Little seed of evil
Disclaimers: Harry James Potter and all other characters from that same universe belong to JK Rowling. However, the plot is mine.
Rating: R may change in the future. Even I don't know where this story is going. It may turn to Slash, may turn to abuse . I don't know.
Summary: An adult, tired Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position after facing a lot of emotional dilemmas.
Little seed of evil - Chapter two - I'll sleep when I'm dead
The room was shabby, to say the last.
Plates with uneaten food lay shattered around the little place, in various states of decay, dirty robes were thrown over the edge of his bed, several books lay open completely meaningless to pages he had never intended to read.
The room looked like it had gotten in trouble with the occupant. And yes, he had gone into a slight fit when he received that letter. A letter he never thought to receive.
How had he found him? All these years that he roamed through the wizard world, he had never spoken out his name, never written it down, or even whispered it.
And yet he had found him.
He sighed deeply as he looked out of the window, which showed Diagon Alley by night, with the shops closed, the shoppers long gone. His owl, Hermes, hooted softly in his iron cage, but he could not, did not, pay attention right now.
How?
He picked up the letter carefully and studied the handwriting once more. The green ink seemed to blaze alight on the parchment, saying;
Harry Potter ,
The Leaky Cauldron,
Diagon Alley , room 12.
Dumbledore. He reached for the bottle with his favourite drink, called 'Witches brew' , not a very favoured drink among wizards, as the taste was foul and vile.
But as he had spent many times in the hospital wing, drinking potions that virtually tasted the same as this drink, he could manage.
People did not like the qualities of 'Witches brew', as it transformed whenever the mood of the drinker would change. Thus, the perfect drink for him. His moods always changed.
Always.
He poured some of the now green drink in a beaker, and drank. His face scrunched in disgust.
So he was back to being Harry Potter, then ?
A small, rusty smile came over his face. He had not laughed in years, but the irony was so strong, that he couldn't do anything else.
He had confirmed to Dumbledore's letter, which meant that he was stuck to one year's teaching at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts had been good for him, Voldemort had not. And life after Hogwarts had only proven to be worse.
His former job had been a mistake. His admiration for Tonks and Moody had been to strong to think reasonably.
Standing up, with the beaker still in his hand, he moved to the mirror.
Dumbledore would most certainly remember the younger Harry Potter, the kid who had left Hogwarts sixteen years ago. But his job had changed his outer and inner appearance.
The man in the figure stared at him, just like he was doing. He had a beaker in his hand. Long, black hair, urgently in need of a cut, which in a way reminded him kindly of Sirius.
The scar that made him famous, almost hidden under his black manes. Piercing green eyes that looked dull, without life.
A scar on his left cheek, that had been a sucker to heal properly; the wound had been deep, and the dagger poisoned. He called it his 'mood' scar, because, just like 'the witches brew', it lit up a fiery red when he was angry.
One on his chin, caused by similar reasons, but had been much easier to heal. On his neck he could notice the burn nearly brushing out of the collar of his robe; that had a different story. But right now, he did not want to remember.
He drank once more from the beaker, and sighed after the liquid had passed his throat, before removing his black, worn robe and equally black T-shirt.
His chest was covered in scars, but that was something Dumbledore would hopefully never see. Although he couldn't see it; he knew that his back was in worse condition.
Days without pain were few. Most of scars had been magically enhanced, and remained causing pain long after the wounds had been healed.
"Harry Potter.", he said to the man in the mirror. "I am Harry Potter."
But somewhere deep inside the dark pits of his soul, he knew that he had long ago ceased to exist as Harry Potter; the name no longer felt right.
To the world, he was Harry Potter. To Dumbledore he was Harry. To Snape he had been just Potter.
Another weary grin came over his face. It was long ago since he'd laughed. The habit was gone.
"I am Harry Potter.", he spoke again to the mirror. "I am Harry Potter."
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Please do not forget : This is the altered version. I will add a story called 'The Harry Potter rejections'. Be sure to check out those, because they hold clues .. One clue has already been evealed : that Harry has the dark mark on his arm.
Heretic angel solemnly bows for:
Elanor. Bedankt. Hou wist je dat ik Nederlands spreek ? Mijn index gezien of zo ?
