Disclaimer. I own nothing exept situations, plot and OC's.

Chapter 3 of Books, Snakes and Ravens

Solemn, heavy grey clouds hung in the sky, blocking the sun. It was almost fall, and tiny muddy puddels appeared on the streets, the first signs of long rainy days, that awaiited the old London. "A beautiful weather", thought Harry Potter, stroding through the crooked ancient streets, laid with smoothed by millions of feet, stones. He wasn't going anywhere particular, just enjoying his long walk in the centre of London. And it stimulated his mind.

After the murder, Harry was like a narc, a zombie, programmed to do only the things he planned earlier. The blind rage, the satisfaction towards what he had done and the euphoria filled him up, leaving no place for second thoughts and logical patterns. He was happy and calm, knowing exactly what to do next. His old self practicaly vanished. He packed his stuff, after searching a bit, found Dursley's money (around 15 thousands in cash and Vernon's credit card with a bit of money still left), took Hedwig, sent off the Dark Mark to decieve aurors and left the house. After some time, a lonely bussinessman, going in town, gave a lift to a strange tall boy, who, he saw was desperatly trying to travel stop-road.

This way, Harry finally got to London. By the time, two important things happened: Harry's mind cleared and Hedwig died. He grieved a bit, but was not in the right state to spend time on it. He simply dumped the cage with the poor starved bird in a trash can and left. Anyway, he could do nothing about it. He left his trunk in a safe on King's Cross station.

The most awful thing was, that when his mind returned to him, he realized, what he had done. He remembered everything in detail, rememberd his own delight and euphoria when commiting the murders, when watching Vernon rape his own son, remembered laughing…And what shocked him most, that he still felt, that he had done the right thing. "It was only fair for them to die. I gave myself an oath – do only what is good for you. Don't let anyone to control you, or make decisions for you. Cast away morals, rules, others people's feelings. Be egocentric. Be ruthless. Others lives don't mean anything. Only me is what means. Destroy any weakness you see, any barrier that gets in your way. Be friends with strong. Don't let weakness posses you. Nothing else matters. They died. I live. Say hello to the new me! No, not the new me – this is my real face, that was hidden by other people from me, which was replaced by The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Griffindor Hero, the savior of poor and weak. But that was not me. That's why I felt like shit, because of this distortion in my soul, because circumstances and interested people were hiding my real self from me…This summer, the Dursley's brought me back to life. By the price of their own. Dumbledore and others won't be able to control me any more…The could go fuck themselves. No longer am I their savior – no, I'll be the end of their pathetic lives. I don't need your fake smiles, don't wave to me – what do you want – some attention, a small sign? Get the fuck away from me. I know the truth. Wanna hear it? Okay, here it goes. What is good? Everything that heightens the power in a man, the will to power – power itself. What is bad? Everything, that is born of weakness. What is happinesss? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome. Not contendedness, but more power, not peace, but war; not virtue, but fitness. The weak and the failures shall perish. And what is more harmful, than any vice? Active pity for the failures and all the weak…I am strong. I don't need your hymns and appraisal. When I screw up you turn your backs on me anyway. So I fight only for myself. For power, for control…God, I am so shattered! Look, what I have become from being not myself! I have blood on my hands. And I like the feeling. But still, I'm insane. I'm torn. I hate and love myself at the same time. And the pain doesn't go away. Only when I hurt someone…..Either way, I am so alone. Always, always alone… Alon…e" Still, he really didn't understand what he thought. He was sliding in insanity, though, a very logical and cold one…

Harry was walking through the Diagon alley, talking with himself. People rushed to and fro, irritating him. He didn't like rush anymore. Few people smiled to him, because now he looked very different, even his scar bleached and was hidden under his hair. First of all, there were no more glasses. In a muggle shop he purchased himself contact lenses. Instead of old Duddley's clothes he bought a pair of black, tight leather pants and two pairs of black Levi's jeans. He was wearing a black T-shirt with an image of a scull, barring his teeth. Instead of his old torn robes he wore a long, black (again!) trenchcoat, which suited him much better than the robes, it's folds fluttering like wings of some predatory bird behind him. On his feet – heavy black motoboots, the ones that are very good for a fight. Now all his appearance conisted of fierce, opposing to everything, darkness. He got a new haircut – mostly short, only the jet-black hair near his face was longer, thin inky strands falling on his thin pale face, the brilliant toxic green eyes blazing under them. His mouth – only a thin line, always ready to curve in a smirk. He looked very sexy, tall, well built, maybe a bit too slim, but otherways, very attractive. Big eyes, nice nose. But still, he was not quite the same Potter, that left school three months ago. First, he looked older, not fifteen, but sixteen, seventeen years old. His face was now tense, grim and he always wore a somewhat sarcastic expression, which would better suit Malfoy, not him. His features became lupine, wolfish, ecspecially his slim face with sticking out sharp cheekbones. His eyes looked violently upon the world, no more softness left in them, only cold, cruel determination in two emerald stones. His body, rope-like musceles, always tightened, as if waiting for attack. And to other people, those, who hadn't known him, this dark, mysterious, cruel, rigid-looking teenager resembled a poisionous snake, coiled, always ready to strike. And it was true… A black, suffocating aura, hung around him, whilst he silently glided into the dark, unholy depths of Knocturne Alley…

