His Darkest Truth

by DZ2

'So many Wizards. So much potential. Squandered for so long. It's time to set things right. I'll return to their world. Tear down anything that might protect them. And when it's too late, when they're powerless and alone, they'll realise the truth. They could have been gods' Dark-Lord Harry/Pansy; Dark/Evil Dramione

1. The Wrong Sort

His Darkest Truth: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: 'So many Wizards. So much potential. Squandered for so long. It's time to set things right. I'll return to their world. Tear down anything that might protect them. And when it's too late, when they're powerless and alone, they'll realise the truth. They could have been gods!'

Author's Note: So, I imagine someone might recognise where I got the little 'truth' from for the summary of this chapter; weirdly, when reading it and hearing the original version, all I could think about was a Dark-Lord Harry with this very idea. Does that make him as bad as Voldemort or worse? Grindelwald or worse? Maybe even older Dark Lords and Ladies or worse? I don't know, but I'm looking forwards to finding out.

Anyway, I hope you can enjoy the fun of this dark adventure.

And, as always, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to everyone who enjoys taking a walk on the Dark Side: my recommended reads are Damaged Raven, Silver King, Apex and Dark Lord Potter by JustBored21, Yield to the Darkness and On the Delights of Drinking Blood by Quatermass, The Rise of a Dark Lord by LittleMissXanda, Harry Potter: Lord of Darkness by AngelSlayer135, The Darkness: Descends and The Darkness: Returns by ReusableMermaid, Blood Matters by BloodyRedQueen, The Demon Who Lived by Forthwith16, Kill me if you can by PercyPendragon3, Worthy of Magic by Sage Ra, Path to Power by sirius009, The Downward Spiral Saga – Harry Potter and the Homecoming, Harry Potter and Salazar's Legacy, Harry Potter and the Year of Broken Chains, Harry Potter and the Return of the Lost, Harry Potter and the Dirge of Hope and Harry Potter and the End of War – by BolshevikMuppet99 and Rise of the Wizards and Be Careful What You Wish For by Teufel1987

Key Pairing: Harry/Pansy; Draco/Hermione;

Other Pairings: To be determined

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

'Mind Speech'

/Parseltongue/

Chapter 1: The Wrong Sort

Harry Potter was a quiet boy.

And, in the land of the ignorant, otherwise known as Little Whinging, being quiet made you strange.

Being strange made you wrong.

Being wrong made you a target.

At least, that was the way it was supposed to be.

The wrong, the strange and the unusual, all these things were supposed to be targets for the fickle, narrow minds of the idiotic Muggles who took up residence in the small village. Neighbours' curtains were supposed to twitch ominously and close, personal friends in tea dances and social circles were meant to spread uncouth rumours about the strange and unusual, before putting on fake smiles when the subject of their smear campaigns walked past them, being happy-go-lucky and cheerful one minute and then shooting barbs the next.

And, for anyone else, it was the norm for Little Whinging.

But not for Harry Potter.

Truth

It all began with Harry's Uncle, Vernon Dursley.

For several long months, Little Whinging became privy to the cries of the drunken lout whom even the most-desperate socialite wouldn't touch unless they were even more inebriated than he was, which was impossible. Seriously, the guy looked like an overinflated African elephant and drank as much as a whole herd of them.

These disgusting binge-fests were usually followed by thumps, cries and screams from inside Number Four that, when people went looking, and police were called out, often resulted in apparent arrests before, by morning, Vernon Dursley was back in his house and the screams began anew.

Talk about a vicious cycle.

But then, one winter's night, the inhabitants of Privet Drive were left speechless, but also in a celebratory mood – behind twitching curtains and in small social circles, naturally – when a loud, skidding sound came from the street, closely followed by a loud explosion that knocked out all the electricity in the street for four days straight.

