May 1998.
Harry woke up with a groan. He squinted his eyes in pain as the faint light of the darkened room attacked him mercilessly. His hands instinctively checked the state of his ribs and he was glad to find them healed with only slightly sore bruises remaining.
"Harry," a gentle voice startled him, "how are you feeling?"
"Where am I?" he said instead, as he recognized the blurred shape of Ernie.
"You're in your bedroom, Grimmauld's square 12, London. Do you know where that is?"
"It's my bloody home," Harry said glaring at him. "Course I know where it is."
"Good," Ernie replied, waving his wand over him, and grabbing a small vial. "I had to check though. Head problems are hardest to heal, you see, because mind seeks a way to deal with great amounts of pain, and usually that results only in fainting, but sometimes..."
"Sometimes you finish like Longbottoms," Harry finished, and nodded for himself.
"Exactly," Ernie said, his lips tightened.
"Can I get out of here?" Harry said, nervously shifting in his bed and causing more aches.
"Calm down, Harry, or I'll bind you," Ernie said, an edge of his lip slightly trembling. Harry looked him in disbelief for a second, before Ernie cracked a laugh.
"Oh, fuck off mate," Harry said. "Bloody healers."
"You're in a good state, all in all, but you should be careful with movements like this," Ernie explained, doing weird poses and Harry had no idea why would he ever do something like that. "Eat light for a few days too. I don't want any unnecessary pressure on your ribs. Hmm, you should also avoid," he trailed, sudden wariness in his eyes as he scanned over Harry again. It didn't escape Harry's notice that the warm, brown eyes never looked directly at him.
"Avoid what, Ernie?" Harry asked calmly, but with his eyes narrowed. He felt a coldness creeping up his spine, and desired nothing more but to erase judgment in Ernie's eyes. Painfully.
Some of it must have shown for Ernie stepped back and pocketed his wand, as if surrendering. As was proper, Harry thought, but shook his head violently.
This has to stop!
"That," he finally said, his voice trembling, but he stood his ground with clenched fists and slightly raised chin. "The mind is a fragile thing, and you should treat it properly. Right now, yours is in chaos."
"It's not," Harry interrupted him, trying to stand up and get his wand.
"It is. You killed yesterday."
"I did so before," Harry said, feeling a rush of blood in his head.
"Not. Like. This," Ernie said equally forcefully. "Deliberately. With Dark magic. With killing curse."
Harry finally understood what he was getting at and blushed slightly, and frowned, but Ernie continued, "There's a fair reason why wounds caused by that kind of magic refuse to be healed. Because they are personal. The hate behind the incantation is real. The need to see your enemy injured, even dead is giving you pleasure."
Harry swallowed, and felt like there is a giant stone in his belly, but couldn't find the strength to say something. To defend his actions. Ernie's eyes, however, softened and he added, "I know what's it like. I've been there, believe me, but you cannot throw your life and sanity away for nothing."
Harry was confused now and he searched for Ernie's eyes, but he stubbornly looked elsewhere.
"I don't give a damn about those Aurors because you must've had a reason, but it's you that I, no, we are worried about. Now, get yourself together and put some clothes on. They're waiting for you."
As he grudgingly put some clothes on and went for the stairs he could hear animated chatterings coming from the dining room. Curious, he leaned his ear forward.
"...dunno what's gotten into him...it was only matter of time, I reckon...they had it coming, didn't they..."
'Joy,' Harry muttered, frozen on the stairs. They were talking about him. With a heavy breath, he continued onwards and finally entered the room. They all looked at him as one as they ceased their argument. His eyes surveyed them slowly, looking for the general impression they were having over his most recent foolishness.
Traces of badly concealed wariness behind usually stoic and cold, gray eyes of Malfoy didn't surprise Harry. Even if he showed great malice in their younger years, Harry found out that Draco's heart was never really at it. Much of his loudness was nothing more than a bark of a dog who was yet to deliver his bite.
