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: Sorry for the wait, I celebrated my 18th birthday last Friday and didn't have a lot of time to write. I went with some ideas that I had carefully plan in this one. Took me some time to put it in words even though I imagined every small detail. BTW, yes I know Kurinoone's fight scenes are way, way better than mine, but I'm still studying how to do them so please bear with me. Well, enjoy and don't forget to review, it always helps. Updated: 02/11/19

Trust me

There's no need to fear

Everyone's here

Waiting for you to finally be one of us

Come down...

You may be full of fear

But you'll be safe here

When you finally trust me

Finally believe in me

Let You Down - Three Days Grace

The rain was heavy as it pummeled the ground, small puddles of water covered the street. The stars were visible in the dark sky but a thin veil of mist dimmed their brightness. This was only the second time Daphne had set foot in Knockturn Alley. The first time had been almost a decade ago, her parents had wanted to get something from Borgin and Burkes and her six-year-old self had thrown a massive tantrum until her mother had agreed to take take her along.

Chilling wind blew against her cheeks, making her shiver. She ignored her surroundings with a bored expression stamped upon her face, from the pouring rain to the suspiciously looking wizards that passed her. She was wearing her black robes with her hood up, the multiple enchantments in them prevented her from getting soaked to the bone.

The atmosphere itself seemed to shift when she had taken the turn for Knockturn Alley, it turned colder, the air had gotten heavier, it was far too quiet, you could almost feel the bitterness, the thirst for power — she was not surprised. That's not to say she wasn't totally unaffected, but be that as it may, everything paled in comparison to being in the Dark Lord's oppressive presence, and thus it didn't really faze her.

She passed Borgin and Burkes and made her way farther down the streets, her black robes whispering faintly as she moved. Lucius had been very clear in explaining to her what she needed to do to get to her destination. Daphne didn't know exactly how he had gotten the information in the first place, but it didn't matter much at this point.

After turning left in what appeared to be a dead end, she looked back to check that no one had followed her. Her features lit up as a grin found its way onto her lips, she had finally reached her destination. The sound of her footsteps was drowned by the commotion of the people passing through Knockturn Alley behind her.

Daphne's hands came up to touch the giant wall made up of hundreds of stones that seemed to have been there since the before she had been born. A step closer was all it took for a sense of unease to settle in the pit of her stomach. Her instincts flared up and screamed. She ignored them, moving even closer to the wall, she had to find it.

After touching each and every pale rock, searching for one that was considerably softer that the others, she finally located it — somewhere in the lower right corner of the ancient wall.

She closed her eyes in concentration.

Her magic whirled through her body as it boiled to the surface.

Her hand twitched as her palm released a powerful burst of magic through the rock.

Without warning, the wall began to shake violently and the selected rock inched forwards. It shone with a dim light as it slowly morphed into the head of a Gargoyle, fangs protruded from its mouth like huge spears of stone, black as night. Its diamond red eyes regarded her as if she was nothing but prey.

She turned her head and looked back again to check that she hadn't been followed. When it was clear that there wasn't anyone in the area, Daphne reached for her right pocket in the outfit beneath her robes, pulling out a very old looking knife.

The small gold weapon was a work of art. It was a family heirloom, passed down for one generation to the next. It had an elegant design of lightning at the handle. It had been hand-made in the early fourteen-hundreds and had been passed down to the firstborn child of the Greengrass line since then. It was the one of the many things she kept from her heritage.

She sighed, bringing the knife closer to her left hand.

With a quick move, a thin cut appeared in the center of her palm, her expression never changed to show that she had felt any pain whatsoever.

Daphne paused for a moment, staring at the dripping red liquid, her eyes bright with wonder. It was fascinating how blood could be so simple, yet at the same time so alluring and significant that she would go to war over it.

She squeezed her bleeding hand with all her might. Bright red blood dripped down her palm into the mouth of the Gargoyle.

The effect was instantaneous, the statue came alive, snapping its jaws shot. Her blood dripped down its chin and its eyes flashed red.

She took a step back, anticipating what was about to happen. The wall started to shift, recognizing her blood as pure. The rocks glowed as they disappeared, morphing together and dissolving against each other. The wall seemed to disassemble itself.

Daphne had never seen anything like it.

Right in front of her, where there used to be a wall, there was now the entrance to an old pub 'The Black Wyvern' announced the sign next to the batwing doors. One look was all it took to determined that this was the kind of place where you would find people featured in 'Wanted' posters.

