Disclaimer: All recognized characters and elements goes to J.K Rowling

The first time that Harry met a boggart was when he was eleven. It was on a warm September day, a Saturday. In fact, it was just two weeks into the school year and he was still a wide eyed first year…. well as far as the school's concerned, he still is pretty much a wide eyed first year.

The raven haired boy had been in one of the abandoned Transfiguration classrooms practicing a new football trick he had learned before leaving for Hogwarts just two weeks prior. Harry had accidentally bumped the ball at the wrong angle and it had gone flying off towards the back of the classroom. It made a loud BANG as it crashed into an old wooden closet. The boy ran to the back of the classroom to retrieve his lost ball and came to an abrupt halt at the sight before him.

An exact replica of himself stood before Harry. Everything right down to the dark messy hair and easy grin were the same. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would've passed this off as a funky magical mirror, but there was one thing that was different. The eyes, instead of the striking clear emerald orbs, they were replaced by a darker shade of green that shone bright with vengeance. Suddenly the twin Harry became distorted and then once again came into focus. Harry, the normal, stumbled back a few steps when he saw the blood dripping off his clone's hands and clothes.

"Don't."

Harry froze as he glanced over his mirror image with incredulity, "Did you…?"

"Oh yes." The dark green eyes flashed with twisted amusement, at the same time Harry's stomach flipped as he recognized that gleam in the other's eyes.

"No…"

His twin tilted his head to the side and shot him a lazy grin, Harry recognized the look all too well, "Why not? Don't you want this? This feeling? This power?"

The Gryffindor stumbled back a few more steps even as he felt his magic respond to the promise of power.

"Don't hold back. You want this. Your magic needs it. Can't you feel the call?" the replica asked with cruel amusement, "Don't you like it? The rush of magic, the euphoria, the accomplishment of revenge."

"No... it's not right."

"You don't really believe that. Your magic is begging to be used. You are born to do this." The mirror image of Harry paused, then a cruel smile curled around his lips, "Who else to be the first than the one that ruined your life?"

Harry gritted his teeth as he struggled with his magic that's threatening to pour out. Without looking back, the boy ran from the classroom. This time when he entered the Gryffindor Common Room he didn't have to pretend to be scared.

Since then, in which Harry had dubbed The Incident, he had taken to using as little magic as possible in front of others. Luckily this withdrawal coincides with his weak persona so no one noticed the change.

Harry knew he was no angel. How could he be? After all, he had been lying and tricking everyone in Hogwarts for the past five years. Hell, since he was four he had been putting up a weak front for his relatives, for the world.

Harry knew that he was no angel; he knew that his morals are in fact quite questionable. But even with all these stains on his supposedly naïve and innocent façade… Harry was no murderer. But at the same time, he was.

Said boy is now sitting in the Chamber of Secrets. His eyes were closed but his senses, and more importantly, his magic was alive and watchful. Harry clenched his jaw and dug his nails into the palm of his hands as he finally allowed himself to release the pressure pushing against his head.

His magic came out like a vicious whip. The fifth year arched his back and his nails bit into his palms as the vengeful power barreled out of his body and swirled around the chamber looking for exits. At last, Harry collapsed onto the cool stone floor and sucked in deep gasping breaths trying to ignore the bloodthirsty crackle coming from his magic.

Rolling onto his back, the boy tilted his head and studied the carcass of the basilisk that Longbottom was rumored to have slain in second year. Sharpening his gaze onto the dead creature, Harry reached into himself and tugged on the burning hot strand within him. The boy gasped in pain when all of a sudden, the crackle of the magic intensified and all at once rushed at the carcass.

What followed could only be described as gory. Harry screwed his eyes shut and self-loathing sobs wracked through his body as he curled into himself, the whole time trying to ignore the sound of tearing skin and cracking bones as his magic destroyed the dead being.

Finally after what seemed like hours. His magic settled and the pain disappeared. The boy slowly uncurled and braced himself as his magic turned from the basilisk and settled itself into his body once more. Harry felt a disgusted shiver run down his spine as he took note of how the pounding headache that had been bothering him for weeks was gone. He pushed down the bile rising in his throat when he turned and saw the gruesome remains of the king of serpents. At the same time he felt his magic hum contently; unable to look at it again, the boy drew his was and quickly vanished the carcass before he staggering out of the chamber.

"What's wrong with him?" Sirius asked worriedly as he paced the length of his classroom.

Ron shrugged, "Everything's fine Sirius, I mean it all worked out in the past-"

"-In the past? This actually happened before?" Sirius demanded.

Neville shifted in his seat and exchanged glances with Hermione and Ron.

"Well?" the history professor asked the three students.

Neville cleared his throat and looked around hesitantly, "Profe- erm, Sirius. The thing is we don't really know…"

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed, "Are you saying that no one notices how withdrawn he is?"

Hermione hooked a curly strand of brown hair behind her right ear as she prepared to answer the question as detailed as possibly, "Yes we notice, I think everyone does. But Pot-Harry- has always been slightly withdrawn."

Neville winced when Hermione's tone took on a disapproving lilt. He watched as one of his best friends flushed bright red when she too also noticed her tone. Sirius gave the three of them a hard stare before turning away.

"What will cause this?" Neville heard Sirius mutter under his breath.

Clearing his throat again, Neville tentatively raised his hand out of habit and then dropped it when he realized that he was not in fact in class, "Sirius?" when the animagus shrugged a shoulder in acknowledgement, Neville continued, "I think Harry just needs some time, he's always been shy. This erm, phase he's going through will pass in a few days. It happens every few months…"

"When did this start?" Sirius questioned suddenly as he spun around.

Neville took a brief moment to admire the man's agility, in his late thirties and having suffered through twelve years of Azkaban, the Longbottom Heir was impressed.

"He's always been weird like that." Ron blurted out carelessly.

Neville mentally groaned. At this rate both of his best friends would be on outs with the history professor.

Sometimes Neville really wished that people could be more like plants… at least he would be able to handle them better.

Coming up next: more on Harry.

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