Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would not bother writing fanfiction as I would be incredibly filthy rich.
Hadrian Potter, the Fucking Legend
By: Darkened Void
Chapter 1: Simmering Summer Siren
August 28, 1997
Life was good, but it hadn't always been that way.
He'd been born, a small, normal boy alongside his twin brother, Larry.
By all appearances he'd been average, nothing to look twice at. Just a small, squalling, and healthy baby boy. Even his parents had thought so.
How wrong they had been.
For they had given birth to Hadrian Fucking Potter, the soon to be "Living Fucking Legend" and the reincarnation of Merlin himself. Sadly, the rest of the world had yet to catch on to his greatness, too enthralled by his brother, the inappropriately dubbed "Boy-Who-Lived".
He was getting ahead of himself yet again. A rare occurrence, to be sure, since he was nearly perfect in every way.
To those who knew him well enough, Hadrian graciously allowed them to call him "Harry".
Life had been good for the Potter family for the first eighteen months of Harry and Larry's lives, despite the fact that they had been hiding under a Fidelius Charm. Sybill Trelawny had given a prophecy that set the Dark Lord Voldemort's crosshairs on both of them.
Apparently, the self-styled Dark Lord did not appreciate living in the twins' collectively awesome shadow and sought to kill the toddlers to show the world just how powerful he was.
Truly, it was a wonder that any pureblood would be idiotic enough to follow him, not that they set the bar too high, mind you.
It eventually did happen, though. The Dork Lord Moldyshorts had gotten the secret from the Potter's traitorous friend, Peter Pettigrew. Harry, along with the rest of the wizarding world, had believed the secret keeper had been Sirius Black until his third year at Hogwarts.
So, he'd shown up uninvited on their doorstep that fateful Halloween night in 1981. And what a horrible guest he'd been.
Voldemort had rather easily dispatched his parents, who for some reason were completely unprepared for this eventuality… Even though they had prepared for the aforementioned eventuality.
But the Derp Lord met his match in Hadrian Potter. Something had happened that night, but nobody except Harry had a clue as to what it had been.
Voldemort had turned his wand on Larry first, seemingly the weaker of the two toddlers...somehow. The young toddler Hadrian had taken exception to this, of course. As the incantation of the killing curse was uttered gleefully, Harry gathered his considerable magical ability and rolled on top of his younger twin brother.
The green light enveloped them both as Voldemort laughed his most evil, shrill laugh. But something strange happened.
Harry was wreathed in golden flames as a flock of phoenixes descended and let loose songs of olde. The green light bounced off Harry and Larry and the Dick Lord Moldyfart was no more.
Not a soul could say for certain what happened that night, but Larry was dubbed "The-Boy-Who-Lived" by the wizarding genius Albus Dumbledore.
The reason was obvious, of course. He was Hadrian Fucking Potter, a god amongst men. There could be no other reason, despite Headmaster Dumbledork's constant prattling of "love and magic".
Life had then taken a turn for the worst for the world's newest hero, and all before he even had a full head of teeth!
The magnanimous "Whiskers" had taken the twins from Potter Cottage, sealed Harry's overwhelming magical core – though this was unknown to Harry until his fourth year – and had delivered him to his own personal hell: ten arduous years at Durskaban.
Meanwhile, Larry got to live in a castle and was trained by the third most powerful wizard in Britain, the lucky bastard.
Conversely, Harry knew nothing of the wizarding world or his role in it until his first year at Hogwarts. He'd not even known he had a brother.
It had been a godsend.
Going to Hogwarts, that is. Having a famous sibling sucked.
His first three years at Hogwarts as a Slytherin had been rather mundane, all things considered.
Fight a troll and befriend a girl in a near death experience. Check.
Save Larry and his best friend Ron Weasley from a Cerberus and get detention in the forbidden forest for it. Checks out.
Confront centaurs and Voldemort possessing the body of their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Kind of a "meh" night to be completely honest.
Though Larry pissing his trousers had been rather glorious, all things considered.
Make his way through a series of traps meant to incapacitate or kill "adult" wizards after failing to convince Larry it had been a bad idea. Par for the course.
