October 17, 2007: revisions again.

original note: Okay, so I guess I lied when I said that you shouldn't expect a sort of day-to-day update thing. I'm not sure if this chapter is longer or not, but... oh well!

I figure the only times I have to work on this are Friday-Saturday-Sunday. Which means postings on Saturday-Sunday-Monday. My weeks are overly busy, this being the year I graduate and all.

I do believe this chapter will answer some of your questions on Wolfos... and create a whole bunch more -V

Anyhoo, I don't own Harry Potter, or any characters from the series, I never have, and I never will. I own Daemon, and I own all references to The Living Weapon, which is a novel I'm currently working on.

Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Three: Confusion
The Itch

Harry's bad attitude had returned with a vengeance not all that long into his first class of the year: Double Potions with Slytherin. It had started out alright, as Harry had decided that if he could just learn how to make a few healing potions (to be made well beforehand and then used in battle, of course) then Potions would be a nice class. He had resolved to actually pay attention this year, and maybe, just maybe, learn something.

Neither Hermione nor Ron had given up on finding out where he had disappeared to, and they were getting fairly frustrated with his answers. This was probably because his answers were too vague to actually by answers: "places", "training", "you wouldn't like it there", and "a building" were his favorite answers, and the only one that even hinted as to what he had been doing was the "training" one. However, they had settled down for the class, and Snape had melted out of the shadows at the front of the room.

This was where Harry's attitude had taken it's turn for the worst. Because while he could fight the chain's compulsion to lock him into the Great Hall that morning, the spell to activate the had not actually been spoken. Good old Severus Snape had decided that unlike at breakfast, he was going to enforce the young Potter's stay in whatever way he could. So with a sour glare on the grumpy sixteen year old, the Potions Master muttered the spell.

"Subiungo catena," it was quiet enough that his classmates hadn't heard the words, but Harry knew them unfortunately all too well. And he knew what the reaction of the chain would be even before it uncoiled from his wrist and shot out from his sleeve to attach to the table. Harry's eyes blazed with fury as he glared across the classroom at his latest tormentor, his teeth bared in an animalistic growl.

He knew it would do no good, but still he wrapped his hand around the chain and yanked on it in a futile attempt to get it to let go. These actions had the unfortunate side effect of bringing the attention of his classmates to the chain itself, and the whispers started up.

Draco Malfoy just could not take it. He just had to make a comment: "Well, well, well. You're an animal now, Potter. Always knew you needed to be chained up."

Those blazing green eyes turned from the Professor to the Slytherin Prince, and Harry's response was low and growled, "Go fuck yourself, Malfoy."

Red in embarrassment and his own rising fury, Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Snape beat him to it, "Potter! Twenty points from Gryffindor!" And for once it seemed that he actually had found a legitimate reason for taking the points off of Gryffindor.

That did not, however, stop yet another low, furious growl to slip past Harry's lips as he turned his attention back to the Professor. Harry did not, however, say anything else as he settled back down into his chair. One hand was still wrapped around the end of the chain attached to the table, and he was fighting to keep his expression neutral. His classmates shivered at the empty, almost glassy look in Harry's eyes, and forced themselves to pay attention to the lesson.

Harry wasn't paying attention quite yet. No matter how much he had promised himself to do so, some things took precedence in his mind. And right now, that was his plans for later: Malfoy was going to regret his words. Oh yes. Nothing was going to stop Harry from his newfound goal. He was going to get the insufferable brat back for everything that had happened over the years they'd known each other. There was nothing else to say about it.

Except, perhaps... "fun".

As the students shuffled into his classroom, Daemen watched them like a hawk. Class would be starting in only a few scant minutes, and it was a mix of Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth years. He had learned about one Harry Potter's little "problem" from the other teachers, and had been quite amused to hear the story of what had happened in Potions the day before. Harry had been in such a foul mood for the rest of the day that he'd been snapping, literally snapping his teeth, at anyone who so much dared to mention the chain.

Even his housemates.

The Professor began to stand to begin the lesson when Harry himself entered the classroom, and flashed him a grin. His green eyes were glinting as he mouthed, "I tried to warn them..." before sprawling across his chosen seat. Wolfos' own grin widened, and his lavender eyes sparkled with glee. This would be fun.

He stepped out from behind the large wooden desk and padded into the center of the classroom, and began his introduction speech with a surprisingly silky voice: "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Year Six. As you already know, I am Professor Daemen Wolfos. If you dare to call me anything but Professor, I will gladly gut you." This was his only warning to the class before he began to ask questions on what they had been studying over the past five years. He almost spat in disgust; they didn't know anywhere near what they could have for their age.

Back when he'd first been teaching, they had learned a lot more than what these little idiots knew now. Oh he understood that they had had multiple teachers, and that their second year professor was less than worthless, but that none of the teachers had even bothered to try and teach what the students needed to know? Had they not even tried to fill in the massive gaps in the instruction these children had received? Though that may have been, in part, due to the fact that the majority of those idiot "professors" hadn't even bothered to leave notes for the next instructor to find.

