I've had this idea in mind for a while now.

I was inspired by other authors into writing this.

Enjoy. I don't own Harry Potter. Please don't flame it.

A Slytherin Potter.

The Sorting Hat had known what it had been thinking about when it had wanted to put Harry into Slytherin. He had known it from the moment he had listened to the Sorting Hat. But it was one of the reasons he had gone into Gryffindor. It had sensed his mindset and the building blocks of his plan to make his own way in life. The Hat had lamented not putting him into Slytherin, especially when it went through his memories and discovered that underneath his clueless, naive, innocent and underachieving facade lurked a mind sharper than a razor blade. The Hat also lamented that, besides a few others in the house, nobody else really came close to his level but he had learnt not to underestimate them.

A part of Harry had been tempted to just go into Slytherin and remove the mask he had been forced to wear ever since he was old enough to understand the only way he could survive the Dursleys and his life as a thief which had become just to put food in his belly whenever he was starved almost to death. Two things stopped him; Dumbledore would likely pay more attention to him and that would be detrimental to his plans and the Magical World would likely call him evil simply because he wore green trim on his school robes, and Draco Malfoy although the second reason was pettier.

Draco Malfoy may be as subtle as one of those idiots who somehow, without any kind of logical or scientific reasoning, believed in the lie if they dowsed themselves in lemon juice they would become invisible and they'd try to rob a bank completely exposed, but Harry knew the other teen was dangerous. He wasn't smart, but he was clever in his own way.

The Sorting Hat had seen how cunning he was, complimenting him on his mask which hid his true nature, and how he had mastered his magic at a young age, and used it to commit crimes until he had become so good at it he was getting away with one burglary after another until he only needed to walk down a high street and with a wave of his hand or fingers, his pockets would be filled with cash from a bank or an automatic telling machine, but the Sorting Hat had chortled with glee when it saw, in his mind, his desire to flee from Dumbledore's influence after learning from Gringotts what the old wizard had been doing without his knowledge all this time.

When Harry had first walked into the magical world with Hagrid, he had high hopes that, at last, he could finally be himself without having to impress anyone.

No such luck.

The first clue that he'd have to play the tedious game of hiding his true mask continually which had started shortly after the Dursleys had begun beating him for scoring higher than their precious son was when he saw and heard Hagrid admit to the goblins Dumbledore had been holding onto his vault key since his parents had died.

It had been a red flag. Another was his 'friendship' with the Weasels, or Weasleys, and Hermione.

They were more trouble than they were worth, with Hermione's complex and insecurities, her need to constantly answer questions and make the rest of any of the classes they attended look like a bunch of shop window dummies. On top of that, whenever Harry had answered a question correctly, Hermione would just glare at him as if she'd seen him commit the worst offence possible. Ron and Ginny were just as bad, one of them had insecurities a mile wide, with his pathetic problems involving his family and how he just hated being the youngest son without even thinking, not even once, he could change things himself.

And so as a result, he had gone into Gryffindor instead. He had been forced into the 'hero' role, a role he had never liked ever especially since the wizarding world had a fickle attitude when it came to heroes. One minute, they were seen as saints, the next they were dark lords in training. The fact he got so little out of it was another turn-off for him. And so, for four years while he had to deal with the petty qualms of a world, having to put up with fair-weather friends who said things behind his back, deal with a corrupt Ministry, a pathetic Dark Lord with mummy and daddy issues, and an old headmaster bent on twisting him into a weapon he needed to win a war which, in a different world, would have been dealt with long ago.

But this year was where everything would change. He had been waiting a very long time to just leave the British wizarding world behind, but without his OWL results done and his NEWTs finished which would prove to many he was a qualified wizard and he could live by himself.

He was almost ready.

X

Harry was sitting up in bed in Grimmauld Place.

Thankfully, Sirius had allowed him to get his own room, which equated to freedom away from the Texas Weasley Chainsaw massacre - he didn't understand Molly Weasley's neurotically constant need to push him and her damn brood together. Ron was a whiny idiot who threw a tantrum at the smallest things, the twins were obnoxious, Percy was a sycophant who acted like he was smarter than others but he was little more than a puppet content to live in the shadows of others, and Ginny was a pathetic little girl. But tonight, ever since Mr Weasley's injury he did not want to be anywhere near the Weasley siblings. They had glared at him as if what happened to their father was down to him. The logic escaped him, he just hoped they realised Voldemort had possessed the snake responsible for the attack and he'd just been along for the ride. Unfortunately logic and reason were not a part of the Weasley's genetic makeup.

