Hello all, again, I am sorry for the long wait between chapters.
Just a quick heads up, the next chapter will be posted after mid-May, most probably, due to RL commitments during April.
Other than that, just a quick note that this is set in the last year of Hogwarts that Harry is eligible to attend (Year 7).
Any questions, feel free to PM me.
On with the story!
00o0o0o0oo0o0
The man glided down the immense hall, cloaked in a full black uniform, red stripe offset on his right shoulder. His cloak swished menacingly about him as he stalked down the length of the hall. His face was shadowed by the hood perched atop his head. Two silver eyes were illuminated below the hood. He swept toward a seat toward the back of the hall, a study backed chair that looked more at home in a boarding school in England. In the middle of the hall was a walkway, reminiscent of death row. The atmosphere certainly encouraged that train of thought.
He made it to his chair, pulling it out, seating himself and pulling it back, all in one graceful movement. His actions were scrutinised by the other people present in the room, who looked appraisingly at him.
The man at the end of the hall stood and waved his hand negligently. The immense wooden doors swung shut with a muted bang that reverberated throughout the room. Those easily intimidated shivered in their seats. With another wave many of the people disappeared. Those remaining attempted to remain impassive. The oppression hung heavy in the room.
The man at the head of the hall chuckled to himself.
"You are all too easily intimidated by power. All those that disappeared were all illusions. I may be powerful, yet no one can simply make others disappear like that."
The man with the silver eyes snorted to himself, quietly.
Not quietly enough, apparently, as the standing figure's head rotated to view the area from which the noise originated.
He glared, then spoke.
"Ah, our most recent… acquisition makes himself known."
The man with the silver eyes stared impassively back. Those around him mimicked the obvious leader's hollow laughs.
The silver eyed man stood slowly, pushing his chair out behind him. He turned so that he faced the majority population of the room. He then turned his head so that it faced the leader of the group. All occupants of the room followed his eyes. They saw their leader lifted up into the air, struggling against an invisible grip.
He then dropped.
Only to be saved by the invisible grip again. It slammed him back down into his chair. Those present winced in sympathy.
The man with the silver eyes turned back to the group.
"You would do well to listen to me," he grated, "I may not be your Master, but I wield more power than you or your Master can ever hope to imagine." He placed special emphasis on the word master.
He continued. "Don't fuck with me, or you'll end up on the floor. Of a coffin."
He strode out of the hall, out of the building and cleared the wards. He apparated away.
Moments later he landed in a small dwelling. He removed the cloak, dispelling the charms masking his face and voice, revealing a youthful face, cropped black hair with a single braid at the back of his head. His eyes were a vibrant emerald green, and on his forehead rested a scar, reminiscent of a lightning bolt.
It was this such scar that made him unusual. It was his most distinguishing mark, yet nobody knew what it was from, why it was there, nor was he especially famous for it. Scratch that, nobody knew who he was, and his only contact with the world was through the group he interrupted.
Harry James Potter, for that was his name, sat back in an old leather chair. It creaked, as his weight was supported by it. It was a few days after his seventeenth birthday. That day was significant from coming into his magical maturity. He had a huge influx of power into his system that crippled him for hours. All the magical blocks placed on him had broken, buckling under the pressure of an exponentially expanding magical core.
He smiled in memory, not because of the pain, but because he figured he would be more powerful than Daphne now. His control over magic was still fairly good for one that had undergone a period such as he, due to him having to be really efficient and controlling of his magic when he was younger.
That was the reason why he never needed a wand. Wands were crutches for wizards and witches. Although they focussed magic better than just harnessing magic wandless, they bled more energy than without a wand. The reason why people didn't use it was because it was so hard to master the magic inside of them. Not many had the mental discipline or even capabilities to do so. Harry had it because of he, along with Daphne, were Elementals.
Daphne had never really tried, or excelled at the ability, as she had a large magical core as compared to Harry, well when they were younger. Of course, both being natural Occlumens gave them a slight advantage over the average wizard, or even some of the more powerful wizards.
He sighed. He was seventeen, legally an adult in the magical world, had never attended formal training in witchcraft and wizardry, yet here he was, hiding from the world at large, and now part of a vigilante group including a wannabe Dark Lord. Of course, he was much more dangerous than the Dark Lord, but he was a training step.