Harry felt prickles on his neck and he knew that Ernie was somewhere behind him, watchful and silent, curious and careful, but also loyal and brave. He was indeed a pride of the house of Hufflepuff, a model member, and Harry would always respect that.
Theo was his usual self, cold and distant, in the safest corner of the room, his back laid on the wall in a casual manner, but his tiny grin betrayed him; raw hunger in his eyes only added to a bigger picture of the boy Harry still found strange and wasn't sure if he would call him his friend. However, he showed the most interest in Harry's ideas, studies, and plans for the future. His silent confidence in his own skills, an aura of mystique around him, and the fact that he managed to complete all of his tasks without a single mistake made him a valuable ally in Harry's eyes.
"I reckoned you wouldn't want Ron and Hermione around for this," George said, stopping Harry's thoughts and changing his attention towards him; he sported a cruel, little smile and had a glint of mischief in his slightly narrowed eyes.
"Bones and Pansy are in ministry," Draco said and pulled out a stack of papers. "Figuring out how much they know and keeping an eye on DMLE."
"And Longbottom is going over laws and collecting dirt on ministry. Just in case," Theo said and nodded towards the Malfoy. "Draco was just about to send him everything he's got on his father's trial. It might help."
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure why they did all of that, but was glad nonetheless. He did wonder what he did to deserve such good friends. It caused a strange, but warm feeling in his chest.
"Even mother got on board," Draco added, and Harry thought he didn't sound so happy about it. "Damage control at the Prophet, you know."
"Alright, thank you guys," Harry started, rubbing his temples. "It means a lot. Really."
George waved a hand impatiently, and said, "S'nothing, mate. We got your back no matter what, but we can't help but wonder about, well, you know."
"I thought we were trying to stay under the radar," Draco added and tilted his head slightly.
"Err, yeah, we were supposed so," Harry said, a bit of red creeping up his neck. He needn't them thinking he was unstable. "The circumstances changed, though, so I had to react."
"Oh," Theo said quietly. "That so? I wasn't aware of anything changed. What about you, guys?"
None of them answered, and Harry couldn't stop the forcing voice in his had that said, 'As was proper.'
"Theo," he said instead, with an edge to his voice. Just a hint of warning, and the boy immediately changed his stance; his crossed hands dropped uselessly and he slightly bowed his head.
"He didn't mean anything by it." Harry heard Ernie's soft voice from behind. Harry suddenly cringed, and realized that he missed the most important when he observed them; they were all walking on the needles around him, closely following his every move, and he felt another sting of shame. He needed to talk with someone about it. Someone who was an expert in the field.
"Does this mean you're leaving?" Draco said. "Because this Auror business is a big deal. ICW might blacklist you if minister presents valid evidence about you being danger to - "
"You got it handled," Harry interrupted him, and stood up. "And yes, I'll be leaving as soon as I got a few things checked."
"We'll pass your goodbyes," George said grimly, and too stood up, reaching Harry with his hand.
"Wait a second, we certainly do not have it handled," Draco said loudly, and Harry sighed. He did have another trick in his leave, however, to keep them from panicking. He was even expecting it.
"I have the utmost confidence in all of my friends," he said in his most gentle tone and smiled widely. "If you cannot get it done, then I believe no one else could."
And indeed, like a magic trick, the effect was seen immediately; their chests puffed slightly, their lips widened in all sorts of smiles while Harry's one dropped into the sad one.
'The power of the friendship and fame,' he thought bitterly as he disappeared away without another word.
(...)
The gates of Hogwarts were wrecked; it's massive, wooden core was unmade into the mere splinters and the feeling of safety and warmness one usually felt when encountering them was now gone.
The sounds of constructions reached Harry's ears and he curiously turned his head towards the spot where Astronomy tower used to be. He could see various wizards and witches situated around it, or hovering on the brooms and trying to put a particularly large stone into its spot. At the bottom of it, a miniature figure of professor Flitwick was furiously waving his wand in the most complex patters Harry ever saw, and small amounts of debris followed the stone trying to fill every small inaccuracy left behind.