Andromeda's kitty. I have updated already. Was this fast enough ? And yes, I will continue. This story will NOT be left alone. I promise
Disclaimers: Harry James Potter and all other characters from that same universe belong to JK Rowling. However, the plot is mine.
Rating: R may change in the future. Even I don't know where this story is going. It may turn to Slash, may turn to abuse . I don't know.
Summary: An adult, tired Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position after facing a lot of emotional dilemmas.
Little seed of evil - Chapter two - I'll sleep when I'm dead
The room was shabby, to say the last.
Plates with uneaten food lay shattered around the little place, in various states of decay, dirty robes were thrown over the edge of his bed, several books lay open completely meaningless to pages he had never intended to read.
The room looked like it had gotten in trouble with the occupant. And yes, he had gone into a slight fit when he received that letter. A letter he never thought to receive.
How had he found him? All these years that he roamed through the wizard world, he had never spoken out his name, never written it down, or even whispered it.
And yet he had found him.
He sighed deeply as he looked out of the window, which showed Diagon Alley by night, with the shops closed, the shoppers long gone. His owl, Hermes, hooted softly in his iron cage, but he could not, did not, pay attention right now.
How?
He picked up the letter carefully and studied the handwriting once more. The green ink seemed to blaze alight on the parchment, saying;
Harry Potter ,
The Leaky Cauldron,
Diagon Alley , room 12.
Dumbledore. He reached for the bottle with his favourite drink, called 'Witches brew' , not a very favoured drink among wizards, as the taste was foul and vile.
But as he had spent many times in the hospital wing, drinking potions that virtually tasted the same as this drink, he could manage.
People did not like the qualities of 'Witches brew', as it transformed whenever the mood of the drinker would change. Thus, the perfect drink for him. His moods always changed.
Always.
He poured some of the now green drink in a beaker, and drank. His face scrunched in disgust.
So he was back to being Harry Potter, then ?
A small, rusty smile came over his face. He had not laughed in years, but the irony was so strong, that he couldn't do anything else.
He had confirmed to Dumbledore's letter, which meant that he was stuck to one year's teaching at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts had been good for him, Voldemort had not. And life after Hogwarts had only proven to be worse.
His former job had been a mistake. His admiration for Tonks and Moody had been to strong to think reasonably.
Standing up, with the beaker still in his hand, he moved to the mirror.
Dumbledore would most certainly remember the younger Harry Potter, the kid who had left Hogwarts sixteen years ago. But his job had changed his outer and inner appearance.
The man in the figure stared at him, just like he was doing. He had a beaker in his hand. Long, black hair, urgently in need of a cut, which in a way reminded him kindly of Sirius.
The scar that made him famous, almost hidden under his black manes. Piercing green eyes that looked dull, without life.
A scar on his left cheek, that had been a sucker to heal properly; the wound had been deep, and the dagger poisoned. He called it his 'mood' scar, because, just like 'the witches brew', it lit up a fiery red when he was angry.
One on his chin, caused by similar reasons, but had been much easier to heal. On his neck he could notice the burn nearly brushing out of the collar of his robe; that had a different story. But right now, he did not want to remember.
He drank once more from the beaker, and sighed after the liquid had passed his throat, before removing his black, worn robe and equally black T-shirt.
His chest was covered in scars, but that was something Dumbledore would hopefully never see. Although he couldn't see it; he knew that his back was in worse condition.
Days without pain were few. Most of scars had been magically enhanced, and remained causing pain long after the wounds had been healed.
"Harry Potter.", he said to the man in the mirror. "I am Harry Potter."
But somewhere deep inside the dark pits of his soul, he knew that he had long ago ceased to exist as Harry Potter; the name no longer felt right.
To the world, he was Harry Potter. To Dumbledore he was Harry. To Snape he had been just Potter.
Another weary grin came over his face. It was long ago since he'd laughed. The habit was gone.
"I am Harry Potter.", he spoke again to the mirror. "I am Harry Potter."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------
Please do not forget : This is the altered version. I will add a story called 'The Harry Potter rejections'. Be sure to check out those, because they hold clues .. One clue has already been evealed : that Harry has the dark mark on his arm.
Heretic angel solemnly bows for:
Elanor. Bedankt. Hou wist je dat ik Nederlands spreek ? Mijn index gezien of zo ?
Andromeda's kitty. I have updated already. Was this fast enough ? And yes, I will continue. This story will NOT be left alone. I promise