even Harry, who prided himself on his emotional control was left gaping like a fish for several seconds before, with a great effort, he managed to shake off his dazed state and even then, he found himself at a complete and utter loss for words. Mercifully for him, he did not have to speak, as the giant in front of him broke the ice.

"Blimey Harry, how ye've grown in the last ten years! Last time I saw ya, I could fit ya in the palm of me hand!" The giant was beaming, positively beaming down at Harry, looking for all intents and purposes as if he had found a long lost treasure. Finally, surprising even himself in the process, Harry managed to find his voice.

"Um… sir… I don't mean to be rude, but… who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "Oh yeah, guess I must look like a right sight, wouldn't I?" he held out a massive hand, which Harry shook as best he could. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone just calls me Hagrid. I'm keeper o' grounds and keys at Hogwarts. Ya'll know all 'bout Hogwarts, o' course!"

"Um, not exactly — Hagrid."

Hagrid blinked, looking confused. "Eh?" he asked.

"I only just found out about Hogwarts." admitted Harry cautiously. "I read about it in the letter, but I was never told about Hogwarts or magic before that letter came."

For several seconds, the two of them stood there, blanketed by a heavy, almost oppressive silence. Privately, Harry thought this silence likely would have stretched on until the end of time had they not been interrupted, to his horror, by the booming voice of his uncle in that precise moment.

"Boy! Who is it at the door? Don't be holding them up!" Upon hearing the voice and the manner with which it addressed Harry, the man — Hagrid, growled almost animalistically as he pushed past Harry without warning, slowly and deliberately stomping his way inside.

"Sir — Hagrid!" tried Harry as his heart leapt into his throat. "I'm not sure that this is the best idea!" His cries fell on deaf ears though as with dread in his heart, Harry slowly and cautiously followed Hagrid into the sitting room.

"Good morning," said his uncle, as he finally looked up from his magazine, "how can we-" but suddenly, his voice died in his throat as his mouth fell open in shock at the sheer magnitude of the man who stood in front of him.

"Do you mean to tell me," growled Hagrid, his voice shaking with barely contained fury as Dudley whimpered from the corner of the room, "that all this time, you've told the boy NOTHING!" This last word escaped in a bellow and this time, even Vernon shrank back from the man's fury. Harry flinched horribly as well, bug Hagrid, who's back was turned, saw nothing. Hagrid shook his great head, realizing he clearly was not going to get any answers from the three Dursleys and instead turned to face Harry. "If they haven't told ya anything 'bout magic, what have they told ya about ya're parents?"

As he asked that question, Harry felt dread clasp even more tightly around his heart as he knew, just knew that what he was about to say, and the response he would hear would change his life forever.

July 2nd 1991.

Diagon Alley.

11:42 AM.

Harry sat in stiff jawed silence in a small cafe across from Hagrid as he allowed the revelations of the past few hours to wash over him. Not only was he about to enter a world of magic, not only had the Dursleys lied about his parents, but he was entering into a world where he had a brother! If that was not enough, his brother was, apparently, one of the most famous people in that magical world. Even that was not all though, as his brother — twin brother, as a matter of fact, was famous for surviving a curse that was supposed to be impossible to survive and somehow destroying the most powerful dark sorcerer in a thousand years.

Despite all of that, of all the unbelievable truths that had been revealed to him, he felt as though only one truly mattered. It was the same truth that had his insides burning with the flames of fury as he did everything in his power not to lash out with what he now knew to be magic. He had done so before, though not often. There was, after all, a reason that Dudley and his gang had started staying clear of Harry a little over a year ago when odd things began to happen to them, increasing in severity until finally, they got the hint and left well enough alone.

No, the truth that wracked his body, that rattled his mind, that made him want to destroy everything around him was, in many ways, so much smaller than many of the other secrets that had been revealed to him, but to Harry, it meant the world.

His father was alive.

Not only alive, but his father had WILLINGLY left him with the Dursleys.

