Chapter 5- Always a Freak

POTTER HEIR DISOWNED!

Rita Skeeter

Lord James Charlus Potter has enclosed to the Daily Prophet the official, and immediate disowning of his eldest so Harrison James Potter, claiming it to be on the evidence 'Threat of Bloodline' and 'Traitorous Acts Against Family Personnel and Values' as well as other reasons he cannot lay claim on.

"My only regret is that I did not do it sooner," admitted Lord Potter at his family manor in Carlisle, "I cannot understand it; perhaps it was the hope that he hadn't done it. That he wasn't what we feared. Apparently I was wrong."

The ex-Potter Heir, recently released for the false accusation and imprisonment for the homicide of seventeen muggles and the incapacitation of three others (see article on Page 3 for more information), was unavailable for comment, however his twin, the wizarding world's hero, Saeviour Sirius Potter, who couldn't be more aptly named, was.

"He was always jealous of my fame," The-Boy-Who-Lived claimed via letter. "Who wouldn't? But when he threatened the life of our father, that was when he destroyed any hope of being brothers."

Once a family of four, is now three. What more can Harrison do to tear this noble family apart? And is he really as innocent as he claims?

The offending newspaper burst into sudden flame as Harry let it float to the table. Across the hall from him, Saeviour was smirking. So that was that. It was finally over. He wasn't a Potter anymore. There was nothing left to tie him to them. Gracefully he rose and rather than leave the Great Hall like everyone believed he would, he turned on his heel and strutted with such a sense of power that it fell off of him in waves as though his mere magic was afraid of him, up to the teachers' table. He came to a halt before Professor Snape, who raised an eyebrow in question.

"Will you do me the favor of escorting me to Gringotts, Professor Snape?" he asked smoothly, his gaze flickering down to the newspaper before his head of house. "In light of…ah, recent affairs, I have some business to take up with the goblins."

Professor Snape studied the numbed eleven-year-old before him. The obsidian eyes flickered towards the Headmaster, who appeared to be trying to express no via his twinkling, traitorous blue orbs. This was answer enough in the dungeon bat's opinion. "I shall be by the common room at eleven o'clock. Do not be late."

"Thank you, sir, the favor shall be returned."

As he turned away from the table, his eyes slid over Professor Quirrel's curious gaze; the corner of his mouth quirked and everything was in slow motion. But then the moment was gone and he was striding out of the Great Hall, hardly noticing the Malfoy Heir rush after him, in a decorum suited to a Malfoy of course. He did notice however, though he took his sweet time in addressing him. Time that led up to the entrance hall before he even let a word pass his lips.

"What do you wish to say Draco?" he asked dryly, "I can hardly take the suspense."

"Why do you need to visit the goblins?" Draco blurted.

Though the blonde could not see, his expression was laughing in amusement. Some days the blonde made it ever so obvious that he was a child, and not the adult he pretended he was. "The Potter Fortune wasn't the only gold I was heir of."

Draco faltered in his step, before smoothly evening his strides back out again so that they matched the raven haired boy's once more. "Which fortunes? There are only so many unclaimed."

He smirked, his gaze sliding over the Malfoy. "Now that would be telling."

.

Gringotts was exactly as he remembered it to be. Tall white marble pillars; crystal windows framed with goblin gold; dusted diamond chandeliers; the whole building slightly askew as though the crafters and architect had all been drunk when it was built. The goblins were still stiff and sneered cruelly at everything that dared step into their greedy gaze. He had always favoured the goblins over other creatures he had encountered, which were admittedly few, for this. Harry had always been one to appreciate the ability to make one feel small, dirty, insignificant, a tiny speck on a planet full of gods. Goblins were fine examples of this particular look of disdain.

"Ah, Mr Harrison," Griphook said slowly, looking down from his podium at the malnourished child. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to find your way here."

"Apparently not long at all," he said in much the same tone. "I am here to lay claim over the vaults of Slytherin and Peverell as well as document my being a ward of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Lestrange ad Black."

"The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Slytherin currently has a living Lord," Griphook said, with a nasty grin.

"Then I shall document being a member of the house and the last remaining heir, by claim of magic," he countered easily.

Griphook scowled, "Ragnok shall take you from here, Mr Harrison. Professor Snape will have to wait here."

