THE INSANITY OF HARRY POTTER

Summary : Insanity and genius were always separated by a thin line. When the war forces Harry to cross that line, he finds himself exiled. As forgotten terrors reemerge to wreak havoc on Britain all hopes fall, once more, upon the fallen hero. Insane!Dark!Harry

The previous version of this story came under some criticism for not incorporating Harry till so late in the story. Considering that even after his brief introduction I wouldn't be able to work him into the piece till at least a few chapter later, I realized that I had to make a change - it is a Harry-centric story after all. So I spent a large chunk of time reworking the story in my head and finally came up with this. The story was revamped enough to warrant a change in title, so for those who were disappointed by the lack of Harry last time around - hopefully you'll give it another shot. I hope all of you enjoy the new (hopefully better) story.

Please review. I write for the reviews and the number I got last time around was seriously discouraging, and after spending so much time redoing the story, it would be nice to hear what all of you think about it.

Cheers,
Bittersweet

Prologue

General Ronald Weasley sighed as he crumpled up another parchment and threw it in the general direction of the fireplace. It joined countless other similarly crumpled parchments in littering the carpeted floor. Ink stains on his hands and a few broken quills on his desk combined to paint the picture of a man feverishly, but fruitlessly, working towards some goal.

The war had destroyed many promising lives and cut several blossoming friendships at the bud. It was these friendships that Ron was trying to heal. But after ten years with nary a letter, he found it near impossible to reignite the spark that sustained the camaraderie.

As he towards the window of his plush corner office – being the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had its perks – he felt a wave of melancholy him. He wondered what could have been had Voldemort simply not existed. The lives and relationships that could have been saved... a few personal cases struck a still raw chord within him.

A disjointed hoot pulled him out of his reverie and he waited for the oncoming owl.

Ron's eyebrows rose as he beheld the bedraggled appearance of the owl as it swooped through the window. His mild surprise soon turned into undisguised horror as he slowly saw the true extent of the owl's injuries.

One wing was shattered beyond repair and its lower jaw was simply missing. It had evidently been flying on someone's magic. It also seemed to have something inscribed upon it... in blood.

The rough, unsteady script revealed itself, upon close inspection, to be the word Timothy.

Once it reached its destination, the magic left its body, and the poor owl collapsed on the table in front of Ron. A small phial containing some silvery substance rolled out of its talon and stopped near the edge of the table.

Ron cautiously stared at it for a few moments before pulling his wand out and performing a few cursory curse detection spells on it.

When the initial spells revealed nothing, he pulled out a few delicate instruments from one of his shelves and started mumbling under his breath. Apparently satisfied, he rose and moved towards a cupboard hidden in the recesses of his office and pulled out a pensieve.

He knew that nothing cursed could get through the Ministry's wards but over a decade of constant war would burn an unhealthy amount of paranoia on even the most innocent of minds. And Ron had hardly ever been innocent.

He settled the pensieve in a corner of his large, oak desk and poured the silvery memory contained within the phial into it. Without much further ado, he submerged his head into the swirling fluid and felt the real world dissolve around him as he journeyed into the memory.

He watched as a short, stocky and wholly unremarkable man, whom he assumed was Timothy, trudged through the dense forest. The canopy overhead permitted only limited sunlight through but Ron could easily make out how cautious his steps were.

The shorter trees spread their branches outwards and formed a thick, thorny interlinking mesh between the larger trees. The thorns had worn Timothy's hands raw and bloody as he had fought his way through them.

Insects buzzed loudly from every which direction and birds chirped happily even as the rustling underbrush announced the presence of small scampering animals.

The scene would almost have seemed idyllic had one not seen how harried Timothy was. The tension hung thick in the air around him. All of a sudden something above started howling, apparently sensing the presence of a large predator. A loud roar acted as confirmation and shattered the jungle's tranquillity.

Timothy's hand jumped to a nasty wound on his side. Judging by his unsteady and unfamiliar handling of his wand, it was clear that Timothy was a poor wizard. Ron could easily imagine how a beast could have got through his guard and attacked him before he could muster any form of defence.

Another roar echoed between the trees. As he spun around searching for its source, Timothy crashed headfirst into a nearby tree. His impact and subsequent yell upset a nesting vulture and it cawed angrily as it hopped to another tree and stared greedily down at the hapless man.

Clearly unnerved, Timothy illuminated the area with a red flash as he cursed the vulture. It flew away with an indignant squawk.

The birds retreat seemed to embolden Timothy and he grew in confidence and stature as he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Ron sighed, Timothy was obviously unaware that he had just shone a spotlight upon himself. Everything in the forest now knew where he was.

A serpentine hiss wormed its way through the trees and suddenly the jungle, once teeming with noise became deathly silent. A strangled yelp and whimper broke the suffocating silence before it once more blanketed the area.

What could possibly be more terrifying to the denizens of the jungle than, and apparently kill, the earlier beast?

Timothy's face turned white as he tightly gripped his wand and he backed into a tree, his earlier confidence all but gone. Droplets of sweat started to trickle down his forehead and a nervous trembling wracked his body.

There was silence for a few more moments before a haunting whistle filled the air. Somewhere in the distance the dense foliage had worked its way off the ground and was jerking around in erratic spirals. The whistling seemed to emanate from there as the moist leaves vibrated in the humid air.

The disturbance spread outwards and soon they were surrounded by the tornado of leaves. The annoying, persistent noise numbed their ears even as the surprisingly sharp leaves tore at Timothy's exposed skin.