The batwing doors made no sound as Daphne entered. Her hood was still up, its shadow covering her face.

The smell of alcohol assaulted her senses as she turned to examine the room. There were hundreds of candles floating near the wooden ceiling. Twenty round tables took up most of the space in the room, some of them were occupied, but most of them were empty. Across the room there was a bar, with one chair next to it. There was only one word that could be used to describe this place.

Creepy

A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, Daphne quickly noticed the dark brown hair, and a mustache stained with what she hoped was butterbeer. He looked to be cleaning up glass bottles one by one with a flick of his wand.

No one paid any attention to her as she walked towards the bar, the shadow of her hood was covering her face.

She placed her arms on the counter. "I'm looking for a man by the name of Augustus."

The man turned to look at her, his mustache looked even dirtier up close. "Boss doesn't speak with just anyone." He replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His wand didn't even stop moving as he continued to clean the glass bottles.

"Tell him I've got a. . . business proposal, one that I believe he would be most interested in," She took her hood down, leaving her long blonde hair free.

The bartender stared down at her with a mix of lust and curiosity. She expected those looks, she had even gotten used to them by now. Wherever she went people always stared at her with those eyes, either when they thought she wasn't looking or more often than not, when they knew she was. She didn't particularly mind those looks, she even preferred them over the ones she had gotten after that night, when she had just been a scared little girl. All the same, the bartender's stare was only met with glare as she walked away towards a table in the corner.

Her words appeared to have worked, as the man stared unblinkingly at her retreating form, before splashing water on his face and going inside an old-looking and battered wooden door that was behind the bar.

Daphne's eyes scanned the pub, wondering if anyone had noticed the exchange. No one appeared to have moved, too engrossed in their own conversations.

What made this people so different from the ones who went to Diagon Alley? Did they have different upbringings? Where they just not so blind or naive as to believe the world they lived in wasn't a cruel place? Had it been brutal and ruthless with them? Were they bitter that their eyes had been forced to open before they lost the baby fat off their cheeks?

Her internal musings were interrupted by the loud noise of a door opening and crashing loudly against the wall as it swung. A huge man came out, wearing a leather duster. Brown eyes met her own icy blue ones as he began to walk in her direction.

He had the most scars out of anyone Daphne had ever seen. Augustus was well built — around six feet tall — and he carried himself with an attitude the screamed 'look at me funny and you'll die'. However, the feature that stood out more than any, was the four long claw marks across his face, they went from his left eye, through his crooked nose, all the way down to the right side of his neck.

That must have definitely hurt like hell. In any case, that wasn't enough to intimidate Daphne. She was here for one purpose, and one purpose only, she wasn't going to let anyone get in her way, much less a simple information broker like Augustus.

The man sat down on the chair across hers, he placed his feet on top of the table as he leaned back, his scarred face examining her from top to bottom.

Amusement was almost a foreign emotion for people who traded information, and yet, Augustus was evidently amused by the sight in front of him. He smirked at the girl. Blonde hair framing her flawless features. Gorgeous blue eyes. Perfect nose and lips. A natural beauty, truly an angelic sight. Clearly still a teenager, but with a mature body, he could see how her cloak stuck to her curves, perfect curves. She had to be one of, if not the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he had seen his fair share of them. He could see several of his male clients eying the girl out of the corner of their eyes. She didn't seem to notice the subtle attention. How had she managed to get inside? His pub was very selective when it came to his clients.

A breeze of cool air blew Daphne's hair back. She was impressed. The man's calculating gaze was impressive, and more than a little unsettling. "I need you to do something for me, Luciu—"

Before she could even finish the name, Augustus bursted out in thunderous laughter, heads turned to stare as the man kept laughing, his fists slamming against the table. Surprise, caution, annoyance and fear were just some of the various emotions that flashed across the faces of the pub's occupants as they watched him laugh.

Augustus' fist crashed against the table one last time as he turned his head to give them a glare. Instantly, everyone went back to their own conversations as if nothing had happened.

The man flashed her a leering grin. "What makes you think, that I'll do anything you ask of me little doll? If Lucius wants something from me, he can come and tell me himself," He paused for a moment as if contemplating what he'd just said. "You know what, on second thought, maybe I'll send a message to him, call my guys out so we can all see what's underneath those pretty little clothes of yours before I send you back to him. I might even send you in one piece, if I'm feeling merciful and you somehow manage to convince me that you regret your insolence," spat Augustus as he looked her up and down.