When people snooped at the reason for the skids and the explosions, however, they were left speechless, surprised and more than a little curious when they found Vernon Dursley's latest attempt to put himself above everyone else – a brand-new Merc with extras that he must have either stolen or embezzled to afford – had wrapped itself around a lamppost on the end of the street, though not before crashing through four others, knocking down two cats and flipping up over a low garden wall.

As for Dursley, all that was left of him was a lot of melted fat, a charred skeleton and a life-insurance policy that basically left his family set for life.

However, when people went to console Petunia and kids offered their own apologies to Dudley, they were alarmed to hear the inhumanly-thin woman respond in a level, apathetic tone of voice, "He really shouldn't have hit my darling nephew. He should've taken his belt to Dudley instead."

As for Dudley, his answer was equally-chilling, "He wasn't my Dad; he was a monster who hurt my favourite cousin and I'm glad he died."

Finally, there was the aforementioned nephew/cousin, Harry James Potter; a little boy who, at the time, had only been six years old, but when the neighbours had seen him, looking thin and weak and less than normal, at least by Privet Drive's standards, the only thing they saw was a look that definitely frightened people.

A cold, empty stare with green eyes that seemed to shine like the fires of Hell itself.

And when the body was finally laid to rest, those who were passing by at the time would swear blind that they saw little Harry smile as he watched his Uncle being put in the ground, never to rise again…and not a normal, happy sort of smile either.

No, this was a smile that made one think of a shark smelling blood, or the Devil admiring the End of the World.

Of course, people soon chose to forget that icy-cold smile, but, unfortunately, they couldn't soon forget the boy…

Truth

The next unusual incident surrounding the not-normal, wrong, meant-to-be-a-target boy named Harry Potter involved one of the local boys around the neighbourhood, Piers Polkiss.

It was several months since Vernon Dursley's death and, while the inhabitants of Privet Drive seemed content to forget the fat drunk, as well as poke around for gossip, if not favours from the now well-off Dursley family – or what was left of it – nothing seemed to change.

Neither Petunia nor Dudley even seemed to notice they'd come into some money, except when, that Christmas, no less than a small convoy of delivery trucks brought a new bed, new walk-in wardrobe, en-suite shower, drawers, television, games console and a whole new clothing wardrobe that looked more like something out of Harrods all to Number Four.

When people poked their nosy faces at the sudden windfall, however, Petunia waved them all off as she explained, "It's a special Christmas present for my nephew: now his Uncle's dead, we can finally treat him as he deserves to be treated."

Curiously, around the same time, word spread around the schoolyard that Dudley had moved into the smallest bedroom and hardly ever got any new clothes, becoming the local smelly kid with bad BO and even worse manners, all of which only sought to make his cousin look better.

This was, quite possibly, what forced Piers Polkiss' hand during a party that everyone was invited to, in order to celebrate Harry's 7th birthday and, in a manner that made the neighbours compare it to a Royal Wedding, no expense had been spared for the young man.

From bouncy castles to pony rides, local fairground attractions to a giant swimming pool, a petting zoo, as well as a circus complete with animals, a local band, children's entertainer and an all-you-can-eat sweet buffet that only seemed to be used by Harry himself, everything was there.

As everyone sang happy birthday and Harry went to blow out his candles, Piers struck, shoving Harry's face right into the cake, making sure to hit the candles, so Harry would be burned. While several other kids had laughed at the sight of the pampered prince of a birthday boy with the proverbial egg on his face, Harry had just wiped the cake off, throwing it to Dudley, who began scoffing it hungrily, before he looked at Piers.

That was all he did.

Just look at him; seconds later, Piers turned and walked right over to the circus trailers, before he unlocked a door that held none other than a tiger, which seemed content to wait until Piers was inside its den, the door locked behind him, before the tiger pounced.

The scarier part, Piers didn't even cry out.