Having nobody recognise the lightning bolt etched onto his forehead was a blessing in disguise. As a self-employed mercenary, the scar gave him a calling card, without the extra baggage of being famous and unable to roam the streets for fear of recognition.
He changed his name, to protect his identity further.
Mark Winters.
The name itself inspired fear.
For the last two years he had hunted and killed. He became feared, and through that, he became wanted. He was sought after as very few others had a perfect record, especially as both a mercenary and an assassin. He much preferred the former, but the latter paid much better, and where a life of crime exists, money flow is important.
He learnt. He learnt many things. He learnt numerous different ways to kill a man silently, from afar, with muggle weapons, unarmed, but most of all, he gained experience. It was the reason why he was consorting with a rising Dark Lord.
Experience.
To deal with his own personal Dark Lord.
Problem is, he couldn't really tell if he was turning into a Dark Lord too.
The most unfortunate part about that, he wasn't sure it wasn't such a bad idea.
0oo0o00o0o0o
The Sorting had finally concluded, much to the relief of Daphne Greengrass. She was still being snubbed by her sister, Astoria, who had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Although the Slytherin had tried to reconcile many times with the Ravenclaw, nothing had come of it.
It was to be expected from the young Greengrass daughter, but it was unexpected for her to attend Hogwarts, especially with the family choosing to remain in Australia.
Currently, that was the least of her problems. She absolutely hated the Sorting at the start of each year. She found it pointless and also discrimination by being put into Houses "for unity within houses with like-minded individuals". She snorted at that.
Headmaster Dumbledore came up with that little gem. How does he think placing individuals into a team will help unite them?
One more year, then it wouldn't be her problem again. One more year and she could go looking for Harry. There wasn't a day that she didn't think of him. She absently noticed Dumbledore rising to the podium to address the students. She wondered what he was doing.
She tuned back in to what the Grand Poombah was saying.
"… although not yet in attendance, he will be arriving in a few days. Please welcome him when he arrives." Dumbledore finished, then reclaimed his seat.
Daphne turned to the witch seated next to her.
"What did he say?"
The witch sighed in exasperation.
"Really, Daphne, you should try paying attention for once."
"Thanks Tracey, really answered my question well" Daphne snapped at the now named girl.
"Dumbledore was introducing a new guy called Mark Evans. He's a muggleborn who somehow got his hands on a tutor. He's not here, but scheduled for arrival in a few days."
Daphne turned back to her dinner, picking at it absently. She looked up on impulse, to find the eyes of Professor Remus Lupin, back from a search for Harry, who had taken up the Defence Post again.
'Thank god' she thought. At least I have a chance of passing DADA this year.
0o0o00o0o0o
Daphne lay on her back, on her double bed situated in her own private room within the confines of the Slytherin Dungeon Dormitories. She was in no way lonesome, she had her close friends, Tracey Davis and Blaise Zambini, and most of Slytherin she tolerated, or was at least acquainted with.
Her heart, used to the cold shoulder from her family, panged every time she saw her sister, but she strengthened her resolve to grow stronger from it. Oh yes, it made her become a colder person, deterring most of the school, but still, she had some… unwanted advances from a few of the boys.
Especially that blond haired ferret that her sister was so enamoured with. Draco Malfoy.
The bane of her existence, but only if you discounted Voldemort and Dumbledore, in that order. Oh. Add in her family as well. That didn't matter, family loyalty stood true for her. She snorted. Of all things that she had continued to hold close, of all the ridiculous morals she upheld, it had to be loyalty to family. 'Ironic, that. Family kicked me out, disowned me, didn't want to have anything to do with me, and it is the one thing that I hold true to myself.'
She found a family though, in Remus, Sirius and Harry, until all that went pear-shaped. Her gut wrenched painfully as she thought of Sirius. She clearly remembered the face of anguish he had cast at them as he was engulfed by the curse. It was forever etched into her memory. Unbeknownst to her, silent tears escaped her eyes, leaving a wet trail down her face.
It was a lingering pain that never seemed to fade from her. The sense of absolute loss overwhelmed her senses every time she would be reminded of the raucous, fun loving man. He filled the role of a beloved uncle for her.
The acuteness of his loss had hit her hard for the first year. She wondered what it was like for Harry, especially. He had just lost one of his father figures, then lost all of his family as it disintegrated around him.
She rolled over in her bed, and pressed her face into her soft pillow, attempting to derive comfort from it.
