AN: Ice bear for best bear.
Also, I reduced the harem further, from 20 to 15, and this is final. Check the Disclaimer chapter for the details. No complaints. I need to give each character proper screentime and development without coming off as forceful.
Also, I have no idea when the real lemons are coming. Maybe chapter 25-30?
Time: A Few Weeks After A Darker Visitor
Vampires.
They usually eluded wizarding society, and with good reason, choosing instead to construct their own societies with their own systems of hierarchy and leaders, much like werewolves and other sentient magical creatures in that regard.
The only difference between vampires and practically all other animals in the world (except maybe jellyfish or fucking microbes, for instance) was that they were immortal. Probably the only intelligent species in both worlds, who were immortal.
Well, not immortal, per se. As Harry had discovered, they couldn't, in fact, survive being burnt to a literal crisp, until all that was left was a scorch mark, or being dissolved in concentrated sulphuric acid and hydrogen peroxide... or plain old digested in his stomach. The thing that made them 'immortal' was the fact that they did not age, and that all their cells were totipotent and hyper regenerative. To the point that even a single living cell could construct an entire vampire in a matter of days.
For a powerful vampire, such as a Progenitor, or a 'Count' as they were more popularly known as, complete regeneration from a singular cell could be a matter of hours. Meaning gashes that could be fatal to the normal human healed in a few minutes.
Right, back on topic.
Vampire hunting was becoming a bad habit of his.
Why?
Ever since he had killed and eaten his first vampire, completely ignorant of that at the time, of course, blinded by hunger, Harry might have developed a slight fondness for Vampire flesh. Not in the same way as he was addicted to Veela flesh, no. Veelas were simply delicious, vampires, on the other hand, were a bit on the bland side, but the powers they provided him with, were in a different league all of their own.
Yeah.
Harry was immortal, well, the same sort of immortal as the average Vampire. On top of that, he had hyper regenerative abilities that were signature of the species, and he was always hungry for more of such strong abilities.
Now, the average Vampire could not give him much of what he desired.
So, he had begun to target the Progenitors, or the Counts. The strongest of the lot, they were a group of five vampires, each of whom led their own coven. Each of whom, had their own unique skillset, and were probably thousands of years old, seeing as they were immortal, and were some of the first vampires in history.
And thus, his crusade, a single monster against the entire Vampire population of the globe, began, all in order to hunt down the five Counts. Count Pyro fell, granting him mastery over magical fire. Two more Counts fell, granting him special spells and shit, until all that was left, were two of them.
Count Gorbachev, probably the toughest of the lot in terms of raw strength. He, and his clan, did not possess fine magical skill, but they more than made up for it with their complete and utter mastery over weapons, the ability to summon said weapons out of thin air, and their raw magical power that they channelled through said weapons to devastating effect.
And the last, of course. Count Dracula himself. The Lord of the Night, ruler of vampires, the first Progenitor.
Who knows what skills Dracula was hiding, Harry mused. He had never seen him do anything to showcase his strength.
Maybe he would find out tonight.
The rain fell heavily around him, drenching the world and giving the night a beautiful look, worthy of being on a postcard.
It made the leaves of the tree Harry was hiding in, glisten a beautiful, dark emerald, much like his own left eye, creating a pitter-patter against the innumerable leaves. The wet mud and grass glistened beneath him, forming little pools of dirty water that reflected his face. The ground underneath the tree was relatively dry, being under the shade, the grass still a dry, fresh green.
Part of the lawn was illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars parked just outside.
Harry sighed as he leaned against the trunk, hidden in the thick foliage of the tree as he reclined on a particularly sturdy-looking branch, allowing one of his legs to swing lazily as he cushioned his head with his arms, opting instead to stare at the weeping night sky. The noisy chaos of the sirens and the ruckus created by the police officers faded into background noise as he tilted his face upward, closing his eyes as he revelled in the feeling of the fresh raindrops hitting his face. His damp, silky raven hair stuck to his face, his pale skin glistening in the rain as he let a small smile grace his lips, his pale face illuminated by the lightning that flashed across the sky for a brief moment, followed by the rolling rumble of thunder a few moments later.
