Summary: After running away from the Durselys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they will never expect.
Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel
Letifer.
It was a name known the world over, in every magical town and village from Marrakech to Beijing. From the Amazon Basin to the frozen tundra of the Canadian north. It was a name of myth and legend, shrouded in secrecy and born of shadow. It was a name spoken throughout the dark alleys of Europe; a name never mentioned without a precautionary glance over the shoulder.
It was the name Harry Potter had gone by for more than a decade. The name one raven-haired little boy picked from a random street sign in Little Whinging, Surrey. It wasn't until years later that Harry realized the significance of his chosen alias. . . . .
. . . . . .and what the word really meant to the world.
By then it was too late though. The name Letifer had spread across Europe, and a reputation had gone with it. Mundungus Fletcher had been one of the first to learn of that reputation, and it appeared the old thief had not forgotten.
Of course, Harry reminded himself, not many did.
They had met in Berlin back in '89, about six months before the wall fell. Fletcher had been running a smuggling outfit at the time, taking East German muggles and bringing them across the line.
By magical means, of course.
Harry had joined up right after leaving Marseilles, where the French Aurors had become a little too interested in a certain green-eyed street urchin. He stayed on until the first blows were delivered to the infamous wall.
His ears still recalled the ringing of steel on stone.
The job had been by no means easy. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been all over the operation, and near the end, the East German Stasi had known something was up. More than one smuggling chief ended up in Niesrachun.
With a nice ten year sentence for threatening the International Statute of Secrecy.
The whole gig ended when the wall fell though; which subsequently marked the end of profiteering in the once divided Berlin. Harry left Germany soon after, effectively ending his association with Dung Fletcher.
It would be another three years, and numerous ports of call, before their paths would cross once more. Latin America had been the last place Harry had seen Fletcher, and were he to be honest with himself, he had never expected to hear from the ginger haired smuggler again.
Which is why, that nearly four years after the Panama Run, he was rather surprised to be contacted by old Dung. The elder wizard had mentioned a business opportunity, and Harry had agreed to the proposed meeting. The location was King's Cross, London.
But more specifically, platform nine and three-quarters.
There was no such thing as a coincidence.
That was another lesson Harry had learned early on. There were no opportunistic accidents, and there was no such thing as an unplanned connection. Knowing this beforehand, Harry felt his heightened suspicion was easily justified.
He didn't bother explaining his paranoia. He possessed that naturally.
The twenty-ninth of June was the day the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive at platform nine and three-quarters. It was the last day of term for students, which effectively made it the beginning of the summer holiday.
It was also the day Harry was arranged to meet with the ginger haired thief.
In his neck of the woods, it was common knowledge that Fletcher owed Albus Dumbledore for that time in Zurich. The old smugger was in the Headmaster's debt, and was even rumored to be a member of Dumbledore's illustrious Order.
Which only served to increase Harry's paranoia. Fletcher had a business opportunity? Merely a week after Harry escaped the Mugwump's grasp?
As previously stated, there was no such thing as a coincidence.
The platform was packed with eagerly waiting families as a tall, lithe figure gracefully wove his way through the gathered. The beat-up leather jacket and black beret blended in with the crowd, hiding the man's true appearance. He walked across the platform with a fake limp; his head bowed slightly to hide vibrant green eyes.
It was an old game by now.
If things were different, if his parents were still alive, one may wonder as to why the Boy Who Lived would wish to go unnoticed. Especially in a crowd where many considered him their savior.
The Martyr of the Light, he thought bitterly.
But things were different. His parents weren't alive, and Harry James Potter was not at platform nine and three-quarters. No, he had become Letifer once more. And to Letifer, camouflage and disguise were second nature.
Such skills had been necessary. . . . . . . . .during the war.
Emerald eyes searched the crowd intently, looking for any sign of a threat. Or of any possible pinch. Anyone who acted entirely too casual, who read the same page of the Prophet for a minute too long, whose body was too tense and stance too wary. Trained senses, developed during a life beyond the law, easily spotted these minor flaws, and the various Ministry personnel and Order members stationed around the platform.
