A Shadow of Power
Summary: Knowing that he had little chance with defeating Voldemort, Harry started looking into rituals and potions to increase his chances of defeating the Dark Lord in the future. One of the rituals he performs brings about a kind of spirit, a shadow, that guides Harry and alerts him to danger. But the next potion he tries, a potion that will instantly unblock his full magical ability, goes wrong. Harry is thrown into a coma, and the shadow knows that its maker will die. The death comes, and now the shadow must continue to fight the Dark Lord in Harry's place. But no one ever said that shadows were ever made of Light.
Prologue: Eternal Night: Oblivion
There was a chill to the hallway as one Albus Dumbledore strolled through, intent on making it to his office to meet with his spy in Lord Voldemort's ranks, Severus Snape, most recent member of the Light. And even that was still in dispute.
The war with Voldemort had been going on for over twenty years, and now, at last, it looked as if they held an advantage over the Dark Lord. Courtesy of Severus, Dumbledore was able to keep the information of the complete prophecy away from Voldemort. Plans had been set in motion; the Potters would be attacked soon.
As soon as Dumbledore turned into the hall that ended in his office, he froze. He sensed that he was being followed. Wand out in a quick motion, he spun around to see… nothing. Only the darkness of the night.
"Who is there," he called out, commanding and superior.
No answer.
A creeping coldness made its way up his back. Dumbledore shivered slightly.
"Lumos!"
A narrow beam of light lit the dark corridor, but did little to dispel the shadows on the wall. There was no one to be seen.
Giving himself a mental shake, Dumbledore pocked his wand and turned to go meet with Severus. The coldness did not go away, not until he reached his office door.
"So Severus, what news," Dumbledore directed to the shadowed figure leaning against the wall near the stairs. "Sit down, my boy," Dumbledore said, indicating the chair opposite his desk.
But even as Dumbledore made to sit in his own chair, Snape didn't move, nor did he speak. He remained silent, unmoving, and Dumbledore could feel his cold eyes surveying him darkly. Dumbledore shivered again, and, quite annoyed at Snape's lack of speech and movement, turned on the lights.
It was not Severus Snape who was leaning against the wall.
It was a man of about twenty with extremely pale skin, well built looking, with a fitting black sleeveless shirt, and black Muggle jeans. His hair was messy looking, but stylishly so, and was raven black. His eyes were emerald green, and cold.
Dumbledore was instantly on his feet, wand aimed squarely between the intruder's eyes.
"Now, now, Dumbledore," the man said, his voice deadly soft, "so little hospitality?"
"Who are you, sir," Dumbledore asked, power radiating from him in waves. The man seemed supremely unaffected by it.
"I know the game you are playing, old man," he said menacingly. "I know what you plan to do with the one of the prophecy."
Dumbledore felt his blood run cold at this, but he did not start the game to lose. "I do not know what you are talking about, sir. Perhaps you would like to sit down and explain?"
He offered the chair to the stranger, but the man only snorted. "Know this, Dumbledore. Eventually, you will push the prophesied one over the edge. I will be there when that happens… and I will hunt you down. Your game… will not last long.
And with that, every single candle in Dumbledore's office was suddenly extinguished, leaving absolute darkness remaining. Not a second later, they were re-lit, and the pale stranger was gone, and Dumbledore sensed Snape behind his door.
The next day, when Dumbledore awoke from his few hours of sleep, he remembered nothing of his strange and frightening visitor the night before.
Chapter One: Eternal Night: Dawn of Time
Sixteen years later…
All was quite on the night of July 30th, just minutes before midnight, on the street of Privet Drive. For the last few weeks now, every spot of ground seemed saturated by a frosty, dark fog, which, in the view of a certain black haired, emerald eyed sixteen year old, boded ill. He, Harry Potter, knew, and perhaps was one of the few on this street who did, that the fog was not natural. He didn't know how he knew, though.
In the smallest, most beat up room of Number Four, Privet Drive, resided Harry, who was presently sitting on his small, lumpy bed. He was the only one in the house awake. He was the only one in the house that cared his birthday was tomorrow. He was the only one in the house that could feel the shadows of evil that crept out beyond the street.
"Do not stop, Harry," a low, menacing voice said from the shadows of his room. "Continue."
"I will," Harry whispered back to the shadows.
Ever since he had returned home from Hogwarts, Harry had been studying on rituals of power. Forbidden Rituals. The source of his supply was a mail order catalogue, with his subscription under a false name.
He had already accomplished one ritual; a suggestion by the shop owner himself. It created a sort of shadow, a constant watcher and guardian, which came directly from himself. This 'Shadow' was what, or who, spoke to Harry, whispering in his ear, following him everywhere. He had the ability to quiet his shadow, but it did prove useful, even when not watching only.
"One more item left, Harry," the shadow whispered, anticipation in its voice matching that of Harry's mind.
Harry silently added seven drops of snake blood to the bubbling goop of a potion in the cauldron in front of him. The lava-like bubbling ceased, and the tar color turned bright red, letting Harry know the potion was done successfully.
"Congratulations, Harry," the shadow said, relief in its voice. "Now we shall see…"
Yes, thought Harry, we shall.
The potion he had just finished was designed to unlock any and all hidden or blocked power within a magical being. Harry knew that some of his power was either untapped or blocked somehow, and he was intent on capturing it.
He poured the sparking red potion into a large bowl he had put to the side, and then drank down the entire thing.
Nothing happened for a moment… and then…
"HARRY!"
A shriek of immense pain split the night, even beyond the confines of Harry Potter's room, filling the house of Number Four Privet Drive, escaping through the shut window and reaching the street where one Arthur Weasley paused in shock, then sprang into motion, sprinting toward Number Four's front door.
Everything was happening at once. Vernon and Petunia's bedroom door slammed open, the front door was broken down by Mr. Weasley, Vernon rushed into Harry's room, followed by an ashen faced Mr. Weasley, and a petrified Petunia. Everyone was talking, or really shouting and screaming, at once.
It was all a torrent of sound and pain to Harry. White-hot fire was rushing through him, and soon he could see nothing but a painful whiteness, his ears were ringing, and after many painful, confusing minutes… he blacked out.
For several weeks, after the incident with the faulty potion, Harry had been lying, unconscious, in Hogwart's hospital wing. He had visitors everyday, most from the Weasley clan, sometimes from other students of the DA. Everyone was in a state of extreme sadness. According to Madam Pomfrey, Harry was unlikely to come out of the coma. Everyday, their hopes would dwindle further. However, once the visitors left, and the nurse went to bed, there was always someone left in the wing, next to Harry's bed. The shadow. The shadow that was now steadily gaining being.
The shadow was always silent now, never speaking to the unmoving form of his creator. With every passing day, a little bit of Harry was, in a way, imprinted onto the shadow. Although, while the shadow did gain a few similarities in appearance, it, or now as it rightfully be called, 'he' gained all of Harry's dormant personality traits. The Slytherin side. And since he was the result of a Dark ritual, he appearance to Harry's was darker looking; sneaky, a hidden aggressiveness you could just sense about him, in short, a Dark Wizard perfected.
Although he really couldn't be considered a true person yet, it was only a matter of time. He smiled gently upon the unconscious form of his maker. He loved his maker like a brother. The shadow of Harry James Potter knew that his maker was dieing. The potion was flawed. The preparation was perfectly correct, of course, but they had been unprepared for the results. There was simply too much power in Harry that was suddenly unblocked. So, for one moment, one terribly agonizing, painful moment, Harry was the strongest wizard on Earth. But with power, you must have at least basic control, over which Harry had none when concerned with his pre-mature power influx. The pure magic unleashed within him destroyed him. In a few days, the shadow knew, his maker, his brother, would die. There would be no miracle to stop his death.
In a few days time, once his maker was dead, as horrible as that would be, the shadow would become a true person. He would truly be a living shadow of Harry Potter. He would fight for the good, he would protect the weak, and he would be Harry Potter… sort of. He would just be a, say… darker version. And now, but a few days until the death of his maker, the shadow spoke.
"To me Harry, you were more than my charge. At first it was business, what I was made to do, but soon I watched over you because I wanted to protect you, with all my heart and soul, whatever that means. I was attached to you, Harry, my maker, my brother. I will carry on your destiny. I will ensure that world will be safe from the Dark Lord."
Deep in the shadow's mind, through his connection to Harry that was only bared there, he felt Harry's acceptance at the shift in duty. Through the connection, Harry sent how powerfully confident he was that the shadow would do it for him, how much he trusted in his shadow, his brother. The shadow smiled, and a tear fell from his not-quite-as-green-as-Harry's eyes.
"I won't fail you, Harry. I promise you."
A few days later, Madam Pomfrey awoke to check up on Harry, only to fall to her knees in sadness as she gazed upon his pale, unmoving, non-breathing, obviously dead body. Tears were to be seen leaking from her eyes as she floo called the Headmaster to give the fateful news.
Five days later, the funeral of Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, friend and loved one of many, was held on a cliff overlooking Hogwarts and the lake. It was the cliff where Harry's friends secretly found him sitting when he needed solitude.
Everyone who had known Harry, and some who hadn't, had come the funeral to pay their last respects to the Boy-Who-Lived. But, out of everyone there, there was only one person that Albus Dumbledore did not recognize. It was a teenage boy, of about Harry's age he assumed, who had stylish looking messy black hair, pale skin, and it looked like he had spent many hours in the gym; he was standing behind everyone else, his head hung in sorrow. Although he was extremely pained by Harry's passing, it was only polite to introduce himself to this unknown boy, who seemed greatly affected by Harry's death. Dumbledore could see tears flowing freely from the boy's dark green eyes and how defeated he looked while looking at Harry's body in the open coffin. As he neared the boy, he noticed how similar he and Harry looked.
"Hello young man," Dumbledore greeted the boy kindly. "My name is Albus Dumbledore… I was Harry's headmaster at school."
The boy looked up and Dumbledore was astonished at how alike this young man and Harry looked. Aside from a few differences, Dumbledore could have assumed the boy to be Harry's twin brother!
"Hello sir," the broken looking boy responded softly. "I'm Shade. I don't have another name."
Dumbledore was curious about this 'Shade'. Try as hard as he might, he couldn't look into the boy's mind to see how he knew Harry. He was very curious about this, seeing as Harry had never spoke of this boy named Shade.
"A pleasure to meet you Shade," said Dumbledore. "If you wouldn't find it terribly rude of me, would you mind telling me how you have come to know Harry?"
Shade looked down and Dumbledore could just make out a quiet sob. "Harry and I met several years ago. A bunch of people were beating me up… Harry was only nine, but he fought them off. We've been best friends since then… I've always wanted to see where he went to school," Shade added quietly. "I just never thought I would see it this way."
"I am sorry you that your first visit to Hogwarts had to be for this," Dumbledore gestured sadly at Harry's dead body. "Are you a Squib? Or do you have magical relatives?"
"Magical relatives, sir, but they died last year… Please sir… can I be alone?"
"Of course, my dear boy," Dumbledore said kindly, yet sad at the same time. "If you like, you could live at Hogwarts. I'm sure Harry would want you to have a home here."
"Thank you for the offer, sir. I- I'll think about it."
Dumbledore smiled and placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. However, the moment Dumbledore's hand connected to Shade's body, a chilling, unnatural cold flooded the old headmaster's entire body, a cold to which he could only rely on the effects of a Dementor to describe. He slowly removed his hand from Shade's shoulder, but the cold did not vanish. In fact, it took several hours for it to disperse from his body completely.
Shade smirked slightly as he saw Dumbledore walk away.
I've started the game, Dumbledore, Shade thought. Are you smart enough to play, or dumb enough to try?
Shade looked to the white coffin that held his now dead maker… his brother. "I will do you proud, Harry."
And with those final words, Shade walked calmly into the Forbidden Forest, unnoticed by all.