But as he sat up in bed, too wired to fall asleep despite his body being more than willing, he was thinking about what happened. He had always prided himself on his occlumency proficiency. He had studied it ever since the day he had gone back to Gringotts for more details relating to his family and what role Dumbledore had been playing since his parents' murder.

Hagrid had stupidly left him to his own devices after the shopping trip. It was so easy going back to the alley from there, he had been planning on doing it anyway. And once the half-giant had left, it was simple for him to change trains, return to the alley, and meet up with the goblins. From there they'd warned him about Dumbledore's proficiency with the mind arts and what they did. Once there he had made learning about the mind arts a priority, but because of how frequently Snape and Dumbledore poked into his mind, he had needed to figure out a way of hiding his deepest secrets and his desires.

The attack didn't make sense and neither did all the visions and impressions he got from Voldemort. Mental intrusions needed line of sight and eye contact to work, but these visions were coming while he and Voldemort were separated by a gulf of miles, and when he was asleep. Another thing he couldn't work out was what those bloody pains in his scar were.

His scar was prickling again now as if mocking him for his hopelessness. At that moment, Harry had had enough. The scar had to be seen too. He had tried having Madam Pomfrey look at it, but the silly cow hadn't made any headway and she had said she couldn't as it was the Headmaster's order. Picking up his wand, Harry cast his Patronus charm and relayed a quick message to it, sending it off to Sirius to come to his bedroom. He only needed to wait a few minutes before there was a knock on the door.

"Come," Harry said.

The door opened and Sirius poked his head in, his tired face worn but his eyes were concerned. "Harry, do you know what time it is? It's late. What's wrong? Your Patronus was urgent."

"It is. Close the door and sit down."

Sirius did so and he looked at Harry with curiosity. Harry told him what was wrong and how his research had told him what was going on with his scar was just impossible. Sirius listened to every word without any kind of interruption. When Harry was finished, the older man rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"You're right, mental intrusion requires line of sight. There's a saying the eyes are the windows to the soul, but they're also windows to the mind. A skilled wizard in the mind arts could ride through the optic nerves to the brain and they have access to your thoughts and your memories. But this is news. I don't know how your scar works, but I know it's not right. Harry, this is important, does your scar always ache afterwards?"

"Yes," Harry was pleased Sirius wasn't condemning him for being a liar and he was listening to it all. He had been condemned a lot recently, and it was growing boring. "It's been getting worse as the years have passed, and I think some of Voldemort's emotions are bleeding into my emotions. That's why I have to work hard not to be too angry this year."

Sirius had been looking at Harry with growing worry. "Harry, has anyone really checked on your scar?"

"No, not really. People keep telling me to go to Dumbledore and tell him what I'm feeling, but he has never shown any interest in telling me what's in it. He only told me Voldemort transferred some of his powers to me when I was a baby. As for my scar… I tried to get Pomfrey to take a look, but she said Dumbledore had given standing orders to her not to touch it."

"What?! Is he mad? The scar is affecting your health and Pomfrey is tasked with taking care of the mental and physical health of the students. The fact he gave that order is a breach of his ethics as Headmaster. Well, we'll get to that in a bit. I'm more worried about your scar. In the meantime, that crap about Voldemort transferring his magic to you…" Sirius scoffed. "That's impossible. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking when he came out with that stupid lie. While it is possible for a wizard or a witch to provide their powers to others, it's usually a bastardised copy that isn't as good as the real thing. Also, it's just not possible for that kind of transference. Every witch and wizard's magic is totally different from one another, just like they are different to others in terms of height, weight, and appearance. If someone else's magic tried to affect the wizard, it might have some effect but they would fight any foreign power which is not their own. There are talismans who do the job, but it is not perfect. And besides, the talisman's containing the other wizard's power need to be worn at all times. They can be things like glasses, monocles, tiara's, rings, necklaces. They contain some of the wizard's power and create a loop allowing the power to be used. No, this is something else. Get dressed Harry, I need to check on this. I've got a nasty hunch what it is, and I'm hoping Voldemort didn't do what I think he did."

Unsurprised Dumbledore had lied to him again although he made no comment about it, Harry did as he was told and together the two wizards headed for the library. Sirius took down a few books with great care, and he flicked through them. In the end, he let out a deep breath. "We need to find an expert in dark magic, Harry. I think, inside your scar, is a horcrux. A soul piece from Voldemort which is designed to give immortality, but they don't work because they damage the soul."

"And you think Voldemort's put that in my head?" Harry whispered.