He inclined his head, turning to the potions master, "I may be a while, Professor, you can always check on your own vaults or pay a visit to the Apothecary or something similar whilst you wait."

Snape's mouth curled slightly, whether it was in a smile or sneer he wasn't sure, but either way it was something. He enjoyed knowing he could get a reaction out of the stoic professor. The professor gave a curt nod, striding away and out of the legendary bank, before another snarling goblin led him down the dusty golden halls of Gringotts and into an office that was more an exceptionally small ballroom. He sat down at the gesture of long bony fingers and waited with as much patience as his tainted sanity allowed him to.

The goblin pulled out a stone basin that had bronze inlaid runes etched into its gravelly grey surface, as well as a long silver dagger than had emeralds glittering in its hilt. He eyed them, already understanding the outline of what he had to do. His blood would be needed, the little formality the closest the world got to the Dark Arts these times, as well as a few pesky words and enchanted parchment.

At Ragnok's instruction, he slashed violently across his pale palm. The blood welled up and spilled in seconds; the thick red life-support rushing out of the wound and as he curled his fingers, into the basin. It collected and he waited for the goblin to tell him when to stop; he did so when it was about a third full. His cut was sealed with dittany, the stinging as it healed barely noticeable as he was watched Ragnok pour a liquid duck-egg blue into his blood. The potion swirled, slowly mixing with the red, becoming a morbid purple.

Moonlit parchment was procured and lain flat against the polished oak desk- held at each corner by baby gems. Killing curse green watched in fascination and self-assurance as the mixture was wiped across the parchment by the same dagger he had used to acquire access to his blood. It danced and twirled for a few moments, slowly receding into tight letters of clear print; beginning, continuing a list.

Heir Apparent of Slytherin by Magic and Spiritual Adoption: Lays claim to the Heir's Vaults and other assets in the case of Lord Slytherin's death.

Lord of Peverell by Blood and Magic upon 11th Birthday: Lays claim to all vaults, residents and other assets.

Scion and Ward of Lestrange by Blood Adoption: Lays claim to access of the wards' vaults and residence

Scion and Ward of Black by Blood: Lays claim to access of the wards' vaults and residence

He accepted the Lordship ring for Peverell and Heir ring for Slytherin, slipping them onto his finger, absently watching as they melded and shrunk to fit. He looked back at Ragnok before stating, "I want to claim Physical Aesthetics of Slytherin and Peverell."

Ragnok nodded stiffly, summoning the required elements. They were simply two vials of the same potion with different additives; one held the three brother Peverells' blood, and the other held Salazar Slytherin's. The head of each founding family to begin their affairs with Gringotts all had to hand over a pint of blood for future heirs or scions just for this matter. They were handed over to him; immediately downed.

A burning, tingling sensation pricked every pore of his skin as needles before a sudden rush of ice attacked his veins and froze over his blood. He didn't cry out, nor flinch or wince as most were prone to doing as their bodies were forced to morph against the original DNA. He sat there waiting for it to end as though he was merely waiting for his room key in a hotel. When it was over, he opened his eyes- as he had closed them during the process- and wandlessly summoned a full length mirror. Harry stood before it, analysing every changed detail.

His hair remained raven black though became a silky flat naturally, with a slight wave in the top strands that were long enough to do so. His cheekbones were higher, sharper, and his face, chin, longer and more defined. His body had been stretched an inch or two taller and gained a lither than starved look to it; the weeks of good meals since his release had helped in losing the gaunt dead look Azkaban gave its inhabitants. His eyebrows took on a further arched look, though not so much that he looked as though he was stuck in perpetual surprise and disbelief. His eyes were the most interesting however; ice blue spotted in large groups among the Avada Kedavra green, constantly shifting a changing as his mood did. He brought forth hatred and anger and the green was back in full force; he calmed and it receded to an equal mingling balance. It was obvious to him that had just succeeded every other first year in looks and he was pleased. Beauty was a dangerous weapon.

"Is that all Lord Peverell?" Ragnok asked stiffly.

"Upon becoming Lord, I was automatically emancipated, correct?"

"Only in Wizengamot affairs," Ragnok answered. "And in court. Lord Slytherin is now your legal guardian; he shall be informed in due course."

"Then that is all. Thank you for your time Ragnok- I can find my own way out."

