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00000

The next day, Raistlin began to correct the living situation. After consulting with Harry, they agreed that the house itself was not worth the effort of saving. It was damaged, un-secure, lacked workspace, and easily destroyed. It might have once been a fine home for a small family, but it was not suitable for their purposes.

Standing near the center of the Hollow, Raistlin moved Harry's arms and began a longwinded chant while sprinkling sand, clay, and rich topsoil in an elaborate pattern. Harry began to feel the earth beneath his feet vibrate slightly. The vibration turned into a full fledged tremor, then into an earthquake. The soil moved like jelly and began to flow away from him. The trees and plants which were rooted in the soil were dragged along with them. An area nearly one hundred feet in all directions was now perfectly level and free of overgrowth while beyond that the excess earth had formed a steep wall-like hill.

With another spell, a ring of dark grey granite fifty feet in diameter and ten feet high sprang up from the ground. Another soon joined it, resting on top of the first but slightly smaller than the one below it. Within the next two hours, something vaguely resembling a tower began to rise above Godrics Hollow. Stone floors were inserted between levels, but no stairwells or windows marred the pillar of stone. It was three levels high before Raistlin switched spells. He placed his hand against the stone and Harry could feel it flowing like water. With the guidance of his hands, the stone changed from a seamless and solid wall into a graceful archway with the extra stone thickening to form a doorframe. From the inside Harry could guess that the walls were only an inch or two thick which might explain how his master was able to conjure so much of it. With a flick of his wrist and a muttered command, a hole five feet across was blown through all three stories, leaving the surrounding stone completely unharmed. Harry definitely wanted to know that spell.

Stepping back, Raistlin leaned against a tree while a multitude of invisible minions began dismantling the Potter home brick by brick. A steady line of bricks flowing between the structures was the only thing that betrayed their presence. Inside the tower, a circular staircase was slowly being built.

Over the next several days the tower grew at an amazing pace. Eventually the swarms of invisible minions ran out of bricks and blocks of stone from the surrounding mountains were used. The need to quarry the stones with magic slowed the pace of construction by a bit. Harry was tasked with making the inside livable and salvaging the Potter house. The library was dried and repaired as best as he could before being moved to the basement, the only permanent part of the house that would survive. He also managed to save a few photographs and possessions that were not affected by the years. The rest was regrettably used as fuel for the fires that provided Raistlin illumination for his nightly studies and Harry warmth while he slept.

00000 THREE WEEKS LATER

Harry looked at the calculations in front of him. When his master had ordered him to research Creation and Destruction, he had expected to find a very simple truth that they were opposites and incompatible. Instead, he found nearly the opposite. He had done the math several times and could no longer avoid it. Creations was Destruction and vice versa. If something were created, something else was destroyed. Paper was made from dead trees. Wool socks from dead hair, which was made from dead plants, which were nourished by something else. Conversely when you destroyed one thing, it created and freed resources for something else.

In death there was life. Only someone who had suffered could feel the joy from its ceasing. Only someone who understood pain could heal it. And only someone who knew the dark arts could defeat them. If he was to preserve life, he needed to study death. It was this discovery that settled him on his course of action. While Raistlin had been giving him a few spells every week to study on top of his duties, Harry had outright refused to study those spells which Raistlin classified as Necromancy. The vast majority of the spells focused on draining his enemies of power to enhance his own, something Harry found repulsive because of its potential for abuse, but there were also those he learned that could save someone from the very brink of death and drag them back into the land of the living. It certainly didn't help that the cruciatus and killing curse would both be classified in this category. Now that he understood the ways death and life were connected, Harry realized that there was no reason to avoid this branch of magic. He was going to have to kill Voldemort and some of the death eaters anyway, he might as well profit from their deaths. By killing death eaters he could ensure that the good people could flourish.

Learning the new spells his master assigned was alternately a joy and a royal pain in the arse. For some of the spells he could see a direct correlation to something he already knew. For those he treated the need for herbal components and hand gestures as if they were just an alternate incantation for the same effect. Other spells were harder to visualize and wrap his mind around so the magic did not flow from his bare fingers as easily it did for the others. For a short while he kept his wand in his hand when he practiced these spells, but when his master reviewed his progress one evening he was instantly berated as if a perfectly healthy man using a crutch to walk. It wasn't easy, but he eventually understood those spells and was getting faster with them all the time as he learned to force his magic out of his body for those spells.