They were so nondescript they stood out.
The tough looking man with short gray hair, standing with his back to a column? An Auror if Harry had ever seen one. As was the bald, dark skinned man with a gold hoop in his right ear; standing next to a young woman with neon pink hair. Harry remembered them both from the Department of Mysteries the week before. The bushel of redheads situated near the luggage carts? They practically had the Order mark branded on them.
Emerald eyes froze however, and Harry nearly took a dive, when he saw the person standing next to the redheads. He was completely unfamiliar; in fact, Harry was certain he had never seen the graying man before.
No, it was not the appearance that struck him, but the man's aura. The shabby, threadbare overcoat could not hide the animalistic ease with which the man carried himself, and the golden-brown eyes gave away his true nature.
A werewolf.
Harry immediately headed in opposite direction of the lycanthrope, losing himself in the crowds so as to smother his scent. It would not do for the wolf to get whiff of him, as that would no doubt draw unwanted attention.
And the questions that would follow. They always did.
Looking back over his shoulder, Harry let out a sigh of relief. The tired looking man appeared not to have noticed his presence, and was still talking to the heavily scarred Auror with an electric blue eye standing nearby.
One more from the Ministry.
Throwing a glance at the giant clock towering above the platform, Harry made his way to the iron-wrought archway that separated the magical world from that of muggle. Passing a sandy haired woman, he deftly nicked her issue of The Daily Prophet, slipping it into his coat with an unseen motion. The lift happened in the blink of an eye, and he kept walking as the unaware victim babbled to her neighbor in a thick Irish accent.
Improvisation, Harry thought to himself as he took the paper out. Folding it in half, he held The Prophet in front of him, his right hand gripping the wand hidden within the pages. The movement was simple, and would seem unnecessary to most, but Harry had learned his lessons long ago.
Nearing the iron-wrought archway, he quickly found who he was looking for.
Standing next to the ticket inspector's booth was a ginger haired man who was wearing a knee-length muggle trench coat. It was covered with what appeared to be a pile of dirty rags. The attire didn't fool Harry though; who knew the man carried an assortment of contraband items within his clothing, hidden among the numerous pockets and folds. The man could easily set up shop with what he had on him. And those bloodshot eyes were as watchful as any.
The old thief hadn't survived this long by being reckless.
"Fletcher," Harry greeted, coming up beside the ginger haired man. "This is a long way from Mexico City."
"Letifer," Mundungus replied, taking a healthy drag from his grimy, black pipe. Green smoke billowed into the air, and Harry absentmindedly recognized the scent of a half dozen illegal herbs. "Mexico City, eh? I could o' sworn it was 'Avana."
Evaluating the smuggler with blazing eyes, a slow smirk eventually spread across Harry' s face. He gave a brief nod, and both men visibly relaxed. It was the same Fletcher, all right. The same Fletcher from the old crowd; the same Fletcher who taught him how to spot the German Aurors in Berlin.
"You said something about a business opportunity?" Harry asked, watching the platform for anyone who appeared too interested in their conversation.
"Aye," Fletcher said, taking another drag of his pipe. "It was a snatch an' run job, four days ago. Kinda like that time in Puerto Limon."
Harry nodded shortly, showing that he understood. "So now you have contraband hotter than the Sahara," he commented, the words flowing off his tongue, "and you need to swing a deal."
"Aye," Fletcher said, nodding his own shaggy head.
What's the cargo?" Harry asked, secretly casting a silencing charm from the wand within the paper.
"Cauldrons," Dung said, blowing more smoke into the air. A tall, attractive blond started coughing as she walked by, and her lip curled slightly as she found the source of the smoke. Old Dung merely gave her the middle finger, and the woman stomped away with a scandalized look on her face.
"Numbers?" Harry inquired, shaking his head in exasperation. Same old Dung, all right.
"Two dozen," Fletcher supplied. "At a safe-'ouse down in Knockturn."
"Pewter?" Harry asked.
"Aye." Another drag, more smoke.
