Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. This fic is based on 'The Darkness Within' by Kurinoone, Harry's background story as well as Damien belong to her.
A/N: Kurinoone helped me a lot with the ideas and writing for this fic, I would like to thank her immensely. Also, I don't believe you need to read her story for mine to make sense, but it would definitely help.
Warning: This story is rated M for a reason, keep that in mind as it will contain adult themes like graphic violence, gore, murder and manipulation, among other things. It is not my intention to trigger anyone, as this is a work of fiction. I believe my writing should reflect the real world, and I will try to reflect the consequences of these acts to the best of my ability. Both Harry Potter and The Darkness Within deal with war and its horrors, this fic will go even deeper into that. That's not to say that there won't be romance, humor, mystery and suspense as well. So please enjoy and review, even if it's only one word. It always helps. Updated: 13/10/2019
I'm killing them all
I put my soul on the line
I purify sins
That I committed in life
I'll follow them all
And I'll be bringing them down
Wherever they go
I'm right behind
There's nowhere to go
Your head on the line
There is no rope
You're running out of time
So where will you go?
When I will murder your soul
Murder - Within Temptation
The windows rattling in the wind were the only signs of life as the storm raged on. With the gusting wind and the incessant rumble of thunder, it was virtually impossible to hear anything else.
Lightning flashed, illuminating a dark hooded figure who walked on a narrow path through grass and dirt, completely unbothered by the violent winds and the heavy rain, leaving behind only a set of blurred footprints in the mud. With the storm showing no signs of slowing down, the strong winds bent the trees along the path—making it seem like they could be uprooted at any given moment.
Nearby, located on a hill—giving it the perfect view of the surrounding forest—stood a fine-looking manor.
Excluding the rattling of the windows, the house seemed oblivious to the storm. With no other houses for miles, only hills, trees and tall grass, it was the perfect place for someone who hated dealing with pesky neighbours.
The dirt, rain and dust of the storm was repelled as if an invisible force-field prevented them from coming near the manor. The old house had been there for generations, providing much needed privacy. Inside one of the windows of the upper floors, an exceedingly tall and well-dressed man in his prime could be seen nervously pacing around the room.
Sturgis Podmore was still somewhat young, in his late thirties. That was barely more than an infant by wizard standards, thank you very much. He had a square jaw, broad shoulders and a back as wide as a door. His muscles were solid and defined, all of them bearing the various scars he had collected over the years. The war against you-know-who had been going on for close to thirty years, and Sturgis had personally fought for eighteen of those. It had developed somewhat of a sixth sense in him, and it was this sixth sense that was now scaring him shitless.
A long and deep breath escaped him for what felt like the millionth time that day as he ran his fingers through his straw-coloured blonde hair. Sleep evaded him like a Golden Snitch he could never quite catch.
Something just felt off. Way off. Yet, it was hard to pin down exactly what it was.
Maybe it was just one of those days Aurors had once in a while, where every single hair on the back of their neck was standing on end.
He had been anxious and fidgety since he left his office at the Auror's Department.
This feeling, however, was more than mere anxiety. Aurors were trained in perceptive skills. They were not prophetic, but five highly trained senses could often have the semblance of a sixth. A gut feeling. A scent, a small sound, a weird shadow too minor to register consciously throughout the day was sometimes enough to make a veteran Auror's neck hairs bristle.
Something was wrong—very wrong. If he was being totally honest with himself, he knew deep inside what was wrong—he just didn't want to confront it for fear of what it could mean. As far as he was concerned, it was damn near impossible.
Earlier that evening, his office door had closed with the same squeaking noise he heard every single day. Merlin, how he hated that noise. Even so, if he had the choice, he would take hearing that noise over the complete silence that was currently enveloping his house. No birds were singing in the woods. He could see the trees struggling against the wind in the distance, but he could hear nothing from inside his house as if the sound waves had decided to forsake his home.
A peculiar feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach as soon as he left the Department.
He knew that there had been multiple eyes looking in his direction throughout the day, following his every move. Foreign eyes, dangerous eyes, eyes he didn't know. He had felt them every time he took a new step. It was a known and indescribable feeling, when one can just tell, that someone is looking at them from across the room. Analyzing. Assessing. Monitoring. Those eyes had stayed with him all through the evening.
It was because of that feeling that his anxiety was acting like caffeine, there would be no rest for him today.