00000

Harry set aside his research and decided it was time for his spell practice. He climbed the stairs to the top of the tower. The construction had stopped at five levels, with a practice area on the roof. The bottom floor contained the kitchen, bathroom, and guest area. The water was magically connected to the lake, and the sewer to a section of a mountain that had been hollowed out like a large septic tank. The second floor contained living quarters for up to five people and a small common area. The third floor contained the library of books both recovered and newly purchased. The fourth was a workroom where Harry would eventually learn to enchant items with his spells and currently brewed potions. The fifth floor Harry was forbidden from entering, it was Raistlin's own room for experiments and study. Given the size of the tower, there was plenty of room to grow in the library and workroom.

Coming to the roof, Harry stretched and warmed up a bit. Sometimes a good practice required that he move quickly and suddenly to avoid a mishap, so he found a thorough stretch helpful. Pushups and conjuring weights to lift were a mandatory part of his warm up exercises. For some reason his master seemed to be obsessed that Harry make his body as strong and healthy as possible. It was as if even the thin and underweight body he had from years of living with the Dursleys was a gift from the gods that he could not possibly appreciate. At least that's what Harry could discern from the endless rants about his laziness and eating habits. Fortunately his study habits had improved to a bare minimum level. Having someone in your head who never stopped nagging could be very annoying.

He started off slow, shooting a few flames from his hands and summoning up a thick fog to obscure his movements. Soon he moved on to conjuring a flight of arrows and shooting a cone of bright multicolored lights that would confuse an enemy. With a flick of his fingers, ground mica flakes shot from his sleeves, reflecting the already bright lights with blinding brilliance. If there were anyone hiding invisibly they would be covered in the reflective dust. Harry then threw coal dust into the air and blanketed the area in perfect darkness to kill the lights. Wrapping the magic of the air in just the right patterns, seven illusory copies of himself formed a circle on the top of the tower.

Pulling out some of his newest spells, Harry sent a small ball of fire rolling towards the illusion based targets. He couldn't cast a properly explosive ball of fire yet, but Raistlin said that it was in the next batch of spells he would be given to copy and learn. The flaming ball he now controlled was useful in its own right however since he could control its movements and it lasted a full minute which was an eternity in battle. He focused his mind to cast a second spell but ended up losing control of both. He had to throw himself to the side as the lightning bolt he was trying to throw at one of the copies shot down to where he had been standing. The flaming ball dissolved into a sticky flaming liquid that covered part of the tower. A sprinkling of water left his fingertips and a heavy driving rain mixed with sleet began to fall, extinguishing the fires and washing away the still glittering dust. Now soaked to the bone and cold, Harry decided his short practice was done for the moment and went inside to change clothes.

00000

Harry was awakened in great pain that night. He struggled to regain control but his master clamped down on his mind with the ease of long practice. He was not even allowed to see what was going on. A second burst of pain struck his left arm just below the first. The sensation of being stabbed with a knife continued along with a great deal more pain as the knife cut and sawed through his flesh. The knife left him, but Harry felt fingers reach into his wound and there was a terrible twisting and pulling sensation. From far off, Harry could hear something, but he was unable to make out the words or even the language. Several minutes later the speaking stopped and Harry felt something cold and refreshing splash on his arm over the area he had been stabbed. His pain grew less and there was a familiar itching that Harry associated with skelegrow. When the itching and pins-and-needles feelings ended he could again almost hear something. Warmth flared in that area of his arm and Harry felt the vice like grip on his mind lessen.

Pushing himself forward into control, Harry immediately looked down at his arm and nearly fainted at what he saw. His flesh had been cut away and removed from his arm, the sunken area forming an hourglass shape. This resemblance was only heightened by the fact that he now bore a tattoo of an hourglass with the sand half fallen. "YOU MARKED ME?" Harry screamed out loud as if he were speaking to someone who was physically present.

