Hey all! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! I honestly appreciate every review, favorite, and alert! It's very comforting to know that there are people out there who are enjoying what you write.
To answer some questions, there will be no main pairings in this story or at least none that I've decided yet. This will not be a big romance story at all. There will be some "attraction" between Harry and Lucius but it's all based solely on magic. Nothing romantic.
Shout out to my beta, Roheryn's Knight, who, again, has helped me so much!
So here is the first chapter. Hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 1: Vows Made, Futures Sealed
Tuesday—July 31, 1990
"Boy, get over here!"
Harry Potter looked up from his crouched position by the gardens. His Aunt Petunia had tasked him with removing all the weeds and plant newly-bought flowers in preparation for a neighborhood get-together she was hosting. Unsurprisingly, not one of the Dursleys remembered that it was Harry's tenth birthday, his first step into the double digits.
Sighing, Harry stood up, dusting the dirt off of his pants that were sizes too large, and strode toward the source of the loud, booming voice. He peaked into the living room and spied his Uncle and Aunt sitting on the couch, the former with a twisted grin etched on his face.
"You called, Uncle?" Harry asked carefully, stepping out further into the room.
"I've got something for you, boy," Uncle Vernon growled, his moustache jostling as he spoke.
Harry's eyebrows rose. "Really?" he asked foolishly.
"Yes, boy," the large man thundered. From behind his back, he pulled out a package poorly wrapped in Christmas paper. He tossed it at the skinny boy and leaned back with an expectant smile.
Harry was astonished. He had never received a birthday present before—a real one at least. For the past few years, he had been "gifted" with used toothpicks and broken plastic forks. But to receive a gift that was wrapped? It was unheard of!
"Well, go on and open it! Your Uncle just gave you a gift and all you're going to do is stand there and look like an ungrateful fool?" Aunt Petunia reprehended shrilly.
"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered dutifully before sitting down on the ground and eagerly ripping off the red gift paper. Reaching inside, his face brilliant with a wide smile, Harry pulled out—
A clothes hanger and a pair of old socks?
Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Harry let the two objects fall onto the carpeted floor and looked up at his Uncle and Aunt in disbelief.
"That's it?" he blurted out incredulously, immediately regretting the words the second they left his mouth.
Uncle Vernon's face quickly darkened into an ugly puce color. "That's it?" he roared, stumbling to his feet and waving his fist angrily in Harry's direction. "We use our money to buy you a present, and that's all we get? You ungrateful little freak, we give you food and a roof over your useless head, and this is how you repay us?"
Sensing his mistake, Harry backed up quickly, only to fall against a burning fireplace. Yelping, he jumped up, his hands stinging from the burning hot poker that was lying beside the fire.
Unfortunately, the sudden movement jarred the poker, which tumbled out of the fireplace and onto the discarded Christmas wrapping. In seconds, it was up in flames.
"Fire! Fire!" Aunt Petunia screamed, jumping up from the couch. "Where's my Duddydums? Fire! Put it out, Vernon, put it out!"
"You idiot boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "Put it out, you little freak! And you just wait until I get my hands on you—you'll never be able to walk straight again!"
Whimpering in pain and fear, Harry tried to hold back tears as he crawled toward the fire, which flared furiously along the burning image of reindeer. He closed his eyes, and fisted his hands together, crying out from the pain of the burnt skin.
Immediately, a myriad of colorful strings burst out in front of his eyes. Harry tried his best not to use the technique in front of his relatives, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He looked at the fire and back at the thrumming webs, his mind racing. He didn't know how to put the fire out! Grasping a handful of blue strings, he curled them together into a long braid and wished for water to put out the flames.
Miraculously, water sprang out from nowhere and doused the entire living room, effectively extinguishing the fire but soaking the rest of the inhabitants in the process.
Harry looked up from underneath his soaking fringe with frightened eyes. He watched as his Uncle turned red, then purple, then a combination of the two.
"I'll just, uh," Harry stammered, standing up quickly, "go into my cupboard with these very nice presents and pretend my useless hide doesn't exist."
He ran off quickly, shutting himself in the cupboard and huddling into a shivering small ball, pained tears finally leaking out of the corner of his eyes from his burned palms.
"We should have never let that freak in, pet!" Uncle Vernon roared from the living room. "He's nothing but trouble, I tell you. Him and his fools of parents!"
"I know, Vernon," Petunia said wildly. "Just forget about that little rascal. He's nothing. We'll get rid of him yet, I promise you. Now let's clean this up. The neighbors are coming in a couple of hours, and we're hideously behind schedule!"
Harry curled into himself even further, and wished that he actually never existed.