"Size?"
"Standard Two," Fletcher said.
"Where from?" Harry suddenly demanded, emerald eyes narrowing.
"I don't want any cheap Korean imports, Fletcher," he continued vehemently, eyes flashing now. "That shit's ruined the market these last couple of years."
"Its not, its not," the old thief quickly reassured. "This stuff is prime stuff, Grade A product; straight from the forges of Warsaw."
Harry eyed the other man suspiciously, before giving a reluctant nod. Inwardly, his mind was buzzing with calculations and possible venues of trade. He could get in contact with some people he knew, and swing a deal overnight. If the market was good, and he got the fixed rate, he could easily clear two hundred galleons.
While his mind worked, his eyes noticed the scarlet steam engine chugging to a halt on the other side of the platform. Meanwhile, his noise absentmindedly registered a strange smell coming from the man beside him. Even through the smoke-filled haze, he could make out the distinct scent.
Emerald eyes widened, before narrowing dangerously, and a series of expletives sped through his mind. With an obscure flick of his wrist, there was a wand in Harry's left hand, while his grip tightened on the one hidden within the paper. Clandestinely pointing it at the ginger haired thief, emerald eyes searched frantically for a way out.
Fletcher was nervous.
Melissa lifted Hedwig's cage as the Hogwarts Express puffed to a standstill. Dragging her trunk behind her, she made her way off the train and across the crowded platform. Emerald eyes searched the crowd as she said goodbye to her friends, looking for the familiar graying hair of her godfather.
Remus stood waiting near the luggage racks, looking rather tired as the full moon approached. Nevertheless, he pulled her into a tight embrace when she walked up, silently offering his fierce protection
"Is he here?" Melissa asked quietly as Remus released her. The werewolf needed no clarification, but nodded shortly in response.
"Mundungus gave us the signal," he said softly, and quickly grabbed her arm as Melissa turned her head. "Don't look! I know it's hard, but we have to act like he isn't here. Mundungus is handling it by himself, and he knows Harry better than we do."
Melissa nodded reluctantly, resisting the urge to look over at the iron-wrought archway. She knew Remus was right, and hopefully everything would turn out fine. Despite those thoughts, Melissa couldn't help but feel that something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Frowning slightly, her eyes searched the platform once more, for the first time realizing the shortage of people. It wasn't really noticeable, but if one looked closely, they would find that the platform was less crowded than usual. And if one searched for specific faces, they would find that several purebloods were not among the gathered. Several prominent purebloods.
Several Voldemort-supporting purebloods.
The second the intuition came to her, Melissa knew that she was right. The large forms of Crabbe and Goyle Senior were missing from the platform, as was the weedy, slouched form of the elder Nott. The platinum head of Lucius Malfoy was not to be found; though his wife Narcissa, a tall, attractive blond, could be seen with their son Draco.
They were making their way to the iron-wrought archway. Very quickly.
"Remus," Melissa said, catching the werewolf's attention. Following her gaze, Lupin turned just in time to see the Malfoys disappear through the magical barrier. Frowning slightly, the graying man watched as several other pureblood families followed, all walking at a fast pace.
"Alastor!" Remus said, the color draining from his face. "We need to get out of here. Now!"
The grizzled ex-Auror had been watching the whole thing with his magical eye, and appeared to have come to the same conclusion. "Kingsley! Tonks!" Mad-Eye barked, pulling an object from his voluminous cloak. The two Aurors rushed forward with questioning expressions, drawing their wands as they did.
"We're about to be attacked," Moody growled, waving his wand at the object, which proved to be a muggle rubber duck. The yellow duck started shaking, and gave-off a bluish glow before returning to its normal state.
"Everyone, grab hold," Moody ordered as he held out the Portkey. Melissa and the Order members quickly gathered around Mad-Eye, and right as the paranoid ex-Auror counted to one, a series of cracking noises filled the platform. Screams broke out as the masked figures appeared, and Remus growled an expletive as Moody reached two. . . . .