In fact, the only one that he knew of that had done anything of the like was Remus Lupin. He had always liked that boy; he was a dangerous sort, but one who kept it so well hidden. That had always been the best kind, he'd thought back then, and even now. Though he wasn't a Potions Master on any level, he had been the first one at the school to make the Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin; mostly due to Horace's all-too-busy schedule.

However, Lupin had been three years earlier, and the fourth and fifth year teachers for these brats apparently didn't have a clue in hell how to teach DADA. At least to his expectations.

It was nearly twenty minutes into what Wolfos was mentally calling his remedial Defense class, when the door swung open to admit a strutting Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Well, strutting was probably not the right word for the lumbering steps of Crabbe and Goyle, but it certainly fit Malfoy and Parkinson' movements. They had learned that Wolfos had once been in Ravenclaw, and by all rights of logic, that meant that he wouldn't really hurt them if they were late.

They had, of course, missed his introduction.

Wolfos' eyes glinted; he had been waiting for this, ever since Harry and "told" him. He beckoned the Slytherin students into the classroom with one hand, and they grinned. They had already prepared a line about being asked to "Stay behind" in their last class as their defense. Unfortunately for them, they didn't get any such chance.

"Attack."

And suddenly the group of four were blown backwards, slamming hard into the wall behind them. Their skulls pounded and they could barely hear past it as they slid to the ground, but they could stare up at the professor in confusion. So, too, could the class. In fact everyone in the room was staring at Wolfos in confusion-- except for one. The sixteen year old drew himself to his feet and smiled a bit vacantly. There was less than even the normal amount of sanity that he had been carrying around for the past few days.

The chain was around his wrist. Wolfos hadn't bothered to tie him down to a table like the others.

Daemen frowned, stepping over the bodies of his classmates in order to lift Malfoy up by his robe front. Tilting the blonde's head forwards, the frown deepened: "That wasn't nearly as hard as it should have been."

Harry stepped between the seats of his classmates and moved closer to the scene of the "attack". His smile had slipped as he came closer, and he seemed to be getting angrier with every step. By the time he had reached Wolfos, he was trembling with suppressed rage, and flinched slightly at the heavy hand that came down on his shoulder.

"Calm down, boy," was the low growl unheard by everyone except for those two closest to him: Harry and Draco. "Take these four down to the infirmary, then return. Immediately. I do not need you missing more of this lesson, is that understood?"

"Sir." Harry inclined his head before turning to the four nearly comatose students. "Mobilicorpus."

After watching Harry and his baggage leave, Wolfos turned his attention back to his unharmed students. "What just happened to those four is a warning. Never be late to my class. Ever. Do you understand?" at the stunned, slow nods, Daemen smiled brightly, "Good, good. Now, as I was saying, we will just have to compress six years worth of material into your woefully inept brains all in one year..."

Draco was the first one to come fully back into reality. The Slytherin shook his head out a bit, and then frowned as he realized that he was following along behind Potter of all people. The other sixteen year old's chin-length black hair was curled and twisted oddly, having dried into the curls he'd made while tangling his fingers into it that morning. He was humming an odd little tune to himself, and Malfoy opened his mouth to say something biting. Harry beat him too it.

"You're lucky the wards were there, Malfoy."

"...uh...?" and now he was confused.

Harry spun about on his heel, and began walking backwards. The expressions that had haunted his face for the past few days were gone, and the eyes that stared back at him weren't Harry's normal green. In fact, they weren't green at all; they were the color of cold steel, and his face was blanked of all expression. A shiver ran down Malfoy's spine, "P-p-potter...?"

"Correct and incorrect," his voice was a soft, flat monotone, giving the impression that he was under the Imperious Curse. He was perfectly emotionless, and seemed to be staring through Draco, not at him. It was a fairly frightening position for the Malfoy heir to be in, and he had never before seen anything like the way that Potter was acting.

"How can I be 'correct and incorrect'?" Draco barked, choosing to ignore the fear that was slowly curling in his stomach. Harry's expression didn't change, but those chilling steel eyes focused on him now, and Draco got the feeling that he had done something wrong.

Then the green leeched back into his eyes, brightening at a rapid rate back to his normal avada kedavra shade and the vacant smile returned. "Many, many, many ways. Many ways," he sung cheerfully, spinning around again and picking up speed as they headed forwards, "To Pomfrey we will go, to Pomfrey we will go Broken bodies and split scalps, to Pomfrey we will go!"

Draco watched with no little amount of confusion as the seemingly insane boy skipped ahead, singing his macabre song. As he was facing Harry's back he wasn't able to see the devious smile that had crossed the teenager's face. As soon as he could get those damned wards removed, oh then... then he would have some real fun.

But first, he had a new professor to speak with.

As the class filed out in silence, the young Potter kept to the back of the group. He came to a halt in front of Wolfos' desk, where the older man was writing a note to himself. He was grumpy and annoyed; these damn brats didn't even know a good lesson when they had one!