Actually, fight Voldemort who was still possessing Professor Quirrell while his brother cowered behind the Mirror of Erised.
Of course, he'd killed that fucker. He was Hadrian Fucking Potter, First Year Extraordinaire.
And his brother got the credit. Fucking Dumbledore.
Second year had been an interesting interlude.
Avoid multiple murder attempts by a deranged house elf. Yeah, that one was a bit odd.
The entire school turning on him for being a Slytherin parselmouth. That's called Tuesday, friend.
Kill a basilisk with a motherfucking sword while his brother lay passed out in a puddle of his own excrement. Too easy.
Destroy the shade of Tom Riddle who was stealing Ginerva Weasley's soul by demolishing the bastard's diary. And oddity, to be sure, but it was not until much later that Harry learned it had actually been a horcrux. More on those later.
Ickle second year Harry Potter, slayer of XXXXX beasts. Oh wait, the credit of course went to Larry.
Go figure.
Enter third year, better known as the year of grunge at Hogwarts.
It was the year of the mass murderer, best known as Padfoot the Slayer of Wenches, chasing down poor Larry Potter.
Truly, not much of note happened that year. Most of it was teenage drama. Yawnsville.
Sirius Black. Innocent, though not proven so to the Ministry until his fifth year.
One hundred dementors? A mere Sunday stroll through the park for a man of his caliber.
Larry, of course, had been sound asleep in the castle. His food coma had been particularly strong that night.
Keeping hold of the real traitor, Wormtail, had proven to be an impossible task while fending off a fully transformed werewolf. Remember the binding of his magical core? Yeah, it sucks to suck.
Those twelve years of life had nearly beaten down the young Harry Potter. The years at Resort Durskaban and the trials of his first three years at Hogwarts had seen to that. He'd been weak thanks to Dumbledore binding his magical core. He'd been unaware of his legacy, his power.
Fourth year had changed all of that. It had started with his nonconsensual entrance into the Triwizard, tri as in three, Tournament.
As an aside, Harry still thought it odd that he'd been entered into the tournament only because Bartemius Crouch Jr was dyslexic and made a goof. Larry and Harry were similar names in a way, he supposed.
To say that he had been angry and not a little fearful for his life would have been an understatement. Harry was sure that his luck would finally run its course and he would die.
Were it not for one simple letter.
It had arrived two days after his selection for the tournament.
Such an unassuming little thing.
But the power it provided had been great, liberating.
Harry had visited the goblins at Gringotts during the next weekend and he'd not returned to the school until the following Monday.
Apparently, being admitted into a tournament meant for adults by three Ministry officials and three headmasters of three schools meant that he was legally an adult for the duration of the tournament.
Thankfully the goblins, cunning as they were, knew of a loophole to grant him permanent emancipation and to make him an official lord in the eyes of the wizarding world. The best part was that there had been nothing the Ministry or Dumbledore could have done to stop it.
He'd learned much from Ragnok, King of the Goblin Nation.
His power had been unlocked and he knew that he would be a force to be reckoned with, both politically and magically. Harry learned of Dumbledore's manipulations and his stealing of familial artefacts, both powerful and ancient.
Knowledge of family magic and history had assaulted his mind, thousands of years of information. Magic, conquests, numerous family lines all his for the taking. Alliances, old and new, were available to him.
Add to that his new alliance with the goblins, simply for being polite to them (he scoffed at the idiocy of wizards), and he was a person who could wreak destruction wherever he went.
Harry Potter, once little more than a pauper and a puppet, became an unstoppable juggernaut that fateful day.
Screw being The-Boy-Who-Lived.
He became Lord Hadrian Jamison Potter-Merlin-Le Fey-Peverell-Pendragon-Gryffindor-Slytherin-Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff-Black-Bones-Gaunt-LeStrange-Greengrass-Nott-Malfoy-Selwynn-Ragnok-Dumbledore.
And he took the world by storm.
Gone were the days of weak, innocent, gullible Harry Potter.
He was a dragon, as depicted by his family crest.
