HYDRA RISING

Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter, or Kuroshitsuji nor its characters, neither do I own the segment of lyrics used. This story, though, is mine.

Shout Out: Well, so there. Long overdue update of Fire And Ice, as promised to be written out. Had a lot of fun with it, once I got myself geared up enough to write it. Hopefully it will entertain you just as much as it entertained me. And yes, the butlers will be coming soon. Maybe not in this chapter, but soon – they are nagging me with their silverware and bribin' me...

Warnings: AU-verse, as ever, Ministry being stupid and some surprising revelations on Harry's side – wait WHAT! Ahem. Just read it.

I'm in the war of my life
At the door of my life
Out of time and there's nowhere to run

/John Meyer - War Of My Life/

He remembered the proceedings that followed his little... revenge escapade. It felt kind of like a dream – a bizarre, unreal dream, and yet, it was a reality that was all too terrifying.

That terrible feeling of... emptiness, of wrongness was lifted from his mind like dirty cloth or steel manacles and left him bereft, floundering with guilt, horror and despair.

How could he torture his family – no, the Dursleys - so mercilessly? True, they were monsters to him, he knew that, but surely he was better than – that self-imposed Dark Imbecile who had been his... generous... host for the last month. How could he debase himself to the level of his... parents' murderer?

And yet...it was a part of him – a parasite that gnawed at his conscience mercilessly while he tried to reason that he wasn't a bad person – he was a good boy who had the misfortune of having bad things happen to him.

"I'm a good boy..." He rasped our, his chapped lips moving awkwardly as he tried to settle into more comfortable position as he waited for his trial. The cell he resided in was dark and dank and cold, without any comfort. Distantly he felt a chill approaching – the cold chill that made him huddle in a corner, despite several of his bones digging uncomfortably into his muscles. Rationally, he knew that it would be better if he stayed put but...

Whoever said that you had to be reasonable when Dementors came to play with your head?

Flashes of memories assaulted his mind, making him choke as he huddled further in the mouldy and damp corner.

"I'm a good boy," he repeated feebly, his teeth - or what little of them he had – chattering with the increasing cold. "I – I'm a good boy –" Squeezing his eyes shut, he bit his tongue in an effort to stop the slew of memories that hung about his consciousness like wraiths with ghoulish eyes and mouths, ready to rip his already fragile psyche into insanity.

"I'M A GOOD BOY!" The desperate shriek was heard by the two guards that were playing cards in their little room.

One of them, a thuggish looking man with stumpy nose and bushy brown beard snorted contemptuously. "Who is he tryin' ta kid?" He sneered, showing off his yellowed teeth. His partner made an agreeing noise. "An' ta think he tried to fool us into believing he was a harmless snooty little brat!" The sallow – skinned man spat out, as he looked over the cards in his hands. "Got any threes?"

The thuggish man grunted. "Go fish."

Courtroom number thirteen was the largest one available, and they still had to enlarge it to allow the masses to witness the prosecution of the Boy-Who-Fooled-Them-All, or, the more popular moniker those days, the Boy–Who–Lived-To-Be-A-Killer.

The courtroom was buzzing with noise, and even now the reporters were trying to get better places to record the whole affair.

The buzz increased when a familiar bunch of redheads, along with one bushy-haired girl, stepped into the room.

"Look!"

"There they are! Miss Granger, how do you feel about Phobos' revelation?"

"Mr. Weasley, how do you comment Phobos' recent actions?"

"Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley! What do you think about Phobos' association with You-Know-Who?"

The questions rained onto bewildered group so fast they didn't have a chance to answer them.

"SILENCE!"

The sharp roar came from the Chief Warlock, who was looking every inch the grumpy and powerful wizard that had conquered Grindlewald.

The courtroom became deathly quiet. All eyes were trained on Dumbledore's imposing form – for once, he was clothed in dark, sombre colours.

"All questions will be answered in due time. Now, there will be no questions or unrest – anybody who tries to speak out of their turn will be requested to leave the courtroom without chance of return to witness the hearing. Am I understood?" Dumbledore asked sternly. For once his eyes were not twinkling merrily.