Daphne tilted her head left, making eye contact. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. She spread her left hand flat out on the table as she lowered her eyes to examine her nails.

"That's a pity —" she said with a sickeningly fake sweet voice. Her right hand coming up to the opposite cuff of her cloak.

She turned her arm around and in one swift movement, pulled up her left sleeve.

"— my boyfriend would be very upset when he realizes that something happened to me. One might even say, he would be ruthless, murderous. . . maybe even a little bit sadistic." Daphne commented.

The laugh was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Augustus face had gone from pale to almost white in a second as he stared in shock and terror at the mark covering her left forearm. His previous cockiness and confidence had disappeared, evaporating into thin air the second he laid eyes on her mark.

"You've heard the rumors, haven't you? You are clever man Augustus, was I wrong in thinking that things would be infinitely easier if we could just. . . talk, instead of swarming this little secret pub you have — if you can even call it that — with Death Eaters and taking you by force? Lucius told me that this was one of the only places left in this forsaken alley that still holds some standards, no mudbloods allowed — and since there was that blood test at the entrance, I am inclined to believe him. Was he mistaken?" she asked

Her questions were only met with silence.

"Information is your trade is it not?" she continued.

Augustus mouth was opening and closing, his eyes still glued to mark on her forearm as Daphne tenderly stroked it.

"You are a smart man Augustus, if perhaps a little shy —" said Daphne, amusement dripping from her mouth at her own words, her eyes shone with humor "— you've always known the rumors were true. So that means you know who's mark this is."

Augustus mouth finally closed. Panic was one of those sensations that overtook the whole body, no matter how sudden it was. Daphne could see the cold sweat dripping down his palms as he rubbed them together.

When he finally looked up to her after what seemed like hours, his entire body was shivering. He was clearly still in shock at the sudden revelation of who she was. Augustus turned to look down at his hands, trying unsuccessfully to stop his body from shaking; his knuckles had lost all colour as if his blood had stopped flowing. A shiver ran down his spine. He was no ordinary man, Augustus was somewhat of a veteran, he had worked closely with Death Eaters many times before — even if he had never taken the mark himself. He had gone through a lot in his prime, death, torture, even rape was something he saw weekly in his line of work. Even with all of that, Augustus found himself feeling something he hadn't felt in years, maybe even decades. An emotion he had trained himself not to feel. All the same, his body was screaming at him.

FEAR.

Irrefutable and paralyzing. It was all he had felt since the moment the girl had pulled up her sleeve and he had laid eyes on terrifying that mark.

Daphne simply watched as emotion overcame Augustus. Analysing people was undoubtedly a form of art. Reading their gestures and expressions as though they were yours took years of skill, without the use of Legilimency.

She was under no illusion about the extent of her influence. The pub owner didn't fear her. He feared the people around her, more specifically, Harry.

Her dark mark wasn't like any other, it wasn't a symbol of the Dark Lord, it was a symbol of someone equally feared in the deepest parts of Knockturn Alley — his son.

Harry had made a reputation for himself in the darkest parts of the wizard world, annihilating anyone that had dared to cross his father in spectacular fashion, mostly traitors to the cause.

The Dark Lord was one the most powerful wizards ever to exist, but there were always some rats who thought that they could betray or even scam him of what he wanted. Voldemort sent Harry to end the lives of said men, and as a result it was not a surprise when the rumors of the Dark Lord's heir started to spread in the deepest and darkest parts of the wizard world.

Of course, no one would mention the rumor to anyone being with either the Ministry or Dumbledore, it was just a rumor after all; not many believed it. Besides, there were thousands of rumors about the Dark Lord and his followers, some claimed the Dark Lord was a god, other claimed he was a descendant from Merlin himself. Augustus however, was not just anyone, he made a living out of selling and trading information, his job required him to discern facts from fiction, even if said facts appeared to be fiction.

Daphne watched as Augustus closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He raised his right arm, which was covered in burns and scars, and at once a man ran to his side from across the room. The new guy was a dark-haired wizard with light brown eyes and a face Daphne didn't recognize. Augustus whispered something rapidly to the newcomer in a language she didn't understand.

German

She noticed the newcomer's eyes widen as he glanced at her, his eyes shifted to her left forearm which was already covered by her sleeve. After a few more seconds of Augustus whispering, the man quickly nodded and took off towards the bar.