Harry won the Triwizard Tournament with ease, much to the annoyance of his fellow champions. Although, Fleur Delacour seemed like she did not mind in the least if her current expression was anything to go by. More on that in a bit.
Harry needed his daily reminder of how great he is.
Voldemort had attempted to lay a trap for Harry, but it of course failed because the Dork Lord failed to consider that his quarry was Hadrian Fucking Potter.
And Hadrian Fucking Potter had been prepared.
When the goblins had tried to destroy the horcrux in his head something had gone awry, but Harry couldn't complain about the results. The horcrux, in a final bid for survival, had tried to possess the young wizard.
Of course, Harry was far too powerful for that. The horcrux had been integrated into his own soul and, with it, all of Voldemort's knowledge and memories. Though he could not explain it, it also gave the young lord nearly unfettered access to Voldemort's mind.
Magic truly was as amazing as it was illogical.
He'd known of the fake Alastor Moody and had allowed the man to stay in his position. The Dark Lard's resurrection ritual had been all too easy to stop since he had the foreknowledge of the event.
Voldemort had been forced to flee under the might of Hadrian Potter, leaving Peter Pettigrew to the teenager's tender mercies. He had not been kind.
Sadly, Harry had not had the time to deal with Voldemort's horcruxes up to that point, so he'd been forced to allow the specter to flee.
Portkeying back to Hogwarts with a living, breathing Peter Pettigrew in tow had been icing on the cake.
Chaos ensued over the course of the next summer.
Minister Fudge had tried to block Harry's attempts to have Sirius freed at first, but he'd eventually seen that Harry's course was the righteous path with a bit of gold. Thus, Dumbledore lost all political sway with the Minister.
In one fell swoop Harry had the most politically powerful man in Wizarding Britain eating from the palm of his hand.
The political landscape changed almost overnight, and life was good.
Ridding the Ministry of its rotten apples had not been a small task. It had consumed most of Harry's limited time that summer.
The sheeples' eyes had been opened.
Voldemort had been furious.
He'd been even angrier at the fact that he had no recourse to Harry's actions.
Fifth year had been a bit of a bore as a result. Harry's fame had skyrocketed after the tournament and his political maneuvering. Voldemort laying low had allowed Harry to take advantage of his time in the spotlight as Hogwarts' most eligible bachelor.
Oh right. The Horcruxes.
Gone… All of them, except Nagini.
Though he would never admit it, the highlight of fifth year had been when he won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.
Stick that in your frilly pipe and smoke it Gilderoy.
Over the summer after fifth year Voldemort had finally learned of Harry's ability to delve into his mind from afar. Surprisingly, the Dork Lord had discerned how to block that connection.
For the first time in over a year, Harry had become blind to the man's actions and plans.
Voldemort had used Draco Malfoy for his resurrection. Harry was glad to be rid of the bouncing ferret but having Voldemort in a physical body was hardly a fair trade.
Deaths and disappearances became commonplace. Despite the Ministry's preparation at Harry's behest, the magical government began to crumble at its foundation.
The only real change for Harry during that year had been the strikes he had conducted against Death Eaters. But, even as strong as he was, he was only one person. Unless he killed Voldemort outright, he would not be able to turn the entire tide of the war.
Voldemort had attempted to raid Hogwarts at the end of the year to kill both Harry and Dumbledore. Thankfully, Harry had been able to use the chaos to kill Albus Dumbledore and pin the blame on Voldemort.
And thus, he became the Master of Death.
The Cloak from his father.
The Ring from the Gaunt Shack.
The Elder Wand from the cold, dead hand of Albus Dumbledore.
The rush of power had been heady, all-consuming. He had driven the contingent of dark wizards from Hogwarts and staked his claim as Hogwarts' heir by boning the Lady Hogwarts on top of the Astronomy tower.
Voldemort had seen his awesome power, and he had fled with his tail tucked between his legs.
And the celebration with his ladies that night. That had been a night to remember. They'd woken all of Hogwarts from their slumber.
A high-pitched wail from beneath him startled him from his silent musings, but he did not turn his focus to the person who let out the sound.
