Right well, been a while since I put something up, probably due to lack of Reviews, but meh, I felt like posting.
Next up is a little think I was messing around with called "Turncoat!" Its from the first person and would have been a Dark/Death Eater Harry. I didn't get too far along, but I will post what I did write, and a little background I did for the story for anyone who would be interested.
Basiclly it's this: over the past sixteen years Harry has been lied to and manipulated, after the Death of Sirius he starts having nightmares that make think back to his previous years at Hogwarts and his encounters with both Dumbledore and Voldemort. Eventually, with the help of our good friend Felix, Harry meets a young girl who is very close to the dark lord, and Harry learns that everything is not as it seems: not all the evil's he knew are true evils, and not all the goodness on the supposed light side is as pure as it seems. Of course, not to say that Voldemort's side is good or anything! So taking up the relic's of one of his ancestors Harry returns to Hogwarts with an agenda of Duplicity.
I go back… and I find it's all a joke!
It is January 13, 1996 a Tuesday. I have just had my first Occlumency lesson. I feel as though I have been violated in a way more terrible than anything else I have ever endured. I will later learn, much later, that Snape did not due this to me willingly. The method of Occlumency training that Snape has used was ordered such by my esteemed Headmaster. Sirius would kill both of the men in a second if he heard about it… he might have succeeded too if he hadn't been imprisoned since his escape from jail… Ironic, huh?
It is July first, 1991 when I hear the name Voldemort for the first time. Hagrid, the gentle half giant is afraid to say the name aloud and knows not how to spell it… I find this rather foolish. After all, isn't the Dark Lord supposed to be dead?
It's December 22, 1995. I've just returned from school and am now hugging my wrongly convicted godfather after having spent the last four months away in Scotland. He whispers in my ear how proud of me he is for saving Arthur Weasley's life just the night before. He knows how hard it's been for me the past year with Professor Umbridge's totalitarian rule of Hogwarts, Voldemort's attempts to break into my mind with Legilimency, and Dumbledore ignoring me… Come to think of it Dumbledore's always ignored me when it mattered most… My mind drifts on that for a second. That night I dream on all the times I had been ignored by the man when he could have helped simply by paying attention and actually listening to me.
Once more it is my first year, 1992, June 4 to be exact. For the first time since I was a small child am I in the presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort… And despite the fact that I am the reason he is disembodied he does not try and kill me immediately. I receive the first of three offers to join the Dark Lord, this time he offers to resurrect my parents from the grave. But I don't want my parents back like that. I am a child and yet I know it wouldn't be true life. When I refuse he attacks, though not with intent to kill until my mother's protection's hurt him.
I go forward again and now it is June 24, 1995. I have just witnessed the rebirth of the dark lord Voldemort and the death of a young man whom I could have easily seen myself becoming friends with. As I lay on the soft moist grass a crowd cheers for me. Underneath me lies a human body, already starting to cool. To me it is as if the people are cheering the return of the Dark Lord that will kill so many of them. I can't help but hate them for the briefest moment. They are sheep… but then I remember: they are sheep that are going to die. My heart falls into true depression for the first time since I learned I would not be able to live with my godfather. Though it is forgotten in the rush that follows I lift my head enough to see 'Mad-Eye' Moody and Albus Dumbledore walk towards me. I later learn why Moody is grinning, but why is Dumbledore smiling behind his thick facial hair?
I stand, looking on in a silent awe on May 29, 1993, as the specter of a boy writes his name in the air with my wand: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, his name, is spelt out there. With a wave of my Holly wand the letters rearrange: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. At that moment, between that revelation and the conversation starting back up I can't help but look at him… He doesn't look too much different than me, save for being five years older… I guess Tom isn't that uncommon of a name either… not too unlike Harry…
It is June 9, 1994. Dumbledore has just passed me and Hermione on our way back into the infirmary after saving my Godfather, Sirius Black, from being kissed by a Dementor. It is only years later, during the events that led to my decision, that I ask some very important questions. Why did Hermione, as smart and mature as she is, have a highly magical and dangerous object like a time tuner, just so she could take more classes? How is it that Dumbledore didn't know how Sirius was getting into the school, or where he would be staying? By all accounts he was the one that ordered a tunnel to the Shrieking Shack constructed for the sole purpose of allowing Remus passage into and out of Hogwarts.