"Are ya ok, Harry?" asked Hagrid, twisting his massive hands in evident concern once the silence became longer than what was strictly normal.

"Perfectly fine." answered Harry in a cold voice that clearly indicated anything but that.

Hagrid flinched. "I told 'im he was bein' stupid!" snarled Hagrid. "He's a good man though." he insisted. "Ye're dad made a dumb mistake, a really dumb mistake, but trust me Harry, he's a good man, if ya just give 'im a chance."

"I will give him a chance," said Harry, finally looking up to meet Hagrid's dark eyes and for the first time in many years, Hagrid actually flinched at the sight in front of him. Those eyes were glowing. Not twinkling like those of Professor Dumbledore, but quite literally glowing, glowing with a horribly familiar, horribly vivid green light that Hagrid knew all too well. "I will give him just as much of a chance as he gave me." With that Harry stood, quickly swiping up the money bag his father had provided for the two of them as he turned to leave.

"Hang on!" protested Hagrid. "Where are ya goin'?"

"Sorry Hagrid," said Harry genuinely, shooting an apologetic look towards the giant over his shoulder, "but I think I need to be alone right now."

He knew, just knew that Hagrid would protest but he also knew, with even more certainty, that he could escape situations he did not want to be in because he had done it before. Focusing as hard as he possibly could on a point high up the street he had glimpsed on his way in, Harry vanished from the cafe with a sudden crack! Leaving a wide, watery eyed Rubeus Hagrid in his wake.

A couple of hours later, Harry pushed a brand new, top of the line trunk carrying enchantments like feather light charms, bottomless pockets, and even an ability to force whatever the owner wanted to the top of the correct compartment through mere thought as well as a lock queued to a spoken password. The trunk contained many of his school things like a cauldron, potions ingredients, a telescope and even a smaller school bag with similar enchantments. In addition, Harry's course books, as well as several for his own reading pleasure and enlightenment purposes like The Punctuality Of Purebloods: A Crash Course in Wizarding Etiquette, The Wizengamot: An In Depth Guide Into The Intricacies of Magical Politics, The Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts, A Beginners Guide to Duelling and Defensive Magic, Hogwarts, A History and several others as well were also in the trunk. Harry had also purchased an owl order subscription, so he could have anything mailed to him he wanted just by sending the shop an owl; he would receive a catalogue each month with the stores full selection. He now only had three stops left, one being Madam Malkin's robes shop, another being the magical pet store he had glimpsed to purchase his owl, and the third, the one he was most excited for, was a wand shop.

Harry did not know the exact conversion between pounds to galleons, but over the past few hours of shopping and exploring, Harry had deduced that what he had in his bag was A LOT, and he meant A LOT of money and would likely do him for the year, let alone this trip.

Harry smiled to himself, taking a sort of savage pleasure in spending his father's money, as he made his way into the robes shop and was quickly greeted by an older woman who must have been Madam Malkin. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, causing Harry to nod, shooting her his all too familiar smile. She smiled back at him. "Follow me to the back, if you would, there is another young boy being taken care of as we speak." Harry followed her, stepping up onto a stool beside a tall, thin boy with slick blonde hair and deep grey eyes.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry, shortly but politely.

"First year as well?" Harry nodded. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley, something that did not leave a positive taste in his mouth, but he said nothing. If his cousin had taught him anything, it was to not rise to the challenge.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, having no idea what Quidditch was.

'Well, it must be a sport or game of some sort.' he reasoned, but that was the extent of his assumption.

"I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"Not really," he answered. He did know what the four houses were. Hagrid had mentioned his parents were in Gryffindor and Harry had pressed him rather hard for details on all four houses. His opinions seemed heavily bias to Harry, but he had managed to ascertain what he thought was likely most of the picture. Thus far however, Harry had not considered which fit him best; he had been dealing with what he considered to be more than enough for one day. "Maybe Ravenclaw." he answered. Academics had always been a strong suit of his.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin though. All our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry. He didn't really mind loyalty. He thought, as a matter of fact, people with such a quality could have greatly improved his life up to this point.