Knockturn was an evil twin of Diagon alley. The same little shops, the same scurrying people. Only it was grey and gloomy, a fog covering the street like a thick blanket. The street lamps gave a dim, dispersed light, allowing to see only grey figures and contures of buildings. People moved like cloaked wraiths, unfriendly and absorbed by themselves. Harry found himself standing before a bookstore, named plainly "Books", diggining his nails deep into his newest cuts, causing deliciously sharp pain. He needed the books very much, but he hadn't got any wizards money. He was afraid, that if he tried taking the money from his acciunt in Gringotts, his *friends* would understand that he is in town, and start investigating, why it is so. It was a deaed end. Still, his wise half gave him an idea. He gripped his wand and…

Willi Graham was sweeping the endless dust from the bookshelves, when the bell rang, forestalling another potentional customer. With quite some interest he watched a teenager enter the store. He was dressed in black, his face pale and grim. Short black hair were arranged in a messy chaos and his eyes were focused the shopkeeper. For some strange reason, Graham shivered under this cold studying gaze. He came up to the stand, and quite politely for an old grumpy Squib, asked:

- Is there something you would like to buy?

The boy looked at Willi as if he just noticed him.

- Um…Well, yes.

- What? – asked Graham, squinting one eye.

- Er. Something on Dark Arts. Curses, preferrably old ones, potions, spells… - he drifted on, his voice harsh and raspy, as if he was not using it for a long time.

"He is definitly strange", thought Graham, not noticing the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. Dark Arts? Maybe he was a young Death Eater, there was a lot of them. It was possible. Yet…

- Dark Arts? Are you kidding, my boy? These books are p-r-o-h-i-b-i-t-e-d! – he emphasised the word. – we don't keep them..

Harry came closer and leaned over the stand. He didn't like this little, bald, fat, rat-like man with sly, beady eyes. He looked too much like Pettigrew. Harry looked up at the man and sneered.

- Listen. Listen to me carefully. I KNOW that you have these books, don't even try to lie. You will now go to the shelves and get what I need. – his voice quiet and calm, but there was something more in it than intonation. Graham looked at Harry, saw his darkened unmoving stare, thought, that he would better do, what he was told and hurried to the dusty shelves. "Definitely a Death Eater", he thought, pitying himself, while picking up the books in the farest corners of the store.

- - Here." Dark Curses and Hexes of Japan", by Tonoko Hiromi, "Death Plague" by Ninel Morak, "Potions and Poisions" by Selena Farhtrone and "Celtic Curse" by Ronald Starfield. The best. – he smiled, thinking, that he would get good money for this. – it'll be 304 Galleons and 45 Knuts total.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

- That expensive? But I don't have such money. – he stated.

- Well then. I'm putting them away. – he turned to leave. Then he heard Harry command:

- Stop. I have something else in return.

His voice like a razorsharp blade of ice. He turned back. Harry was leveling his wand at him. Willi gasped. Harry narrowed his eyes and smirked.

- You will give me the books without payment. Or, I will kill you in the most painful way I can think of.

Harry was not threatening him, no, just stating a mere fact. His voice alone would make the bravest men quake in great fear. It lacked all emotions and was filled with violence, pain, and most of all, death. He was not kidding. He would kill him. Graham understood that. He started nevously paking the books, afraid even to look  up at Potter. Harry was watching Graham, when he heard a strange, soft voice whisper: "These fools, again.." He turned around, but saw nothing. Only a few seconds later he understood, that the words were spoken in Parseltongue.

- Do you have any snakes?

Wide-eyed Willi, looked at Harry with utter shock. How'd he know? His hands were trembling and he could't tie a rope around the package.

- Well, yes. Right here. – he pointed to a small clay pot, right in front of Harry. He peeked in it. From it, a small eye was staring at him, non-blinking. An eye of a snake. "A snake, huh", thought Harry. Maybe it would talk to him.

"Hello, my friend…" hissed Harry. He should be polite when talking to it, as snakes are very punctual about it. He couldn't see the snakes expression, because even if the snake had it, it was hidden in the depths of the pot, but could hear the snake's amazment, when it replied.

"Hello to you, ssstranger. You can sspeak the tongue of our kind, can't you?"

"Ah, yess."

"It isss a rare giffft indeed. What do you want?"

"I assssume you're not comffortable here with thiss man.Would you like to come with me?"

Harry was straight about that. He desperately needed someone to talk with. The snake seemed to be smart and sharp-witted, a good companion.

"Thisss disssgusssting, revolting man, keeping me here…But he givesss me micssse, for nothing."

"I sssee. I would feed you too. Ssso, are you coming, or not. This is your chancsse to get in the light, even become great. My lasst offer." Harry hissed, remembering Nagini. He could feel the hesitation of the snake. On one hand, it didn't want to leave a warm, trusted place, but on the other…Mostly all Pareselmouthes were great wizards and their pets were sometimes as famous. And this boy, it felt, would be great. And feared.

