Soul Stealer

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer: I don't own HP...

"Yes, our family. I was a fool to have done what I did, and I had to pay the ultimate price for it..."

Harry froze when Sigurd's dead glaze focused upon him.

"...as will you."

Harry who had been sitting at the edge of the sofa tense with nervousness, flinched slightly as if Sigurd had just dealt him a physical blow. With a loud sigh, he slumped back against the chair and covered his face in his arms and groaned. "Why me?" he asked, after a few moments of silence. "Bloody hell, I wasn't even involved this time! I already have enough problems on my plate as it is, I don't need another curse."

"That's where you are wrong," retorted Sigurd, as he ran his hand through his thick black locks in frustration. "Look kid, I know that your life probably seems like nothing more then a pain in the ass," he said dryly, causing Harry's lips to twitch in amusement. "But there are things actually worth living for; however, in order to protect them, you'd need to pay a price.

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry grumbled to himself, ignoring his ancestor's frown. He hadn't realized it back them, but he'd basically traded one prison for another. As a child, Harry had always hated living with the Dursleys...always being the one left out, neglected, and abused. However, was the wizarding world any better? When times were rough, he was a convenient scapegoat and of course the 'attention seeking brat'; otherwise, he was their hero. Nothing more, nothing less. This was the price that he had to pay for learning magic, and Harry hated it.

"Done yet, brat?" complained Sigurd as he twitched slightly in his chair. "We don't have time for this," he said sternly, "Your bloody headmaster might be able to feel my presence here if I stay any longer." With a wave of his hand, he quickly dispelled his chair and motioned for Harry to stand up. Seeing Harry open his mouth in protest, Sigurd added, "Do not worry lad, I will be back in around..." he glanced down at his watch, "...in two weeks worth of time."

"But...you haven't told me about the family curse, yet!" said Harry indignantly, "Or...what you are."

Sigurd turned and smiled slightly. "Yes...well I suppose I did promise to tell you," he said slowly. "However, I'm just not in the mood right now," he said with a yawn.

"WHAT!" exclaimed Harry. "What kind of bloody excuse is that!"

"The truth," he replied lazily, as he reached out to scratch his head. Sigurd frowned slightly when he saw Harry's disgusted expression. "Hey, do you want me to lie or something?"

"No, I want you to tell me right now."

"Well, it must suck to be you then," he replied casually, as he turned towards the open window. However, Sigurd paused and dispelled the set of iron bars on the window. "Well, seeing as how you are my descendent and all," he said stiffly, "I suppose I might as well let you let you a bit."

Harry's face drew into a triumphed smile; however, it faded instantly the moment he saw Sigurd wave his finger and a large thick silver bound book appeared out of thin air and dropped down onto his bed.

"Well, that should do the trick," said Sigurd, "The book has the complete history of our family line, as well as some other useful blood based curses. I suggest you get a move on it, the book in quite long from what I remember." And with that said, Sigurd disappeared in a flourish of darkness.

"Damn it," cursed Harry, "That bloody fool wants me to read?"

An hour later

Harry flopped tiredly into his raggedly old colt before letting out a sigh of relief. The moment Sigurd left, his Aunt Petunia had charged into his room armed with a saucer-pan, screaming her head off. And from what he'd been able to decipher from her horrible screeches, she was furious that he'd woken up late and had made her precious Dudley starve.

Personally though, he believed that his whale of a cousin would actually benefit from skipping a few meals. Dudley had already grown so...eh...wide, that he could no longer even sit in a chair without causing it to collapse.

Unfortunately enough, his aunt did not share the same opinion, much to his chagrin. So a few bruises later, Harry had managed to sneak away from the kitchen and return back into his room...his prison...his sanctuary. He chuckled lightly at the thought, as his eyes darkened bitterly.

Dumbledore.

The one and only name that had every produced such a whirlwind of emotions within him. A man whose twinkling blue glaze had always captivated him, blinding in their light. He had once looked up to the headmaster, he had trusted him. Harry had always taken Dumbledore's words at face value, he had always believed that the headmaster knew best.

And he'd just recently discovered, what a gullible fool he'd once been.

Dumbledore was using him. The weapon that the Sirus had mentioned the previous year was him, Harry. And truthfully, he didn't know how he felt about it. Sure he hated the headmaster for keeping him in the dark, but could he really blame the man. If their positions were switched, Harry would have been hard pressed to make such a decision.

Yes, Dumbledore was doing it for the greater good...for the protection of the wizarding world. Harry shook his head sadly. But...did the man have to betray him like this? Deserting him in his relatives house like a scrap, only to reclaim him when he was needed.

Did the end really justify the means?

Harry sighed as he propped himself on his elbows and edged towards the silver-bound book. A soft laugh emerged from his lips, as he stared with haunted eyes at the book. Was it worth it to kill a person just to save another? He closed his eyes. No...it was not. Sacrifice just wasn't worth it, after all...it isn't right to play god.

His finger trailed down the ebony spine of the book, carefully tracing the silvery cursive that sparkled slightly. "The Legacy of Aeolus," he whispered softly. Harry licked his lips nervously as he reached out towards the golden crusted clasp. Was he willing to turn away from the Light's ideals? To risk losing the tenuous friendship between them, the 'Golden Trio?'

Is freedom worth the risk?

Harry studied the ceiling with care. He truthfully didn't know anymore, for he'd been living his entire life based upon a lie. A lie fabricated by Dumbledore in the pretense of being "for his own good." Harry shook his head sadly. Truthfully, there was nothing more in the world that he wanted then to escape from this hell-hole and leave magical Britain to dig itself out of its own grave.

But...he couldn't.