He did not fear anything.
He was the Stalker.
Well, not right now, now, he was plain old Harry. His black and white mask was in his right hand, resting on his lap. The all-black hunting attire that he wore camouflaged him perfectly against the darkness of the night, the long trenchcoat with the hood, glistened silkily as little streams of water trickled past to the hem, dripping to the dry ground below to create little patches of damp earth, not too different from the little droplets dripping from the leaves. His camouflage was perfect, well almost perfect, save for his pale skin, glistening leather clothes and glowing, unnatural heterochromatic eyes.
The light inside switched on, visible through the glass door, adding to the red and blue lights dancing on the wet grass. Harry picked up several voices inside, both male and female, in several different tones and emotions from his spot in the tree.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and a little company of people, four men and a single woman, stepped out of the door into the lawn.
"It is true, after all." One of the men whispered, sounding shocked. He looked around forty years of age, with thinning black hair and a little goatee. Another one of the men hastened to open an umbrella, holding it over his head but was waved off.
The man hesitated for a moment, before he closed the umbrella, before coming to join the woman who was leaning against the tree Harry was sitting in, conversing quietly with the youngest of the four men. Umbrella man watched them for a moment, before he moved to the other side of the tree trunk for some peace and quiet, lighting a cigarette, that glowed orange in the dark night.
Harry was least interested in what they were talking about, however, as his eyes narrowed, homing in on the goatee man. Vampires weren't really as smart as they were traditional.
Count Dracula.
That would make the three under his tree his compulsory security entourage.
He wasn't bothered about the three as much as he was bothered about the man standing with the Count under the rain, in the middle of the lawn. The two were talking as if they were equals, which would make him Count Gorbachev, the only one apart from Dracula still alive out of the five.
The problem was, that Harry wasn't sure if he had the identities correct. He didn't know how the Counts looked. He was positive that the goatee man was Count Dracula, but the second was an unexpected variable. His being Count Gorbachev would make sense, the Count was rumoured to be quite close to Dracula. It would also explain the air of friendship between them. No other vampire would be able to talk to Dracula like he was their pal. But then again, two Counts gathered at the same place would call for a lot more security, especially if they knew he was involved.
Were they trying to lure him in for an ambush? No, in that case, they wouldn't have risked him even catching a glimpse of Count Dracula in the first place. They would have used a decoy as bait.
Fuck, was this even Count Dracula he was looking at, or a decoy?
Fuck. This needed more planning.
Should he retreat? Was he being too paranoid?
But what if the other person was somebody else? And that they were trying to be discreet and not attract unwanted attention, for the exact reason that he was involved.
Fuck his paranoia, a new, very much despised trait that followed him every waking moment nowadays.
Harry felt the urge to crack his fingers, and for a moment, he almost did, moving on muscle memory instead of using his brain, but bit down on his fingers the next moment, fearing the sound that it would create.
Exhaling softly, he drew up the leg he had been dangling off the branch like some sort of fucking shark bait. No reaction. Thank Merlin for the storm.
Deciding to investigate from his position in the tree, Harry finally allowed his senses to tune into the situation, trying to pick up the conversations as he cleverly zoned out the sirens and the rain, his heart pounding loudly inside his chest, to concentrate on their conversations in an attempt to gather info before trying anything.
First, he obviously eavesdropped on the conversation between the man and the woman beneath the tree.
"I love you, Elena! Why won't you realise that?" The man said.
So, the woman was Elena Gorbachev. He should really be paying attention to their faces, there was no way he could miss the beauty of the Gorbachev princess otherwise. So, the man was indeed Count Gorbachev, if his daughter was here.
Fuck.