"Say — what's your blood status?" the boy asked him, catching Harry a bit off guard.

'Blood what?'

At that moment though, Harry was unknowingly rescued by Madam Malkin. "That's you done, dear." she pronounced, prompting Harry to step down off of the stool.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you," he lied to the other boy, his charming smile well and fully in place. "I will see you at Hogwarts." he then turned, handing to Madam Malkin a note from his father that had also been pressed into his money bag, one dictating that Harry wanted a full wardrobe. The man had thankfully left the specifications blank. "I'll be in contact about further details." he told her, causing her to smile, likely due to the large sum of money such an order would net both her and her business.

When he exited the robes shop, Harry set his sights on one thing and one thing only — a wand shop. It turned out that it was harder to find than Harry would have thought.

'Seriously, you figure they'd label such a big ticket store in a way that I couldn't miss?'

As he searched, Harry also looked for anywhere that appeared to have the ability to fix his eyesight. In a world of magic, he thought such a thing seemed perfectly reasonable and realistic. Thus far, he had not found either of his desired treasures but as he walked, he paused, noticing a rather dark alley that appeared to lead to an entirely different sector altogether. Harry could make out the outlines of more buildings down that way, and, to his delight at the moment, it seemed far less busy than Diagon Alley.

'May as well give it a shot.'

As he walked further and further into this sector of the alley, Harry began to realize just how sketchy a place he was clearly entering into. Many of the passers by were eying him a bit too hungrily for his tastes and Harry, emulating the aura he tried to project around Dudley and his gang, did everything he could to give off the impression that he was not to be trifled with. Though he could not tell, passers by began to eye him with more wariness than hunger as time passed. He practically oozed danger as he walked, and those who were brave enough to meet his eyes all recoiled at the emerald fire that seemed barely restrained behind them.

Finally, Harry came to what appeared to be a specialized apothecary. When he entered, the place seemed empty. That was until, a moment later, when a soft, hiss of a voice spoke from the shadows of the room.

"Good afternoon."

Harry likely would have jumped, but he had been well conditioned to both jump scares and restraining physical reactions so in return, he merely inclined his head to the figure who now stepped from the shadows. The man was tall and paper thin with skin as white as milk and eyes as black as tunnels. Harry had no idea if the magical world contained vampires, but if it did, he suspected very much that he was staring at one. Subconsciously, Harry reinforced whatever aura he seemed to be able to raise around him as he answered the figure in the calmest, most casual voice he could muster.

"Good afternoon."

The man, or vampire, or whatever he was chuckled. "Such courage from one so young. What can I do for you today?"

"I was wondering if there was any way you could cure my eyesight? If not, I was wondering if you could direct me somewhere that could if such a thing is possible?"

The man stared at Harry with those dark, dead looking eyes for several moments before slowly, ever so slowly, a wicked smile spread across his milk white lips as he nodded. "I can do that, yes, but It will be costly." his smile grew. "It will be expensive, but I am speaking of more than galleons."

Harry's eyes narrowed as his heart sped up a few beats. "What else would it cost me then?" he asked.

"Blood." the creature, who Harry had decided was probably a vampire, as he knew that at least goblins existed, answered. "Not for me," he specified, seeming to pick up on where Harry's mind had gone, "it is a necessary component of the method I will use to heal your eyes."

"How much blood are we talking about?"

The creature grinned wickedly again. "Quite a lot, I suspect." it answered casually. "You may also be interested in purchasing some blood replenishing potions to assure you will not be too weakened at the conclusion of the process."

"Too weakened? So I will be weaker than normal then?"

"Certainly." answered the creature brightly, or as brightly as it could be.

"How do I know this isn't a trap?" asked Harry.

The vampire chuckled. "I would not strike you down, child." it assured him. "At least, not without a very good reason for doing so."

"Why not?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowing once more.