It's June 24, 1995 again, though prior to returning to Hogwarts with the portkey. I am tied to a grave somewhere in Northern England. Voldemort uses my blood, unwillingly taken, to resurrect himself. After this he offers me a position as one of his Death-Eaters: "Allow you to serve me willingly among my faithful!" are his exact words. When I refuse he grin's and proceeds to untie me and have Wormtail give me my wand. We duel and I feel the power of the Dark Lord. I only survive because of Old Magic once more: this time due to a connection between our wands. This is the second of three offers I will receive from the Dark Lord.
Now it is December of my second year and Professor Dumbledore has asked me to come to his office. I spoke Parseltongue for the second time that I can remember the day before and today I stumbled on the petrified body of a Hufflepuff boy named Justine Finch-Fletchley. Dumbledore asks me if there is anything I would like to tell him. It is two months later that I learn that the Headmaster is subtly accusing me for the attacks.
It is the middle of my History of Magic OWL, June 16 1996. I am currently receiving a vision from Voldemort of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries… It doesn't strike me then but much later on, that Voldemort has never used our link, or however he is breaching my mind, to attack me for memories like Professor Snape does. No, Voldemort has only ever used it as a means of communication, whether intentional or not, truth or lies. This thought is nether comforting or worrying… just odd.
And it is now 1992, the end of my first year and I sit here in the infirmary. Dumbledore has just told me that I will have to return to the Dursly's once more, despite him claiming to know how much I hate it there. I am young and naive and will not learn that Dumbledore has had a woman watching me be abused for the last ten years of my life… He does know how much I hate it at my home… he just doesn't care.
June 16 once more, 1996, and I watch two men fight. Dumbledore versus Voldemort. I am amazed and frightened by what I see. Though I find it how ironic that Dumbledore has used several curses that one might be considered Dark and is quite brutal, despite how peaceful he seems otherwise… The fact that a man like Dumbledore can be just as savage as the Dark Lord… it frightens me most of all.
It is some time in the early 1980's when a young toddler is forced into the cupboard under the stairs with a thin blanket and a bucket. This is his birthday present after spending the past three quarters of a year with his new family…
It is June 18, 1996 and my fifth year at Hogwarts once more, though right now I am in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, watching as a man gets hit by a stunner. It wouldn't be so bad, except he is falling backwards into the Veil of Death… I watch, horrified and pulling against the restraining arms around me, as Sirius Orion Black, my godfather, falls backwards into Oblivion… When I finally break free from my restraints I do not follow Sirius as I so wish too. Instead I run after Belletrix Lestrange, the woman who killed Sirius.
That night I killed for the first time, though I don't realize it.
That night I cast an Unforgivable for the first time.
That night I manage to throw Voldemort's Legilimen's attack out of my mind at point blank range. He is considered to be the world's foremost expert on Legilimency from what I have heard. I know though, if he had been searching for memories and not trying to possess me, I would never have been able to stop him in time.
That night I heard for the first time the words given by Professor Trelawney: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither shall live while the other survives.…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
That night I was told that the Power that the Dark Lord knows not was love… followed not long after by being told that had had to go back to a loveless home, have no contact with my friends… I want to cry and do so as soon as I am away from the thrice damned fool.
All of this passes me by in a matter of seconds, since it is all in my head. As I lay here crying in a broom closet these thoughts enter my mind of my own free will. I want hate Dumbledore for what he's done to me, for what he hasn't done… and I find that I do.
It's all a joke. The man who should be my closest confidant seems to have joy in my pain and suffering and has brought upon quite a bit of it himself, knowingly admitting as much. The thing that I should hate and revile I finds myself looking and comparing myself too at times… I am afraid that we are not that different, though I will remain in much denial about this for the next month or two.
Oh well… it's a Joke! Ha ha. Well… I feel better already, despite the tears that are streaming down my face.