She waited until the employee was out of earshot before speaking again.

"What did you tell him?" Daphne questioned in a voice full of indifference.

Augustus remained silent for a minute before he answered.

"I've arranged for the pub to close while this meeting is ongoing. Everyone will be escorted out shortly," muttered Augustus, his expression full of caution.

True to the man's words, the dark-haired employee went to every table but theirs, escorting everyone out. In less than four minutes the place was empty, everyone, including the people who worked with Augustus were nowhere to be found.

The place looked even creepier without clients or staff. She turned her head, looking around to make sure they were truly alone. With every customer gone, there was complete and total silence.

"So, what is it you need me to do?" asked Augustus, after he had gathered the courage to speak. He slowly took his wand out and muttered a few charms to make sure they weren't heard.

Blue eyes turn to analyse him. It was the first time she saw the effect Harry's reputation had on someone who wasn't a Death Eater.

"Six years ago —" started Daphne. "— on the first of September a house was set on fire in a street called Summer's Walk. It was number 570 and it was abandoned. Most of it was consumed by the flames. I want to know the name of the person who casted the spell that burned the building down. I had hoped that it was still possible to get that information. You ought to know, after all, you did work for both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror and the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable for about fifteen years, didn't you? Until — I'm told — you were unjustly sacked for having different beliefs about muggles." Daphne's disgust was almost palpable.

She knew that getting the information would be impossible for anyone who tried, luckily for her, Augustus was not anyone. The man had worked in far more difficult cases, and now that he had an idea of who she was, Augustus had a very good incentive to do whatever she said; keeping his life.

If Augustus was surprised by the 'request' he didn't show it. The man, now that he knew what she wanted from him was evidently less tense, a look of concentration was plastered on his face. He sighed as he touched his scars. He had expected something much more complicated, even if the spell had been cast six years ago, the magical residue will technically still be there. Augustus had connections in the with the Unspeakables that could help him find the culprit.

"I believe I can find a name by the end of the month," said the man in a soft, uncharacteristic voice.

"Perfect! Send an owl with the name to Malfoy manor," replied Daphne.

"Ma'am?" questioned Augustus.

"Yes?"

"If I may be so bold as to ask. Why is this information so important to you that you would come to me, knowing my line of work and my reputation?" he asked.

Daphne's lips curved up into a grin. "I'll tell you why it's important to you. I know this little pub doesn't make much money anymore, and nowadays you don't do a whole lot of consultant work or private cases. You're barely in your forties, yet you can only go downhill from here on out. So, I'll tell you what you want. You want financial support. You want contacts with the right people on the winning side, people on top of the food chain, not just has beens or low-ranking Death Eaters. You work for me now — and now that you do — you can begin to expect a lot more out of life than this little pub. Unless of course, I have misjudged you and running this tiny establishment is the sum of your ambition," Daphne laughed, pushing her chair away from the table. Without waiting for a response, she began walking towards the doors. She stopped mid-step and turned her head to look at the pub owner who was still sitting, staring at her. "And Augustus —"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"— if you do not keep your word, or you try to run, he'll know where to find you," she finished, her grin turning into a smirk.

She apparated as soon as the saloon doors closed behind her.

By the time Daphne arrived at her destination, it was dawn. She took a moment to appreciate at her new surroundings, the sun was barely visible in the horizon, its warmth greeting her — home sweet home. The entrance of Malfoy manor was truly beautiful, even after all these years she still took some time to marvel in its complexity.

She had seen many mansions, but not a single one compared to Malfoy manor, not even the Dark Lord's. It was enormous, about the size of three or four professional quidditch pitches, surrounded by a rich green forest that spread all the way to the horizon. Two dark gates that held an elegant design of tree branches intermingling with each other, stood proudly at the entrance.

With a wave of her wand, the gates opened. Only someone who Lucius, as the head of the Malfoy house, had authorized could enter unannounced to the property without alerting the wards. She crossed the main door and made her way upstairs. Draco should still be out, doing Merlin knows what, and Lucius was scheduled to attend a meeting concerning Hogwarts.

Her visit to the secret underground pub had been much more productive than she had hoped for. And that feeling of control, the knowledge that she could hold that much power over another wizard brought a smile to her face.

To know that she would never be weak or powerless again.