"Yes, it's beginning to look like it is. A horcrux is created through the act of murder. The younger the victim, the more potent the power of the horcrux. But it's dangerous as souls are important for life and for magic. Damage it, and you become insane."

Harry nodded slowly, realising even with his almost exhausted mind he could see this as Voldemort's path to immortality. "That makes sense," he muttered thoughtfully, "Voldemort was always crazy, but when I met his teenage self from a diary he seemed a little saner compared to later versions."

"What teenage self?" Sirius demanded.

Although he was befuddled by the demand, Harry was more than happy to relate the story of the Chamber of Secrets…

X

"Come in, Mr Potter," McGonagall called, and Harry stepped inside for his careers meeting with McGonagall. He had been expecting this meeting for some time, but truly he was uncertain of what he was going to do when he graduated. The fact his graduation was so close was lost on the magical world.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry sat down in the chair opposite the desk, studying the desk in front of him. Leaflets and dossiers of information relating to the various careers available to students when they left the castle after their seven years in the school were sorted neatly in front of the transfiguration professor.

After a brief introduction, McGonagall asked Harry what he would like to do for a career. Harry was silent for a moment while he considered the question. In truth, he had plans of travelling the world, gaining experience and learning from witches and wizards without being in a school setting. Even better, being freed from Hogwarts and Dumbledore's restraining influence would give him a great deal of thought of what he wanted to do.

But he needed to see his options regardless without tipping McGonagall off. He knew she would tell Dumbledore.

"What are the options, Professor?"

McGonagall gave him an arch look while her lips pinched in that universal way of saying you'd better not be wasting my time, although I know this is a waste of time. "I would have expected you to have come up with an idea yourself, Potter."

Harry mentally sighed. McGonagall had formed her own views of him thanks to listening to Hermione who called him an idiot simply because he didn't do an essay without her prodding, and how the quality of his essays was subpar. It never once occurred to either of them their opinions meant less than nothing. But sometimes it really grated on his nerves.

The problem with McGonagall was she wasn't just biased towards students whom she favoured, much like Snape did with his own, she was weak-willed and she easily bowed her head and let stronger willed people do whatever they wanted while she did nothing. While some people could say she was overworked, it was not a good excuse for her to do absolutely nothing but the barest minimum for her Gryffindors. Harry had lost count of the number of times he had tried to tell the witch something only to be disbelieved in turn. It was that attitude that made it very hard for him to trust her. He had never trusted adults or authority figures in his life, but the fact someone from the world he'd been born into refused to believe or listen to him was even more painful.

It had been Hermione who had forced him to speak to McGonagall and tell her what was going on with the Philosopher's Stone; while he hadn't liked it, he had agreed with the logic. The stone was just too big for him to handle, but she hadn't believed him, and Harry along with Hermione and Ron had gotten hurt as a result. McGonagall could have prevented that, but she had been dismissive.

The fact she didn't lift a finger to help him over the years was another reason. The students had turned on him more than once, and she'd had the power to mitigate the worst of it. In the end, he had decided he was not going to ask her for anything. What made it sweeter was he was not the only Gryffindor to find Minerva McGonagall to be someone to avoid. Many of the First Years quickly learnt the lesson. The funny part was the woman didn't even know it, but if she did then she gave no sign about it. Harry believed it to be the former.

"I have some ideas," Harry's voice was mild but there was no hiding the danger lurking beneath the surface although whether the aloof woman was aware of it or not, he didn't know. "But I would like to know about other options."

"I have many students to see in the next few hours, Potter. I have no time to waste with you."

Harry was so stunned by the hostility he was on the receiving end of the diatribe that was dismissive of him that he barely heard the muffled high-pitched girly giggle. He let out a sigh and he turned and found Umbridge, dressed in those ridiculous pink clothes that made you resemble a toad shaped fondant fancy. What the hell was she doing here? Deciding to ignore the so-called 'High Inquisitor,' Harry turned to McGonagall again.

"Okay, I was hoping this meeting would be informative, where I might have had some choice at hand. You really want to know what I have in mind for when I leave Hogwarts, even though it was none of your business? Fine. I was actually planning on furthering my magical education abroad before I made my final choice," Harry said.

McGonagall was surprised by the reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Umbridge was just as surprised. They had likely formed their own ideas of what he wanted to do with his life. If they were disappointed then boo-hoo. And fuck McGonagall for having her own set in stone beliefs.

"Abroad?" McGonagall's voice was a whisper.

"Yes."

"I would have thought you would wish to become an auror."