For all Sturgis knew, he was being as overly suspicious as Mad-Eye. He had once watched in a strange mixture of amusement and disappointment as Moody attacked a random rat because he thought it was an unregistered Animagus. Moody's nickname was well earned. Mad-Eye was, for lack of a better word. . . mad.
Sturgis had no intention of becoming like Mad-Eye.
When the feeling first appeared, he had told himself that he was just being paranoid. Then paranoia almost won, and he had been so sure that he was being followed, but after apparating to the outside of his house the feeling had stopped.
He remembered mocking himself internally for being so fearful. It was unbecoming of a Veteran Auror. No more extra shifts, he had thought. Ultimately, he had the luxury of not having to do extra hours unless there was an emergency.
After all, seniority was hard to earn. Either you were great Auror, a lucky Auror or a dead one.
Nevertheless, even after having set foot on his own chambers, the uncomfortable and ominous feeling of eyes looking at the back of his neck had begun all over again. He still felt a sense of unease, tingling beneath his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand straight. If anything, the feeling was even more pronounced now that he was inside his own home.
The Firewhiskey felt like pure bliss as it traveled down his throat. Sturgis never considered himself an alcoholic, but the drink did take some of the edge off. In the absence of a girl with a nice bosom to warm his bed, Firewhiskey was the best replacement.
Some of his coworkers had wives, husbands and even multiple children. He had craved that at some point in time. Now, he thought they were either lucky beyond measure or dumb beyond belief. What a dangerous thing, to love someone who could be taken away from you at any moment.
Despite the fact that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been acting a lot as of late, the Minister hadn't ordered any noteworthy missions. His policies were always reactive, never proactive. It just wasn't enough against someone like You-Know-Who, and they were losing—badly.
Minister Cornelius Fudge was not a man worthy of respect, he was corrupt and unreliable.
In other words, he was a typical politician.
They needed someone with discipline, someone honest, a true warrior. A leader who knew what it was really like out there, who had seen the true evil that existed in their world, who had actually fought and rejected that evil.
That was the reason he had joined Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix all those years ago. Corruption inside the Ministry was at an all-time high, and then there was the obvious problem of having the world's most powerful Dark Lord ever, wanting to push his pureblood philosophies and ideals onto everyone else.
Thankfully for him, his family had been an old one, so he hadn't been an easy target. Sturgis was a Pureblood from a small family, but a Pureblood nonetheless, and as such, he was able to afford the expenses of living inside his large manor, located in the rain forests of Scotland's West Coast.
The Podmore's ancestral home.
Outside the window, the storm continued to rage with heavy wind, rain, and savage thunder.
A deep sigh left his lips as he sat down on the corner of his own king-size bed.
It was obvious that they were nowhere near the end of this war. Neville, even with all of Dumbledore's private lessons, was nowhere near ready to face You-Know-Who. Sturgis doubted he would ever be ready. After all, the only wizard who had ever fought toe-to-toe against him and survived was old Albus. Neville was just a kid, a sixteen-year-old kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sturgis disagreed with Dumbledore. He thought Neville should be chasing skirts, not worrying about prophesies and defeating the most powerful and dangerous Dark Wizard of all time.
War was not pretty prophecies, chosen ones or perfect teenagers with who could do no wrong and had no sex drive. War was conflict, it was the choice between two impossible decisions, it was torture and cruelty, orphans, blood and empty husks of what used to be people, it was death, but most of all. . . war was hell.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't nice, but it was what it was and there was nothing Sturgis could do to change the reality of it. He could, however, do everything in his power to make it better.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was truly a monster in human skin. Sturgis had seen the bodies, the scars of dark spells, the terror it left on in its survivors. But again, you could not transform the world without transforming the individual. So, Sturgis did what he thought was right, day after day, he helped people by putting away scum that could barely be considered human.
That's why he fought and trained so hard, so that the children who were currently in Hogwarts would never know what fighting a war was actually like. So that, unlike him, they could fall in love and marry, and one day have children of their own without the fear of their loved ones being used against them. So that they would never be like him.
Sturgis loved no one. A sad thing for a man to admit, but it was true. He had good friends, like Kingsley, people he respected or admired, girls he carried into his bed. But love? No. Never. Too dangerous.
People often said that woman and children, loved ones, were safe from the clutches of war. They were innocent.