Even if his friends had betrayed him from time to time, he still cared. And this was the part that Harry hated the most about his personality...his compassion. He might not be fond of them all the time; however, he did not want them dead. As of such, this was the only reason as to why Harry had not already escaped from his 'home'. He need to stay strong, to...protect the ones he loved.

Harry snorted to himself. At the moment, there were quite few people have managed to remain on his good side after...Sirus...had died. But, compassion or no, the main reason he'd stayed was for revenge pure and simple.

Voldemort had taken everything from him. His parents, at the mere age of one and now his godfather Sirus. By gods, how he hated the man. Before the end of the year, he believed that he truly hated Voldemort with all his heart...god, what a stupid fool he'd once been. While growing up, he had merely disliked the man for murdering his parents. Harry had no idea what true hate actually was...

...until now.

With a shaky hand, Harry slowly unclasped the lock and winced in pain. Much to his surprise, the golden clasp had suddenly grown fangs and snapped furiously at him. Without wasting as second, Harry quickly drew back; however, he was too slow and his entire left hand was caught within the monstrosities' fangs.

Harry hissed with pain as the sharp fangs dug deeper and deeper into his skin until it drew blood. He watched with morbid fascination as his life's blood drained out of him into the book. His entire arm was burning...

And then suddenly, the pain stopped. Harry blinked in surprise as he slowly raised his hand up for inspection. It was completely unblemished, save for the thin scar spelling the words 'I will not tell lies' which traced its way across the top of his hand.

Had he imagined the pain?

Harry shook his head slightly to clear his muddled mind. 'Had he suddenly turned batty like Dumbledore?' He shuddered at the thought. Things were already bad enough as it is, and the last thing he wanted was to question his own sanity. Harry tried desperately to rid himself of the image of becoming the 'Next Albus Dumbledore,' fit with a set of glowing neon green and pink robes.

As of such, it was only reasonable that he didn't notice the tingling feeling that was slowly creeping up his forearm.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out and quickly tossed open the book...

Lord of Aeolus, of times past and beyond, heed my words.

Death falls upon us and our line. The world that we're created and cherished has turned against us. For in the eyes of our beloveds, we are the culprits, the scapegoats to their faults. A fault that they have brought upon themselves. And death is their reprieve. The world had long forgotten the old ways and of creatures of lore.

Heir of my blood and loins, beware.

With power comes danger and a nightmare beyond imagination. Nothing comes without a price...especially the gifts and curse of our bloodline. A power that is as beautiful as it is deadly. A power that was destined to be yours...

Heir, you have been warned.

Horus Celaeno Aeolus

Harry blinked in surprise. "Heir of Aeolus?" he repeated dumbly as he stared blankly at the page. Was this the cursed family line that Sigurd was talking about? The one that he had somehow descended from? Harry tilted his head slightly as he reread the warning.

Power.

The one word that screamed out at him. The one word that could very well change the course of his life. He needed to become stronger to survive. Right now, he was no match for Voldemort. Hell, he'd be lucky to win a straight out duel against Voldemort's inner circle. The only spells he currently had under his arsenal were pretty much fifth year curses. Simple, yet effective.

But it wasn't enough...

And at that thought, Harry slowly turned the page...

A/N: Cliffe? evil smile naw...I guess I'm too nice for tad...

...and was surprised to see a pamphlet written on papayas paper.

Popular History:

Beneath the waning moon, upon the first stroke of twilight, the line of Aeolus was born. Upon that day of renown, flurries of darkness rejoiced at the coming of their Lord, their true king. A boy who had been prophesied to bring upon a new age to the world, an age of darkness and misery. A boy of innocence.

Harry blinked a few times as he skimmed the text. He frowned slightly before flipping over the book and glancing towards the title. 'Did that bloody fool give him a fairy tale book of all things to read?' This couldn't be about his family, it was just too...weird. With a determined look, Harry sighed before returning back to the book.

As legend goes, this prophecy child eventually transformed into the Dark Lord Aeolus. Numerous historians have sought to depict Lord Aeolus's reign of terror; however, none have ever managed to nick the truth. Lord Aeolus was an enigma. A man of many talents, secrets, and powers. He murdered, killed, and slaughter without a second thought; however, he of all people was the one who built the foundations of our magical society. It Aeolus's very hands that has shaped and molded our very way of life. Some looked up to him like a God, a leader with boundless wisdom and power. Others saw him as a tyrant who drained the blood of his people until the plains were soaked in their life's blood.

However, Lord Aeolus was none of these. He was merely a mortal who was gifted with a tremendous amount of power. That is...until the fortnight he found his wife and elder child covered in their life's blood. Dead. And it was at this moment, that historians would most likely agree to the fact that Lord Aeolus went mad. Though it has not been proven, rumor has it that during this period, Lord Aeolus created the dark beings called the Dementors. Why were they made? To this day, Historians are still not aware. Though it is believed that Lord Aeolus created them as an army to avenge his wife and family's death. And legend has it, that he is still alive and watching the descendents of his family's murderers...waiting for the perfect moment to enact his revenge.

Harry couldn't help but snort in disbelief. 'What a load of bull,' he thought disdainfully. Without a second thought, Harry slammed the book shut and slumped back against his bed. There was no way that this of all things was his family legacy. His father's family, the Potters were all Light wizards. It was absolutely impossible that the Potter line was descended from a Dark Lord, of all things. It was preposterous. With a slight laugh, Harry closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

And in his carelessness, Harry did not see the pair of golden eyes that flashed dangerously out from behind the keyhole of the book's intricately decorated lock...

A/N: cheers Yea, I've finally updated! Took me long enough. Anyways, I hoped ya liked the story! If you have time or get bored check out my other fics:

Darkly Treacherous

Light in the Shadows

Spell of Time

Seductive Darkness

Don't forget to R/R! Thanx again!

lub

xxlostdreamerxz