"Listen here, Elias." He had never heard anyone use a tone so cold, it might have even frozen Fiendfyre. "You might be my betrothed, but that's all there is to it. The end. I will never love anyone, I am a warrior. I will only ever give my heart to someone who has been able to win it." He could almost picture the glare aimed at 'Elias'. "And this is neither the time, nor the place to be arguing about this. So, scram, kid."
Damn, that burn.
The man puffing on the cigarette seemed to have gotten used to this from his lack of a reaction. No useful information, here, then, save for the identity of Elena Gorbachev. He had to be careful around her, she had the potential to be a genuine threat.
Harry exhaled slowly again, before carefully placing his mask back on, slowly drawing himself to a crouch on the tree branch, ready to spring into action, drawing up the hood of his coat to shadow his face in darkness. His red eye shining through the singular eyehole narrowed in on the two elderly men standing in the rain, his ears straining slightly to hear their hushed conversation.
"You know he's still around here, Count Dracula." The man, probably Gorbachev, replied.
"Yes, I do know that, Arcturus. As well as you do." Arcturus... was that Gorbachev's first name? Or was this someone else? Harry tried to rack his brain for anyone dangerous he knew by the name of Arcturus, only to come up empty. This was probably Count Gorbachev, then.
"Then you know that he purposefully killed them to lure you out in the open. And you went along with that? Had living for thousands of years given you a freaking death wish?" Arcturus whispered back harshly. "If you die, then the next in line to the Dracula throne is fucking Elias! No offence to your son, he is a great man, a kind man, but he does not have the ruthlessness it takes to be a leader."
Count Dracula quieted, standing silent for a moment before he let out a rueful sigh. "The Stalker has somehow managed to find a way to kill vampires, as he has shown time and time again... Something which wasn't supposed to happen. We are immortal... and it is a curse, though we do not want to see those close to us suffer. He is truly a heartless monster, a far fearsome monster than I ever will be, for he targets those close to me to get me out of hiding. A villain's handiwork."
He stayed silent for a few moments, before turning to Arcturus. "My millennia-old friend and his wife, two of the first vampires I turned have just been killed horrifically. All they wanted was eternity together and the Stalker has ended their dream, something which I promised them. Something they traded their humanity for. And I will be damned if I let their memories lay to rest without the knowledge of their killer being dead as well."
There it was again. The sickening, tooth-rotting emotional speech extolling the virtues of humanity that he so loathed with every fibre of his being. Even Dracula was caught in the web of humanity, it seemed, trapped in their emotions.
Why... what was there that made human emotions so valuable?
Harry would have loved to listen to their enlightening conversation longer, but his attention was drawn by the nagging feeling in his gut that told him he was being observed.
Fuck. It seemed like there wasn't an option for retreat available to him, then.
Elena had been sent by her father as part of the escort for Count Dracula, as he embarked on his trip to find out about the two of his missing vampires, his oldest friends, who also happened to be good acquaintances of the Count Gorbachev. They were officially missing, but everybody knew that they were as good as dead, if not already dead, for even the dumbest of Vampires could smell the Stalker's fingerprints all over the case.
So, Count Dracula's escort comprised of some of the strongest people they could get without causing mass panic. By which she meant herself, the Head of Security at Dracula's castle, and a strange old wizard by the name of Arcturus who was apparently chummy with the Vampire Lord.
Oh, and Elias had tagged along too, because they were also good friends to him.
As if the day couldn't get any worse. If Elena had known that this loser was tagging along, she would have declined the offer, no matter how much she wanted to see the Lord of the Night engaged in combat up close. Or how much she wanted to kick the Stalker's butt for embarrassing her in front of all her students at Durmstrang.
Her betrothed, not by choice, of course, continued to chatter nonsensically as she tuned him out in favour of observing her surroundings.