---
It is now 0200 on July 2nd. I've been 'home' now for two weeks. Exactly one week ago today Emmeline Vance was killed and Amelia Bones was nearly killed, both from Death Eater activity. The ironic part: Bones only survived thanks to the presence of her niece, Susan, whom I trained. The news of such was the last post I received this summer.
My thoughts aren't on that though.
Neither are my thoughts on the fifty muggles who died in a Death Eater attack. They had destroyed a rather large bridge the same day Vance died and Susan saved her aunt…
No, right now my thoughts are on the small care package I received my last day at Hogwarts.
For what is probably the twentieth time since I received the plain brown box I open it and look at the contents. Inside are a pair of faded jeans, a red button down shirt, a plain white undershirt, a blue bandana, and a new pair of nice shoes. All top brand stuff too. On top of all of this is a single object, the only other object in the box: a metal flask.
Now, I wouldn't have a problem with this stuff usually… Its muggle goods and none of the dark witches and wizards I can think of would know anything about muggle goods, or manage to deliver them to me while in Hogwarts.
The problem is that it's from a wizard of whom I have never even heard of, let alone know. Besides that… they're muggle goods. Of all the witches and wizard's I know, light or dark, they all either don't know me well enough, don't have the money, wouldn't get me these things, or don't know the muggle world well enough to get them. Truth is told I should have given all these things to a teacher before I left school. Hermione would have told me to do so, heck, she'd have told them herself.
But, then again that's why I didn't tell Hermione about this.
It came with a very simple note, written on parchment. The note… it brought me so much pain from the references to Sirius, pain which I feel day and night. Yet, in the same letter it offers me a way to start healing the hole left in my heart from Sirius' passing.
Dear Mr. Potter,
May I first offer you condolences on the loss of your Godfather, Sirius Black. I did know the man through our school days, though I can honestly say that the two of us never did see eye to eye. Despite this I am sorry for your loss. Sirius was one who could lift the hearts of all men and women just by walking into a room, even if you hated the man one could not stop from smiling at his antics.
I too know the feeling you may be going through now. You feel lost, as if you don't know what's left living for, like you don't know what to do or who to turn to. It's a suffocating feeling that condenses in your breast and forms a block of ice in your gut. I also know that while the feeling won't go away for some time, that there is a way to help it along.
Thus have I sent you this package. Enclosed are the necessities for a night out on the town. While this may not be your idea of fun, I give it to you as a true and tried method, one that I used myself when I lost my mother. You will find encased all the proper clothing and, more importantly, a flask containing in it Felix Felicis, better known as liquid luck. Take a single mouthful of the flask and don the clothing, with intent to heal, and then set out for the night. You will find that the potion will not lead you astray. I will warn you though, the potion will lower your inhibitions slightly, but few others are either appropriate, legal, or safe to use, and while the potion may become addicting, I have only sent you enough potion for half a dozen mouthfuls, enough for twenty four hours of good luck.
May you have an interesting time,
The Half-Blood Prince
P.S. Do NOT mix liquid luck with alcohol; it would be quite… unpleasant.
I had to have read the note from the Prince three dozen times or more. He was wrong though, the Prince, I didn't feel lost.
I felt numb, like a piece of me, the best piece of me, fell through the veil with Sirius. It was the part of me that wanted to live, to learn… to fight the good fight.
Maybe it would help this potion. Who knew? It wasn't the kind of decision to rush in making. For all I know the potion could be liquid luck or basilisk venom.
Looking up at the clock I see that I have been staring off into nothing for the past four hours. One more sleepless night to add to the tally. Stashing the flask and the care package under a floor board beneath my bed I get to work for the day.
Despite the warning given to my relatives by the Order last month, my lifestyle has changed very little. In fact, the only improvement has been that I am given bigger shares at meals. But the amount of work I do around and in the house…
Each day it was customary for me to get up at six, in order to make breakfast for Dudley, Vernon, and Petunia. Each had their own specifics. Dudley, for instance would eat two hashers of bacon each morning, and four eggs, over easy, and two potatoes of hash browns. Along with that he downs about a gallon of orange juice each morning.