"Yessss. I will come with you, ssstranger."

"Call me Masster. I will know take you ouy of your dwelling."

Graham was listening the conversation with a bewildered expession on his wrinkeled face. This boy was a Parselmouth! Maybe he was even Voldermort himself, in disguise, checking the loyality of his people. Graham grew paler and paler.

Harry grabbed the warm, dry body in the pot and extracted the snake. It was nearly a meter in length and was black, with dark-red stripes on it's back. It's belly was light grey and the snake seemed quite heavy. It had a big head with ambery-yellow eyes. The two stared at each other, forgetting about the nervous shopkeeper, who was standing with the books in his hands.

"You can twisssst yourssself around my arm" suggested Harry, pulling his sleeve up, and allowing the snake to wrap it self around the whole length of his forearm, like somehorrible braclet. He then put the sleeve down, covering the snake. He finally switched his attention to Graham, took the books from his petrified from fear hands and lowered his head.

- I suggest that you keep this in secret. If not… - he continued in a menacing tone. – I will return, and YOU would be glad, that you were never born…

- Yes, of course – to Harry's amazement, he bowed. – yes, master.

"Well, what a freak! Anyway, if he wants to call me that…I can't do anything about it". Harry sneered and stode out of the shop.

Graham was still standing and watching as the boy dissappeared in the shadows. "What a day!" he thought…

"Ssso, what kind of ssnake are you?" Harry was quietly talking to his left arm.

"Humansss name ussss bushhh vipersss, Masster."

"Ahhh, I ssee. I shhould give you a name, my friend. Now, let me think. Maybe…Acssid?"

"Acsssid, Masster? Well, I like it. A good name. Sssuitesss me". If snakes could smile, it would.

Harry was looking for bird-sellers. The books were tucked under his arm saftely, giving him a warm feeling. Suddenly, something caught his eye. Near a dirty bar, called "The Eye of the Dragon", he saw an old woman, standing near a barricade of cages. Harry took course on her.

It was a little, old lady, in a worn-out purple mantel. Her sly, pointy face was incredibly wrinkeled and resembeled a prune. She hid her hands in pockets, aware of the cold and her beady, but radiant brown eyes were lit up with merryness. She smiled at him, showing good-preserved white teeth. There was something so nice, wrm and funny about her, that Harry couldn't help and smiled too, for a second looking like his old self.

- A bird you want, don't you? – she asked.

- Yeah, right, but I'm just looking… - he mumbled, scanning the cages.

- Well, I have different ones here. You're looking for an owl, right?

- Uh-uh.

Harry bent to look closer. There were little, fluffy balls, like Ron's Pigewindon, barn owls with flat, heart-shaped, white faces, solemn eagle-owls with funny pointed ears, with big, golden eyes and carnivourous beaks. Some of the birds  sqweaked, hooted and cried, producing great noice, others sat quietly on their perches, fuffeled up. But none of the birds touched his heart.

- Sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I haven't fell for any of your beautiful birds. – he said saidly. He didn't want to hurt the feelings of the nice lady.

- Ahh. Well-well. Something special you need, huh? – she chuckled softly, as if they were sharing a secret. With a sly little smile, she went to the back of the barricade and took  out a big metal cage.

- Here. Nobody wants to buy him, but maybe you… - she suddenly winked at him in a most intimate manner. But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring in awe at the bird in front of him. He was lost for words.

It was a huge, midnight black raven. It's feathers glittered with silver, the big black eyes tensily watched the world. The proud statue and the intimidating look of the bird shocked Harry. It had a big, curved beak and sharp talons, he could see, and the unmoving bird seemed made out of a whole piece of obsidian. "Just perfect." Thought Harry, open-mouthed.

- How much? – he asked abruptly, forgetting that he head no money.

- Humph. Like him, don't you?

- There's no words to express how much I like him…

- Then, you can take him for free. – she smiled. – it's not that I'm so generous, though, but you two seem to be made for each other. You even look alike. – she chuckeled again.

- You're not kidding?! I can take him for nothing?!

- Yes. Anyway, as I've said, nobody wants to buy him. He's all yours.- she finished proudly.

Harry was shocked.

- Ma'am, I can't express, how thakful I am….

- Stop-stop, my dear boy! I know…Don't thank me.

- But I s there something I co-…

- No. Just, follow your destiny, and everything will be okay.

Harry looked into her deep, strange eyes and understood that there really was nothing more to say. He nodded courteously, took the heavy cage and was gone.

"Well, I think I'll call you Fenrir, by the name of great wolf, that would devour someday the whole universe…" said Harry, addressing the words to his new post-bird…

A/N. UUUFFF! I finally finished this long long chapter:) I'm sooooo happy! If you'd just know, how hard it for a russian girl to write long chaps in english! Fuck! I want some reward for this *hint* I mean reviews…if I don't get reviews, I get sad…….next chapter – train ride. Also, about the pairings – it would definitely be H\D!!!slash forever! And I need a beta to check my awful language! All for now, see ya!