The evening was beautiful. A light purplish-grey tinge hung in the overcast sky, distant thunder rumbling and creating a beautiful chorus of sounds that entranced her, appealing to her wild side as she leaned against the cool, rough bark of the tree trunk. The evening was silent and slightly chilly, without any birdsong that she expected, but that was okay.
What was not okay was the knowledge that two murders had taken place in the house right beside her, and she was helpless to stop them. To stop the serial killer that had made a mockery of her.
Feeling a slight heaviness in the air, a quietness that was suddenly too oppressive, too unnatural, Elena shifted, playing with her slightly damp raven hair as she observed her surroundings quietly. Nothing.
A light sigh escaped her lips.
She was just being too paranoid. The thought of the Stalker still being around was putting her on edge.
She shuffled her feet, making a small depression in the wet mud underfoot with her black leather boots, watching with a slight smile as a little puddle of muddy water collected. Despite the water being murky, she could see her own reflection in it, seeing the silver studs in her boots and the dark foliage of the tree above, observing it listlessly as she stood there, waiting for Count Dracula and the Arcturus fellow to finish their conversation.
Suddenly, she caught a flash of white and red in the muddy puddle.
While it definitely could have been something superficial, like a flash of lightning or the lights of the police cars parked outside, something tugged at Elena's gut, telling her to look up into the tree.
Her breath hitched.
It was too terrifying to miss.
On one of the tree branches, too thin to possibly support his weight, the Stalker was crouched like some Eldritch overlord watching over his realm, watching them, clad in glistening black leather. How did she know it was the Stalker?
Duh. This was too unnatural, even by her standards.
His long black hair was damp, sticking to his mask slightly, his hood shadowing the features of his mask till it was barely anything but a white haze with patches of black. A single eyehole, through which a blood-red iris glowed creepily, eerie like a predator stalking its prey from the dark cover of the night.
It was locked on Count Dracula and the Arcturus fellow.
She tried to tear her gaze away, to warn the others, but she found herself unable to move or speak, her throat turning dry, her voice leaving her.
Then, slowly, like a wind-up toy almost at the end of its life, the Stalker turned to gaze at her, all his movements too stiff and lifeless to be anything but a nightmare straight out of the worst horror movies. His blood-red eye, blazing with an unhinged, feral intelligence like a hunter on the prowl, locked onto hers, twin shades of blood red and scarlet clashing as they held each other's gaze for some time.
The wind made the leather of his long trenchcoat rustle, the sound suddenly breaking her out of her induced stand-off.
"Look out! In the tree!" She shouted, jumping back to put some distance between herself and the Stalker as she alerted everyone on the lawn about his presence. Her suffocating, restricting leather jacket was thrown off in a single fluid movement, laid abandoned in the mud as she tried to draw her sword out of thin air, her hands glowing a soft purple as the hilt of her broadsword materialised out of thin air, finally breathing easier in the simple white shirt that she wore, that allowed her the freedom to fight, to stand against this monster on her own terms.
It all happened too quickly for even her enhanced senses to comprehend, as the Stalker jumped out of the tree, his black trenchcoat billowing behind him like a bat as he aimed for Elias' face, landing on the poor vampire with a sickening crunch of his thick boots against bone.
The heir of Count Dracula crumpled to the ground, his neck twisted at an odd angle.
Not that Elena cared. That bastard would be up and about a few minutes later, anyway.
She was more concerned about the Stalker.
Elena raised her sword, swiping at him with what should have been a lethal blow, but he just ducked, before moving in close to her and forcing her to draw back to be able to use her blade. The other Vampire who was with them also attacked the Stalker, but he just dodged his blow, too, ducking low, not even bothering to look at him. He aimed a low sweeping kick towards Elena's feet, forcing her to jump, before she brought her sword down, watching as he rolled to dodge the blow.
The other vampire tried to attack as well, but went crashing through the wall with a particularly devastating back kick that caught him square through the chest, blowing him through the wall and all the way across the street.
