Second chapter – The birth of a monster
Disclaimer:I don't own either Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji. Nor I do own the quote – they belong to their respective owners.
Shout Out:Okay, guys and gals – as promised, the next part is here. /exhausted/ Because you were such persistent little buggers, I dragged myself - - kicking and screaming – to the computer and got out this evil little bit of a story. This time, you will see Harry's side. And don't worry, the butlers will be with our beloved Antares soon...(They are still bickering somewhere – Ahem.)
Warning: This is SLASH, meaning Sebastian/ Antares (Harry)/Claude. And another warning – this chapter is GORE! Meaning, torture scenes, devious Snakepickle and Dursleys getting their due. If you can't stomach reading gory scenes, I suggest you hightail outta here and wait on next chapter – Or not. If you wanna have nightmares, please be my guests. You were warned.
"You can't create a monster then whine when it stomps on a few buildings."
(by Lisa Simpson; The Simpsons)
It was only a bad dream. Only a bad dream, a nightmare that would pass with the dawning of the morning light. He wanted to reassure himself that this was not real; however, such reassurances were as far from truth like Sun was from Earth.
'How could it have all gone so wrong?' He asked himself desperately. 'How?' One moment, he was at Durslyes, and the next, he was fighting for his life with the Death Eaters and losing.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Apparently, Voldemort wanted to make an example of him... the painful way. Cruccio was relatively mild, compared with good old-fashioned methods of torture he became really intimately acquainted with. So he had a dubious honour of being a practice target for his Inner Circle for a ... Month? Two months? He didn't know.
Then, one day, he was dragged out of the dungeon, and in front of Voldemort. He was sick, dizzy, his body was aching like nobody's business, and he lost more blood his body could handle – but he was determined to hold on, if only to piss the Snake-face off.
However, it seemed that Voldemort had something other in up his sleeves today. His clothes were stripped from him, and he was clothed in black – all black, black trousers, black shirt and black cloak, and for the grand finale, someone – Harry thought it was Malfoy – pushed a white mask on his face. And then, the Mark.
Harry's blood ran cold when he connected the dots what they intended to do. Or would have, if he hadn't been half- dazed with pain and trying to overcome the additional unpleasant stimuli.
He was too dizzy. He would have vomited if he could – he was sick – but because they didn't feed him nothing except pain – no, pain wasn't supposed to be a food. Or was it?
In an effort to lessen the swimming in front of his eyes, he shut his eyelids, only to wince at the ugly explosion of violent red on the black canvas.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It all was horribly, terribly wrong. It had to be a nightmare – highly realistic one, but a nightmare nonetheless.
But if it was a nightmare, he would have woken up already. Nightmares didn't last past the dreams, did they? You didn't feel a pain when you had a nightmare, did you?
He saw an evil smile on that bitch, Bella –something face.
The bitch was sick – truly sick one, and Harry promised himself after his... 'sessions' with the whacko, that he would render her limb for limb, or at least he would have found the kind of torture that would broke the bitch completely... somehow. She had earned the place just behind the Snakeface on his shit list, and that was an accomplishment, as Harry didn't begrudge people...not really.
"I must commend you on your stubbornness, Potter," Voldemort spoke out silkily, his voice slick with sibilant undertone of Parseltongue. Harry was too tired to really respond back. Yes, even he had limits.
Shocking, no?
But true nonetheless.
"You've amused us spectacularly, but I fear you have ... overstayed your welcome," Voldemort's words got a snicker or two from the crowd. "So my dear Bella thought up of a new game. You like games, don't you? You're always so excited when she plays with you."
Harry managed a weak snarl. 'You fucking bastard!' He thought to himself, his stomach recoiling with hatred.
If the intent could kill... the slithering bastard and all of his sycophants would have been dead a hundred – no, a thousand times over already. Sadly, only intent did nothing to harm the fuckers, even if it had helped Harry to get through all those ... times of delightful actions that were otherwise summed up under very common name of 'torture'.
Each breath hurt. Every inhale and exhale was a tiny bout of agony in and of itself.
"Bella, dear, if you would do the honours?" Voldemort's voice was a distant hiss in his ears.
"With pleasure, " the wretched bitch of a woman cooed out as she stepped forward.
And then, it was, as if Harry's body had been dipped in ice and magma simultaneously –
"AAAHHHHH!" He howled out, the sound was so inhuman, so chilling that even the most hardened Death Eaters couldn't help but step back in fear. Whatever was Bellatrix doing to the Light punk had to be painful to the extreme – Potter was resilient to torture, the stubborn arse as he was, but this had to take the cake.
"Everyone... Meet our new ally, Harry James Potter...Or you could just call him Phobos."
They stared at him disbelievingly, before they looked at ... Potter brat.
"...My Lord...?" Lucius Malfoy asked hesistantly.
There, in front of them was kneeling a teen with green eyes...but those eyes were empty.
Voldemort smirked triumphantly. "Rise, Phobos." He commanded, and at the surprise of the onlookers, the teen rose up as if he hadn't been tortured at all. "Yes, My Lord?" His voice was that of Harry and yet –
Yet, it made the gathered shudder at the complete coldness and lack of emotions present in the sound.
"Go and punish your relatives. Do make it an... example, would you?" Voldemort purred as he leaned back in his armchair.
There was a shudder of emotions over the teen's face, but the shudder passed quickly – as if it was only a ripple on the smooth surface of water.
"Yes, My Lord." The teen... Phobos? Said emotionlessly.
"Oh, and Carrow? Do Glamour him... except for his arm. He has to show whose side he is on, doesn't he?" Voldemort's sinister voice hissed out smugly, with an undercurrent of a purr.
"Y – Yes!" Alecto squeaked, before hurriedly applying the glamours.
A minute later, it was as if the teen hadn't been hurt at all – Alecto went as far as to Glamour him as a perfectly healthy boy - a little tanned and with slender muscles.
"And now..." Voldemort smirked. "Phobos – catch!" He called out, before he threw to the boy something long and slender.
The teen's movements were quick and efficient, as he caught the object. Green eyes looked over it emotionlessly.
It was a holly wand with phoenix's tail feather as a core.
The alarms in the Ministry of Magic were blaring – the thin, screeching sound over the cacophony of shrieks, wais and general mayhem.
"Wha – "
"Outta my way!"
"Where is Minister? Scratch that, Where is Bones!"
"Ouch! Watch where you are going, you mudblood idiot!"
"Mommy!"
CRASH!
/Attention – Attack at Linder Lea Number forty, Sommerset, Calling for Team Theta, STAT. Repeating, attack at Linden Lea number forty, calling for team Theta – /
Scccrrrk
The radio cackled to life again. /Warning – This is yellow alarm, attack at Gastonbury, Numbers thirteen and twenty Maple Alley, numbers thirteen and twenty, calling Team Epsilon and Beta, STAT. Spotted Dark Mark. Repeating - /
The faces of people paled at the mention of the infamous Mark.
"Mummy, what is Dark Mark?" One girl innocently asked the dark-haired woman who gasped.
However, it was only a harbinger of things that would come.
A dark skinned Auror looked at his partner, one small woman with hot pink, shoulder-length hair. "I have a bad feeling about this, Tonks," The man muttered to his companion. "Go tell Dumble – "
/Warning! Yellow alarm, attack at Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey – / The duo paled.
"Harry..." The pink-haired Auror choked out, her face ashen.
They didn't waste time in running to the nearest fireplace, security protocols be damned.
He stood over the corpse of his Uncle motionlessly.
Even if his body didn't reflect it, Harry was horrified at what he had done to the man. Sure, the walrus mutant – excuse me, human didn't like him as Harry would have liked – meaning, as a decent human being – but did he really have to get that far?
No. No. NO!
Whatever it had been done to him – it was responsible for the mauling the poor bastard.
The pain had been excruciating. Even with the amount of torture he had been through, this kind of agony was...unmatched. It was, as if his very soul had been set on fire or dipped in coldest ice that could be found, before he was somewhat... disconnected from himself.
Oh, okay, he still felt the pain his body was in, but it was muted, and controlled by something that...Harry shuddered. He wanted to get out of that cocoon – get out get out getoutGETOUT -
But whatever it was, it held on quite firmly.
And so, when they Apparated to the Privet Drive, he – or his body – whatever – headed straight to front door and entered.
What followed was a massacre.
He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe himself.
He – it – cold-heartedly skinned his Aunt out of her skin, and then splashed on her bleaching liquid, making her howl with agony. When Dudley tried to stop him, he stopped him... cutting off his leg by the ankle. And then another. And then, he cut his knees. Then, he moved onto his fingers. And wrists.
And when he... liberated ...his fat pig of a cousin of his cock and balls, he unceremoniously enlarged a pike and drove it into his rectum though his intestines.
Magic was such a handy thing to have, no?
Vernon... Vernon was a special case.
Because the man was such a great believer in normality, Harry decided to get through with the old and tried punishment for unnatural people.
Burning.
And in combination with the charm for making his nerves regenerate, along with addition of some... normal things made the man sobbing, pitiful wreck.
Transfiguration was a good thing... Yes, very good thing.
An iron chair, heated until it was red-hot with the heat... just for his lazy arse. A crown, the same as a chair – red-hot iron, because the fucker thought himself the almighty, all knowing bastard.
The apple...and sceptre... just for the fuck of it. All hail Vernon, the King of prejudiced bastards.
And just out of spite, Harry carved his face – cut off his ears, nose and torn out the bastard's eyes, along with his tongue.
Then, he painstakingly whittled the fucker's cock – for all of his blathering how homosexuals were freaks, the man sure hadn't hesitated to take advantage of his nephew, hadn't he?
Fucking hypocrite.
Torture was a wonderful thing... as unpleasant as it had been, it also undid the blocks on Harry's memory.
What he remembered... it wasn't pretty.
His ordinary, kind, overly normal family was a bunch of monsters.
But... Monsters breed monsters...
... and they got their due.
He vanished the chair and the 'ornaments' he so kindly adorned Vernon with, staring blankly at the black and red and white room.
"Oh my God..." Someone whispered. Distantly, he heard retching of someone in a corner – he didn't care.
He couldn't care.
He WOULDN'T care.
HE WOULDN'T.
The Death Eaters that accompanied Potter brat – Phobos – could barely stomach the brutality the boy rained upon his family.
Barely?
No.
Not at all.
Even the Carrows were sick – and that said much for the torture-obsessed Dark wizard and witch.
Bellatrix watched Phobos with disturbing gleam of... Lust?
Nevermind, they didn't want to know.
For an untrained Light – oriented brat, and a Saviour at that, Potter – Phobos – was surprisingly adept at using what he had on his disposal.
The irony was, the brat didn't know a whit about Dark Magic...
... meaning, he had to use Light magic – and he had... so effectively, that it made their bones chill to their very marrow at the thought of possibility that the boy would have been Dark Lord's heir.
The pops of numerous Apparations shook them out of their dazes.
"Good job, Phobos," Bellatrix purred out, her grin sinister in the half-darkness. "However, I'm afraid we have to part now... because we wouldn't want little Saint Potter associate with dirty, dark Death Eaters now, would we? Ta, love. Enjoy the Light's hospitality!"
With a swish of her wand, she undid the – whatever it was, and the last thing Harry had heard of her, was her crazed cackling being cut off with a pop.
It had been the biggest upset since the revelation of Grindelwald being a Dark Lord... No – since the day when Sirius Black murdered thirteen Muggles heartlessly.
But apparently, his godson, and until now, a Saviour of the Wizarding World, one Harry James Potter, was just as vicious, if not more so, as his darling Godfather, Sirius Orion Black.
The Wizarding World was in uproar.
Nobody could believe it.
Nobody could stomach it.
The kind, albeit a little shy and hot-tempered Gryffindor that saved them from the Dark Lord was in fact in cahoots with the menace!
The Potters had to be rolling in their graves for that injustice.
The Potter name was shamed to such an extent that it was struck down from the list of Ancient Houses, and any and all people of the Potter family were announced as a persona non grata in the magical world. In fact, that meant the Potters were practically outcasts, pariahs, lowest of the low in magical echelons.
The people cried for justice.
And one Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore personally led the campaign.
/To Be Continued/