Author's Note:
No idea where this story came from but it would not leave my mind until I wrote down the first chapter.
Pairing: Harry Potter/OMC.
Which means this is SLASH. So if you don't like that then don't read. Please don't ignore that warning and then go on to give me flames because I will not be kind in my response.
Legend got the story of the Deathly Hallows wrong. Death had introduced them into the mortal world but not as a reward for cheating him. They didn't make one a Master of Death, either. They really had been introduced for recruitment purposes, a fact that Harry comes to discover after losing Sirius and resolving to seek revenge on those who have wronged him. SLASH. HP/OMC
Here is my disclaimer that says I do not own anything Harry Potter related. Everything belongs to JK Rowling, except in universe 47837. Probably.
Harry didn't say a word on the train back to King's Cross Station. He simply kept his head against the glass, mindlessly looking at the terrain as they got closer and closer to London.
Something had broken inside of him after losing Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. That man had been more than just a Godfather, he had been a second chance for Harry to experience what it was like to belong to a family of his own.
Deep down Harry felt like Sirius was the only one that had ever really understood him, and Harry would miss knowing that someone cared for him without question or thought.
Hell, the man had broken out of the unbreakable prison, endured near starvation, and had almost been kissed by a hundred Dementors to protect him from the man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort.
And now Sirius was gone because Harry had fallen into the Dark Lord's trap to lure him into the Department of Mysteries to retrieve a prophecy that Dumbledore had known existed since before he had even been born!
So Harry didn't feel much like talking to anyone, not even Ron and Hermione.
He was too angry and hurt and just done. The past five years had been one thing after another and he wanted no more of it.
When the train arrived Harry barely said goodbye to his friends and quickly retrieved his belongings and made for the barrier to the Muggle world. He needed to think, to be by himself, and to come to terms with recent events. All of them.
Thankfully, the Dursleys ignored him for once on the drive home. It was just as well; Harry had nothing to say to them anyways. They may have shared blood but they were not family.
Not after they had denied him the basic comforts of a home that all children deserved. His time at Privet Drive was just another blatant example of how Albus Dumbledore had failed him. A man who had proved time and time again that he had no right to continue making decisions where Harry Potter's health and safety were concerned! Or anyone's for that matter.
Harry was the first one out of the car when it pulled into the driveway, and he was in his room before any of the Dursleys had even entered the house. His trunk was left just inside the closed door and he practically fell onto the bed, exhausted. The only thing that he remained holding onto was his father's Invisibility Cloak and his wand.
They comforted him and after what had happened he was not going to be caught without his two greatest weapons. Tears then began to fall uncontrollably into his pillow as his soul grieved. Harry cried for Sirius, for his parents, and for all the horribleness that had come from being the Boy Who Lived. Soon wariness took him and he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Harry awoke before dawn. He had managed to get around six hours of troubled sleep before that sinking, depressed feeling had returned to his stomach. Once he had gotten the bare minimum amount of rest that his fatigued body had required, the pain of everything made its presence known again and had woken him from his uneasy sleep.
His eyes were a mix of confused emotions while he stared at Hedwig's empty cage beside his bed. One of the only good feelings running through him was knowing that at least his beloved owl was free to live her life in the open sky.
The nearly unbearable ache of depression and loss that had caused him to stir felt like it was only growing and that some part inside of him would never heal.
As Harry rolled over onto his back to think about the events that had led him here, more and more anger began to rise up within him, soon combining with his grief.
Over the years too many people had wronged him in one form or another and his mind couldn't help but fixate on those whose grave injustices had been the worst.
The more he thought about their atrocities the more rage he felt and the higher his blood pressure rose. Soon, unbridled fury pulsed through his blood, causing his body to become quite agitated. For comfort he subconsciously closed his fists around his wand and Invisibility Cloak, which he had still not let go of from the night before.
He was too preoccupied with the first thoughts of revenge and justice that stirred in the back of his mind to notice the inherent magic of each object that began to sync with the pulses of his own magical core. If he had been paying closer attention, he would have known just how familiar the magic of his cloak had felt; for it would have reminded him of the Veil that had taken Sirius from him.
Instead, with every beat of Harry's heart, his righteous anger spread throughout more and more of his body. Nearly every inch of his body was in agreement now: he had been subjected to enough and he would tolerate it no more!
He wanted justice for what others had done to him and put him through, and his magic agreed with his every word and thought. For the first time his magic, so like the color of his eyes, began to leak out of his core in steady ripples. It moved through and over his muscles and nerves, soothing the pain and agitation, and urging him to make the next step.
Rage, now mixed with his magic, was flowing through his blood with a sudden intensity that matched the raw fury that had filled him in Dumbledore's office upon learning some of what his esteemed Headmaster had withheld from him. Sirius would have still been alive had he not been kept in the dark and treated like a child!