Fuck. Elena cursed as slow realisation dawned upon her, notifying her uselessly about the conundrum she found herself trapped in.
She was caught in a one-on-one duel to the death with the most terrifying and elusive serial killer in magical history.
"Move, Gorbachev!" Two familiar voices wafted over to her, the sounds of the battle attracting the Muggle police as well.
"I can't get a clear shot!" The Arcturus fellow shouted, sounding irritated, with Count Dracula joining in.
"Elena, move out of the way!" He roared, sounding furious and at the end of his patience. "I will blow this fiend to kingdom come!"
The Muggle police added their own two cents to the mess, "Freeze! Put your hands up in the air!"
As much as Elena wanted to get out of this perilous situation that she had gotten herself into, she couldn't. The Stalker refused to let her leave his clutches, keeping pace with her, one of the fastest duellers in the world, like it was child's play, always being in her personal space to the dual benefit that she couldn't use her sword to its full extent, neither letting anybody get a clear shot on him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
What had she gotten herself into?
He was so clearly out of her league in combat, the only thing she could boast of being on the same level at being agility and speed.
She had to get out of there, but her bruised sense of pride that had got her into this mess was the same thing that prevented her from retreating. That, and the fact that he was barely giving her any time to even breathe with the endless barrage of probably lethal swipes.
Elena might have been an immortal vampire princess, but the Stalker had already proved that he could end vampires permanently, and even without that, the pain of death wasn't something she was eager on experiencing. She wasn't a masochistic degenerate.
What was she going to do?
Swing, retreat her sword, dodge, lean back, upward thrust, feint to the right, dodge, try for the head, dodge, roll, swipe at his feet, dodge.
Fuck.
She tried to repeat his steps mentally, trying to make sense of the chaotic nature of his fighting, almost feral and wild, trying to tune out the chaos in her ears to concentrate on her deadly opponent, the rain making it harder to move and sticking her clothes to her body, the mud clinging to her feet with every move. He continued swiping at her with bare hands, employing a crude hodge podge of martial arts that emulated werewolf close quarters combat but was surprisingly effective. His unpredictability played into his favour and after witnessing his strength first-hand, Elena wasn't sure if the fact that he was barehanded was a good or a bad thing.
As it was, it was all she could do to keep breathing and to dodge his relentless assault while trying to land a few hits of her own and even succeeding to land a scratch on his mask, something that made her want to squeal girlishly in joy. She wondered if this sense of accomplishment at having landed a scratch against a seemingly impossible, too overpowered opponent was what her students felt when going up against her. She wove fluidly through his seemingly endless attacks, all coordinated to give her the hardest time, displaying her unmatched flexibility and agility as she danced around his faster-than-light attacks, trying to ignore his red eye gleaming with muted admiration or the way his sharp movements sent little gusts of air towards her, continuously throwing her off balance with his sheer, unnatural strength.
They were locked in a deadly battle of snake against mongoose, where even a blink might have meant the difference between life and death. A stalemate with no visible end in sight.
Suddenly, almost on instinct, the two of them twirled to opposite sides like a well-coordinated dance pair, as if they had been practising the move for months and weren't deadly enemies locked in combat, allowing a sizzling, probably lethal orange spell to pass between them harmlessly. The way it collided with the Vampire who was just returning from getting blown into the wall, putting him out of commission for the moment would have been almost comical.
Elena could almost feel the Stalker's disgusting, twisted smile beneath his frightening mask.
"You have put up an admirable fight, Gorbachev. There hasn't been any who have been able to last this long against me." His voice was hoarse, wheezing like he was on his last legs. "But it seems it is time to end this."
His voice took a steely edge towards the end, putting the Vampire princess on edge. Trying to show that he was really underestimating her, trying to protect whatever was left of her dignity after he played with her in this one-sided farce of a fight, she tried to feint to the left, smiling slightly as he fell for it, immediately switching to the other side to move in for the kill.