Sturgis had seen firsthand what happened to innocents.
Their blood was red just like anyone else's, and just like anyone else's, their eyes lost their light when they died.
Innocent was not synonymous with safe.
He had to admit though, as far as saving innocents was concerned, Dumbledore did a good job protecting them. He was a great leader, even if he placed too much faith in a stupid prophesy, he also regularly acted against the Death Eaters when the Ministry did not.
Yes, Albus Dumbledore was definitely someone worth following.
A tired yawn escaped his lips. Sturgis had been stuck at his office doing paperwork all day long. He absolutely hated it. He was a man of fighting, not a man of words. Just as he began to prepare for bed, the unmistakable sound of a door closing stopped him dead. The sound had come from downstairs.
Sturgis stood up abruptly as if struck by a bolt of lightning. There was only one door downstairs, the entrance to the manor and he remembered closing it. He lived by himself, he was a self-proclaimed bachelor for life. No one had access to his house, not his usual conquests, not Kingsley, not even Albus.
A simple spell to check the protection wards notified him that they hadn't been activated. The intruders had somehow found a way to enter his home without triggering a single one of his defense wards. What's worse, they had been breached without the silent alarm alerting either the Ministry or the Order.
What the fuck was happening?
His eyes went wide with fright. How was it even possible that they hadn't activated a single one of his protection wards? What was he dealing with? His hands balled up into shaking fists. He understood that it wasn't particularly hard to track down the location of his manor, but to have the boldness of attacking him—an Auror—in his own home.
He gritted his teeth silent fury.
In that split-second his body caught up to the situation and he proceeded to frantically search the room, looking for his familiar coat. That coat was his lifeline right now. It contained an old muggle car key in its front pocket.
The standard emergency portkey he always carried around.
The Auror let out a cursed under his breath as his palm came up to his face. He groaned, astounded at his own foolishness. He had left his coat downstairs by the couch, right next to the main entrance of the manor.
The circumstances could not get any worse unless He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself made an appearance just for little old him. Sturgis was alone in his house with no backup or way out, against Merlin knows how many Death Eaters. His own anti apparition wards would prevent him from just apparating out.
Black combat boots made no noise as he slowly edged towards the stairs, taking out his curved wand in the process. As his heart began to beat wildly, a single line of sweat dripped down his temple. The rush of adrenaline finally made his Auror training kick in, his eyes narrowed, his hands stopped shaking and his breathing became steadier each passing second.
The moment he took the first step into his living room the lights suddenly went out without warning. Darkness surrounded him. Dread washed over his body, its icy embrace covering every part of him. A ghastly and eerie coldness permeated the air. There was complete silence, no footsteps, no sudden noises, nothing. His heartbeat somehow got even louder, like it wanted his enemies to know his location.
"Lumos," whispered Sturgis as he continued walking.
All the curtains had been shut closed, making it even darker as outside, the rain and violent winds began to increase in intensity. Sturgis should have known; this was no normal storm. Anger swept through him like a wave crashing against a ship. He was furious at his own blindness. How hadn't he noticed before? His eyes stayed alert. He could see the mist of his breath in the air, the sudden coldness making it visible. Panic began to set in. Lines of sweat dripped down his temple. His hands began to twitch again. His breaths became more erratic. A sense of bubbling nervousness took a hold of him and his stomach stirred in anticipation. His ears still couldn't pick up a thing, no footsteps, no small whispers, no failed attempts at silent intakes of breath, absolutely nothing—just silence.
Sturgis had a plan. Granted, it was a simple one, but it was usually those kinds of plans that ended up working instead of the needlessly complicated ones. He would silently move as fast as he could towards the entrance, where hopefully the You-Know-Who's followers hadn't noticed the emergency portkey inside of his coat. Rush to grab the portkey, use it to get the hell out and alert the Order that his house was compromised and that he needed backup.
Before he could take the next step, something moved in his peripheral vision. He turned but was unable to block in time. The brutal kick that landed on his ribs made all thoughts vanish from the Aurors mind. The wind was knocked out of him as his lungs cried for oxygen. Sturgis was sent flying by the sheer force of the blow. Pain exploded across his left side as he crashed into his family's old piano. Splinters flew everywhere. The ringing in his ears intensified, he could barely hear the ancient wood of the piano crack as he tried—and failed—to stand.