. . . . . .and was promptly blasted off his feet by a jet of black light. The ex-Auror was knocked backward through the air, and came crashing to a halt as his body slammed into the luggage racks.
"Avada Kedavra!" a Death Eater yelled from behind them. Melissa quickly dove to the side, and the Killing Curse flew over her, impacting with the next person in line. She watched with wide eyes as Sturgis Podmore took the jet of green light in the chest, and the square-jawed wizard fell unceremoniously to the floor.
He was dead.
"Come on!" Remus yelled, summoning the forgotten Portkey as the Death Eaters advanced across the platform. The rubber duck flew into his hand, and the remaining members of the guard quickly rushed toward him without a second thought.
They were outnumbered four to one.
Reaching out a hand, Melissa held a finger to part of the muggle contraption, as did the others. As anguished cries rang-out across the platform, she prepared herself for the familiar jerk behind the navel. Right as Remus counted to three though, a large explosion rippled, causing the entire platform to shake violently. Melissa fell off balance due to the powerful quake, and toppled backward, shock registering on her face as she lost contact with the Portkey. . . . . .
. . . . . .which immediately activated with a rush of wind and a swirl of color. She briefly saw the horrified expression on her godfather's face, before the guard vanished completely, leaving Melissa behind.
Cold, powerful fury rose in Harry as he gripped his wands, mentally deliberating whether he should leave Dung alive or not. Despite his deadly rage, something clicked in the back of his mind, and he realized the rumor about Fletcher and the Order of the Phoenix was correct.
The old thief was a member. That was the only possible explanation. Why else would Dung try setting him up? Of course, Harry reminded himself, there were half a dozen bounties on his head, but Fletcher wasn't the type that would sell a bloke out to the hunters. Absentmindedly wondering if he was still worth the same price, Harry raised both wands, fully intent on amputating Dung's legs below the knee.
Harsh punishment was the price for betraying Letifer.
A powerful Cutting Curse was on the tip of his tongue, when a series of cracking sounds filled the platform. Harry spun toward the noise, cursing his luck as he watched two dozen figures apparating onto the scene, all wearing black robes and emotionless white masks.
Death Eaters.
The nearest one had apparated a mere ten feet away, and turned toward Fletcher with his wand raised. It was almost as if they knew where the Order member would be standing.
"Avada Kedavra!" the masked figure shouted. A sickly jet of green light sped toward Dung, who took the Killing Curse right in the face, and was dead before his body hit the ground.
Harry, who had watched the whole seen impassively, merely raised an eyebrow as his former associate was taken-out. Letifer had seen too much death to be surprised or sickened by it, and its not like he owed Fletcher anything.
He was just pondering how he should react, when the Death Eater made the choice for him. Turning his wand on the raven-haired young man, the idiot bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!" effectively making the biggest mistake of his life.
And the last.
Harry merely flicked his wand, summoning a nearby masked figure to take the blow for him. The first Death Eater watched in horror as his comrade intercepted the Killing Curse, and fell dead to the platform below. Raising his left wand, Harry muttered the first dark spell he ever learned.
"Crucio!"
The crimson beam hit the Death Eater in the chest, and he too dropped to the ground, writhing in agony as Harry held him under the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse. The man's screaming penetrated the chaos that surrounded them, and the whole platform momentarily froze. The other Death Eaters turned in spite of themselves to watch as their comrade was tortured.
They quickly came to their senses though, and a half dozen robed figures rushed toward him. "Avada Kedavra!" Harry intoned, taking out the lead man with a Killing Curse. He was forced to duck as five more were sent back at him, and canceling the Cruciatus, Harry flicked his right wand at the tortured Death Eater. The twitching man rose from the ground, and with another flick of his wand, Harry banished him toward the others. Hurtling through the air at high speed, the man flew into another Death Eater, sending both of them crashing into a nearby pillar.
"Elecstis Striven!" Harry shouted, thrusting each wand forward in a sharp motion. Twin bolts of lightening flew from each wand, causing the air to ripple with energy. Two of the Death Eaters tried raising a joint shield, but the forks of lightening tore through it easily. Both of them were blasted off their feet, and were thrown halfway across the platform as electricity surged through their bodies. They crashed into a concrete column, and slid to the ground, their nervous systems fried beyond repair.