Unexplainably, a harsh blow fell out of nowhere on Elena's neck, making her crumple to the ground. Her sword fell from her limp fingers as she crashed onto the ground, the mud cushioning her fall slightly but making her feel all the more disgusting at all the mud sticking to her face and hair, seeping into her wet clothes.
No. She had been the one vastly underestimating her opponent, who seemed to only be fighting against her in first gear. With kiddy gloves on, as if she needed fucking training wheels.
The thought that he had been holding back on her made her grit her teeth, made her fingers twitch slightly in the mud as she tried to clench her fists. She was angry at him for a lot of reasons, and could rightfully add another one to the growing pile of reasons she hated him.
Reminding her that she was still a child with an oversized needle in a world of Titans was another one of them.
No matter how much she wanted to pick her fallen sword up once more and launch into the fray, Elena lay limp on the ground, helpless, with little feeling in her body apart from the pounding headache and the soreness in her muscles and bones that seemed to scream at her every feeble attempt at movement. How long had they been fighting?
All she glimpsed before her eyes closed was several ethereal tentacles, looking like they belonged to a creature from the Lovecraftian horror novels she read, crawling along the ground, twisting and writhing with a life of its own, emerging from the back of the Stalker as he squared up to face off against Count Dracula and Arcturus, who stood beside the old Vampire. He stepped over her fallen form, his boot sinking into the mud all that there was in her line of sight, undistinguishable words interrupting the loud ringing in her ears.
Harry stared at the retreating back of the man as he limped away from him, bleeding heavily and with a missing arm, barely minutes from death, his heavy trudging footsteps loud against the soft mud. A sharp crack rang through the air, before he apparated away, restoring the silence of the night, only broken by the relentless rain that only hammered down harder than before, determined to flood someplace.
Harry could not stand, his entire body hurt. Just hurt, any feeling he had of anything else was long gone. The burn in his muscles, the gaping hole where his heart should be...
Is this what defeat felt like?
The mud and cold water streaming around him as he lay on the muddy ground mixed with his blood, seeping into his black clothes.
How many times had he lost in his life?
Harry tilted his head up, listless as he allowed the rain to hit his face. His mask slipped from his face, allowing him to use both his eyes to watch the weeping night sky, overcast with clouds.
It was beautiful.
He was only glad that the man had been too beat up to care about his identity, to care about anything except his own life.
Arcturus... Black.
The name was supposed to be history. He wasn't supposed to be here, he was a ghost. They even had a funeral for him, right beside his grandfather Charlus Potter. Although they had never recovered his body, so the idea that he was alive all along was not out of the realm of possibility, though quite far-fetched.
One of the strongest wizards of the age, right up there with Dumbledore and Voldemort and Grindelwald, going into hiding was nigh unprecedented.
Harry... should not have been defeated.
He snapped his fingers, struggling with even the little burst of magic that changed his clothes and appearance, hoping that he wouldn't be caught by a Muggle out here in the open, still alive and missing a heart. He should thank his lucky stars for his immortality.
How had he been defeated?
He had grown cocky, overconfident, riding the high as long as he could, letting fear do the job of violence. He should have taken care of the variable first, he should have listened to Arcturus' heartbeat to know that he wasn't a vampire.
Had he succeeded in his mission?
Yes, Count Dracula, the lord of Vampires himself, was now dead and digesting in his stomach. That wasn't the problem.
The problem was that he had severely underestimated Arcturus Black, not knowing his true identity.
He had just fought Count Dracula and Arcturus two on one, almost losing and on the backfoot before he managed to knock the Count out with a surprising stroke of luck, and apparated away from the scene, as far away as he could.
Then, doubling over on the ground and hurriedly devouring Count Dracula to ensure he couldn't regenerate was child's play with his tentacles serving as utensils.