The creature's eyes locked upon his and Harry had the odd feeling of being x-rayed. "Because, it will be far more interesting to see what you make of yourself, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened. 'How the hell did he know my name.' Harry did not sense that the creature was lying and in all of his life, he had never failed to pick up on a lie.

"Very well then," he acquiesced, "I suppose we should get started?"

The process took several hours and Harry, try as he might, really could not keep up with what was going on in front of him. The creature drew odd, complex patterns on the floor with some kind of dust, though Harry would later learn that that, whatever it was, had been nothing more than a placeholder. This had been the time consuming part of the procedure, taking up multiple hours on its own. By the time the creature straightened up from its work after drawing a large circle in the center of the room with odd, lightning bolt type markings oddly reminiscent of Harry's scars drawn around it, it was dark outside.

"And now," the creature said with some interest, "now the blood enters the arena." Slowly and deliberately, he took a long, thin knife from out of his robes and began to march towards Harry.

"If I need to be cut," put in Harry, trying his best to keep his voice level, "I want to do it myself!"

The vampire paused, eying him up and down for several minutes before chuckling. "You are an odd wizard, Harry Potter." he deduced. "Sensible, more so than most in fact, but odd." The vampire handed Harry the knife handle first and after taking a deep, calming breath, Harry cut open his palm, not even remotely prepared for the terrifying amount of blood that poured from such a normal looking cut.

"It is necessary." assured the vampire as he took Harry by the wrist and dragged him around the room, directing him to spatter blood all over the symbols he had drawn out on the floor. His hand was unnaturally cold. "Your blood is a medium." After several minutes, Harry was pale, shaky and felt as if he would faint at any moment but just then, the vampire directed him into the middle of the circle and stepped into the shadows before he returned with a long, silvery clump of hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight that now filtered through the window.

The creature put the hair in front of Harry and stepped back, well clear of the odd symbols and began to speak in a language that Harry did not understand. As he spoke, slowly, ever so slowly, Harry began to feel a prickling sensation starting at his feet that slowly ran up his body. It was as if he had slammed his funny bone at first, though as the chant grew louder and faster, Harry quickly found that the stabbing feeling intensified to far more than that as it ran up his body, filling his chest, closing around his throat, ripping at his gums and then, finally reaching his eyes, where it peaked, becoming far more than tingling as his eyes quite literally felt as if they would burn out of his head at any moment.

Oddly, as if from far away, Harry heard screaming that he would later know to be his own, screaming that, mercifully, did not reach the street due to the wards on the walls. Just as distantly, Harry felt himself fall to his knees, though the fact only half registered in his mind as he clawed at his face desperately. A minute or so later, just as he thought for sure he would die from the pain, it stopped as suddenly as it started, as the blinding white light that had consumed everything in his vision receded and Harry slowly, ever so slowly removed his glasses, realizing that, to his awe and astonishment, he could see perfectly.

"Congratulations," said the soft, familiar voice of the vampire, "you can see just as the world around you truly is."

Harry tried to stand but found he couldn't. He was too shaky, too weak. A moment later, several vials were forced into Harry's hands and only after drinking all of them on the command of the vampire could Harry finally stand. He could see, from the reflection on the glass that he was an absolute mess, though he did not look nearly as pale as he did upon the completion of what he could only call a ritual.

"Through that door," indicated the vampire, "will be a place for you to clean yourself up and change if that trunk has any clothes in it."

Harry sighed with relief, not overly enthusiastic about walking out into a street like this one looking so vulnerable. It took him about ten minutes to clean himself up and change, but when he did, he promptly exited back into the main shop and faced the vampire, who appraised him one final time.

"That will be 100 galleons, Harry Potter." Harry would have winced at the price had he not had more than enough and had it not been his father's money he was paying with.

He paid without complaint, took hold of his trunk and made for the door as quickly as he could. The vampire made no attempt to stop him, though Harry could practically feel his unnaturally dark eyes fixated on his back as he made to leave the shop and reinterred the hazardous streets of Knockturn Alley.