He hummed, and made his way towards the dungeons; ghosts cheerfully greeted him, portraits pointed and yelled, and even Mrs. Norris waved her tail at him before running away, but he paid no attention to them as he knocked on the wooden door.
"Harry, m'boy," Slughorn enthusiastically greeted him. "Come in, come in."
Harry entered his office, a fake smile plastered on his face as he shook hands with the old professor. "Professor, it's a pleasure. As always," he said and pushed a small gift towards Slughorn. After all, it was the way to go if you wanted something from old Slytherin. Harry knew that he never abandoned his ways.
"Oho, what do we have here," he said and accepted the small box, but didn't proceed to open it. Instead, he put it away in a small cupboard where he had many other gifts and gadgets, and turned towards Harry with a knowing look. "Nevermind that, nevermind. You're a hard man to reach these days, you are. And yet you're here, heh."
Harry allowed himself another smile, a cold one, and sat down, deliberately slow. "I am, yes. I have a question," he said bluntly. "About the magics you know most about."
Slughorn's face immediately shifted, his smile faltered, and traces of wariness were clear as day to Harry. "Harry," he started nervously, "I never claimed to be an expert."
"And yet we both know you're aware of one of the most obscure pieces of magic in the world," Harry said quietly and tilted his head slightly to the left. "What I want to ask is nothing compared to Horcruxes."
Harry inwardly enjoyed how the old man winced at the mention of the word, and waited for a second before he continued. "Anyway, Dark magic. We both know the ministry judge it by the damage made to the victim. What I want to talk about is the damage that the caster suffers."
"Harry, my dear boy," Slughorn said quietly. "What did you do? I-I heard things, but I knew, hoped, the things about you were falsehoods made up by Prophet, as usual."
Harry instantly realized there was no fooling old man so he didn't bother to negate his claims. "I was attacked, and did what I had to to survive, as I always do, but that's not neither here nor now. The magic I used..."
"Is destructive, volatile, dangerous?" Slughorn nodded along. "But the victim doesn't matter. There are plenty of ways to dispose of your enemy, amongst which most are safe to use and practice, but some are rendered dangerous for a specific reason, all of which are dark by nature. When we talk about Dark arts, we talk about the damage caster inflicts upon his very soul. In the book you obviously read, the adjectives describing the nature of spells are nothing else but warnings. Warnings about the greatest choice of them all."
"Being?" Harry raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands. Slughorn sighed and went for the nice-looking bottle on his table, some sort of mead, Harry guessed and waited, his leg rhythmically tapping, as professor proceeded to pour himself a generous dose of goldish liquid.
"Are you happy?" he asked instead, and caught Harry off his guard. He gaped like fish for a second before he tried to formulate an answer, but his voice failed him.
"I... What?" Why does it matter?" he finally managed to spit.
"Everything, Harry," he whispered, and asked again. "Are you happy?"
"I... don't know," Harry said softly. He asked himself many things over the past few months but never that one. His every action, as long as he was concerned, was for the benefit of everyone. He did it to protect their world, their values, but right now he could tell that something was missing. He reached for Elder wand instinctively, and muttered: "Expecto Patronum."
They both watched rare, whitish mist struggling in the air to become something more, but it was not to be, and with a last surge of weakish power, it disappeared.
"Oh, but I think you do, Harry, my boy," Slughorn whispered, his eyes glassy, full of the emotions Harry could not decipher. Majestic stag that saved Harry life dozens of times did not come forward. It didn't ponce around in its pride. It did not answer its master call.
"It's the only question that matters at the end of the day," Slughorn continued. "Money, power, it is all for nothing if you have no one to share it with. Believe this old man who was there, and did the very same mistake. Believe the man that helped to create Voldemort."
"But the dark arts," Harry tried again, but Slughorn shook his head and interrupted him.