Vernon on the other hand goes with a 'simple' English breakfast: Four Eggy in a Basket, a half a dozen slices of ham, and several more eggs scrambled. Add to that a few cups of tea with plenty of sugar and honey.
Petunia is both the easiest and hardest to make breakfast for: A single egg, cooked to perfection, half a grapefruit, sugared so to perfection, and two pieces of toast, not too burnt, not to moist, with a light spreading of marmalade. Served with just one cup of tea, steeped perfectly.
I myself get the other half of Petunia's grapefruit and a couple of slices of toast.
Sitting down with my 'family,' after I'm done cooking, Dudley already half way through his food orgy, my uncle clears his throat.
"Boy," he began imperiously, "I recently got another promotion at Gunnings. That being said, your aunt has expressed an interest in remodeling the house."
I look at the fat man incredulously; what could he possibly be planning now?
"And?" I grate out impatiently as he sat there, waiting for me to congratulate him, my throat dry and hurting from a mixture of crying and lack of use otherwise.
Narrowing his eye's he carried on gruffly, "AND, that means we need to have no one in the house while it's being done. You need to get a hold of those freaks of yours and have them take you away to wherever it is your kind go!"
The man actually jumped when I barked a laugh from my sore throat, "Get a hold of them?" I ask, "Get a hold of them?! How exactly do you expect me to do that?" I asked, my mind turned once more towards my anger at Dumbledore before banishing the thoughts. Dwelling on that anger inevitable sent my thoughts towards the source of my anger and Sirius.
"Well, well… use that rutty bird of yours!" he yelled, poking a meaty finger at the ceiling.
"Hedwig," I began, "Has been taken from me for the summer by Dumbledore. Ms. Figg, who is a squib by the way, has been removed from Privet Drive for some reason, though I don't doubt that I have minders watching over me. I don't know how to call Hermione, since I don't even know if she is at her home and not moved to one of Dumbledore's safe houses. I'm stuck here until they decide to let me leave."
I tried to tune out the rant that followed, but it made me so angry!
"We never even wanted anything to do with your kind! Their nothing you freaks can offer good people that would change that!" Vernon raged on, finally hitting a nerve.
"You should be glad I am here, you fat bastard!" I yelled back, standing up quickly, my anger noticeable by the flying of my plate towards a wall without it being touched, "Me staying here in this HELLHOLE is probably the only thing keeping your family alive still!"
I could see as the walrus like man turned an ugly shade of puce, his teeth bared at me, "NOW YOU SEE HERE! I will not take threats from anymore of you freaks! I've had enough of you and your kind!"
"My kind generally want nothing to do with your either! Though there are those that would rather see you dead rather than ignorant of our world. I have fought against men and women who would kill you and your son, just because you have no magic! That is after they tortured you for hours on end and raping your horse of a wife and making you watch as she died! You want to know why they haven't?! I'll tell you why! Because I AM HERE!"
"ENOUGH!" he bellowed, standing up now, letting his chair fall to the ground, pounding on the table and breaking his own plate with his beefy hand, "I WILL NOT STAND IT! THIS IS THE LAST SUMMER YOU WILL EVER SET FOOT IN MY HOME! I will kill you and ANY of your freakish kind that I ever meet again; put them down like the bastard dog's they are. I should have drowned you when you were still a pup."
Sneering at him I couldn't stop the words that flowed out of my mouth, "Please! You're like the mud beneath our boots. You would be wiped away and thrown to the trash before you would even realize we were there!"
Petunia gasped, and Vernon's face when from puce a deep purple, "You think you know how the world works you little bastard? Please! Men can be killed easy enough. You've never seen war to know…"
I cut him off with another barking laugh, "I've never seen war?" I asked… well yelled, at him, "I've seen war! I've seen men die right before my eyes; I've fought in war already, what about you Vernon? What would a simple sales man know of war?"