Internally smirking at the look of surprise on the goblin's face, he left the office somewhat perturbed. He had hoped he would gain full emancipation but now… If the rumours were true, the Dark Lord was now responsible for him. His eyes ran over green; well, he'd better not disappoint his guardian now. At least it was one step closer to find him; to getting them out.

The short trip back to Hogwarts was short and silent, though he answered the unasked question with a short nod. If Professor Snape was surprised by his change in appearance, he didn't comment- whether it be in actions or voice. He doubted he would be shown the courtesy and indifference from everyone else. They were all children. Pathetic, whiny, nosy, uneducated, spoilt, bratty children. And he would be fooling himself to expect anything less.

He sneered bitterly as the potions master split off from him and he continued to make his own way. At least his ties were gone. Gone and buried, never to be revived. He had been expecting it. He had been expecting it ever since he'd first heard it was an option. That a family could renounce all knowledge of one member. It didn't stop the anger, the bitterness, the jealousy, the hurt… He had come to tomes with never being loved a long time ago, but existence… He didn't exist as a Potter. He didn't exist as family in their eyes. He wouldn't. Never would. And that fractured him.

"What do you want Potter?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing in on Gryffindor's Golden Boy and his two pet bitches.

"That hurt," Saeviour sniggered. "It really did. What's it like to be disowned?"

"Well you would know, wouldn't you?" he said innocently amongst the ice in his tone. "Intelligence disowned you a long time ago." He glanced at the Mudblood. "Tell me Granger, does he make you write his essays for him because he's too thick to string together a simple sentence?" The blush made him smirk.

"You're just jealous," Weasley sneered. "You'll never be as good as Saeviour. Never."

He suppressed a flinch. "You're right. I'll never be as good as. I'll always be better."

"Mum and Dad never loved you," Saeviour said. He did it with the air of someone who had already won a battle. And perhaps he had in some ways. But he would always underestimate just how far his brother was willing to go. "You never deserved it. Never earned it. You were always a freak. It was just a matter of technicalities that stopped them from disowning you before. Being a freak isn't a legitimate excuse apparently."

"And you?" That was it. That step to far. Hitting too close to home. "What reason do they keep you around other than to leach off your fame? I fear for the future of Potter, I truly do. Losing me was possibly the worst move you could make. When they die and you're left behind, it'll fall to ruin. Simply because you're too stupid and weak to keep and gain the power it could have."

"Shut up!" Saeviour shouted furiously.

"Why?"

Saeviour roared, throwing himself at the starved other. Harry reacted quickly, in the blink of an eye, purely instinctually and suddenly The-Boy-Who-Lived was falling through the stone floor. It satisfied the urge for blood somewhat, seeing the saviour of the Wizarding world crumple against stone like a sack of potatoes, though potatoes were marginally more intelligent. He sneered at Granger and Weasley's horrified faces.

"Call a teacher would you? I'd so hate for him to die."

He didn't stay to see their reactions. His magic was spinning angrily, restlessly, just begging to lash out. It coincided too much with the state of his mind. Freak. He hated that word.

"You'll get what you deserve freak," the auror had sneered. "The Dementors do so love pretty things."

He had deserved nothing. Not then. He had been innocent. Yet they had condemned him without a trial. His family hadn't fought for him. Nobody had fought for him. Because he was just a freak. Just Saeviour's older twin. Just that kid that sat in the corner forgotten at birthday parties.

Freak.

They had never loved him. They were so sure that Saeviour was the child of the prophecy. That damn prophecy that wouldn't even have been valid if they had all just ignored it. The bigger child. The more powerful child. That accidental magic had been his. He made the toys float. He made their hair change colour. He transfigured the high chair. Not Saeviour. It had never been Saeviour. And then that night came. And then it was as though he didn't exist. He was left behind. Forgotten.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Professor Quirrel barely managed to escape the curse. The teacher trembled on the ground, staring at the cold, icy child standing above him; wand drawn.

"Professor, let's just keep those last few moments between us. An oath if you would."

"I, Quirinius Quirrel, swear to keep the happenings of the last five minutes to myself. So mote it be."

Harry inclined his head and stalked away, his robes flaring out behind him. It was only when he reached the end of the corridor did he realize.

Quirrel hadn't stuttered.