Evan Rosier was tiring. Fast.
He had been apparating nonstop for ten minutes, trying to avoid those damned Aurors that tracked him like a niffler after a hoard of galleons. Normally, the Ministry officials wouldn't have stood a chance against him, outnumbered or not, but after breaking out of a heavily warded holding cell, Evan wasn't going to take any chances.
His right arm dangled uselessly against his side, the sleeve surrounding the flesh soaked in crimson blood. In his left hand, he gripped the wand he had stolen from an Auror, and apparated once more, drawing on the last remains of his magic.
Gritting his teeth as the world spun around him, Evan landed onto the ground in a rough crouch and looked around, calculating.
It was a muggle neighborhood. Lines of identical houses surrounded the empty road, each with modest gardens and white picket fences. Everything about them was perfect, dull, and all together revolting.
Evan felt his lip curl up in disgust. Repulsive cretins. It was a wonder why the Wizarding world worked so hard to save such useless lumps of fat.
Among the bare, dark houses, Evan noticed one with lights on and people pouring through the door. They were dressed in fancy dresses and sharp tuxedoes, their faces contorted in fake masks of joy as they conversed with one and another.
Giving a smile full of teeth, Evan quickly transfigured his robes into proper attire and strode into the party, blending in with the crowd of muggles. A quick wave of his wand cast a notice-me-not charm and cleared all magical traces of him in the neighborhood.
As he walked through the disgustingly regular house, Evan grabbed a glass of champagne off of the counter. Sipping the cheap glass, he turned around and nearly spit the liquid out. He wasn't sure if it was the revolting drink or the picture on the wall that made him want to shrivel up and feed himself to rabid werewolves.
In a large wooden frame were three people. Not so much people, but two whales and a skinny, distorted giraffe. The largest figure resembled a tub of lard, his enormous body easily taking up half of the picture. Next to him was a woman, neck long and skinny, her skin stained with many wrinkles and veins. And finally, the product of their—if he could even call it—love. It was the exact reason why the magical world shouldn't associate themselves with such… filth. It was disgusting.
Pursing his lips, Evan quickly dropped both glass and drink in a nearby trashcan, and strode down the hallway, intent on finding some sanctuary. The Aurors wouldn't dare attack him in a house so full of "innocent" muggles, but they wouldn't be put out for long.
As he passed by the stairs, Evan paused. His ears twitched and his senses sharpened. There was something… alive under the stairs.
The muggles couldn't possibly be hiding a body, could they? He had never met a muggle murderer.
Closing his eyes, Evan centered himself and felt around with his mind, looking for the source of the quick, indrawn breaths.
There. There it was. There was a small child living in the cupboard. The latch that opened the door looked as if it was nailed to the wall.
And more importantly, he could feel waves of pure, undulated power seeping from the small cracks under the cupboard door. It was tantalizing and made Evan wonder why a couple of Muggles would be hiding such a powerful child
Evan snarled lowly in disgust. He may be a sadistic Death Eater, perhaps among the most creative, but he didn't condone child abuse of the magical kind. Children were the future, something to be treasured and taught. They were a blank slate, begging to be written on with ancient and powerful knowledge.
The Muggles didn't even deserve the presence of such a powerful being. It was shameful.
Looking around, he found the large whale that he assumed to be the master of the house. He sneered. The man was just as atrocious as he was in the picture.
Striding toward the man with rage contorting his face, Evan turned the man around and glared down, his six-foot stature easily dwarfing the man.
He peered into the man's mind briefly. "Mr… Dursley," Evan drawled slowly.
Vernon looked momentarily infuriated for the disruption before he noticed the rich clothes his interrupter was wearing and the large family ring on the right hand.
"I don't believe we've met before," Vernon boomed. He clapped a beefy hand on Evan's shoulder. "My name is Vernon Dursley, and your name, my good man?"
Whatever patience he was willing to muster for the obese Muggle disappeared when the hand landed on his body. Shrugging the offensive limb away, Evan grabbed the collar of Dursley's dress shirt, pulled him close, and hissed, "Listen, you fat waste of space. I know you're hiding a child under your stairs. If you value your reputation, your life, and your family, you will open the door and let him go."
All the color in Vernon's pudgy face quickly drained. "What do you want with the freak?" he asked frantically. "He's my nephew, highly disturbed. Whatever he's done to you, take him! Take him and punish his worthless hide! We want nothing to do with him!"
Evan could feel his anger rising quickly. "Just show me the child."
Vernon quickly obeyed and stepped into the hallway. When no one was looking, he quickly yanked out the nail and opened the cupboard door.