After murmurs of sulky agreements, the doors opened and in strode the judges and jury.

This time, the Wizengamot decided to go all out.

Fudge was sitting in his chair, all puffed out and clad in the gaudiest robes he could find. In juxtaposition to him, Dumbledore was wearing sombre dark violet and black with fluorescent little stars and moons splashed across the fabric.

The atmosphere was sombre, but with an air of barely repressed violence swishing around.

"Bring in the accused." Fudge bellowed out, his face shining with triumph.

The doors opened and in glided a pair of Dementors in all of their rattling, cold glory. Between them, there was the murderer and Vold – You-Know-Who's right hand.

Harry Potter. Or Phobos.

People were silent. Phobos' clothes were black, a little torn up, but otherwise, the boy was alright. His poisonous green eyes looked around desperately, shining with panic, but oh no, they would not be fooled again.

They were fooled once, but twice, they would be not.

Then, the murmurs and hisses started.

"Betrayer. Murderer, Filth. Freak. "

The boy flinched under the barrage of the words, his eyes dulling with despair as one of the Dementors gleefully used his powers.

Lucius Malfoy smirked at the look of the boy.

"On this day, we are gathered to pass judgement on one Harry James Potter for his evil deeds against his family and the Wizarding World. The accused is guilty of deceiving good witches and wizards with his supposed innocence, for he had denied his... partnership with You-Know-Who, and said that he never worked for him. He is guilty of murdering his family with the most gruesome method imaginable - a family that fed, clothed and took care of him for fourteen years. Those are his crimes. Now, we will administer Veritaserum so that the accused will reveal his misdeeds himself." Fudge's voice boomed across the courtroom with authority, making the pale teen sag with relief in the chair.

A ministry personnel grabbed Harry's jaw roughly, a disgusted sneer on his face. Disregarding the boy's wince, he dropped onto the boy's tongue the required dose of three drops before releasing the teen's jaw and wiping the hand against his robes as if he had been touching something... unclean.

And then, the questioning began.

"What is your name?"

Green eyes dulling into the daze, the teen answered. "Harry James Potter, Phobos."

The murmuring grew restless at the proclamation.

"Did you kill your relatives on the Friday night this Halloween?"

The teen's face was blank, before stretching into a malicious grin. "Oh, yes, I did. With pleasure, too."

Someone gave out a small cry of dismay and Fudge leaned back, his face shocked. "Describe how you killed them." Dumbledore commanded, his face grave.

Harry emitted a demented chuckle. "Hehe. I skinned the horse and then I bleached her – she was fond of the bleach, yanno? The little whale lost his fatty leggies and the tiny raisins he called his cock and balls and then I got him on a pike, like a little piggy he was. The walrus was properly throned and he should have been thankful for it."

Green eyes shone with madness.

"The fucking walrus always wanted to be a king. So I did nothing but fulfil his fondest wish. He got it all – crown, sceptre and apple, with a throne to sit his fat ass on." Harry said innocently, blinking once.

Fudge made a sickened noise as he was handed the pictures. Even Madame Bones, the Ice Bitch herself, wasn't her cool self anymore.

"So you admit you murdered them in a cold blood?" Dumbledore's voice grew hard and the witnesses flinched at the power it contained.

"Why, yes, yes. They deserved it, for being such a happy family." There was this sick chuckle again.

"Why – Why did you do that?" Madame Bones asked her face ashen with revelation. This creature in the chair surely wasn't Potter –

The creature grinned a small, innocent smile, filled with malice. "I punished them, just like my Lord commanded me to."

The crowd grew uneasy.

"And... Who is your Lord?" Dumbledore whispered out, blue eyes stern.

Harry flashed him a smile. "Why, Lord Voldemort, of course!" He proclaimed sunnily.

Courtroom thirteen was thrown into a chaos.

It took at least five minutes to get the courtroom in order and the chants of enraged people to dwindle down.

Harry blinked as he looked at all of those furious faces around him.

Just what had he done now?

He wanted to shrink back into the chair, wincing as the chains wound around him even tighter.