She heard Tracey come into the door at one stage, but Daphne paid no attention to her friend, lost in her misery. Daphne didn't want any of Tracey's commiseration. She didn't need it, instead, she just needed to be alone.
That night, the Ice Queen of Slytherin let her emotions vent to her confider, her soft, gentle and caressing silver pillow. For the first time in almost 4 years, Daphne Greengrass was reduced to a sobbing mess, her cold and indifferent mask, not just slipping, but completely shattering.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her and sleep claimed her.
00o0o0oo0oo
Harry rose from his cold chair, his disguise clear to see. He snorted and walked out to meet with the new Dark Wannabe, Lord Mortimer. He absently patted his pocket, where his shrunken trunk resided comfortably.
It was fully packed for his attendance in Hogwarts, under the name of Mark Evans. He worried about that name a little. It was the maiden name of his mother, which most, if not all, of the teachers would recognise. Especially that bastard, Snape. But he also knew that he couldn't keep creating and using alias'. He would get too confused.
Harry also knew the secret of the Evans family, a secret that he would prefer to not reveal to the world at large. Although he wanted to fight against Voldemort, Harry preferred to work alone, not under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore, or even the ministry. That isn't to say that he would refuse help from them, or decide to not aid them in their fights, but the revealing of the Evans' Family Secret would blow that out of the water. Instead, he would probably be allied with Voldemort, or with nobody at all.
And everybody knows you can't win a war with one man.
Shaking his head, clearing his thoughts, he made his way out of the imposing hall. The self-styled Lord waited just past the imposing door, tapping his foot in impatience.
Harry raised a single eyebrow at the show of immaturity. He was pleased to note that the tapping ceased immediately.
"Where have you been you fool?" blustered Mortimer, "I've been awaiting you long past your appointment. You are lucky I am in such a forgiving mood."
At this Harry snorted. "You wouldn't dare touch me or anger me. You covet my professional relationship with you, and you certainly wouldn't like to cut me loose."
The Lord looked upon Harry imperiously. "That may be so, but it doesn't befit you to simply disagree, and to disobey my wishes, at every turn. Remember, I have the followers' loyalty, you do not."
Harry made a show of studying the room, before focussing upon the man in front of him. He stayed silent, waiting for Mortimer to continue.
"Your arrogance knows no bounds, young mercenary."
'Interesting. He seeks to "remind" me of my place in his hierarchy' Harry thought.
"Well, it certainly hasn't decided to go for a hike" the mercenary replied.
Mortimer glared at him.
"Get out."
"What? No kissing of the robes for me? You honour me, Lord" chortled Harry, as he turned and walked away. "I'm on leave as well, but feel free to contact me" he tossed over his shoulder.
With that, he felt the wards wash over his skin, and apparated away.
The Dark Lord Mortimer glared at the spot where the impudent mercenary had disappeared from.
00o0o0o0o0o0o0
"Ouch!" Harry yelled. "There is no need for you to go sticking that anywhere near my genital area, you stupid man!"
The man, or creature (Harry couldn't tell which), jabbed him with a long spindly instrument labelled Probity Probe. The man just grunted in reply to Harry's statement.
He had just arrived to Hogwarts, and had been promptly ushered into the Great Hall. It was only 6am on a Wednesday morning, and the castle was eerily silent. No students were awake and watching him get inspected by the foul beast in front of him, wielding the probe like a pro, that went by the name of Argus Filch. Already, Harry detested the man.
The last half an hour had been spent with the man combing through Harry's travelling cloak, that he was wearing, two compartments of Harry's 4 compartment trunk, upset both Hermes by inspecting the Owl cage, and shoving the Probity Probe around the Powerful Owl, and Wraith, who resided in one of the pockets of the travelling cloak. He was also subjected to the terror of the probe.
Many of the students had gathered into the Great Hall to watch the free show. Finally, Filch had decided that enough was enough with the trunk, and moved to inspect the rest of the clothes Harry was wearing.
"You can't have this" the man was repeating, gesturing towards a muggle sidearm concealed in an inner pocket.
"Or this" he continued, ripping a K-Bar out of its arm holster. The man chucked it into a pile next to Harry.
"Hey, that's my K-Bar" Harry protested.
Filch pointed to the knife, "And that's now my K-Bar."
Harry glared hatefully at the man.
The students sniggered.
'It's going to be a long year" Harry thought to himself.