"I will need a way to call my apprentice. My mark will allow me to send you a summons from anywhere in the world." He heard in his mind.

"Why the bloody hell would you need to call me?" Harry raged. "I'm right freaking here! There's no where I can go!"

"Look at the tank." His master commanded.

Harry finally examined the room he was in, Raistlin's lab and the repository of most of the money he had spent in the past month. Right beside him there was a tall glass cylinder filled with a slightly murky water that just radiated magic. Floating inside Harry could see the sections of flesh and skin that had been ripped from his arm. The water was much murkier around those pieces. "What's this?"

"I am growing my new body. It will be fully grown in a month or two and then I will leave your body. I have only reconstructed the barest parts of my spell books here and at that school. I will need to travel to find something to help me recover the other spells or at least give me a place to start rediscovering them. When I am in the area I will call to you and test your skills and give you new assignments." His master explained.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Harry demanded. "I thought you were going to teach me, that was part of our deal."

"I only have so many spells for you to learn at the moment until I rebuild my spell book. You may do whatever you wish while I travel the world but I would recommend that you return to your school."

"Why would I do something like that? Not only am I hated and constantly belittled, but they do not teach me the things I need to know. You've taught me more battle magic than they ever did. The best they taught me could only be considered an annoyance in a real fight."

Harry's arm came up and slapped him across the face. "Not only do they have a better library than you could ever hope to amass, and can still teach you magic that isn't battle oriented, but they would never expect it. There are two types of dark wizards. There are the subtle and the dead. Let us assume that you return to that school and do everything they ask of you. You are polite, and try to help them in every way. They will never suspect you of turning evil."

"But I am not turning evil." Harry protested.

"No, you're just defying authority, striving for complete independence, and studying to commit murder." Raistlin replied sarcastically. "Of course they will think you were turning evil. That's why you need to act as if nothing happened. You will exploit them for everything they can give you and offer nothing in return. You will beg for extra lessons in the subjects that interest you. You tell me they regard you as a hero, so why not take advantage of it? Milk them for all they are worth."

"I don't want to go back." Harry sulked.

"Too bad. If you do not go back you will lose all of the allies you have gained. That old man who runs your school will want you back and some place he can see you. Fighting it will give you a war on two fronts. As I said, it is your choice but things will be much harder for you if you do not. Now shut up and go back to sleep, I have work to do."

00000 A FEW DAYS LATER (July 20th)

Something was wrong. Harry was groggy and he couldn't think, but he could still tell something was wrong. With a start Harry realized what it was, he was alone in his mind. He shook himself awake only to realize what else was wrong; he was tied down to a bed. He rarely woke up in a bed anymore since his master took over his body while he slept, and never tied down. He could hear voices nearby and strained to hear what was going on.

"You have done well my servant. You not only brought me Potter, but his friends as well." Voldemort's high cold voice said. "You have pleased me and as a reward I will grant you one request."

"Give me the Lovegood girl. I want to see if she can live up to her name before the men ruin her." Said a voice Harry knew all too well.

"WEASLEY!" He yelled. "You backstabbing traitor, just wait until I get off this bed. You are a dead man Weasley, a dead man!" With a strength born of murderous hatred and just a touch of magic, Harry utterly destroyed the restraints holding him down. The door burst open at his screams and the Dark Lord walked in accompanied by his former friend.

"Look at this, the great Harry Potter, trapped without a wand." Ron taunted.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord hissed and sent the red spell Harry's way.

Pain overwhelmed Harry. Pure, ending, always fresh, and constantly changing pain washed over every inch of his body. Harry writhed, but refused to scream. Soon, he knew, the pain would end. While they stopped to gloat, he would strike. He could still feel the glass rod in his pocket and knew that if that was there then his piece of silk would be too.

The pain lessened and Harry seized the moment. He ripped the rod and silk from his pocket, pointed them at the Dark Lord and wiped the rod furiously. "Blitzstrum!" He yelled. The lightning bolt arced from his fingertips and caught Voldemort full in the face. The lightning continued to arc as Voldemort fell towards the floor.