"Old man?"

Daemne gave the boy a sour look, "If I have to tell you one more damned time not to call me that you little idiot...!"

"Sorry sir," Harry shrugged, not apologetic in the slightest, and hopped up onto the desk, "I've got a spare right now, and I want to talk."

The Defense Professor frowned as he straightened up from his slump to look the boy square in the face. Lavender eyes were hard and cold, but a faint sparkle of glee hovered in their depths, "Oh? What about?"

"These bloody things!" and with that half snarled proclamation, he yanked his sleeves up around his shoulders to reveal the rune studded leather bands around his upper arms. Wolfos leaned into give them a good look over, his frown turning puzzled as he studied the runes.

"By all the rings of hell!" he spat suddenly, "I would never have thought of that!"

"Thought of what, sir?"

The older wizard leaned back and slumped carelessly into his hair. From hooded eyes he watched the boy in front of him. Harry face was shadowed by the way his hair fell into it, and his green eyes appeared to be little more than glowing crystals in the depths of that shadow. Potter wasn't looking at Wolfos, though. He was staring at the leather armbands he was forced to wear.

"Merlin's on bran of magic runes, you twit. Somehow they decided that they were going to block your 'wandless' magic with these things. Unfortunately, with Merline's Runes controlling it, there is little way for you to work around him. That bloody prick was one of the strongest Order ever created!"

Harry frowned, "So they prevent me from casting? That's bloody annoying." he brightened slightly, "But it doesn't prevent Weapon from getting free. Malfoy woke up and had a conversation with him."

The professor groaned and rubbed his forehead, "How many god be damned times do I have to tell you that 'Harry' and 'Weapon' are THE SAME BLOODY PERSON?!?!"

"Different personalities, different people!" Harry chirped with a grin.

Daemon considered smacking his forehead into his desk, but generally preferred to reach over and smack Harry a good one, while he muttered something sour about training absolute morons. Why had he taken this thrice damned job on, anyways? Still grumbling under his breath, and steadily cursing his best friend from his school days for getting him into this mess in the first place, Wolfos stood and began to pace. After several moments of making dire threats against dead people, he finally turned back to his number one student.

"If you're expecting me to take you again from Hogwarts, forget it, Boy."

Potter jumped to his feet, once more snarling like a caged animal and began to circle his pacing teacher, "What do you mean you're not taking me again? Isn't that why you're here?!"

"I accepted the job to teach at the end of the last school year, idiot. I expected to take you here with me, but it seems like Severus did my job for me," at Harry's dark look, Daemen gave a bark of laughter, "Oh yes, I heard all about your little mess up. And don't expect that you won't be sufficiently punished for it, either. Now, get down to the library."

"...Sir?" Harry was confused at this sudden shift in the conversation. What was Wolfos up to? Potter knew that the man was devious, and that he had used several of his more... how to put it... more unsavory tactics in order to force Harry to do what he wanted during their training.

Of course, Wolfos was also just a sadistic bastard that got a kick out of torturing kids, Harry grumped mentally. He knew better than to say something like that out loud, however. He had been living with the old man in the Workshop for over a year, after all. The man was like a second father; or something like that, anyways. He was always pushing Harry to be the best...

"You are going to the library," Wolfos continued, smiling in a decidedly unhealthy for Harry way, "and you are going to be doing a little research for me. I want you to look up everything you can on Merlin's Runes. I want you to test their boundaries. I want you to do better the next time I command you to attack someone, goddammit!"

"Sir." Harry bowed sharply to the man, all traces of his less than sane side vanishing. When he stood, his eyes were once again that cold, glinting steel color, before he turned and glided out of the room. Daemen stopped pacing and sunk down into his chair, fingers clenching into his hair.

Sighing heavily, he pulled a silver flask out of his robes and grinned a bit ruefully as he downed a bit of muggle vodka. It always did jolt him out of a slump, he thought with a bit of a chuckle. Stretching, he kicked his feet up onto his desk and contemplated what had just happened. His grin faded after a moment.

They would have to work on that. The shift from "Harry" to "Weapon" was smooth and perfect, there was no problem there. What was the problem was Harry's insistence that "Weapon" was a different person, and entirely different soul. That was just stupid, Wolfos thought, two souls could not co-exist in the same body. Over time, one or the other would become stronger, and the weaker soul would fade away and die. "Weapon", if he was truly a different person, couldn't have possibly survived sixteen years locked within Harry's body, having been created when he had "destroyed" Voldemort back when the idiot boy had only been ayear old.

No. Weapon was definitely the same person as Harry.

End Chapter

original note: And so we begin to get into the plot. salutes Here's to those who can figure it out on the vague things I've said so far!

October 17, 2007: ...if you answered Horcrux to the above question, please rethink your answer and consider that the first chapters of this story was written before OotP came out. Remember kids, always check the publish and update dates of something before you answer a question like this :)