But in his haste to stop the vampire from regenerating, he had completely overlooked caution, forgetting Arcturus, who had placed a tracking charm on Count Dracula. It was only the great distance he had put between them and the ravenous rate at which he devoured the vampire that prevented Arcturus from saving his friend.
Still, he had managed to corner Harry, and they had fought, both giving it everything they had.
But it was an unfair fight from the beginning, with the Count Dracula's overwhelming power beginning to assimilate into his body, making him drowsy and drunk, his movements slow and sloppy. Not to mention the incessant burning in his lungs that portrayed with every movement, making him gasp for air that just wouldn't come, but with no way of slowing down and taking a rest without having his head blown off. The anti-apparition wards Arcturus had cast around them ensured that.
Even with his enhanced regeneration, his lungs refused to just fucking heal, making Harry conclude that it was a problem related to his unique condition. Which shouldn't be the case, as he distinctly remembered having breathing troubles even as a child. Maybe his condition was somehow hampering the healing process?
As it was, he had been almost half asleep and sedated five minutes into the fight, and even then, he had managed to fight THE Arcturus Black for half an hour longer and even injure him, to the point he would bleed out in under an hour.
Harry couldn't allow himself to complain about it being an unfair fight. For so long, he had been the one with the unfair advantage, and one fight at a disadvantage couldn't be enough to make him groan at the disparity of the world he sought.
Life was unfair. Nature didn't care about what was fair and what was not. Most babies didn't live to see adulthood.
That was the essence and mechanism of the Law of Natural Selection. The Law of Club and Fang. All the laws of nature that allowed evolution, that would allow man to be greater than he already was.
A single slip-up could mean the difference between life and death, and Harry was insanely lucky to escape unscathed. Well, not unscathed, but you get the idea.
He lay on the ground, questioning himself, pondering over his defeat.
Why had he been defeated?
It was because he didn't care for the rest, in his tunnel vision to acquire power, he was drunk and sloppy. He was becoming the typical, single-minded monster he loathed becoming, not the cunning Slytherin he wanted to be.
What made him disregard the rest?
Maybe it was a bad habit, set in stone thanks to his constant abuse of the perks of being the Stalker to get what he wanted without effort.
Who was he?
Was he the Stalker, or was he, Harry?
No, he was both. He vehemently denied anything else.
No, that wasn't how things worked, a little traitorous part of his mind whispered to him the truth he was trying to ignore. You had only one identity.
The Stalker was a tool he had created to inspire fear, to help Harry navigate the world. But was he becoming too reliant on the mask and the unbeatable feeling of being the Stalker? Was the Stalker replacing Harry?
As he had just learned, defeating him might be difficult but not impossible.
Who was stronger, Harry, or the Stalker?
Definitely, Harry, he decided, remembering a young child out to defy the world, seeking strength. A young child who had refused to hide behind a mask, proud to be himself. Proud to be Harry.
He didn't know if he was crying, or if it was just the rain.
Sorry, little Harry.
He would never make the mistake again. Complacency was the cardinal sin of mankind, and he was not a man. He was a beast in human skin, he refused anything that even remotely associated him with mankind.
No.
He remembered the struggles of a little child handed impossible odds, a child who hungered for power. A child who vowed that he would rule the world, that he would do whatever the fuck he wanted.
A child, captivated with the idea of starting his own pride. Of having something to protect, something to work towards tirelessly. A foundation to build his fortress on.
Harry winced in slight pain, feeling his regeneration kick in, beginning to slowly close the gaping hole in his chest.
Was he suffering from a lack of resolve?
He felt like laughing at the world's ways. When he had an aim, as a child, he had no means of moving forward. And now that he could stride forward with ease, he had lost his aim and all sense of direction, and was stumbling around in the dark.
Maybe he needed to change the direction of his training. He had already enough power as it was, maybe he had to find his sense of direction before he could proceed any further.
Maybe he could see what the humans were constantly going on about. Family, emotions, shit.