"Boy!" he half whispered, half yelled. "Get out of there. I don't know what you've done, but you're going to pay for it."
There was a moment of silence before a quiet sniffle was heard.
"Uncle?" a small voice asked timidly.
"Yes, now get out," Vernon growled unkindly, reaching in and pulling the boy out.
Evan forced down the urge to blast the man into pieces and turned to the small child. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down.
The child was no doubt small for his age. He had raven black hair that stuck up in every angle imaginable. Skin was porcelain, but transparent, obviously pointing at malnutrition. But what was most prominent was the hands. The insides were charred black and peeling, the flesh swollen and red, stinking of burnt flesh.
But before Evan could launch into a raging tirade, the boy lifted his head and looked at Evan. Green eyes met brown, and the world flashed white.
Evan felt himself stumble backward in astonishment. His hands scrambled backwards for purchase as his mind replayed what he had just saw.
Vibrant green eyes, the color of the killing curse.
A lightning bolt carved deeply in the forehead.
Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.
But somehow, Evan could not see. Everything he saw was white. Pure, blank white. He could still hear murmurs of the muggle party around him, but nothing else.
Evan Rosier. Son of Agron Rosier and Druella Black née Rosier. Do you accept responsibility over one, Harry James Potter?
Evan froze. Throughout his entire life, Evan's mind had been closed to any outside force, even to the notorious Severus Snape, a Master Legilinmes. He quickly began to scour his mind, securing his defenses, looking for holes and the intruder.
You will not find me. I am you, and among the rest of your kind. You have no choice. Harry James Potter must be part of you. It is not yet his time for death. You were destined for this role.
What do you mean? Who is this?
Be gentle, Evan Rosier, he is but a child, crafter or not. Remember, you may be his anchor, but I, his true guardian. Be warned. I will be watching.
A bright flare of red light engulfed his vision, and Evan found himself back in the house, the fat whale and child staring at him in blank confusion.
Evan stared down at the famous Boy-Who-Lived and as it seemed, the first crafter in centuries.
"You will be coming with me, child," he said in his softest voice. It still sounded rough to his ears and he suppressed a wince.
"I am?" Harry asked, green eyes still watery. He turned to his uncle with questioning eyes, who continued to stare at Evan with beady eyes, his face as pale as a ghost.
"Do remember what I said, Dursely," Evan threatened lowly. "I cannot remain this pleasant for long."
"Yes, yes," Vernon blubbered. "He's all yours. Now get out of here, and take the freak with you. We never want to see his face ever again!"
"With pleasure," Evan hissed in distaste. But before he could take another step, the house rocked violently and something exploded in the distance.
Damn, the Aurors. I've stalled for far too long.
Gritting his teeth, Evan grabbed the child's hand, ignoring the spark of connection, and dragged the crafter after him. With the heel of his dragonhide boots, he broke the frail glass window and jumped outside, pulling Harry along.
"Do not stray from my side," Evan ordered sharply. "Do not talk and follow me."
Harry nodded meekly, his mind racing. What on earth was happening? Who was this man, and why did his Uncle give him away?
He had been crying softly in the dark corner of his cupboard, trying to ignore the party bustling outside of his small room. The aroma of savory foods and sound of rushing water nearly made Harry drool, but he controlled himself, thinking about his Uncle's furious face if he snuck out.
And now here he was, given away like a simple gift, from one owner to another. Harry didn't understand, and the webs around him, which had become increasingly loud and prominent over the past few years, had fallen silent.
A bright red spell suddenly spat at the pair, and Evan easily raised a blue shield to reflect it. Harry looked at the shimmering cover with wide eyes.
"You can do it too!" he shouted, forgetting the previous order. He watched as the webs suddenly appeared, weaving into thick, intricate lines. "Can you see lines and webs too? I can make all sorts of things happen!"
"Shush, child," Evan snapped, ushering him into the safety of the trees. "I will answer your questions later. Now hold onto me and close your eyes."
Harry did that and clung tightly to the man's dark suit. But as he did, he felt another spell flying at them, and pulled on orange strings that pulsated in the air, thinking of a mirror.
The spell bounced back to its castor, causing a huge explosion and heated flames.
"Stop, do not shoot!" an elderly voice shouted. "He's got a child!"
Harry creaked open an eye to stare at a wizard dressed in bright purple robes, a long white beard blowing sideways from the wind. He looked up at the man above him and asked, "is that Merlin?"
"No, that is not Merlin," Evan barked with little patience. "Now hush, let me handle this." He stared at the old wizard, and spoke in his usual drawl. "Let down the anti-apparation wards, and I won't hurt him." He dug his wand under Harry's chin and sneered maliciously.