I wanted to sit down and cry as vision's of Cedric and Sirius flowed before my eyes once more, but I didn't stop, "Whole parts of the magical community would love to get rid of you muggle's, cleaning up the mud that pollutes our world. I'm supposed to be a 'champion' for your kind Dursly, but I've been stabbed, beaten, stuffed in a cupboard for ten years of my life. You put locks and bars on my room; you starved me and worked me to the bone… Frankly, I don't see anything worth saving in this Pathetic Little Shitehole that is the muggle world. You Freaks do a good enough job of killing yourselves off, I don't think there's anything worth saving."
His next words at me were whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, "Leave. Boy! I want you gone from this house by midnight tonight or I toss you out!"
"Gladly." Is all I responded with, thinking about what I'll need, how I could contact the Order…? If I should contact the Order, where I could go, how I could go. Did I have minders on Privet Drive anymore?
Ms. Figg has left the drive altogether, my owl has been stolen from me, my old subscription to the Daily Prophet is either being redirected or is canceled. Hermione hasn't tried to contact me at all through muggle means, which I know the Death Eaters and Ministry wouldn't be able to track.
Once I'm in my room I spring to work, pulling my trunk from my closet and immediately opening it, sorting through the objects inside it. My father's invisibility cloak, text books, parchment, inkwells and quills, school robes, and different nick-knack's are for the most part crammed inside it.
Instantly I realize my first problem: I won't be able to drag the trunk with me everywhere. Turning my head I look into the closet, which has various things of Dudley's thrown inside it, before I spot what I need. Pulling free one of my whale of cousin's old backpacks, which looked like it hadn't seen any use other than to be carried back and from school, as empty as his head, I start to sort through to see which essentials I will be able to take with me.
The cloak I set aside for now, I'm going to need it later, while the Marauders Map I prop up on the side for easy access. Immediately my cauldron and Potion's text get cast to the side, most likely I'm not even going to take the subject unless I managed an O on my Owls. Most of the books get left behind actually, while my most recent edition of Standard Book of Spells, Intermediate Transfiguration, and Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts went straight in. I don't think I would have been able to leave the last one behind… Sirius gave it to me.
Swallowing, I fight back the tears… Now's not the time, I need to be strong and get moving soon. I don't want to put it behind me but I can't let Sirius ghost haunt me forever.
"Clear your mind… Clear your mind…" I start chanting, losing myself in its steady monotones rhythm.
Still chanting I begin to work once more, already feeling calmer… Damn, Snape was right about Occlumency and my emotions.
The Dark Arts Outsmarted, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and My Favourite Spells get left behind, much to my dismay, but I rationalize it as me not doing too much practical Defense work outside of school. In a Spur of the moment decision I throw in my Divination book, The Dream Oracle. "If I'm going to have a Prophesy handing over my head, I better study the stuff at least a little." I mutter to myself, groaning at the thought of reading through one of Trelawney's texts already.
I only throw in two changes of outfits right now, deciding that I'd just have to make my way to Diagon Alley to get more rather than carrying it all around with me anyways. Following that thinking I only hold onto a single ink well and parchment scroll.
By now I was to the bottom of my trunk and started sorting through the random nick knacks and broken bits from over the years. The first thing I pull out makes me the angry.
It was a key… a silver key with small insect wings on it. With it come the memories of my first year and fighting to save the Philosophers Stone. I feel so angry because my Dreams of late have been less dream and more memory.
"Why did three first year students need save one of the world's most powerful magical artifacts?" I asked aloud, "Why Dumbledore would put the wizarding community in that kind of danger… Forget the community, why put the students in that position?" Muttering to myself loosely, in a mocking Dumbledore fashion, "The third-floor corridor is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death!" I throw the key into my newly salvaged backpack and reach in to the trunk once more.
This time I pull out a piece of a shattered mirror.
"Clear your mind… Clear your mind… Clear your mind!" with my eyes closed I put the object on the floor, trying not to let my own sadness fill me.
Reaching inside again I pull free the Portable Sneak-O-Scope that Ron had bought me from Egypt. Deciding against it I throw the cheap Dark Detector into the rest of the pile beside me. Looking in I decide that I have enough to get by, as the rest of the junk in the trunk is broken or not so fond memories.