All he did was smile and close his eyes as his flesh was ripped off, clawed up and, eventually, eaten by the bloodthirsty predator, who seemed to be in seventh carnivore heaven as he ravenously slaughtered his prey. By the time the mauling was over, all that remained of Piers were bones used as chew toys by the tiger, and a large, well-fed tiger that licked its paws and lay down on its bulging belly.

And when people turned to look at the birthday boy, many of the kids seemed to forget about Piers pretty quickly.

But the grown-ups never forgot that same cold, shark-like smile, or the way that Harry's only response to the nightmare-inducing horror was to turn and walk over to the buffet. "Now I'm really hungry…ooh, chicken legs."

It was on that day that many of the adults chose to do everything they could to just see Harry Potter as another face in the crowd.

Probably the smartest thing they could have done.

Truth

Nearly two full years after the massacre of the boy in the tiger cage, another strange tragedy befell Little Whinging when a fire suddenly broke out at the local school, which not only burned down half the school, but also left many of the teachers hospitalised.

All except the headmaster who, when questioned by the police, said the same thing over and over again.

"I did it to make him happy."

And while many kids were traumatised by the events, little Harry Potter – though, not so little now as he seemed to go through a serious growth spurt between his eighth and ninth years – was found sitting in the library, reading from a copy of David Copperfield, not even aware of the smoke in the halls or the fire that had more-or-less cut him off, keeping him in the library.

In fact, his only response was, "Is it me or is it really hot today?"

Truth

On Harry's tenth birthday, another terrible accident befell Little Whinging, this time happening to batty, old Mrs Figg, who nobody had even noticed had vanished around the neighbourhood. The only reason this tragedy was noticed was because of how a neighbour had complained about a smell, only to discover a terrifying sight that left her needing a padded room.

Mrs Figg, lying dead in an armchair while her cats ate her, each one feasting like kings on her flesh, leaving nothing but bones and carrion in their wake, not to mention several scarred faces and fingers from Animal Control and the RSPCA officers who came a-calling to rescue the cats.

And, just like before, the only other strange occurrence was Harry, who seemed to turn up conveniently before he'd scooped up the smallest cat, who was nibbling on his former master's eye, before he cradled the feline close to his chest.

"Aww, I think I'll keep you, little one…hmm…I think I'll call you Leo…yeah, little Leo the lion cub…do you like that, boy?"

Then, just like that, he was gone, not even bothering to notice the gore or the death that had taken place.

Truth

In the winter of Harry's tenth year, another family tragedy took place, but this one actually got a response out of the boy.

It happened when, after years of keeping her distance, Uncle Vernon's morbidly-obese whale's bitch of a sister, Marge, finally decided to drag herself away from the nearest off-licence long enough to challenge Petunia about the money for Vernon's death. Instead, the only thing she found, sources say, was a night filled with terrors that ended with Marge drinking car petrol out of the can and taking a lighter to herself.

Though not before she screamed, "I'm coming, Vern!"

When the emergency services found Marge, or what was left of her, they also found Harry, who was being comforted by his Aunt and Cousin as he wept against them.

However, sources say that, when asked what was so sad about the death, Harry's response was colder than any other.

"I wanted her to get eaten by her dogs! All that meat going to waste like that…what a bitch!"

Truth

Eventually, as all nightmares must, the residents of Little Whinging were silently delighted to discover that Harry Potter was leaving their perfectly-normal world behind, heading off for a private school his parents had paid for him to be enrolled in for the next seven years.

And, while Petunia crowed about her special little guy and Dudley made his own plans to get his head flushed by every kid at Stonewall High, the residents of Little Whinging suddenly felt compelled to host the biggest, loudest, most-law-edging street party they could.

One that lit up the skies with fireworks and had many different houses broken into, looted and wrecked by drunken ravers.

At the peak of it, however, on September First, when the residents had heard Harry Potter was going away, one random drunk accidentally set fire to the gas tank of a large delivery van that had brought party favours and decorations for everyone to enjoy things getting back to normal.