"No. I'm not interested. I've stared into the abyss a bit too much over the last couple of years. All I want to do is travel the world, and see what's out there," Harry said.

It was dangerous admitting this to McGonagall. He knew she would run and tell Dumbledore, but there was a reason for it. In Dumbledore's head, he had two more years after this year at school. That was more than enough time to ensure he didn't leave the confines of this fucking country. But when he realised the depths of the deception, it would be too late. It was likely Dumbledore would try to look for him in foreign countries like America, Australia, Canada, or New Zealand. English speaking countries.

Wrong. In any case with the discovery of Voldemort's so-called immortality, there would, in theory, be no reason for the old fool to come after him anymore. Only one more meeting with the bastard was needed, and then it would be over. For good. Harry was looking forwards to the day.

No more visions.

No more end of year finales, no more life and death after having mysteries shoved down his throat gradually over a whole year. By far the Triwizard Tournament had been worse than all of them put together, the whole year had involved the entire school turning on him but in truth, it had done a great deal of good. The adversity had toughened him and he'd had the excuse to do what he needed to do, to learn as much magic and add dozens of spells to his repertoire without anyone stopping him and he had done it all under the guise of being a victim.

But what he really hoped for was a chance to escape from Britain for a bit. He had no clear idea what he planned to do with his life, but he knew one thing; his future, it wasn't in Britain. He wanted to visit other countries and just be himself instead of being some walking mirage.

"Travel….abroad?" The words sounded weird as they dripped off McGonagall's tongue, as the older witch stared at him as if she could not believe what she had just heard.

"That's right," Harry nodded. Why was the stupid thick bitch having a problem understanding something so simple?

"But…why wouldn't you want to become an auror?"

What was the obsession with him becoming an auror? Hadn't these idiots anything better to do with their lives other than try to manipulate him?

"Hem-hem," Umbridge made that irritating sound when she wanted to speak and give her own unwanted opinion before Harry could even open his mouth and answer McGonagall. Harry closed his eyes and bit his lip as he tried to keep his patience. "I'm afraid to say, Minerva, that the Ministry would not accept a troublemaker like Mr Potter," Umbridge spoke without being asked what she wanted to say.

"And what makes you think I even want to spend a day in your precious Ministry?" Harry asked mildly before McGonagall could even speak; the Transfiguration professor was opening her mouth, gearing herself up for a fight which would be futile. "I don't want to spend my life working for people like Fudge."

"Mr Potter-!" McGonagall began, but Umbridge spoke over her, her expression filled with annoyance.

"How dare you besmirch the name of Cornelius Fudge."

"I wasn't. I was expressing an opinion," Harry turned away from the seething Umbridge and turned to McGonagall, dismissing the arrogant Ministry official without any trouble. "Professor, are there other roles?"

"Yes, there are, but I was expecting you to choose to become an auror," McGonagall seemed hell-bent on him saying that was the role he wanted, in spite of everything that he'd said.

"And why is that?" Harry ground out, just holding onto his patience. Why couldn't this stupid woman come to the point? "What's wrong with other jobs?"

"Well, your father and grandfather were aurors," McGonagall said as if it was the end of the matter.

Why were wizards and witches in Britain so convinced that just because he resembled his father that made him a clone of his father? Harry took a deep breath and he fixed the professor with a look. "Well I am not them," he said. "I want to make my own way in life without being compared to James Potter, a man who has been dead for nearly twenty years. Now, please stop trying to turn me into a James Potter clone and tell me about the other careers. I'd like to have a grounding by the time I come back."

It was not a good meeting after that. While he had expressed interest and fascination clearly in fields like healing and curse breaking, Umbridge had seemed to dredge up excuse after excuse as to why he would never become a healer or a curse breaker. What made it even more insulting was because of his rejection of James Potter's 'glowing' image as a fucking saint while no mention of Lily was made which made him wonder if the supposedly light side of magic was as drawn into the stupid blood supremacist bollocks as the Death Eaters, McGonagall seemed to be agreeing with Umbridge, only she was going on about how complicated the courses to become a healer or a curse breaker were, completely missing the fact aurors required a good knowledge of potions, specifically poisons and antidotes in order to graduate as well. Harry had done his research long before this meeting had begun, and he knew while he could become an auror, it wasn't something that appealed to him.

He had been surrounded by dark wizards most of his life and he wanted to be rid of them.

In the end, Harry had just left the office, feeling whatever shards of respect - it was hard to believe he still had some - for Minerva McGonagall dry up. Her bias and her opinion of his ability were there for all to see, and he recognised the signs which said she doubted he would amount to anything…

God, it would be good to prove the old biddy wrong.