Fuck. The Veela who had introduced him to the world of sex had been the beginning of his disinterest in everything, realising that he could have everything, that desensitised him to the world and everything it had to offer, and his growing powers only made it worse. What did you have to work for when you had everything you ever wanted in the world?
Maybe he should try working towards the things that he didn't have. Things like family.
Yeah, maybe he should give the emotions thing a try, the best try he could. Maybe it would return to him his lost resolve, return his burning anger and cold hatred that had just fizzled out during his time as the Stalker, leaving only a frozen, bored heart behind. To rekindle the emotions that had fuelled his cold, calculating actions, that had made him meticulously plan out every attack instead of just rushing in unprepared like some hot-headed Gryffindor as he did now.
He remembered Hogwarts and his family.
Unbidden, the image of his two sisters floated into his mind, making him clench his fist angrily in the mud.
Yes, he should give the whole family thing a shot, if only to enjoy whatever familial warmth he could, whatever love they were willing to spare for a monster like him. There was only so much lust could do, it could never recreate the sense of undying loyalty that love brought about, unflinching faith that he needed to revolutionize the world.
He had to accept it. No matter how much clout he had, no matter how much people feared him, he was only one man. He couldn't change the world, not alone.
He wanted a world where he wouldn't have to hide. Where those with strength ruled and those with potential, would be their best self. Where worthless snobs like Fudge wouldn't be in power.
Where everything was possible... a world of magic.
Maybe he was a Dark Lord?
Harry wasn't interested in ruling, or rebuilding. No, he was just interested in destroying. In tearing down all that humans had built, to return them to the state Mother Nature had intended for them.
Man, the alpha predator, would again be man, the alpha predator. No longer man, the ant who needed his colony to even breathe. No longer man, the ant who needed his queen to tell him to breathe.
Yeah, he definitely sounded like a Dark Lord with the inner monologue and dreams of anarchy and dystopia. At least he wasn't a fucking Nazi like Voldemort.
Harry shuddered at the thought of the snobs and idiots Voldemort surrounded himself with. Like fucking Peter Pettigrew.
Hmm...
Every Dark Lord needed his loyal inner circle, and Harry would need one as well. And preferably one without any moles, one with members who would obey his every command.
His own pride.
Maybe he had to give the family thing a go.
Not out of any emotional starvation or dilemma, but all because he had to change the world. To be the strongest.
He did not regret the path he had chosen, and he wouldn't ever. In the same conditions, in a thousand different universes, he would have taken the same path. Even if someone told him now to repent for his crimes, he wouldn't. He would do the same thing again. He was proud of what he did, the arrogant pride that characterised Harry.
This was not the end of his darkness. Maybe it was the end of the Stalker, but the darkness was now moving to a darker shade.
The Stalker had been a mindless serial killer who killed for fun, who enjoyed the thrill of the kill.
Harry would be a ruthless Dark Lord who killed for his ideals.
Well, he would also kill for sport, just like the Stalker, but that was inevitable. Murder was like an addictive drug for him, the thrill of the hunt, the stalking and killing that he doubted he will ever forget even if he grew to be thousands of years old, thanks to his vampire traits.
The Stalker was a part of him.
He was everything the Stalker was, and more.
If the world thought that the Stalker was bad, then they better prepare for something worse.
Because Harry was coming back.
And he was determined to make the world darker.
AN: Yeah, yeah, I know, I promised that Harry will meet his family in this chapter. But nah, I took pity on you, because this is the last chapter before I go to update Dealing with Drama. Also, this seemed more appropriate, instead of leaving you with a nail-biting cliffhanger.
So, yeah... once I publish 10 chapters of that, I will come back to treat you to Harry and his family, right here, in a Darker Shade of Magic!
Oh, and before I leave, I was just headbanging to some brutal death metal and I heard a crick in my neck, and now, my head is stuck to one side.
Probably nothing.
Keep calm and headbang!