The Great Fire of Surrey – as the papers dubbed it – lasted for a whole week before the fires were put out.

By the time it was over, not one living soul remained in the hamlet of Little Whinging.

Save one.

Truth

A lonely boy.

A deathly-green-eyed individual with wild, untameable raven-black hair, pale – but in a handsome, almost-mystical, elflike manner – skin and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, who sat alone in the train station café in London, listening to the emergency broadcast of a fire that had suddenly erupted in Little Whinging.

As the news declared the movement of the firefighters, Harry James Potter smiled coldly before he stroked a much-larger, muscled Leo in his lap, earning a rolling purr from the cat as Harry smiled at him.

"Yes, Leo; now they can breathe easily…now I've released them from being useful to me…"

"Excuse me?"

Looking up, Harry scowled when he saw a café worker standing next to him, the young man indicating Leo as he told Harry, "No animals in here."

"You know," said Harry, still petting Leo while he also looked right into the man's eyes as he told him, "I think you could do with a shower; why don't you go and clean out the grease in the fryer, you filthy Muggle?"

Even as the worker left him, seemingly deciding that nothing was amiss, Harry sniffed once before he set Leo down, rising up from his seat as he added, "Come on, boy; we're going to miss the train."

Truth

At exactly 11am, ambulances were called to King's Cross Station when a local café worker was found drowning himself in white-hot grease.

When police questioned him, before he finally succumbed to his injuries later in the day, his words were always the same;

"I needed a shower."

Truth

Meanwhile, on an olden-days train that was bound for an unknown part of the world – at least, to Muggles, it was unknown – eleven-year-old Harry James Potter looked out of the window, watching the last dregs of the Magical World move to hurry onto the train, many of them in smiling, happy, excitable moods while others showed nervousness, doubt and denial.

As he watched them, Harry scoffed, petting Leo gently as he watched the rabble run around like headless chickens.

"Look at them, Leo…so many Wizards, each one of them capable of so much potential…and yet, as we know, the only thing they've succeeded in doing is keeping their potential squandered for so long."

As a loud whistle echoed through the station, signalling that the journey was about to begin, Harry sneered as he drawled, "It's time to set things right. They say they've waited for the return of the Boy-Who-Lived for so long…very well, I'll return to their world and when I do, I promise you, Leo: it won't be to become the Boy-Who-Lived; no, I'll show them all what real power looks like. I'll tear down anything that might protect them, leave them in a state that makes what I did to the Muggles preferable by comparison."

As the train, known as the Hogwarts Express, rattled and shook beneath him, Harry let out a brief grunt of discomfort before he snorted as he looked down at his pet, smiling softly when he saw Leo purring contentedly in his lap, before Harry looked to the window as the train finally set off.

"And then, when it's too late…when they're powerless and alone, maybe then, they'll realise the truth…they could have been gods!"

Curiously, at the same time Harry shared his thought with his faithful companion, the heavens opened, drenching the journey in a storm for the ages, though not before a bolt of lightning actually struck the Hogwarts Express.

Almost as though some greater force were acknowledging Harry's mission…and as they looked down on him, they saw what he had become…

And thought it…good!

Boy, can you say brr?

The story's just begun, but it looks like the protagonist is anything but: quite the contrary, where there is meant to be a saviour, instead, we find the human embodiment of Lucifer himself, but how did all this happen?

More to the point, what will this demon in wizard's skin do about the magical world and the goal he now has in mind for them?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: The Dark Saviour heads for Hogwarts, coming in from out of the storm with a lot on his mind, like how he's meant to survive seven years without adding to his already-impressive Death Ledger;

Please Read and Review

AN: Leo

Also, in case anyone's wondering, Leo isn't a normal cat.

Instead, he's a Jungle Cat – yes, that's a real breed; I know they're not what you'd call domesticated cats, but they are cute.

And a black one seems almost-perfect for someone like Harry, wouldn't you say?