Daphne grudgingly understood why her Hogwarts peers called her 'Ice Queen' behind her back. In a way it was fitting, she loved the cold. Her room was very comfortable, it was charmed to adjust automatically to the occupant's preferred temperature, so it was never too hot.

After taking off her robes, she turned to look at her left forearm.

The memory hit her with the force of a Hungarian Horntail, she remembered the smell of salt and the sound of the crushing waves. The traitor's corpse laying at her feet — the first corpse she had ever seen. Regulus Black's empty eyes staring accusingly up at them. His cold, unmoving hand still carrying the fake horcrux and the "fuck you" letter to Lord Voldemort.

The terrifying inside of the old cave, a great black lake with a misty greenish light in the center. The dense darkness all around them. The Dark Lords genuine laugh of pride. An exploding pain in her forearm. Green eyes—her eyes. Harry's screams—her screams.

A tattoo of a black skull stared back at her, two serpents protruding from its mouth. The snakes were wrapped around each other, giving the illusion of a tongue.

Draco Malfoy was grinning like an idiot.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Harry grumbled.

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender. There was an old chess set between them. The board was battered-looking, the pieces looked like they had been carved in the early eighteen hundreds.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. His head felt like it was splitting in half.

"Checkmate in just four moves, my new personal record," bragged Draco, smiling down at the board.

Frustrated, Harry toppled his king with a wave of his hand. He pressed his palm against his forehead, rubbing his scar. His eyes squeezed shut, the pain was reaching a peak, burning.

Draco's lost his smirk at the sight of Harry, his face turned pale.

"Is it your scar? I'm sorry, you should've told me sooner."

"I though he would've calmed down by now," Harry remarked. "He normally has full control over his emotions when he knows I'm nearby."

If it was possible, Draco's face turned even more pale. He gulped nervously. "Something really important must have happened," he murmured.

Another stab of pain went through Harry's scar. He gritted his teeth.

Harry stood up. "Go home Draco, I'm going to see what's got him so bloody annoyed."

Draco's eyes widen. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. In an instant, he jumped to his feet. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asked, hoping his best friend will deny him, but nonetheless asking, as a good friend should.

Another nasty throb of pain caused Harry to almost stagger as he walked towards the door. Draco was there immediately, steading him by the arm with a firm grip.

"It's okay," Harry replied.

Draco nodded in understanding.

A little while later, Harry stood frowning in his father's study. He wasn't angry, mostly just annoyed, as his scar had been hurting for a while now. Ever since he could remember, headaches plagued him whenever his father was in a particularly foul mood.

He had come to see what exactly it was that had almost split his head in half by enraging his father.

Lord Voldemort was currently yelling and torturing a few low ranked Death Eaters. They were violently twitching on the ground, courtesy of the Cruciatus Curse. Screams of pain and terror, the likes of which he had heard multiple times before, told him his father wasn't using all his power.

Harry saw the precise moment Lord Voldemort's gaze turned towards him. Voldemort cursed under his breath, realising that his strong emotions had hurt his heir. Instantly, tension drained out of him. Anger began to fade away and a sense of calmness overtook him with the help of his occlumency shields.

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

The low ranked Death Eaters sprinted towards the door, stumbling in panic. Once they had left, Harry still didn't know the reason for his father's anger.

Voldemort turned to examine Harry closely. He raised a hand to tenderly touch the scar on his heir's forehead.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "If I had known you were close, I wouldn't have lost control of my emotions so easily."

It was a rare sight, to see worry and guilt appear on the face of the most feared wizard alive.

He moved his gaze away from Harry, taking deep breaths to control his still present, but subdued, anger.

"Jason Riley has betrayed me. . . and he knows about my weakness," Voldemort spat. The rage in his red eyes would make anyone think twice before speaking, everyone except Harry.

Harry blinked. "Riley? The one who worked with Regulus?" he questioned.

Voldemort sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair. "He found out about the Horcruxes. He must be stopped before the information gets out."

The mention of Horcruxes, Harry's hands moved towards the silver pendant adorning his neck, an almost subconscious gesture. A reaction that was not lost on his father, whose lips turned up into a smiled at the sight of his heir bearing a part of his soul.

"What are your orders. . . father," Harry asked, while looking straight into Voldemort's eyes, dropping his occlumency shields so that he could be given the information on where to find his new target.

Voldemort smirked, as he sat down on his chair. His red eyes shining with malice.

"Finish him!"