"Not until you hand over the child unharmed," Albus Dumbledore rumbled, drawing a black wand. The Aurors surrounding the wizard echoed the movement, though with wide eyes as they stared at the Boy-Who-Lived, caught in the grasps of a notorious Death Eater.
"Harry, I want you to listen very carefully," Evan said softly, crouching down to meet Harry's eyes. His wand, however, did not stray. "I want you to think of the safest place that I own and will us there."
"Do not listen to him, Harry!" Dumbledore shouted from his place.
Harry looked around wildly. "How do I do that? Who are you? What's happening?"
"Answers later," Evan said waspishly. "Now do as I say, or that man will take you away and force you back with your Uncle and Aunt. You don't want that now, do you?"
Frowning, Harry shook his head and closed his eyes.
The safest place that this strange man owns. I don't want to stay with the Dursleys for any longer. Please, please, please, take us away.
He clenched his hands together in a tight fist, his nails digging into the burnt flesh, and prayed. The webs around their bodies began to dance, faster and faster, glowing a grey color, and Harry spun the strings in his mind, wishing to get away from the place.
"Sir, they're disappearing!"
"Stunning spells!" Dumbledore roared, shooting a strong, red spell at the pair.
But it was too late. Harry and Evan had disappeared through the anti-apparation wards.
Harry and Evan stumbled out of midair, the former landing face down on a floor of magnificent marble while the latter stepped out of the air confidently.
"Excellent work, Harry," Evan praised. "I didn't doubt you once. You've got quite an amount of power for someone so young."
Groaning, Harry carefully lifted himself off of the ground, nursing his bruised cheek. His head spun wildly and his body felt as light as a feather. To his surprise, Harry's limbs didn't seem to be cooperating to his mental commands. Looking up at the stranger, Harry gave a look full of sadness.
"Why m' I so tired," Harry whispered hazily. "There's two of you, now one, and—" he fell over in a dead faint, his head hitting the marble floor with a dull thunk.
Evan looked at the child in mild surprise. He had expected the boy to remain conscious, especially after such an impressive display of power, apparating through Albus Dumbledore's wards. Finding himself mildly disappointed, he snapped his finger, and a trembling house elf appeared in front of him.
"Bring me a pepper-up, a calming draught, and a pain reliever," he ordered sharply.
"Yes Master," the house elf bowed before popping away.
Using his wand, Evan levitated the boy onto a nearby couch, careful not to move his injured arm. He set the child on the cushions and let out a breath of relief. He made it. He was back in the Rosier Manor.
And with a miraculous stroke of luck, found the first crafter since Merlin's time, who also happened to be the beloved Boy-Who-Lived.
Evan frowned as he thought back to what he had learned about the crafter, a skill that rarely anyone would recognize nowadays.
A crafter could see and manipulate magic to his/her will. They drew magic from its purest source and was powerful beyond belief. At the height of his/her power, the crafter would receive images through the so-called webs of magic by the Mother herself. Extinct for centuries, only those from old families would recognize the power and potential of one. The Rosier family was no exception.
As the house elf popped back into the room, vials levitated obediently behind him, Evan snatched the potions and fixed the creature with a glare.
"I want you to go into the family library and find every book that mentions crafters. Search everything. And me bring my pensieve."
"Yes Master," the house elf muttered before disappearing again.
Downing the pain reliever in one gulp, Evan sighed in relief as the raging pain in his arm subsided. Pointing his wand at the wounded limb, he murmured a charm that would disinfect and stitch the cut. The wand briefly bucked against its foreign owner but Evan stubbornly channeled his magic into the wood until it was forced into obeying.
He glanced over at the unconscious boy. Harry looked impossibly small and unhealthy, his skin pallid and skin stretched tight over bones. His black mop of hair lay limply against the boy's face, which was scrunched up in what seemed like pain.
Sighing and hoping he wasn't already going soft, Evan renervated the boy and caught his flailing body as he jerked up in surprise. Forcing the calming draught down is throat, then a pepper up, Evan settled himself in the adjacent armchair and waited for Harry to finish trying to cough up his lungs.
When Harry turned wary eyes on him, Evan felt his breath catch as piercing green eyes stared deep into his. He steeled himself and closed his face of emotions.
The two continued to stare at each other before the boy broke the silence.
"Who are you… sir?"
"That is none of your concern at the moment," Evan said snappishly. He didn't know how much the boy knew about magic. And who knows how many lies (or truths) the light side had fed to Boy-Who-Lived. "How old are you?"