Ignoring the shuddering emanating from beneath him, Harry turned to the mirror at the head of his bed. Giving himself a wink, a quick flex of an arm and a thumbs up, he took in the main event happening in the master bedroom of Potter Manor.
Writhing beneath him, her pale smooth body glistening in sweat, was none other than Fleur Delacour. Harry slowed his pace, allowing the woman beneath him to catch her breath.
"Non, 'Arry, why did you stop?" Fleur scrunched her nose, her pitiful excuse of a glare making him want to laugh. She was too wound up to properly scold him, it seemed.
"As my lady commands."
A squeak escaped her lips as he pulled out of her moist cavern and flipped her over. No sooner than she was on all fours in front of him did he look down, taking hold of his meaty chungus before slamming it back in her dripping honeypot where it belonged.
Harry smirked at the gasped moan that left her lips.
"Ah, 'Arry, oui...OUI!"
Harry grunted his response as he slammed into her from behind with renewed vigor. Her ensuing screams let him know that his meaty stick had made her orgasm yet again.
Wiping the sweat accumulating on his brow, the young wizard looked at the clock on his bedside table.
They had been at this for two hours straight. It would be time to end it soon.
"'Arry…. you 'ave been...quiet." Fleur's words came out as quiet gasps between Harry's forceful thrusts. "Iz somezing...wrong… mon amour?"
So many answers, so many possibilities. His answer needed to be chosen carefully, deliberately. Harry thought over the possible responses as he took in the sight of them rutting in the mirror. He made for quite the sight as he pumped into his aptly named "summer siren".
Fleur was not half bad either, he supposed. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen even if her personality left a bit to be desired. The young veela was rather full of herself.
Flexing the muscles in his abdomen when he caught her staring at him in the mirror, Harry looked her in the eye and smirked as he continued to fill her tight hole.
"Tell me, Fleur," he began as if he were speaking of the weather. "Tell me how big I am."
"So big, 'Arry," she panted as soon as he had finished speaking.
Disappointed mewling left her lips as he slowed his pace. He ignored her. Instead, he wagged his finger at her in the mirror, a mock disappointed look on his face.
"Now, now, Fleur," he chided, "You know that is not a good answer. Let's try again. Tell me how big I am."
"Please, 'Arry. Keep going." Fleur scrunched her eyes shut and lowered her head. Disheveled, platinum blonde hair covered her flushed face.
Harry's strong, broad hand smacked her hard on her round, luscious ass in reprisal. Her resounding yelp reverberated off the walls. Wet walls tightened around his shaft.
Glorious.
"Not until you tell me, babe." He began to slowly pull out of her, her womanly juices dripping onto the sheets below them. Combined with the sweat on the sheets, it made for a heady smell within the room.
Growling, she answered, "You are zo much bigger zhan Bill, 'Arry. You...you are zuch a fucking Chad. Now fuck me like un animale!"
Patting her on the head, Harry smashed into her once again. The sound of his hips slapping against her reddened ass was music to Harry's ears.
They continued for a few more minutes as they had been. But Fleur was finally driven off the deep end when Harry reached forward to grab a handful of her platinum hair.
Then, he truly began to fuck her like an animal, just as she had requested.
Pants, moans, groans, and skin slapping against skin were the only sounds in the lavish room as Harry repeatedly sank his member into her weeping snatch. His cock hardened as he looked at her DD boobs swaying boobaciously in the mirror.
It was so hot.
After a few more minutes of rutting, Fleur's strength gave out and her entire upper body seemingly melted into the mattress beneath her. Screams, muffled by the sheets, made themselves known as she came unwound once again.
He was such a fucking Chad.
And she was his little veela wench.
"Who am I?" Harry asked harshly, pounding her womanhood with reckless abandon.
"...ry...ter."
Harry pulled her head up and turned her head to look her in the eyes.
"I couldn't hear you." Her throbbing core tightened around his massive manhood. "Who am I?"
Fleur went cross-eyed from the pleasure coursing through her body. "'A…'A…'Arry P-Potter."