His opponent just watched him in contemplating silence. Sturgis coughed three times before finally pulling himself up from the remains of the old instrument. His own mind already berating him for not noticing his foe earlier. That kick had at least cracked one of his ribs, and the crash that had followed had done something to his left arm. He didn't think it was broken, but no doubt something was definitely wrong with it.
Deeply shaken, he turned to face his attacker. Every lantern and candle in the room had been lit up, yet somehow, spidery shadows danced upon the walls. His eyes itched painfully as the new light struck them head on. The sound of his laboured breaths echoed as he squinted to try and see his foe.
His attacker hadn't even moved a single muscle.
Sturgis stared, no surprise showing on his face. The man was wearing black Death Eater robes, but there was something different about him. His mask. Death Eaters usually covered their faces with the skulls of their enemies. His opponent's face, on the other hand, was hidden behind a silver mask.
His enemy didn't even have his want out. Still, strange magic filled the air, prickling on Sturgis's skin like electricity. He hoped that wasn't the man's doing.
"Is this all the mighty Order of the Phoenix has to offer? Frankly, I find myself disappointed."
The blonde haired Auror couldn't contain his gasp as the sound of the intruder's voice reached his ears. The voice gave away the fact that it wasn't a full-grown wizard behind the mask. His attacker couldn't be more than a mere boy, probably still a teenager if Sturgis had to guess.
"Who the hell are you?!" Sturgis shouted as that ringing in his ears finally began to recede.
The only response he got was the mildly amused smirk that pulled at the corner of the boy's mouth.
The reality of the situation started to set in. Sturgis knew that even if his attacker was only a boy, he had to bring him into custody. They needed all the information they could get on You-Know-Who and judging by the way this kid dressed and spoke, there was no doubt on Sturgis's mind that he was one of his followers.
Cold sweat had begun running down Sturgis's back. He had never thought that he would have to hurt a boy. It went against everything he stood for as an Auror. A knot twisted on his stomach as he made up his mind. Less than a second later, he attacked.
"Stupefy!" yelled Sturgis while taking a step forward, his left arm trembling as he held it close to his broken ribs.
His opponent grinned as he barely moved his head to the right, allowing the red light of the stunner to miss him by mere millimeters. The spell flew right by him. The sound of glass shattering echoed through the manor as the stunner missed him altogether and hit a window instead.
"My turn," he said, his voice laced with mockery.
Almost at the same time the words reached him, Sturgis found himself being hurled across the room by an invisible force. It felt like he was being struck across the chest by a sledgehammer, or close to what he imagined getting kicked by a full-grown troll would feel like.
His vision became blurry. Pain exploded in his head as he smashed into the wall with a resounding thud.
Sturgis could hardly believe what he had just witness, the kid had just wandlessly thrown him across an entire room like it was no big deal. He hadn't even uttered a single spell. Nonverbal, wandless magic. Was such a thing even possible for someone who was not Dumbledore or You-Know-Who? This kid. . . he hadn't even moved a single step since the Auror had seen him.
A shock of fear shot down his spine as realisation struck home once again. . . the boy was just toying with him.
Sturgis raised his arm to try to stun his opponent again when he felt it—the lack of weight on his right palm—his wand wasn't there.
"Looking for this?" asked the teenager smirking, amusement dripping from his voice as he played with the man's wand, spinning it around in circles.
A loud crack followed, and Sturgis gasped as he witnessed his wand being snapped in half. The sight of its broken pieces filled his heart with sorrow. He stared unblinkingly as the remains of his most precious possession scattered across his own floor.
"Are you here to kill me?" whispered the Auror, gathering every inch of courage he had left. Trying and failing, to see the eyes of his opponent.
"No," said the intruder. "That's what she's here for," he explained with a hint of affection in his voice.
That was when Sturgis finally noticed another figure stepping out of the shadows behind the boy. Cold blue eyes glared back at him. Unfiltered hatred danced behind those eyes, its icy fury burning him with its gaze. They seemed to see right through him. Accusing. Burning. Judging. Being jury and executioner. A wave of terror went through him. They reminded him of his biggest failure, one he blamed himself for.
He knew those eyes.
In that moment Sturgis understood. After only a second of looking at the new figure he recognized her. His eyes went wide as he realised why she was there.
"Avada Kedavra!"