Just as he was about to step through the door though, the creatures hiss of a voice called to him for a final time. "Harry Potter," it hissed, causing Harry to look back over his shoulder, "if you are asked how your eyesight was fixed, I encourage you to lie." the creatures lips tightened. "What your ministry foolishly deems as the dark arts are not viewed in such a positive light by your kind." And with that parting statement, the vampire disappeared back into the shadows as Harry bemusedly stepped back into the alley.

'The dark arts?' he mused, recognizing the title from one of the books he had purchased. 'How interesting.'

Harry, marvelling at the ease of his vision without glasses scanned the street up and down, looking for the way from which he had come in order to find the wand shop that Hagrid had spoken of back on the other side. In searching though, his eyes fell on a small building with the words Hephaestus's Custom Wands imprinted upon its sign.

'Custom wands? That sounds promising.'

In truth, Harry had always been fascinated by Greek mythology, so the name "Hephestus" alone commanded his attention, as he thought it was a rather clever illusion.

Tentatively, he crept his way towards the entrance of the shop, making sure he was not being stalked by god only knew what was in this alley. He felt miles better after downing those admittedly vile potions, but he still felt weaker than he would typically feel on a regular day.

'Regular days? I think I may have used up my supply of those.'

When he reached the entrance of the shop, he tentatively pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to realize that he was not alone in terms of customers. There were two other people in the store who seemed to be waiting for its owner. Unlike the vampire from his last venture, Harry was, at least reasonably sure that the two of them were human.

Both of them were women, or, to be more precise, one of them was a woman and one of them was a girl.

They were very clearly a mother and a daughter, as the shorter of them, who could not have been older than Harry was a spitting image of the taller woman. The woman was quite tall, and judging by the fact her daughter, who was at most Harry's age, was about the same height as him, it was safe to assume that since Harry was of average height for a boy his age, if admittedly on the thin side due to neglect and malnutrition, she was likely well on her way to following in her mother's footsteps. Both women had platinum blonde hair and pale, perfect skin. When they turned to appraise Harry, he actually stiffened. Their eyes may have been the most magnetic things he had ever looked at. They were a bluish silver, with specs of the latter standing out vividly in the iris's. Harry felt the oddest sensation to prostrate himself at the feet of the two women, but quickly clamped down on his mental control and stood his ground, looking back at them imperiously.

He met the young girl's gaze, momentarily entranced by those odd, mesmerizing eyes. A split second later, he did not see the bluish silver of her irises. Instead, he saw a dark, abandoned street as he, Harry, stepped out of the shop and walked towards the wand shop he now stood in.

'I guess I'm not the only one who can do it?'

At that thought, memories of his own exploits over the years floated to the surface. Memories of him peering into the eyes and surface thoughts of others. Harry's eyes narrowed as he did everything he could to push back, focusing on the bluish silver of her eyes, which he could still make out through a sort of haze. As he did so, the image changed, though this time, it was not one that was familiar to him.

He — or more likely — she, was reading a book. A second later, there came a knock from the door behind her, and a woman that Harry recognized from moments earlier entered the room, clearly intent on speaking to her daughter. What she said though, Harry never found out, as just as the memory started, he felt an extremely sharp, extremely sudden pulse of pain run through his mind and quickly he looked away, causing the world around him to come back into focus as dazedly, he shook his head.

The other girl was still looking at him, though now, her eyes shone with curiosity where as before, they had merely reflected her indifference.

"Do I even want to know?" asked a strong, deep voice from somewhere in the corner of the room.

'What is it about people hiding in shadows around here?'

Out of the aforementioned shadows stepped a tall, broad shouldered man with short cropped grey hair and a long, bushy beard of the same colour. He was well built and had well calloused hands and dark brown eyes.