"Stupid Dumbledore, you arrogant old goat!"
His lips had been unable to contain his feelings anymore, but instead of a shout it had escaped into sound with a mere whisper that still managed to accurately and chillingly convey what he felt.
It angered Harry even more to think of just how many years he had been lied to. How many years had he suffered because Albus had decided what was best for him? He had been purposefully isolated and not once asked for input.
Shouldn't he have been a part of making some of those decisions? Shouldn't he have been given the chance to prepare for all of what being the Boy Who Lived would entail? The politics. The expectations. Hell, even a heads up would have been nice. Instead he had been forced to walk into everything blind and hadn't even known that he was a wizard until his eleventh birthday for Merlin's sake.
"Stupid Voldemort and his goddamn Death Eaters."
In this moment Harry wasn't sure whom he hated more. Sure, Voldemort had killed his parents and set his life on this course but in many ways what Dumbledore had made him go through since then had been far worse, unforgivable even. And then the man had the audacity to hire a petty man that had effectively signed the death warrant on his parents by revealing that a prophecy had been made to the other side!
At least Voldemort was honest with the fact that he hated Harry and wanted him to suffer. What was Dumbledore's excuse? At any rate Harry was sure that there were still more things that his illustrious Headmaster was not sharing with him. And Snape was an entirely different matter.
"Stupid Snape. I'm not my fucking father! You made sure of that with going to Voldemort."
Quite simply: he was sick of it. Finished with it. Done with not knowing what was really happening with events that directly affected him and him alone. Done with being hung out to dry in the public eye.
"Stupid Fudge and the rest of that worthless Ministry of Magic."
The floodgates were open now and there was no stopping his near-silent cries of rage.
"Stupid student body of Hogwarts and friends who don't know what that word means."
No one was spared from his wrath.
"Stupid Malfoy, both of them, for being such pricks."
"Stupid Rita Skeeter and that good-for-nothing pen of hers."
"Stupid Dursleys and what they think is such a perfect fucking life."
Harry continued to stare at the ceiling. His eyes were still red and puffy from the night before but he had no more tears to give. Not anymore.
"Stupid Wormtail for being such a little coward and betraying those who had cared for you."
Losing Sirius had hardened something within him, and as each word had left his lips his resolve to seek vengeance had only grown. He wanted them to suffer like he had suffered, to experience what he had experienced. Right down to the last little detention where they would be made to write lines in their own blood and to watch on in horror as it was etched into their skin.
"Stupid Umbridge and her insufferable Inquisitorial Squad."
Suddenly his fury lessoned for a moment so that his vision became all too clear as he made up his mind. It was so easy to see the path forward now.
"I'll make them all pay for what they have done to me."
A content hum vibrated over his skin as his magic continued to leak out of his core. His magic agreed with what its master was saying and it wanted to help Harry in any way that it could.
"I will study day and night if I have to, do whatever it takes to ensure that that they all know that what they did was wrong ."
His skin was practically glowing now as a faint emerald green danced along the surface of his body. Harry could feel his magic respond to his call, more so than he had ever felt before. The ripples of his considerable power were warm and comforting, and it was coming out of his center in such waves that for a moment the strength of it surprised him. Only once had he been this focused and in tune with his magic, but there were no Dementors here this time to direct his full might at.
This time it was all him, because he and he alone had finally figured out how to master his will. As he relished in the sensation of simultaneously controlling and being drowned in his power, his magic continued to ripple further outward. Slowly, it began to encompass his bed, his wand, and, more importantly, the entirety of his Invisibility Cloak.
Although his wand and cloak had already begun to beat in sync with his own core's magical pulse a few moments ago, it wasn't until Harry was conscious of that connection before he realized just how very strong it was.
He felt all of those items with his magic and in that moment he saw glimpses of infinite potential and power. Revenge was certain in his mind now. How could it not be given what he was experiencing?
"I will not stop until justice has been served and their wrongs have been righted!"
The magic surrounding Harry was the exact same color of his eyes now; he was so close to invoking the full power of his magic to aid him on his quest. His body felt more alive than it ever had and it was in stark contrast with how depressed and sad he had been yesterday when he had left King's Cross.
Now it felt like nothing and no one could hope to stand in his way. His heart was racing because of the sheer power that flowed through him.
Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, and while he couldn't comprehend what was happening to him he at least knew that he didn't want it to stop. He wanted to see this thing through. He needed to see this through.
Suddenly, his mind cleared and he realized just how he could make it permanent, to make it last.
Words came to him then as if they had been whispered.
"I solemnly wish to use any and all magic that I can posses or claim to seek rightful vengeance on those who have wronged, crossed, or cheated me."