"Are rarely the cause, Harry, but rather the consequence. To wield such power, means to give up on your very essence, the soul itself. Sometimes we are forced to use such a force, if only to protect yourself, but it's the wrongness of such a choice that slowly destroys you and leads to the madness of those lost in the darkest arts.
"You mentioned the choice twice now, professor," Harry said softly, but his impatience could be felt in the room as it darkened. His voice carried power, it radiated his dominance. It revealed his words as an order, a command. "What is it?"
It caused Slughorn to seem even sadder, but he responded, "Why, the choice between your life and your soul. Like a muggle soldier going to the war knowing he will end up in hell for his actions. It is the sacrifice of the highest possible order, and it cannot be undone."
"But I had no choice," Harry said, his voice slightly rising.
"Didn't Albus teach you anything? There is always a choice, and most often than not, it is one between what is right and what is easy."
They shared the silence for a few moments as Harry thought it over. The professor and the student. Both scarred, both with many mistakes behind them, but both still pushing onwards. It is all that matters, Harry decided, he just needed to go on, and use those kinds of magic only in a dire need, the life or death situation.
His musings were interrupted when he noticed Slughorn stiffening, and reaching a pose as if he heard something menacing in the distance. He frowned and took his own wand out, and cast spell Harry did not recognize.
"They are here," he said suddenly. "Half a dozen of them at least." Harry immediately jumped onto his feet, his wand out, his head whispering him spells to decimate his opponents, dark magic engulfing his sense and he barely noticed Slughorn shaking him.
"Harry. You have to go away. Far away. I believe you are familiar with the one-eyed witch on the third floor. I'll stall them as long as I can," he said. Harry looked at the door, and then back to Slughorn. Old man obviously realized his hesitation and yelled, "Go!"
(...)
In the diversion of his life, Harry found himself in the ministry, rushing towards the office that issued international portkeys. At least one person noticed him, he knew, as the familiar sound of the alarm reached his ears and floos started to close, one at the time.
Two brave hit wizards were guarding the elevator with determined faces and stiff grips on their wands, but Harry merely smiled at the duo who had to be Gryffindors. With most Aurors being in Hogwarts, there was little staff capable of dealing with Harry left behind and he knew it.
Without slowing down, he aggressively made a wide arc with the Elder wand and the fast, strong blow of the wind sent hit wizards flying away from the elevator. Harry winced when he saw one of them hitting the wall so hard that it cracked with a loud bang. Wizard's own back was not to survive that crash, Harry's mind told him, but he couldn't afford to think about it. Not now.
More spells flew at his back and Harry, without looking behind, summoned a large, golden dome that absorbed them all. He couldn't help but sneer at their weak spells. One real spell would be enough to shatter it with a deep dong, and he did expect it, having another shield at the ready, but apparently ministry officials were even worse than he thought them to be.
Still, he hated this whole scenario where he had to hurt people, maim and kill. He despised going against Kingsley and man's ministry. He dreaded destabilizing already fragile society, but something had to be done. If they wanted to go forward as a nation they all had to hurt like Harry himself had hurt. They needed to bleed and fight with everything they have to realize how much they had and to figure it was worth fighting for. If they wanted to be in peace and prosperity, they had to survive the war. It was really simple in Harry's mind, but it was the process of it that was complicated.
With these thoughts, despite the feel of vomit he felt in the bottom of his throat, he sent the most powerful explosive spell he knew as the door of the elevator closed and couldn't escape the feeling of pleasure that fulfilled him as it connected; the explosion was monstrous as the debris flew everywhere, cutting through people like a knife through the hot butter, maiming old and young. With a single spell, powered with the most righteous feeling he could muster, he turned the atrium into the remains such as of gruesome battlefield.
It was all tactics, really, for Kingsley could not afford to appear weak, and if he did oust Harry as a criminal, well, a whole nation would go to hell, to say at least. Just like in the old days, the truth will be concealed and the minister will exercise his power over those who wish for truth to be told to the public. However grim the situation was, Harry couldn't help but to think it as a win-win situation.