Then, suddenly the leaves fell as one. Timothy's fear knew no bounds as he wildly spun about, trying desperately to find the thing responsible.

Uneven, but confident footsteps sounded and echoed through the trees, thus masking their true origin. Their volume gradually increased in intensity and Timothy slowly slid to the bottom of the tree, landing in a foetal position, his hands clutching at his head.

His mouth dropped wide open, too stunned to release any noise as the sounds' source became clear. An abomination of a man limped into view. The sparse light filtering through the canopy overhead barely illuminated the man and only served to make him all the more terrifying.

Harry Potter's face was marred by an enormous, red, knotted scar. It stood at least an inch out of his skin and ran from his left forehead through the eye, which was milky white, and curled into his mouth, permanently giving him a gruesome sneer. Two smaller white scars ran parallel to the large one. His silvery hair, streaked with what looked like dried blood, was tangled and knotted and fell slightly past his ears.

Harry's one good eye, still vibrantly green, stared cruelly at Timothy as he struggled to form words. "Searching for the scar, Timothy?" he whispered.

Timothy violently shook his head, terrified that Harry thought he was mocking his scars.

"It faded over time," Harry said wistfully, as thought longing for those days. "But.. but but.. I've got new scars? See! Now I'm even more recognizable eh?"

Timothy tried to ignore the insanity bubbling through Harry's eye as he opened his mouth to try and speak, only to snap it shut in terror as Harry raised his left hand. The hand and forearm looked badly decayed, as though there was only blackened skin left covering the bones. The emaciated arm ended in sharp obsidian nails.

"Uh uh uhhh…" he snarled as he absently stroked Timothy's mouth with his hand. "I have only one rule you see… No talking!"

Timothy's eyes widened as Harry's skeletal hand started to glow a sickly yellow color. His eyes rolled back in pure pain and all his neurons fired as his lower jaw was literally ripped from his skull.

Harry smiled as he dropped the jaw and watched it roll on the forest floor until it came to rest next to a rock. "Don't you see how much better this is? Now you can't scare the animals away with all your noise," he said happily.

'Enervate!' Harry thought and watched as Timothy who had been slowly passing out with the pain popped back into consciousness.

"We can't have you going to sleep now can we? No no no… You came all the way here to give me a message. Don't you think it would be rude if you didn't deliver it? After all you've already gone traipsing through MY jungle!" Harry roared the last two words out.

"So.... once again.... WHY?"

Terror clouded Timothy's eyes as he realized he wouldn't be able to answer Harry's questions. He struggled to move, but Harry's force of will rendered him immobile. Harry gazed at him curiously for a few minutes before breaking out into peals of laughter. Even his laughter was twisted and abnormal. It sounded more like a mockery of laughter than actual laughter.

"You were actually trying to talk? My… you are stupid. It's called legilimency Timothy. Did you never wonder how I knew your name?" Ignoring his feeble attempt at an answer, Harry once again dove into Timothy's mind, making sure to cause him as much pain as he possibly could.

Timothy's helpless spasming suddenly stopped. Then without warning, Harry started assaulting him. He broke Timothy's arm and burned a hole through his thigh, steaming ears and rapidly reddening skin indicated that his blood had started to boil.

Terror and pain were burnt into his eyes and his shattered mouth was forever open in its silent screams. All of this was scant consolation to Harry as he slashed into Timothy's mind once more.

Just as suddenly as his appalling assault had started it ended. A smile managed to turn Harry's mutilated face even more vicious.

"It's rude to send a wizard to deliver a message you know… very demeaning. We have owls for a reason, noble creatures that they are." He looked carefully at Timothy and suddenly his good eye started rolling with glee. "Well if they sent a wizard, it obviously means they don't have enough owls. I think I'll do them a favour."

He raised his wand and concentrated for a moment before drawing two circles in the ground and roughly connecting them with an arrow. "Convoco vi rut noctua." Loud snapping and ripping noises tore through the silence that succeeded Harry's spell and Timothy was slowly and painfully transformed into an owl.

With another wave of his wand the owl was formed to jump of the ground and land softly on his shoulder. He looked at the odd owl, it had no lower beak and one of its wings dangled below, near its feet, for a minute before happily saying, "You know, I once had an owl myself. Her name was Hedwig, wonderful little creature. You really should aspire to be like her, Timothy."

The memory slowly faded and Ron found himself drifting back to reality, still in shock by the sheer brutality of what he had just seen.

Before Ron was once again embraced by reality, he felt himself being roughly jerked back into the memory. Startled, he tried to fight against the overwhelming force – pensieve memories ended slowly, they never brought you back once they were finished.

Harry's bastardized face slowly swam into his vision, till it covered his entire consciousness. A vicious snarl, enhancing the permanent snarl his scars anyway emblazoned upon his face, served to make the vision even more ominous.

"I wonder.... do you like what I've become, Ron?" Harry whispered. "My... my scars – no! Never mind my scars... I just had to let you know that if anymore wizards come to my jungle – MY ­jungle, I'll have to be as hospitable to them as I was to good old Timothy!

"Why, I might even end up being nicer. Maintain appearances and all that," the snarl slowly faded and a smile struggled to replace it, somehow contriving to make him even scarier.

"Infact... infact... Now that I really think about it... you've never once visited me. Why is that Ron? I get so lonely!!

"You think about that Ron... My home is your home, even if it's not the other way round..." his voice trailed off darkly.

"Until next time, I leave you with this present." Harry finished vindictively as Ron's head exploded with pain as the memory detonated inside him. Maniacal cackling echoed softly in his head as he drifted out of conscious.