He could not help the smirk that blossomed on his chiseled, manly face.
"Wrong."
She could not even process his one word answer so lost was she in a sea of agonizing pleasure.
"I'M HADRIAN FUCKING POTTER," he roared as he emptied his virile seed into her swollen flower for the tenth time that day.
*BREAK*
Where had he miscalculated? Where had he gone wrong?
The boy was too powerful. The events in June only served to prove that statement.
Lord Voldemort allowed his eyes to scan the witch and wizards seated at the long table in front of him.
Useless, all of them.
He had taken twenty of his inner circle to Hogwarts with him and had returned with a scant eight. Potter had been ruthless in his attack.
Red eyes tracked a clump of pale blonde hair as it broke apart and drifted onto the table below.
Inhabiting the body of a teenage wizard, Draco Malfoy of all people, was infuriating for the man who styled himself as the most powerful sorcerer alive. It was demeaning and tarnished his image. Who would take a bratty teenager seriously, despite him being the Dark Lord? It was nearly as intolerable as being forced from Malfoy Manor after Lucius died and Narcissa Malfoy took control of the home's wards.
Voldemort suppressed a growl.
That insufferable bitch would pay for the insult she paid him when she warmed Potter's bed.
He'd lost his main financer.
Tremors wracked his body, unable to control his bubbling rage. What remained of his inner circle, minus Bellatrix, cowered at the waves of magic undulating from his body.
Weak, spineless cowards.
But it would not do to lose his temper, not when his control over his followers hung by a mere thread.
Fucking Hadrian Potter.
Lord Voldemort took a calming breath and made a deliberate effort to think of a few of his favorite things.
Slaughtering kittens, a wonderful pastime.
Bowling balls, so perfectly symmetrical.
Enslavement of the muggleborns, a necessity.
Gardening, his secret guilty pleasure.
Hadrian Potter dead at his feet, his lifeless eyes gazing into those he let down.
Purebloods prostrating themselves before him like the cattle they were.
The musical The Sound of Music.
A soft smile broke across his face as the song he hummed floated across the silent room, confusing his loyal friends.
"My friends," he intoned, his voice carrying to the gathered Death Eaters despite his whispering. "I have called you here today to speak of the menace which we must eliminate before our hard work can come to an end."
"Larry Potter will die to your huge, veiny wand, Dragon," Pansy Parkinson swooned from the corner of the room, her thighs rubbing together in what she thought was a seductive manner.
Voldemort suppressed a shudder and ignored her. No matter what he did, the sow kept finding her way into Riddle Manor.
Bellatrix began to vibrate in her seat. Though annoyed at her inability to sit still, Voldemort pressed on.
"I speak, of course, of Harry Potter." The Dark Lord pulled his yew wand from his right sleeve and began to caress it in a loving manner with a hand so unlike his original. It was feminine and had stubby fingers. "He is powerful, loathe as I am to admit it. But I believe I have found a way to put him to an end."
"How, mi'lord?" Rodolphus LeStrange asked at once, his eagerness to please his lord dripping from his tone. Bellatrix, still fidgeting at his side, rolled her eyes at her husband. "I am sure your genius will overcome Larry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. He's but a mere halfblood and unworthy of being considered a true foe."
The smile on Voldemort's face widened into a most sinister smirk. Voldemort had long learned to ignore his minions' confusion of Harry with Larry. The names were rather similar, and they were all rather inbred, after all.
He opened his pale lips to reply but was interrupted.
A resounding smack echoed through the room and all eyes turned to Bellatrix LeStrange. She had seen fit to smack her husband on the back of his head.
"Enough simping, Rudy." Bellatrix's eyes shimmered with undisguised glee, her fidgeting rocketing to near spastic levels. "Your lips are turning brown and smell revolting."
The other purebloods in the room tried and failed to hide their snickers. Rodolphus' attempts at becoming Voldemort's top lieutenant had been equally pathetic and annoying to watch since Potter had killed Lucius two months prior.