With a determined step and a gentle flick of his wrist, Harry blew up the door of the office that issued international portkeys only to be met with a wand pointed in him.
"Pucey," he greeted softly, masking his surprise. "As an office clerk?"
"Easy now, Potter," he said, gripping his wand so strongly his chuckles went white. Slight tremor of his hand didn't escape Harry's eyes so he let his wand hand down and tilted his head slightly.
"Put it down, will you? We have business to do."
"Ministry don't do business with criminals," Pucey said, but his voice betrayed him. It was a comical line.
Harry chuckled and said, "It doesn't, does it? Well, then you'll be happy to know that I am not one."
"Minister said," Pucey tried again, but Harry interrupted him.
"What is criminal, though, is you working here. It's not like we ever hang out or something, but I do remember that you were the best chaser Slytherin had to offer, and quite some marks to show for," he mused and when he noticed the surprised look on his face he continued, "Hermione keeps track of that kind of staff, Merlin knows why though."
"It isn't like that," Pucey said, and his eyes flicked to the left; the noise was slowly but surely coming closer. Slytherin knew that time was his advantage, Harry could see it.
"Okay, I'll tell you how this will go. Nice and simple. We have around five minutes before every minister official that can hold wand on the right side of it barge in with an intent to capture me, dead or alive so let me use them wisely. It was supposed to get better when I killed Voldemort, but it didn't. This country was supposed to become great once again, but it didn't. So I, once again, will make it all right, as it was supposed to be, but right now I have no means to do so which means you will give me portkey to France so I can prepare in safety, far away from here. When you do so, I'll keep it in mind when I come back. I will remember Adrian Pucey helped me when I was in need so in return I'll help him and his family. His little sister won't have to go through the same shit we did. She'll know only peace and happiness. She'll be pioneer of the world that was promised to me when I was eleven."
"It isn't that simple," Pucey tried again. "They'll have my head if I let you go."
"I'll make it believable," Harry said. "We can help you."
"We?"
"Even from the continent, I can help you. I have friends in the right places. Just visit your old dormmate, Theo Nott, and show him this memory. He'll know what to do. Let me go, and you'll be rewarded."
"You-know-who also said that," Pucey said.
Harry just smiled, coldly and widely, "But he lost, didn't he? And I don't intend to."
"But - "
"No more buts!" Harry said forcefully and raised his wand. "It's time to choose. Do you want to build future with me or to be stuck in the past? Choose."
Pucey hesitated, but not for long. It was his Slytherin nature; they hated power and adored it, they could recognize it and their every instinct screamed to yield to it and reap the rewards afterward so it wasn't surprising to Harry when the older boy silently offered him an old pocket watch.
"It will leave in fifteen seconds," he said.
"Thank you Pucey," Harry said and bowed slightly, "And sorry about this."
He leveled his wand with Pucey's chest and focused on all the hate in himself, he collected every single ounce of it, and softly uttered, "Crucio."
Harry watched as he twitched on the floor, screamed and pleaded, cried and suffered. It lasted only a few seconds, but for Harry, it seemed like an eternity. It was indeed the worst of the unforgivable curses, and not because of its effect, but for it demanded unnatural state of mind of a caster. It demanded he become a sadistic animal, a torturer, a man who enjoyed the pain of others, and Harry hated it. He hated every second of it, as it sent a wave after wave of pleasure into his mind. He hated that he loved it.
And then, fifteen seconds has passed, and just like it, he vanished.
Note: Sorry for the long delay, but I've been focusing on other stuff and frankly, I've no idea where am I going with this fic so it took me a while to come up with something that will kinda usher my fic forward. I read it all once again and notice more than a few inconsistencies, and I've no idea what to do with them. Also, I kind of forget about Ron and Hermione simply because I don't like writing about them, but we'll say that they gradually drifted apart. Enjoy the chapter if you can, and if not, well there is a million of fanfictions out there just waiting for you.