Harry stood on shaky legs while staring Ron in the eyes, daring him to curse him or even try running. He walked up to him and held his right hand in front of his face. He closed his fist, but left his middle and index finger curled as if the teeth of a viper. He closed his eyes for a moment to focus before his arm shot out and struck the side of Ron's neck. Energy and life flowed into Harry as he watched Ron whither and grow old before his time. All his aches and pains vanished as he stole the vitality of a man he would have called a brother. Harry snatched the wand from Voldemort's hand and stunned Ron. It fit just as well as his own.

Looking at the barely living form of his now second most hated enemy, Harry had to stop to decide what to do with him. Voldemort was completely at his mercy. Should he kill him quickly, slowly and painfully, or perhaps turn him over to the Ministry? No, the prophecy was clear, only he could kill Voldemort and if he had learned anything it was to never gloat to or torture someone you really intended to kill. That was how he always escaped after all. A quick Killing Curse took care of the important bit before Harry turned his attention to Ron. Now Ron was non-essential. If Harry didn't kill him, someone else would eventually and anybody could take care of him. That meant it was ok to torture the little fuck, after he rescued the others.

Floating the traitor in front of him as he walked down the hall, he could faintly hear screams of pain nearby. As he got closer, the screams became louder and someone could be heard cackling. Bursting into the room, Harry saw Neville on the ground in front of Bellatrix Lestrange while the others were in a small cage in the corner.

Harry shot an entrails expelling curse at her which she managed to dodge. She shot a cutting curse at him which he blocked easily. With a shout Harry brought both hands together as if shaping a snow ball, sweat glistening on his face as he strained his magic to make it happen as he wanted. The air around Bellatrix seemed to shimmer before crystallizing in like a faceted sphere around her. He enervated Neville and released Hermione, Ginny, and Luna from their cage. Hermione found everyone's wands.

"What do you say Neville, do you want the honor or should I deal with her?" Harry pointed to the entrapped Bellatrix. "She can't get out but our spells will go in."

"I think we should both take care of her." Neville didn't need to specify how. "On three."

Together Harry and Neville cast the cruciatus and Harry found within himself the hatred and sadistic pleasure needed to make it work. They tortured her until she tore her vocal cords from screaming too much. Her mind was undoubtedly gone but neither boy cared much. Eventually she began frothing at the mouth, a bloody froth from burst blood vessels in her throat and lungs. When she finally died, the curse ended, having nothing left to torture.

"What about HIM?" Neville pointed at Ron and spoke with pure loathing for the man who betrayed them both.

"He's mine. It's going to take him a very long time to die." Harry responded with a grin that was pure evil. Reminded of his presence, Harry reached out and stole some more of his life force as a pick me up before casting the few healing charms he knew from Hogwarts on his friends.

Grabbing his friends, Harry spoke one last spell "Telus Arcanum" and teleported them all back to his tower. Over the next several days screams could be heard from Harry's rooms as Ron learned what awaited betrayers in the lowest circle of hell, and Harry learned exactly what all of those necromancy spells his master wanted him to learn did. Before teleporting himself and his friends to the ministry, Harry dosed Ron with a slow acting poison Raistlin had left him. He would live just long enough to see a trial, and he was assured there was no antidote.

00000

Harry awoke with a start, he was sweating torrents and kneeling naked in the middle of his master's private workroom. A set of black robes like he had first seen Raistlin wearing when they met lay folded neatly in front of him.

"Are you sure you are not evil?" His master asked jokingly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You have passed the Test and are now a full fledged Mage of the Black Robes. There was always a way out that did not require evil acts, yet with the possible exceptions of rescuing your friends and killing that Dark Poser quickly and painlessly, you chose the most painful and evil methods to accomplish your ends." Raistlin explained.

"That was the Test? You mean none of that was real?" Harry asked with shock. "Why would you make me believe my best friend betrayed me?"

"I did not create the Test. I merely set it in motion. The Test is created from your subconscious hopes and fears. It measures your strength of will and dedication to the magical arts. You saw your friend betray you because you secretly fear and believe that he could. Your style of vigilante justice, taken by those who were wronged and through violent magic showed your dedication to selfishness and anger, rather than the community and peace. Rise and claim your Robes my apprentice."