"But it should prove to be a most worthy plan, my Lord," Bellatrix stated icily before her violet eyes turned hungry and she loosed a wistful sigh. "It needs to be since the young Lord Potter is such a Chad."
The smile dropped from Voldemort's face faster than he could cast a killing curse.
"And you would know of Potter's supposed Chadliness, how, Bellatrix?" His tone dangerously smooth, Voldemort laid his wand on the table as Bellatrix's lower body began to squirm.
"Whispers in Diagon Alley, My Lord," she replied, her tone careful. "Apparently Daphne Greengrass has become one of his latest…conquests since Draco's death. And as you said, he is very powerful."
It took a great amount of effort for the Dark Lord to swallow the bile threatening to spew from his mouth at the mention of…intimacy.
His red eyes took in Parkinson panting like a dog in heat in the corner.
Disgusting.
Shaking his head of the thoughts, Voldemort commanded the shadows at the edges of the decrepit room to close in around them all as he stood to his feet.
He towered over those still seated, reminding them of who commanded them.
It came with the territory of being the Dark Lord, after all.
And he promptly sneezed from the must and dust permeating the room.
He really needed to find a new headquarters.
"Bless you, mi 'lord!"
Groans echoed throughout the room.
"For Merlin's sake, Rudy." Bellatrix scowled at her imbecilic husband. "I regret ever agreeing to marry you."
"Go stuff yourself, Bellatrix," Rodolphus muttered, anger bleeding through his tone. "Or…perhaps you would rather Potter stuff you since you think he is such a Chad."
Simpletons, dunderheads all of them.
"ENOUGH," Voldemort roared as dark tendrils of magic swirled around him. "YOU WILL LISTEN TO MY MASTER PLAN AND YOU WILL GROVEL AT MY FEET AS IS APPROP- ah…ACHOOO!"
Rodolphus opened his mouth only to wheeze when Bellatrix's sharp elbow met his ribs.
Voldemort, pushing down his embarrassment, turned his sharp gaze onto Bellatrix. "Bella, I will require one-hundred-sixty-nine potatoes. They must not be infused with magic. You must carry them by hand. And I require them to be of the highest quality."
Silence met his order, the only sounds remaining being the scuttling of cockroaches across rotted floorboards and Parkinson's incessant leg grinding.
"Potatoes, my Lord?" Bellatrix's question was slow, disbelief coloring her words.
Voldemort nodded.
"Yes, Bella, potatoes." His eyes moved, coming to rest on Walden Macnair. "And from you, Walden, I require three feathers from a Thunderbird."
The addressed man grimaced but bowed from his seat in answer.
"With this I will have the power to strike down Harry Potter when he is unable to use his full strength." Voldemort snatched his wand and killed a lowly Death Eater standing guard at the door with an entrail expelling curse. "Dinner, Nagini."
"You plan to kill him while he is rutting with one or more of his mudblood whores," Macnair mumbled. "Most devious. Respect, mi 'lord."
Disgust roared through the Dark Lord's veins. The thought of Potter, anyone really, debasing themselves in such a way sent his stomach roiling. Schooling his mien, Voldemort looked at the aged man.
All present in the room ignored the crunching of bones and serpentine moans coming from the door of the room as Nagini enjoyed her meal. It was a rather common occurrence after all.
"No, you imbecile!" Macnair flinched at his master's tone. "I will attack Potter on the Hogwarts Express. He will be unable to use his full power with so many of his friends nearby. He is powerful, but he still foolishly clings to Dumbledore's notion of…love."
The last word was spat from his lips as if it were fetid water.
"A most wonderful plan, Mi'Lord," Rodolphus exclaimed between coughs. "You will force feed Potter the potatoes and tickle him with the feathers so he chokes and dies horribly. Genius!"
Voldemort stared at the man in complete disbelief. "For fuck's sake, LeStrange… CRUCIO!"
Bellatrix cackled with unrestrained glee as her master vented his frustration on his most idiotic follower.
A/N: If you haven't noticed by now, this will be a crackfic. Though if you skip over this A/N and decide to flame me for posting this "serious garbage fic" then please be my guest. It will amuse me greatly.