X

Looking down dispassionately while being aware of the Ministry aurors and Fudge himself behind him, Harry gazed down with contempt at the thing who had tried to kill him for all these years. The arcane spell he and Sirius had found in the Black family library which destroyed the horcruxes by draining them of their magic was beyond taxing, but it had worked although he had needed to fight through the pain as his skull felt like someone was cracking it open to rip the soul fragment out of it.

Voldemort was dying, and as he looked down at the form of the thing, Harry remembered the grief he'd had in trying to escape from Hogwarts after his very public attack in the middle of the History of Magic exam. And not for the first time, especially following those damn occlumency lessons from Snape, Harry wished he and Sirius had come up with a better plan instead of unleashing it in this manner. He wished he had removed the soul piece there and then, but Sirius had told him the spell required too much time to learn. That was the only reason he hadn't used it previously.

Getting out of Hogwarts without the new Inquisitorial squad and the teachers, to say nothing of his minders wasn't hard; thanks to the Marauder's Map and Sirius' personal knowledge of the passageways, it was easy for him to grab a Thestral and get out of there. Even better, he had come out on his own.

"How…did you do this?" Voldemort's voice was a pained, hoarse whisper as he glared weakly up at him.

Harry smirked down at Voldemort, knowing the bastard would recognise the smirk for what it was. The smirk of a Slytherin. The insult would be recognised instantly. It made him happy he had a chance to spite the bastard one last time.

And yet… Monologuing was a fatal flaw, it allowed the enemy to find a weakness, gain time and use it to strike back. Harry had used Voldemort's monologue against him in the past, he didn't want the tables to be turned over on him in the same way. Voldemort might be weakened for the moment, but who was to say he didn't have access to some kind of weapon, a dagger or a vial of poison for instance?

"You set up a trap for me," he said with surprising mildness, and his voice was low but everyone heard him nonetheless. "I set up a trap for you. Who did it better? Sending a vision to me… seriously, is that the best you can do? I thought you were a Slytherin once upon a time, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I've waited a long time for this, you bastard."

Voldemort choked and he died.

X

A staring contest was going on between Harry Potter and Amelia Bones. It went on for about ten minutes, while the two magicians sized the other up. Simply put, Amelia Bones was uncertain what to make of the Boy-Who-Lived. And as an auror, she did not like that thought. She had spent much of her career learning you could take one look at someone (even someone who had occlumency training), and know what they were capable of.

But looking at Harry Potter… it was impossible. She had been staring at the famous young wizard for ten minutes, but she was getting nothing out of the experience.

Not only that, but she had no idea how he had managed to end He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Dark Lord who had haunted the British magical world for decades was finally dead. Amelia wasn't sorry, although she would have liked the bastard imprisoned for life in Azkaban, unable to resist the Dementor's influence. The bastard had wanted to stomp on the magical world, massacring everyone as he lashed out at the world.

And it had nearly happened again. The Ministry had been taken by surprise regardless of how Potter and Dumbledore had both tried to warn everyone only to be mocked and disbelieved. Amelia was uncertain what to believe at the time, but she had secretly been making inquiries, and she had not liked what she had found.

"Mr Potter, do you mind telling us what happened between you and….Lord Voldemort," she uttered the name of the wizard who was now dead nobody need fear it again.

Harry took a deep breath, weighing up what to say while he sounded sincere. He didn't like the idea of telling Amelia Bones about the piece of soul Voldemort had left in his scar, but if he didn't then he would likely be questioned later. Slowly he began to explain. He told Amelia everything about what Voldemort had done to make himself immortal. He didn't leave anything out, although he was nervous about telling her about the soul fragment and his findings of what Voldemort had done.

Finally, he told her about how he had deliberately left the soul fragment alone, despite all of the never-ending headaches, visions and impressions he had received. Amelia was surprised he hadn't tried to remove such a disgusting and disturbing thing from his mind, and she had fought the urge to whip out her wand and curse him thanks to her instincts. However, her experience steadied her hand. She would take the boy to the Department of Mysteries to determine if he was safe.

"I wanted to trap Voldemort; he would think he was in control, but all that time I was luring him into a trap, using myself as bait. It was stupid, even suicidal. Many people are already lauding me as some kind of hero, Madame Bones. The truth is I'm not a hero. I didn't end Voldemort for the magical world. I didn't do it all to create a new age of prosperity and peace, although that does sound good. I did it because I wanted the bastard dead. I wanted him to finally pay the price for the lives he'd torn apart."