Hurrying once more I look at the time, it's nearly two thirty already. Pulling up the loose floor board under my bead I throw the few salvageable items into my backpack. At the very least I will be able to keep the clothes'. Popping open the flask I look inside at the golden liquid before rereading the note that came with it:
"The Potion will not lead you astray"… "Enough potion for half a dozen mouthfuls, enough for twenty four hours of good luck."… "May you have an interesting time…"
"Half a dozen mouthfuls, eh? Well, I feel like I've more than overdue for a good day Felix!"
Putting the flask to my mouth I take two large gulps of the liquid, only four more mouthfuls to go.
As I lower the silver bottle from my lips I can feel the magic of the potion start to work. The dark haze that had covered my life for the past weeks seemed to lift, the dark's got lighter and the lights got brighter. For the first time since before the school year ended I could feel a true, genuine smile grace my lips. I didn't feel anger or sadness… they weren't gone, they just seemed so… trivial, now.
Looking down I note the top of the back pack is opened. "You know… The Prince wanted me to wear those clothes when I went out… I would be rude not to!"
Three minutes later I'm sliding down the banister with my pack hoisted on my shoulder, avoiding Dudley as he stormed up the stairs with Piers Polkiss not far behind. Getting to the bottom I instantly make my way to the kitchen, grabbing a few quick bites from the meal that Aunt Petunia is preparing for that night.
Before I walk out I see Vernon's wallet on the table, bulging with money right out of the bank. The fat man always made it a habit of having a lot of money on him, ever since before I can remember. Probably compensating for something.
Not even pausing to consider it I snatched the imitation leather up and stuff it my back pocket, heading to the front door.
Subconsciously I know that taking the front door is most likely a bad idea, as that is where most of the Order members, if they are watching me, are going to be camped out. At the very least I should throw the invisibility cloak over myself… But, I had a really good feeling about how things were going. Slamming the door behind me I hear some rustling in the bushes followed by a loud- Clunk!
"Evening Dung!" I said cheerfully, looking at the unconscious face of Mundanges Fetcher, before picking up the invisibility cloak that was draped over his shoulders, making him look like a head lying in the mud.
Shoving it into my backpack I keep walking calmly until I'm at the end of the drive way, off in the distance I can hear loud music playing, coming closer…
'Guess that's my ride!' I think joyfully, hiking up the black backpack once more.
The second part here is the historic account of one of Harry's Ancestors: The Dark Lord Archibald Black Crafter.
The Dark Lord Archibald Black Crafter! (Born: 1739 - death: 1781)Full name was Archibald William Frederick Potter, named for the king of England whom he would serve under (Kind George III), his father being named for the kings father. Archibald was born to the wealthy Potter family, which was closely connected to the muggle Monarchy and grew up in close proximity to later king George Hanover the third.
Potter attended Hogwarts, under Headmistress Dilys Derwent, the world renown healer, and was sorted into Gryffindor, graduating class of 1746-47. He scored quite high for his age, though was not the highest scoring of his generation, instead splitting his time between his own personal works in Enchanting, wand-crafting, mastering the magic's of illusion's, and his several experimenting into the Dark Arts. Though he did not study the Arts intently until after graduating from Hogwarts, Archibald theorized that they could be used through use of Enchanting without detrimental effect to the user.
It would be years later before it was discovered that this was not true, as the said object would radiate a presence of darkness and infect any who used the objects just as well as if the person had cast the spell or spells themselves. It was, however, discovered that using Dark Magic as a base for enchanting objects ran similar to the actual use of the dark arts themselves. Whereas the Dark Arts can have many and varying effects which are partially powered by negative emotions, allowing for them to be cast easier than similar strength spells of non dark variety, an enchanted item could contain a much more powerful effect and often times more than one effect as well, something possible only to master enchanters and Alchemist the world round. Archibald's Dark Enchantments, better known as Black Crafting, are now known and feared throughout the world as the most powerful and terrible tools of the Dark Arts in recent history, for not only were they incredibly powerful, but to craft them one needs to use incredibly negative emotion's while enchanting, in addition to the radiation of evil from the object after it has been crafted.