Five down, Harry mentally counted. That left one more Death Eater nearby.
"Ardavian Flarick!" said Death Eater yelled, making a slashing movement with his wand. A streak of purple flame sped toward Harry, who was forced to conjure a shield out of thin air. The curse impacted with the dark green dome, which deflected it into the ground.
The power behind the spell was impressive, and Harry instantly knew he was facing a member of the elite Inner Circle. True enough, the Death Eater ripped of his white mask, revealing a long, pale, twisted face. A face Harry had seen before, months ago on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who murdered the Prewetts.
Dolohov grinned, raising his wand as he assumed a formal dueling stance. Harry did likewise, a dark smirk spreading across his face as he prepared to battle a worthy opponent.
Rarely did he get to.
"Blavania!" he shouted instantly, pointing his left wand at the Death Eater. A scarlet beam shot forth, reeking of darkness as it sped toward the older wizard. Dolohov waved his wand in a complex pattern, conjuring a dome that flickered a sickly black.
The curse was completely absorbed by the shield, which Dolohov lowered as he yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" The green light sped toward Harry, who merely flicked his wand in a lazy gesture. A wooden Hogwarts trunk, abandoned in the chaos, flew from the ground, intercepting the Killing Curse. The trunk burst into flames as the curse hit, and fell to the platform, smoldering.
"Novus Incendio!" Harry muttered, deriving an idea from the burning box. An enormous ball of fire erupted from his wand, heading toward the pale man. Dolohov was forced to summon a human shield immediately, and a nearby corpse launched from the ground, catching fire as the giant flame consumed it.
"Arvis Nylan!" Dolohov sneered in response, flicking his wrist with a sharp motion. A thin, orange beam pulsed from the slender piece of wood, and Harry dove to the ground to avoid it. Rolling back onto his feet, the raven-haired young man snapped of a series of Piercing Curses from each wand.
Dolohov managed to avoid most of the rapid fire, but one angry red spark flew under his guard, tearing into the Death Eater's right shoulder. The man gave a painful hiss, rage crossing his twisted face as he glared at Harry.
With another nasty sneer, Dolohov began launching an array of dark curses toward the younger man. Twisting and rolling, Harry was forced to summon forgotten possessions from the concrete platform. The various items blocked the lethal spells, but there was one too many, and he couldn't avoid the malicious curse that reeked of darkness. A scream of pain escaped Harry's mouth as the red beam hit. The Flesh Eating Curse ate into his right forearm, tearing apart the skin and sending blood down his wrist.
"Avada Kedavra! Oricnay! Sandovan Faytus!" he bellowed, jerking his wand as emerald eyes flashed with fury. The curses were cast instantaneously, sending Dolohov into a defensive mode. The pale wizard dodged the Killing Curse, right as a powerful explosion ripped through the platform. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the scarlet mass of the Hogwarts Express, where the explosion seemed to originate from.
The train was burning.
Antonin Dolohov, unbalanced due to the quake that followed the blast, failed to avoid Harry's second curse. The powerful stream of yellow acid burned through his robes, eating into the pale man's torso.
Distracted by the immense pain, Dolohov failed to dodge the round, magical saw that tore through the air. The black, razor-sharp blade hit the Death Eater in the previously injured shoulder, cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone. The Azkaban escapee screamed in pure agony as the entire arm was crudely amputated, and the limb fell to the ground, dead fingers still clutching Dolohov's wand.
Ignoring the pain that came from his blood-soaked forearm, Harry stalked toward his fallen opponent, who was now lying on his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The familiar stench of blood and gore assaulted Harry's nose as he approached, the foul odor bringing forth memories he had fought to suppress.
The blood. . . . . . it had been everywhere.
Standing above Dolohov, Harry looked down into the man's pain-filled eyes, eyes that nonetheless burned with hatred. If Harry were to walk away now, if Dolohov were to receive immediate medical attention, the man would live. The loss of blood from his shoulder was substantial, but a magical limb could replace the arm.