The girl's mother, who's eyes had narrowed upon the completion of her daughter's interaction merely shook her head, taking a rather firm grip on her daughter's shoulder. "I do not think that will be necessary, Mr. Hephaestus, but I thank you for your concern." She shot a quick glance towards her daughter, and Harry had the feeling there would be a lecture coming later that day.

The girl did not seem to care much, as she continued to look at Harry and locked eyes with him once more. This time, nothing out of the ordinary transpired, but he could feel the raw intensity of her gaze and felt as if she were trying to look into his very soul.

"Who are you?" the girl asked. Her voice was soft, yet cool, and gave away nothing as to her internal thoughts.

Harry didn't so much as flinch. "My apologies, madam, but this does not strike me as the place to be giving out my name."

The girl looked annoyed for a moment, but before she could speak, her mother beat her to the punch.

"Charlotte, there is no need to accost the boy. He has a point, after all. Not everybody grows up with the luxury of being able to walk through this alley without fear." The girl, Charlotte, looked extremely miffed, probably because now Harry had her name and she did not have his.

"Should we get this out of the way then?" asked the large man whom Harry presumed was the wandmaker. "I don't have all night and I have a feeling that your wand will be very complicated." he indicated Charlotte when he spoke and she nodded. He turned to Harry. "Stay here while I get this one sorted out, will you?" Harry didn't quite know what the man meant by that but nodded, doing as he was told as the man and the two ladies walked through a door leading off of the lobby. Once they had passed through, Harry could hear nothing of their conversation, and ascertained that had likely been the exact reason why they had left at all.

Charlotte had been sure that nothing could distract her from the joy and excitement that had accompanied her all the way from their family manor to the dingy corner of Knockturn Alley they now resided in. She had, however, been very much mistaken. She had not expected anyone to be occupying the low key, high priced wand shop that her family had always frequented. To her surprise, not only was the shop occupied, but it was so by a boy who looked no older than Daphne. On top of that, he was alone with no parent or guardian in sight and if even that wasn't enough, he seemed to know and be a capable user of Legilimency, even if his Occlumency had admittedly seemed non-existent.

'How would he know one and not the other?'

Now though, as she and her mother Adriana followed Hephaestus into a more private setting, Charlotte quickly cleared her mind and allowed her focus to shift from the odd boy to the odd wall that stood in front of her.

"It's pretty simple for you, not so simple for me." the wandmaker told Charlotte gruffly. "Run your hand over the wall and stop when you feel an attraction. It'll feel different for everyone, so don't bother asking me what to feel for."

"And the core?" she asked, curious as to how that would enter the equation.

"One step at a time. We'll figure that out once we've got your wood." Charlotte nodded in acquiescence, conceding that the point made at least a modicum of sense to her. Slowly she stepped forward, placing her cool hand upon the wall and slowly moving it until finally, it rested upon a dark wood that she could not identify, but that caused an odd, warm tingling sensation to run up her arm.

"This one!" she said confidently, prompting the wandmaker to step forward, tap his wand on the wall, and remove the block of wood whole.

"Ebony." he announced, setting down the wood and waving his wand, prompting a cabinet to open. With another flick of his long, dark wand, the man levitated a row of jars onto the table and instructed her to repeat the same process she had with the wood. The first row yielded nothing, nor did the second, nor the third, nor even the fourth. After he floated the fourth row of jars back into his cabinet and brought out the fifth however, Charlotte felt as though her hand was pulled towards the middle jar.

She announced the match and before she could even gaze into the jar, the man's eyes widened as he snatched the jar up and eyed it critically.

"You're quite certain?" he asked, to which Charlotte nodded exasperatedly. He eyed her with what appeared to be renewed caution as he placed the jar beside the wood. "The heartstring of a very old, very powerful Ukrainian Iron Belly." he pronounced, "Your wand could be ready in about an hour, but I need to figure out what the other boy's gonna need before I start on yours."