Young and new in the world Archibald embraced the Dark Arts, appearing infrequently throughout British wizarding history for the next thirteen years, until October 1760. At this time Archibald's long time childhood friend is named King George Hanover the Third, while Archibald, partially through his own charisma, partially through use of Illusion's and compulsion's, is named the King's Wizard, effectively becoming the Monarchy's voice in the Ministry of Magic.
In the mid 1770's the British Colonies in America began to destabilize and the crown requested for Potter to make a motion in the Wizengamot for British Wizards to aid in the fighting against the Colonies in Rebellion, fearing that the magical communities in across the ocean would be fighting against the muggle British soldiers and aiding the rebels.
The motion was crushed in a landslide loss for Archibald, who had, till then, held an iron grip over much of the Ministry. The risk of exposure and an isolationist policy led to a uniting of many groups within the government against Archibald's motion and soon the man found himself beret of his position as the King's Wizard.
With the start of the Revolutionary War Archibald was approached by five individuals. The King himself and four Heads of prominent British Wizarding families: The Black's, Malfoy's, Greengrass', and Gaunt's. The five came to Potter requesting and offering aid in the suppression of the rebellion in the Colonies. In exchange for fighting in the name of the Crown the Houses of Potter, Black, Malfoy, Greengrass, and Gaunt, along with their allies that also pledged them themselves into service under Potter, would be named Noble House's and given exemption's to several trading and taxing laws in the British Empire. So, in defiance of the will of the British Ministry of Magic, did Potter begin a War of Terror on the magical communities of the Colonies, while aiding the British with magic. For going against the Ministry in such a way Potter was named the Dark Lord Archibald.
In the beginning the War of Terror was extremely effective, as very few colonial wizards had been aiding the Revolution until the appearance of Archibald the Black Crafter. The witches and wizards that he brought with him overseas were well versed in magic's and more oft than not they were proficient in the Dark Art's. For all of his fighters Archibald also crafted many Black Enchantments, many of which are still held as prized possessions of the darker families. But none were as well equipped as the Dark Lord.
Archibald's Black Crafting turned him, a wizard of high above average skill and power, though not extraordinarily so, into a most feared warrior. His clothing was of the finest quality, enchanted to stay dry and cool and never rip or tear in addition to having many powerful dark shielding spells crafted into them, of particular note being an enchantment that made the man, who was of an average height, appear to tower over all that were in his presence. The clothing he wore would become a trend for the modern pureblood's of both England and much of Western Europe.
But Of the truly feared objects he wore were his mask and armor. On his chest the man wore leather armor which was woven so strongly with dark protective spells that it was said to rival the strongest suits of plated goblin armor. It was later named the Raiment of Terror by the American Ministry of Magic. In addition to his leather chest piece Potter wore only one other piece of armor: The Black Mask!
The mask worn by Archibald is considered by many to be the single most powerful piece of enchanted headgear since the time's of The Founders and Rowena's Diadem. Not only did the mask hide the users voice, face, skin, and even eye color, it prevented a Legilimen's from making eye contact for Passive Legilimency and laced every word spoken by the user with powerful compulsion charms that only a skilled Occlumen's would notice and a master would be able to throw off. Similarly though any who looked upon the mask ran the risk of falling into a duel compulsion to make them fear and/or respect it and the person behind it. All of this was in addition to other enchantments to prevent any loss of vision, hearing, or mobility by the wearer and increased night vision and protection against bright lights or blinding curses. The mask has not been moved from its protective placement in the American Ministries Department of Magical Intelligence in the last hundred and fifty years since an incident in the study of the object caused a researcher to commit suicide out of the fear that he was starting to turn Dark.
In addition to his wand The Dark Lord Archibald carried two other weapon's: a large knife and cane. The knife was another one of Archibald's masterpieces, holding several powerful enchantments. Beyond the standard never dull and strengthening charms Potter included Charms on the blade that prevented any form of magical from sealing or healing a wound made by the blade. Even without such an enhancement to the blade the weapon would have been deadly in the Dark Lords hands, as it would cut through bone, cartilage, leather, and wood as cleanly and easily as any blade would flesh, often times being used to sever the hands and sometimes heads of those prisoners who they would either allow to be freed, seeing no need and having not enough manpower to imprison the young, infirmed, or elderly or killed, such as squib's, British muggle-born's found in the fighting, or the wizards.