Harry shrank back at the tone and looked at the man with wide eyes. "T-ten, sir."
"Already ten?" Evan muttered while his mind raced to gather what little information he had about crafters stored in his head. "I believe the latest age was six. Or was it seven." He raised his voice. "Damnit, where is that elf. Miffy!"
There was brief pause before the house elf popped back into the room, a stack of three crumbling books floating beside him.
"Are those the only books you could find?" Evan demanded while he grabbed the books out from the air.
"Yes, Master," Miffy said.
Evan sighed. "Very well. Go back to your duties."
As the elf disappeared, Harry uncurled himself slightly from where he had flung himself backwards against the couch when the creature appeared and stared with wide eyes where the thing used to be.
"What was that?" he asked, awe and horror coloring his voice.
"A house-elf, what do you think?" Evan snapped.
Harry recoiled violently. A low whimper escaped his lips before he clamped his lips together stubbornly. No! He wasn't allowed to make noise!
Mentally slapping himself for acting so impulsively, Evan tried to mold his face into a friendly expression. Judging by the child's face, he wasn't doing a very good job of it, and he let his usual mask of indifference fall into place. He wasn't meant for coddling.
"Look. Pot-Harry. You are safe here. I won't hurt you. No one will."
"But I'm a good for nothing freak," Harry muttered, peaking up from beneath his lashes. "Why would you want to protect me?"
Evan began to list different ways he could mutilate and murder the Dursleys. To treat a child so, to defile the blank slate with words of unworthiness; it was a crime even to him. It was a crime done to him. "You aren't a freak," he said firmly, wondering when he had gotten soft. He needed to torture someone if he had to continue feeding the boy self-esteem. "You are special, like me. Am I a freak?"
"Oh, no, not at all, sir," Harry rushed out, tripping over his words. "No, no, you're a wonderful person, sir."
"You and I are alike, Harry," Evan said in a low voice, moving toward the couch and crouching by the boy. "We're more alike than you think. There's something inside of you—inside of us—that makes us special. Makes us different. Makes us powerful, something your relatives would never understand."
He looked deep into Harry's dark green eyes and suddenly, an idea brewed in his mind. It was ingenious. His political and financial future would be solved and anchored, and he would have a crafter by his side—by his Lord's side—and the Dark would prevail.
"Listen, child," Evan murmured softly, taking a small hand into his. "We people need to stick together."
"Stick… together?"
"Yes, be with each other for a very long time. You'd like that right? You wouldn't want to be forced back with your Uncle and Aunt? If I disappeared, you'd have to go back."
"No!" Harry exclaimed with surprising volume. "I won't go back. I can't. Sir, please, may I stay with you?"
Evan gave a devilish grin and adrenaline rushed through his veins. "Yes, but you must make me a promise. Make me an oath. Make me a vow."
"Anything," Harry begged without hesitation, fixing his innocent eyes on the man. "I'll do anything than spend another day with the Dursleys."
"Then you must take my hand," said Evan while simultaneously calling the head elf of the Rosier family. "Hokey, you will serve as our bonder."
"As my Master commands," the old, squat elf muttered. White, brittle hair spouted from the house elf's wrinkled head and his back was bent nearly in half with age. Hokey had served the Rosier family for generations, and was the only one trusted enough to perform such an important deed.
"Good, now Harry. Listen carefully. I will ask you a few questions and you will agree. Then, when we are finished, you may stay here, away from your relatives. You will be mine."
The ten-year old stared up at Evan, caution coloring his eyes for the first time. "This isn't a trick or anything, right?" he asked slowly. "Dudley used to make empty promises all the time, and it's not funny."
"No, of course not," Evan whispered, stroking the back of Harry's hand. "Now, I will ask and you will agree. Understood? All you must say is, 'I will.'"
"Yes, I understand."
"Will you, Harry, agree to stay by my side and support me until death do us part?"
Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I will." He gasped as a rope of magic linked their hands together. The magic was red and pulsating, and he could see and feel the webs of magic intertwining between their bodies.
"And will you never raise a hand against me, to hurt, maim, or kill any part of my being or status?"
"I will."
"And will you remain loyal to me and whoever I serve?"
"I will."
The three chains of magic fused into one and the vow was sealed.
Hokey bowed lowly, his crooked nose brushing the ground before he popped away, leaving the two alone. Evan stood from his kneeled position and shot what he hoped was a friendly smile at the child.
"Good, then you may stay. Now, there are many things I must teach you in so little time. You will become like my son, Harry." His eyes smoldered like flames. "You will be his protégé."
Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Unrestrained flattery? Leave me a review and tell me! (: