We don't own Harry Potter. Off our balls.
NOTE: Forfie abstained from his section this time around, so it may be a little shorter.
Chapter 2 Section 1: Written by xThornx
Reappearing with a deafining crack, Harry immeadiatly went to the throne that Voldemort had once occupied. Once the Aurors had finished with the place Harry had his way with it, adding wizard and muggle repelling charms alike, once he was done everyone that set foot near it was overtaken by a horrible fear that the place was cursed by Voldemorts soul...and in a way it was.
The final duel with the Dark Lord only three years prior would always stay fresh in the wizards mind.
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Harry had already begun his descenscion into the Dark Arts...Once Dumbledore had died a myriad of oppurtunities to learn the different arts had opened themselves to him. Suddenly the old Headmasters restricted books weren't so restricted anymore...The Chamber of Secrets was fast losing it's hidden stores. Old Ollivander had been ready and willing to construct a new wand for the up and coming warlock.
The scene was dark and foreboding, much like the one that had just taken place in Surrey...Viscious displays of lightning and great claps of thunder shook and lit the otherwise dark battlefield that war was being waged upon...and two Avada Kedavra pairs of eyes glared into one another.
With the destruction of the Horcrux's Voldemort had reverted back to the form of Tom Riddle, but have no doubts, he was still a great and terrifyingly powerful wizard...
Battle cloaks were flapping like the great dragons they once were as the two most powerful wizards on the planet circled each other trying to probe each others minds...both were unsucssesful. Finally, both nodded to each other before Voldemort raised his wand to the skies, summoning a tremendous lightning bolt, gathering the attention of all the fighters present and shouted in a strong voice,
"PAY ATTENTION ALL YOU WORTHLESS SCUM!" he continued in a softer voice "Today is the day this war ends. Me and Potter stand here, finally ready to battle to the death. The fate of Wizarding kind is decided here today and I will not have the greatest battle of our time go unrecognized..." He turned back to Harry..."En garde Potter..."
And so the duel of the century played out with viscious curses,hexes, and charms being thrown between two titans.
Finally with Voldemort on one knee and Harry stand over him the battle came to a close...
Drenched with sweat,blood, and rain Tom Riddle stared hatefully into the Boy-Who-Lived eyes
"I'll not leave yet Potter... No,no. Not without one parting gift..."
"MACULO!" A navy blue beam hit Harry right in between his eyes and instantly Harry was corrupted by a powerful rage and he pointed his wand at the Dark Lord.
"FUNDO!" The powerful curse started melting Voldemorts skin from his body...but instead of screaming...he laughed.
"I'VE HAD THE LAST LAUGH POTTER! LET THE WORLD WELCOME DARK LORD POTTER!"
They were taken as a hateful madmans last words...but as the world went on with they're lives, Harry tried to live out his own...only to find an insatiable lust for the dark and everything that went with it...He was often consumed by rage, injuring nearby people and breaking things...They were always oblivated and sent on their way, leaving Harry behind to ponder his actions and recent thoughts.
The turning point was when his friends turned on him...
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Chapter 2 Section 2: Written by Die Ginny Die
Number twelve Grimmuld Place where it happened. He was sitting in the library with a book on minor dark curses carefully charmed to look like quidditch trough the ages, absorbing every word. The arts were a stream- no, a river, and he was a man dying of thirst. His mood swings were happening more often now, and with them came a volley of words not meant for the likes of who received them. Vibrant green eyes were dull, perfectly clean robes and cloaks were tattered and dirty. A voice fillewith hope became lifeless.
A knock sounded at the door and the voice of an annoying mudblood sounded through-
"Harry, you know we're worried about you. Please open the door. . ." She ended hopefully.
"For the last time. Leave me alone!" He didn't understand, did she have a mental problem that kept her from acknowledging his wishes?
A sudden light flashed and the door to the library was blown of it's ancient hinges. Dirt poor redheads, a bushy haired know-it-all and an aged yet powerful mage passed through the opening that once shielded him from the outside world, flanked by aurors. He had been living in the room, sealed off from the Order and his friends. The House-Elf's gave him food and drink and he slept in one of the large armchairs, usually with a large tome resting in his lap. He locked and warded the doors against intrusion, but apparently they didn't hold, as he was quite sure this counted as intrusion.
"Harry, dear old boy, let an old wizard have a word with you, I'm sure it would benefit you greatly." Said Dumbledore in his rehearsed "old man" voice. "Hmm? And how so?" Asked Harry, who was barely containing his anger on being barged in on. "I know what you're reading in here Harry, and trust me, no good will come out of it."
"You're not answering the question Dumbledore."
The tired old man sighed.
"Look my child, I didn't want it to come to this, but I suppose it has. We are willing to offer you training Harry."
Harry looked for any sign of deceit in the wise mans eyes. He didn't understand why they were trying to bribe him when they could easily take him out right there and then.
"And why are you reluctant to do so?"
"Because Harry, The magic we would teach you could be dangerous in your hands."
"Then why teach me them?" Harry asked.
"It seems that all you're interested in is knowledge, and it's unhealthy for you to be locked up in here all the time. You need to reintegrate yourself into socia-."
"I'll tell you what I need Dumbledore! I.Need.You.To.Leave"
"Harr-" The old man was interrupted by curse he was not expecting. . . a tickling charm. He looked around to see that the others were hit by one as well.
'Why a tickling charm' thought Dumbledore.
But it became all to apparent as laughing got in the way of breathing.
He looked around to see the others red faces, Watching them pass out to the sound of Harry's laughter, which sounded like it was trying to make a choice between normality and insanity.
Albus gathered his magic, trying to focus while under the charm-turned-curse and pushed forward with it, knocking Harry on his ass and thereby canceling the spell.
Harry quickly regained his footing and shot out a curse that emitted something similar to tear gas before Dumbledore and the rest recovered. By the time the gas cleared he was long gone.
Harry thought about what he had done. He knew it was wrong, but there was something. . . something in the back of his mind telling him to do so. He winced at the thought of their faces, begging, pleading with him to let go. Out of all of them though, it was seeing Ginny's red face that still gave him the slightest bit of pleasure. The skanky little stalker deserved it and much much more.
'I must have been an idiot to refuse training from Dumbledore himself!' Harry thought in dismay.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 11 O' clock that night.
Albus was thinking. Harry had not accepted the training as he thought he would, but rather attacked him and the rest. As Dumbledore pondered Harry's darkish tendencies a grinding sound came from behind the door to his office.
Harry muttered the password to Dumbledore's office, taking no notice to which candy off the already prepared list of sweets worked. The stairs rumbled and grounded against the surrounding brick as he stepped on and ascended to the top. He walked up the the door and knocked.
"Come in" came a withered voice.
He opened the door and walked in, taking notice that Dumbledore didn't seem phased that the young man that attacked him earlier just walked in his office.
"About that training. . ." Harry started.
"Yes?"
"Is the offer still up?" Came Harry's reply.
"I believe it is" said the old man, his customary twinkle back in his eyes
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Chapter 2 Section 3: Written by ChuckDaTruck
Sweat beaded across Harry's brow and into his eyes. So far Dumbledore's "training" had been absurd. It largely consisted of Harry running around, doing push-ups and being shown clips of Tom Riddle's life. Harry's back was beginning to spasm as he did another stomach crunch. Dumbledore sat quietly doing paper work at his desk, which the Room of the Requirement had conveniently provided. A burning hatred filled Harry as he watched the Headmaster casually lick his finger and turn another page.
With seemingly a preternatural awareness that he was being thought of, the Headmaster looked up and announced, "Three more, Harry. Then you can go." Harry grunted his agreement and finished up.
What was the Headmaster playing at? What types of games were these? Where was his TRAINING!
Suddenly, insane thoughts began pouring into Harry's head as he realized things. Dumbledore had orchestrated HIS WHOLE LIFE!
Yes! Dumbledore was the one! He had DELIBERATELY let Harry get abused by Dursleys. No, he MADE them do it. YES!
And Dumbledore, he allowed Pettigrew to betray the Order. Why else would he allow such a weakling into the his vigilante organization? And Dumbledore allowed Sirius to go to jail. He KNEW he was innocent! And he LET the Marauder's become Animagi, how else could he not know!
Harry's mind spun and twirled with conclusions and paranoid delusions.
He had to train himself. Dumbledore was his ENEMY!
Somewhere in England, Lord Voldemort grinned, not realizing that he had just unleashed a terror upon the world which would ultimately be his undoing.
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Chapter 2 Section 4: Written by Lutris Argutiae
Oh, it really was fun. Much too fun to be illegal, actually. The gigantic flow of seductive energies lay at his disposal; HE was the one with the power. Dumbledore couldn't even begin to comprehend and teach him this of all things. After all, Dumbldeore was a namby-pamby-goody-goody Light sided wizard.
Pfft.
Of course, Light magic did have its merits, and was useful in its own right. However, nothing, NOTHING could match the pure strength and power of the darkness that resided just on the other side of the horizon.