In addition to these much more lethal uses were two other types of spells embodied in the blade: A simple paralyzation spell in the very tip of the weapon, and several torture spells in the metal itself. Within the first three years of fighting Archibald found need to gather information from local witches and wizards who had began to hide themselves among the muggles. So was begot Deleotis! A mere prick of the blade would cause great aches and pains that the victim would be unable to move to soothe or treat, an inch in and the stab victim received pain like lightning in their bodies. Three inches in and the weapon released the power of the Cruciatus Curse. Deleotis was one of only five objects ever created that were able to harness the magic of the Unforgivable's, along with it's brother's the Rod of Dominion and the Chain's of Ramse's, the Death Ray of Archimedes', and the Devil's Claw, a relic of the Spanish inquisition, (a Cat's Paw that tortured the victim as well as sliced away that them).
But no other object created by the Black Crafter was more feared or powerful as his cane. Experts the world over travel to study the focus, the cap of the cane, and have not been able to even come close to recreating the wonder that is Archibald Black Crafters weapon of choice. Through intensive study many secrets of the weapon have been uncovered though. The closest comparison of the object would be towards a staff or wand, though one does not use it in the same manner, save for the use of Latin and Greek words to activate spells that have been embodied in the mysterious statuette that are then powered by the magic of the holder or the wood holding it up. Hundreds of spells have been uncovered as being stored in the object, ranging from basic fire spells to the darkest and strongest of Necromantic spells and thousands are said to be there, unknown to Unspeakables until such a time as either a codex is discovered or they are stumbled across.
But mere words cannot express how powerful the object was, with it Archibald Potter was able to overpower and out maneuver foes with twice the skill, power, and experience he had by requiring him to back the power and incantation's for the spells.
In the end though it was all for naught, as the forces of the Black Crafter were soon out maneuvered until the point where they were forced into a final confrontation in a South Carolina based Fort that was being visited by the Dark Lord and relatively few of his men. There they were attacked by a larger and determined group of Colonial Wizards and Witches who attacked and nearly brought down the Fort around Potter's head. It was there, surrounded by the dead British soldiers that the final magical battle of the Revolutionary War would be fought. All too soon the men he had brought with him were cut down, one of his trusted confidants captured, and the Dark Lord himself surrounded and facing off against the three strongest witches and wizard that were on the opposing side.
In the end, for all powers held within his cane and Deleotis, and for all the protection's offered to him by the Black Mask and the Raiment of Terror, The Dark Lord Archibald Black Crafter killed by a simple cutting curse that struck the unprotected flesh of his neck, leaving all of his valuable artifacts undamaged and mostly unstained.
After Archibald's death his 'army' fell apart, with none of them able to decide who would lead while the southern colonies slowly began to be taken over by the rebel's. With the fall of the Colonies and the rise of the new American Nation on its way the families returned to Britain once more, where they were imprisoned until the intervention of King George III, who officially pardoned all parties involved and granting them the titles of Lord's, despite the loss of the Colonies, in honor of his fallen friend.
Of the houses that fought in the War of Terror, one house was lost completely, while others were reduced to few in numbers, the Potter family in particular being reduced to one son of Archibald. The Malfoy's, who now held titles in both England and France had a short period of prominence thanks to the peace keeping efforts between France until the start of the French Revolution, when all of their attention was needed just to hold onto their lands and possession's. The Gaunt's, who's numbers were greatly severed by the fighting, retreated to their lands in England, soon isolating themselves from even the rest of the magical world , to the point where it is not known whether or not there are any of that line remaining. The Greengrass family was the least effected of the five families that made the center of the British coalition, their numbers staying safely high and their fiscal might only helped by the addition of the titles they received. The Black's, who's numbers were the greatest of all the houses to start with, held firm through the war, collecting many of the Black Crafter's artifacts, which is partially attributed to the increasing signs of madness within the family in the past two hundred years, though there is no definite proof to back this claim.