He had seen it done before.
Harry had no intention of walking away though, and he would be damned if Dolohov received medical aid. Raising one basilisk hide boot, he brought the heel crashing down on the man's throat.
No mercy.
Hate-filled eyes widened in shock as his windpipe was crushed, and with one last ragged gasp, Antonin Dolohov was dead.
Reaching down, Harry pried the Death Eater's wand from the life-less fingers. Giving it an experimental wave, he felt no connection with the wand, and snapped the slender piece of wood in half. Throwing the remains aside, Harry looked down at the mangled corpse of his opponent with expressionless green eyes.
However, his head snapped around as a tortured cry reached his ears, and Harry suddenly remembered where he was. The platform was literally destroyed, the scarlet steam engine sat in ruins, and the remaining people sobbed hysterically over the bodies of their dead loved ones.
The tortured cry reached his ears once more, and on the opposite side of the platform, Harry found the source of the noise. Writhing on the ground near the twisted and bent luggage carts, a young woman with dark red hair screamed in agony.
Standing above her, a robed figure smirked maliciously as he applied the Cruciatus Curse. The man was tall and skeletal, with pale skin, long spidery fingers, a demonic face, and red slits for eyes. Eyes Harry had seen before. Eyes that had haunted his dreams and plagued his nightmares as a child. Crimson red eyes.
The eyes of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
She had been holding her own rather well, if Melissasaid so herself. Despite being left behind, she had quickly adapted to the situation, the chaos and screams fueling her anger. She had stunned more than one Death Eater, and was pretty sure she got Rookwood with a nasty Bone-Breaking Curse.
And then she saw him. The snake-like face and blood red eyes. She had been too shocked to move. Despite the numerous Death Eaters, Melissa had not expected Voldemort to come himself. She had just stood there as he approached, her wand pointed uselessly at the ground.
And the next thing she knew, there was pain beyond pain. Pain beyond comprehension. Pain that she had only experienced once before, on a tragic night little more than a year ago.
The night a monster rose once more.
Canceling the spell, Voldemort looked down at her writhing form, his upper lip curling in disgust. "It appears you do not know that which I seek, Potter," the high, cold voice said. "Pity, for I may have left you alive."
"Nevertheless," Voldemort continued as remnants of pain stabbed through her body. "I have nothing more to say to you. You have irked me for too often, Potter. For far too long."
Forcing emerald eyes opened, Melissa tried to ignore the lingering pain. She briefly saw the yew wand pointed at her head, and as the words formed on Voldemort's serpentine tongue, she waited for the sickly jet of green light.
"Avada Ked - "
Before Voldemort could finish the incantation though, a powerful beam of grey light came from over Melissa's shoulder. Emerald eyes widened as the curse hit Voldemort in the chest. The Dark Lord, caught unaware, was thrown backward across the platform. Her jaw hanging open in shock, she could only stare as the skeletal wizard began rising slowly to his feet.
From behind her, a blood-soaked hand roughly grabbed Melissa's arm. Turning, emerald orbs met piercing eyes of the same color, and in a strange yet oddly familiar voice, she heard:
"Come with me if you want to live."
Another chapter? Well la-de-freakin'-da! Looks like we got ourselves a somewhat reliable writer here.
No?
Theoretically, this chapter was supposed to be posted after I updated Of Blood and Power. Unfortunately, my laptop (the one I paid a shitload for) decided to be a pain in the ass. I'm not exactly a 'computer expert', so I really can't tell you what in the hell's wrong with it. All I know is that it crashed, and chapter 13 of my other story went with it.
Ah, well, shit happens. Unfortunately, my computer won't be working until the very expensive replacement parts arrive via postal service. Which means I had to write and post this chapter from the shitty-ass local library.
Which sucks, to be frank. I solely place blame for any grammer and spelling errors on the crappy computer I was forced to use. Honestly, it wasn't my fault.
Until next time, cheers.