When the last word had left his lips, the pulse from his core increased in both size and frequency, sending out ripples of green magic that next encompassed the whole room. Soon it was coming out of him in a steady stream of emerald green and the intensity and power of what was happening to him nearly blinded him.
Through his narrowed eyes, however, he saw his Invisibility Cloak begin to emit faint ripples of the blackest black. The bursts of the dark color also began to increase in frequency and strength and soon the black and green were evenly matched. The ripples then did something strange and Harry lifted his head to get a better look.
They were blending together, merging into a single and more powerful wave; whose union caused a tantalizing shiver to run over all of Harry's nerve endings. It was a euphoric bliss.
Just as Harry was getting used to this feeling that was the complete opposite of the Cruciatus in every way, Harry felt this pull in his chest. It longed to connect with something and Harry's eyes widened when saw his cloak begin to slide up and over his arm and then cover his entire body.
Instinctively Harry welcomed and extended his magic over each and every smooth and perfect thread, reveling in the rhapsody of the sensation caused by the silky fabric against his exposed skin.
Harry could hardly keep his eyes focused on anything as both the physical and magical connection to his cloak overcame his ability to think straight.
Just as he felt he would be surely overwhelmed by whatever was happening, in the next moment everything returned to normal and in the back of his mind he got another image with such clarity that it caused him to gasp.
Suddenly, he was standing in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries again, staring out at the Veil. Only this time the faint murmurs were clear and distinct, and there was only one voice that he heard.
It called to him; it beckoned him.
"Come and join me," a male voice remarked.
"Justice can be yours."
The deep and rich voice continued to echo in Harry's mind as he watched the ripples of the Veil sway like there were in a soft breeze.
It was tempting, oh so tempting.
"You know you want it and your magic demands it."
Harry shivered as the vision ended and his awareness was transported back to the bed.
Gone was the physical color of his magic, and the cloak was quiet again as well. Still, he felt their strength and his magic stirred within his chest as he sat upright in bed, cradling the cloak in his hands.
He could feel that both his magic and the cloak wanted this; they wanted Harry to act so badly.
His mind still had the faintest remnants of hesitancy though; hadn't Sirius been killed walking through the Veil. Wouldn't he join the man in death if he followed through with this?
But his apprehension was short lived because just then his cloak began to hum in his fingers and a softer greenish black began to faintly glow from its center. It was so beautiful to see the evenly-matched colors spiral around one another as they radiated outwards, illuminating the room with a faint light. It told Harry that he would be protected.
He didn't contemplate his dilemma any longer. It felt too right to ignore, and in his heart he knew that this was not a trick of his mind. His magic wouldn't lie to him and his mind was quick to supply that according to that ridiculous prophecy only Voldemort could kill him.
With his doubts erased his magic soothed again and told him that he was making the right choice. He didn't know how to explain any of what was happening to him, just that it felt right and for the first time he was one-hundred percent positive of what he had to do.
Therefore, Harry was soon in the air, flying on his Firebolt with his cloak wrapped around him. One of his hands was guiding his path towards London while the other had his wand gripped tightly in his hand.
He made it to the entrance to the Ministry of Magic within minutes and entered just as easily as he had not even a week ago. It hardly mattered to him why the Ministry was so inept at security; most of his focus was centered on reaching the Veil as quickly as possible.
Unbeknownst to Harry, the ancient and primordial magic in his cloak had awakened and was aiding the one that was soon about to claim part of its undying and secretive essence.
It had been created for this purpose and it was simply fulfilling Death's wishes to gather certain individuals to his service. For Death was its true master and the cloak was made of the same primal magic that had been in place since the beginning.
Thus, in only a handful of minutes the cloak managed to subconsciously navigate Harry to the Death Chamber without him being seen by another soul.
For Harry the sight of where he had last seen his Godfather threatened to overwhelm him, but both his magic and the cloak wouldn't allow it.
This was where he needed to be and this was what he needed to do.
"Come…" Harry heard the Veil beckon once more.
"Join me and claim the justice that magic demands."
Harry swallowed back the last of his fear and uncertainty at the sight of the grey mist billowing in the otherwise calm and empty room. He wanted justice; he wanted to make right the wrongs that he had suffered.
It was the obvious decision given what had happened. He may not have fully understood the hows and the whys that had led him here; in fact, he understood very little.
But his magic felt like this was right and it was the only thing left that Harry could trust.
With his hands tightening the cloak around his body Harry walked forward. The magic of Death's Shroud protected him as he crossed the barrier between worlds.
When he reappeared on the other side his transformation into an Angel of Death would be complete, and the world would never be the same.
Well? Should I continue with this?
Reviews would be really helpful and I hope you like my idea for the pairing.