Disclaimer: I am nothing but a worshipper of the great J.K. Rowling playing in her universe. Anything you recognize is not mine.

I also used a scene from the movie The Punisher for this chapter

A/N: Updated 03-06-2005

DARK PHOENIX

Chapter 7: Blood

Last chapter

Having nothing to lose, Harry ate a candy that gave him long pink hair. He closed his eyes and focused on how he always looked. He felt a tingling on his scalp and when he opened his eyes, George was staring awe-struck and his hair was back to normal.

"Wicked" breathed George.

"What's wicked?" called Fred coming in the room.

"Harry's a Metamorphmagus,like Tonks," said George quickly.

"Can we not tell the Daily Prophet, please," said Harry, annoyed, "And aren't you supposed to be watching the store?" he asked Fred.

"It's calm out there with most customers heading back home for dinner and I was wondering why George was taking so long. And what's that about the Daily Prophet."

"First," Harry said, doing some quick thinking, "I'm sick of publicity and second, if I really am a Metamorphmagus, it gives me a major advantage in the war. So I'll say this only once: this doesn't leave this room. Don't tell anyone, not your family and especially not Dumbledore." If Dumbledore doesn't know about this, Harry thought, it will give me the freedom I need to do what I have to do.

"Are you sure? I mean Tonks could help you train and whatnot," said Fred uncertainly.

"I don't care. I don't want Dumbledore or anyone else to know and that's final. I'll just have to train myself, though anything you know about Metamorphmagi is welcome. It's not like they were an O.W.L. subject."

"OK, fine, we'll keep the secret for now. But promise us that you'll go to the Order if you need help with anything," consented George.

"As for what we know about Metamorphmagi, it's only bits and pieces we heard from Tonks," added Fred.

"That's already more than I know," stated Harry.

"Well, I already told you how she discovered what she was. She mentioned the hard part of her training was to overcome the subconscious because it always tries to revert the body back to its original form," explained George.

"And she also talked about bones being the hardest thing to change and the hair the easiest. That's pretty much it actually," continued Fred.

"Nothing else?" Harry asked.

"Well, there was the time of her induction in the Order, but I don't really understand that part. We overheard an argument between her and Snape about a potion on the Extendable Ears."

"Yes, I remember," George interrupted, "Something about blood based ingredients?"

"No, it was human based ingredients, I think. In the end Dumbledore had her go through an alternate procedure, though that wasn't clear. That's all we know, really," Fred said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically to Harry.

Harry sighed. This new ability could turn out to be an invaluable asset or a complete disaster. He should have bought a book on Metamorphmagi at Flourish and Blotts. Who am I kidding, how was I supposed to know this was going to happen? And now it was getting late and it was going to close soon, if not already. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of that fact.

"Well, thank you, I guess. I'll go have some dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, now. Could you guys give me one last hour of peace before setting the Order after me? I don't fancy having my dinner interrupted."

The twins looked at him suspiciously, but let him go anyways. Harry, with a quick insight of Legilimency, realised they were planning to call the Order in half an hour as a sort of compromise. He decided to let them do so. At least he was forewarned.

Soon after, Harry was out in Muggle London with Sirius' bike and a pick-me-up from the Leaky Cauldron. The bike started as if it was straight out from the garage. Cautiously, Harry climbed on. He was thankful for once that he was raised in the Muggle world and knew, more or less, how a motorbike worked. That is, in theory.

He set off a little jerkily, but his riding soon smoothed off. It wasn't that different from riding a broom. The balance was easier and the traffic was nothing compared to a Quidditch game. The one thing that gave him trouble were the gears, but that was soon figured out.

Not feeling quite comfortable yet, he rode slowly around town until he found a nice small park with a picnic table. He parked his bike and set down to eat.

The next thing he was planning to do was to get to Little Hangleton. He couldn't stay in London if he wanted to escape the Order and he was going to go to Little Hangleton eventually. Tom, the barkeeper from the Leaky Cauldron, had provided him with a map of England and he quickly found the little village. It wasn't that far, a couple of hours at most. Once there he was planning on finding a small hiding place to camp in. He had bought himself a sleeping bag and the summer nights were warm. If worse came to worst, the compartments in his trunk were big enough to sleep in.

Renting a hotel room was out of the question. Not only had he forgotten to get himself Muggle money with all the inheritance business, but it was the first place anyone would look for him. No one would expect him to sleep in the wild. Furthermore, he had to do some reading before knocking on Voldemort's door. Not to mention he wasn't even sure of his welcome. This could also be an opportunity to find out if the Dark Lord's intentions were as good as he claimed with a little of snooping around. Harry was glad his Invisibility Cloak had escaped the Dursley's destruction.

Finished eating, Harry rose to throw out his garbage when two strong arms grabbed him from behind and twisted his right arm painfully behind his back. He managed to stay on his feet but barely.

They were three massive men, obviously up to no good. One of them was holding his arm tightly behind his back, making his eyes water. A second one was standing right in front of him, a sinister expression on his face. The third was slightly to the side, enjoying the show.

"Give the money, kid, and we ain't gonna hurt you," said the one in front of him. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't give them Galleons! Then he remembered his daggers. Well now was the time to see if he could use them.

Acting purely on instinct and on adrenaline, Harry twisted his left wrist making his knife fly into his hand. He turned it so that the blade was facing backwards and tightening his fist over the grip he stabbed fiercely in the lower stomach of the man who was holding him. In a flash the knife was out of the flesh again. Harry threw his fist in an arc just below the face of the thug in front of him, letting the blade neatly slice the dirty neck. For a moment he saw the air from the trachea bubble through the blood, then the man collapsed on the ground, a red pool spreading around him.

Meanwhile the crook that had been holding him had let go and crumpled on his knees. Harry quickly took out his second knife from its sheath and stabbed the man in the base of his skull. Death was instantaneous.

The third thief was finally out of his shock and advanced on Harry, his own knife out. Without even hesitating, Harry cut off the hand holding the knife with his left dagger and plunged his right one upwards through his chin. The mouth of the crook opened in a silent cream, the bloody blade of Harry's dagger showing through the mouth. Harry violently ripped his knife away and the body fell to the floor, motionless.

Harry looked at his handiwork with emotionless eyes, slowly coming out of the lethal trance that had taken over him. Remotely, he realised that he had, for the first time, killed in cold blood. And vaguely, he realised that he should feel guilty, horrified. Not... satisfied.

That is how he felt though. He looked at his blood-covered knifes. As he looked, he saw the dark material of the blades absorb the blood, leaving them spotless again. And as that happened, a strong feeling of contentment went through him, like he had found a missing piece of himself.

He did realise that killing was bad, and he knew that he wasn't going to start killing unnecessarily. But these men had attacked him, and he did not feel guilty about defending himself. Just as he certainly wouldn't feel guilty about killing Death Easters, or Voldemort.

Even before he was born, Harry was destined by the Prophecy to become a murderer. He wasn't becoming a killer. He was simply embracing his nature.

He realised now that he had been trying to deny this nature with his saving-people-thing. Subconsciously, he tried to deny this nature by fighting it, without ever realising it. It hadn't worked. Now he was going to use this nature. However, he also knew he had to control it. He had to focus and not let it control him.

With an entirely new form of determination, he sheathed his blades, climbed on his bike and rode away from London.

TBC