Harry shook his head vigilantly. Why was he thinking such thoughts? He resented what Dumbledore had done, indeed, hated him for it. But he was the Boy-Who-Lived; someone who was firmly entrenched in the Light. The old (and sometimes just downright loony) Headmaster was just trying to help, after all, as Hermione had said. Maybe they were right; maybe this Dark Magic, even if it did help him on the course of Voldemort's destruction, wasn't good for him. Maybe...
Dumbledore's idea of training consisted of him repeatedly doing sit-ups on the floor, working his ass off while the twittering old headmaster just kept checking things off on pieces of parchment.
Oh no, that wasn't enough.
Harry sighed. It was no use trying to find fault in what he was trying to accomplish. He was going to defeat the Dark Lord, just as the prophecy said, but if he was going to survive until the final battle, he would need to learn how to defend himself.
Which meant hurting other people, and the best, and indeed the most efficient way of doing that was through Dark Magic.
He had resumed practicing from his Dark Arts tomes from the Black Library, against the old man's wishes, to further train himself. To hell with what anyone else said.
He HATED Dumbledore. HATED him.
Wait, what?
Confused, he sighed once more, and signalled to the Room of Requirement that he would not need the targets and golems it had provided for his Dark Arts practices. He slid the wand back into its wrist holster, and he walked back to the door. Noticing a cupboard right next to it, he opened it, knowing that the Room would not have put it there for a reason. Smiling, he pulled out several healing drafts, and drank them all. After all, studying Dark Magic meant that he was going to be injured at some point.
He silently crept to the Gryffindor Portrait Hole under his Invisibility Cloak, and uttered the password to enter. The Fat Lady, although fast asleep, swung open, snoring quite raucously.
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The room was dark, and cold in the harsh winter night. Even though the windows were shut tightly and sealed with magic, the Sixth Year Gryffindor boy's dormitories were chilling to the core.
But that cold radiated in frigid pulses from one body, on one bed.
Harry Potter's bed.
Although not thrashing or groaning in pain, had anyone saw him then, they would have said that he just looked and felt a bit... wierd. Cold and clammy to the touch, yet alive and vibrant with red blood flowing through his veins, and his scar; the famous lightning bolt scar, was pure and unadulterated pitch black.
But someone had indeed seen him, unlikely as it was. For this man was the root of the matter, and the reason for the frosty effects of the room.
Lord Voldemort sat on his throne, smirking like a madman (he had to admit, he probably was one, inciting revolution amongst the closed-minded wizards of the Wizarding World ) from the success of his nightly visits into the young Potter's brain. The bumbling old coot was surprisingly arrogant and stupid. Not teaching him Occulmency himself, and leaving it to the most prized Death Eater in his own ranks. It was merely child's play, entering and messing with the young wizard's mind, and slowly altering it so that he would question his own beliefs.
One simple curse, and he would fall from the Light like Lucifer had fallen from Heaven, although without the fervent hand of God.
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Harry woke up early in the morning, shivering. Why was it this cold? The fire was burning merrily in the stove, and his blankets all covered him.
Then he noticed that there was a mark burned into his pillow, where he had undoubtedly rolled about on during the night.
A pitch black scortch mark of a lightning bolt was etched into the fabric; an exact mirror image of his own.
Puzzled, he thought on it. Had he had a typical Voldemort nightmare? No... he would need to consult Dumbledore on this one.
Dumbledore... the one who had for all intents and purposes, sold his parents to the Dark Lord... the one who had let him get abused by the sickening muggles, who had allowed Sirius to be locked up.
An intense fury filled him, and he was about to curse the closest human body to him to oblivion with his wand and a very creative hex he had read about, when Hermione came barging up the stairs, shouting at the top of her lungs for the boys to wake up.
Ruddy woman. Mudblood bit... no, not again. Why had he just called the filthy, erm, called Hermione a mudblood?
The beaverish girl stopped, and her eyes fell to the wand in Harry's hand, and then rose to meet his enraged gaze.
"HARRY! Why are yo..."
She never got to finish that sentence as she was blown out of the room by a savage gust of wind emmited from the end of his wand.
Harry would later approach Dumbledore, and apologize for losing control, all the while suppressing his turbulent emotions.
On a sidenote, he was only assigned four detentions with Hagrid for the misdeed.
Lord Voldemort winced in pain as the link forged through the boy's scar sucked and leeched his dark energies away from his more malevolent core. Oh yes, his plans were in motion, and nothing would stop the pesky saviour from falling, and joining him as one of his servants; darker and more powerful than any of his current vassals could ever be.
Oh, how he waited for that day, when the Light would groan and fall in defeat, paving the way for his own rise, and his ruling of the Wizarding World.
The day that the Dark would finally vanquish all the Light