Charlotte felt a twinge of annoyance at this. She was not accustomed to waiting, nor, did it seem, was her mother, who raised an eyebrow towards the wandmaker inquisitively. "Is that strictly necessary?" she asked him. "Can you not have Charlotte's wand made up first?"

"I could," he admitted, "but I'd like to get the boy done. I'm… curious about what'll call to him, and I'd rather get him done before he decides to get up and leave."

Charlotte couldn't fault the wandmaker that. A wand, as her mother and older sister had told her on many occasions, was a strong indicator of a person. Whoever it was that sat out in the lobby waiting, there was something undeniably different about him, and Charlotte was not entirely surprised the wandmaker had picked up on it too, nor that he was curious.

"Can we return and retrieve the wand in the morning then?" asked her mother.

"Shouldn't be a problem." the man answered. "Just come by anytime after nine, and on your way out, send the boy in here, will you?" Both women nodded, thanking the man for his efforts and making their way towards the door back out to the lobby.

As they reentered the lobby, her mother's hand closed on her shoulder once more. Charlotte rolled her eyes. What did she think she would do? Attack the boy?

"Excuse me, young man." said Adriana as they entered the foray, spotting the thin boy seated on one of the chairs, appearing to be nose deep in a textbook. He looked up, and not for the first time that night, Charlotte found herself wondering what it was that made his eyes shine the way they did. "Mr. Hephaestus is ready for you in the other room, if you will go on through."

The boy nodded, getting to his feet after shoving his book into his trunk which he swiftly took hold of and dragged after him. Only once he had gone through to the other room and Adriana and Charlotte had exited into the alley did her mother speak.

"That was a poor showing of control, Charlotte. Why, pray tell, did you take it upon yourself to assault the mind of a defenseless boy without reason?"

Briefly, Charlotte debated telling her mother that the "defenseless boy" had managed to get his licks in too, but she decided that information was better kept to herself. "There's something — different about him." she finally answered. "Surely you felt it too?"

Adriana hummed softly. "Perhaps, but an admittedly potent aura is hardly a good reason to legilimize a boy whom you may never meet again."

Though Charlotte had no good retort for such a remark, she had the unmistakable feeling that she and the boy, whatever his name was, would meet a few more times in the not so distant future.

Later that night, it was a mentally drained Hephestentine Gregorovich that settled himself down in bed with a sigh as he pressed his large, calloused hands to his temples.

'What are the odds?' he thought to himself. The boy had been as curious as the girl before him. Both had favoured Ebony, though their cores differed greatly. The girl had gone for a dragon heartstring from a Ukrainian Iron Belly and the boy had gone for a feather from the tail of a phoenix. Beyond that though, what made the phenomena so mystifying and worrying was that, if the rumour on the Iron Belly heartstring was to be believed, a heartstring he had salvaged from the remains of his grandfather's shop years earlier, both young children were now in possession of wands irrevocably linked to the two greatest dark sorcerers of the past century.

Author's Endnote:

A few end of chapter notes here since I know somebody will try and correct me in the reviews.

Yes, I am well aware that both Harry and Tom get their wands from Ollivander's in the actual series but quite frankly, this is called an AU for a reason, and I think it very much in character for both Harry and Riddle, both in canon and in this story to go exploring the alley and take a liking to the idea of a custom wand.

Also, yes, technically the dates for Harry running into Malfoy don't line up, as Malfoy was in the alley nearly a month later in canon but again — AU.

The timeline may be flexed a bit in this story, so I suggest if that bothers you, you either get used to it or tune out.

Finally, the scene with the vampire may have come across as a bit cliche, but trust me, it is done for a reason, several, actuall, though admittedly none that will be of importance until later years. The same could be said for the selection of Charlotte's wand, but I will not write scenes so cliche too often, I promise.

Before I sign off here, quite a few of you asked me about the future pairing of this story. Quite frankly, there will be no romance until at least third year, and fourth in most cases, and I have no intention of spoiling any of it before then.

Aside from that, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I will hopefully see you in the next one.

Please read and review.

PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, March 7th 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.