"The jury calls Ronald Bilius Weasley as a witness." The sickly sweet voice of the pink toad – eh, Umbridge - declared firmly.

Harry watched his friend hopefully. Surely this was a nightmare and Ron would help him, wouldn't he?

But Ron didn't look at him. He stepped onto the dais for witnesses and swore the oath.

And then, Harry's world crashed down.

Ron told them all about him being a Parseltongue, even going as far as to accuse him of being Dark and killing Cedric, which caused another uproar –

Hermione telling them about his fits of anger and sulkiness, revealing the secrets he thought she never would – like how he disliked the Dursleys and some of him more... unorthodox studies –

Ginny Weasley bawling out her little heart about not knowing that her saviour was so very evil, painting herself the perfect victim of that Chamber of Secrets scene –

Both Sirius and Remus testifying against him, proclaiming they didn't know where they went wrong, but that he wasn't their godson anymore –

Luna Lovegood testifying that he had some Snazzwumpers in his head and insisting that he should have been checked for them, but saying he was innocent, but the public booed her out –

The crimes against him, whether real or imaginary, just piled on.

Harry closed his eyes. He just wanted it all to end – his body may have looked like it was in perfect shape, but he felt every cut, bone and burn aching in a symphony of pain.

Just how could it all go so wrong?

Surely his testimony under Veritaserum should have shed a light over the matter and absolved him?

He was tired, sick and his vision swam, and his ears were almost deaf with the thunder of curses at him and demands for his death.

After a small eternity, Fudge pounded the gavel. "Silence!" He screamed, and the crowd hushed into annoyed murmurs. They wanted their vengeance and they would have it!

"The case of theWizengamot and people versus Harry Potter, also called Phobos came to following conclusion. The accused is recognized as guilty–" People cheered at that proclamation - "He will be stripped of all of his titles and possessions, be they monetary or otherwise. He is to be sentenced to Azkaban under the heaviest possible guard for three lifetimes, with no chance of parole, and his magic will be bound and sealed. So it was said, so mote it be!"

And Harry's heart shattered.

He didn't protest when they took him to seal his magic – it was as if all the fight had went out of him, leaving behind only an empty shell of despair and hollowness.

The sealing was the singularly worst pain he had ever felt– like someone tearing and not-tearing some important limb from him, like an arm or leg – it was still there, but he couldn't use it, making him feel numb and hollow at the same time, like he would never again be warm and safe. He never knew just how much he depended on his magic, even if it was subconsciously. Now he felt cold, and as if he had hollow something instead of bones and inside that hollowness, there was cold and darkness.

He was stripped of his cloak and they put a heavy pair of manacles on him, both on his wrists and his ankles, the chains jingling a mournful tone. He was trembling with the cold and pain and his body was failing as he was led to the doorway that connected the temporary prison to Azkaban.

He was roughly grabbed and then someone dragged him through and the feeling was as if he was walking through an icy wall of needles piercing through his already abused body.

The trek to his cell was long and silent, interspersed with the occasional shriek or howl of a tortured victim that desperately tried to get away from a Dementor.

It was a relief to be pushed into the small, dark place, so like his cupboard, but infinitely safer somehow.

Slowly, wincing and jerking, he curled into a small ball, his green eyes staring sightlessly at the silver of the moonlight that made its travel across the stone floor.

Across England, the witches and wizards were celebrating the demise of the Boy–Who-Was-Proven-To-Be-A-Monster, not knowing that they had lost the only thing that stood between them and the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

All the while Sebastian was annoying one Claude Faustus, delaying the spider butler's search for his pretty little fly.

The wheels of fate may have been derailed from their pathways, but once they are turned, they are almost impossible to stop.

Unknowingly for all of them – Voldemort, Dumbledore and their followers, the stage was set and when Bane looked at the stars that night, Mars was brighter than ever, and the Hydra was glittering ominously from the darkened sky.

The stern, hot-headed leader of the Centaur herd felt a chill spike up his spine. He may not be as much of an accomplished stargazer as that rebel Firenze, but he knew enough to know that this particular combination was an omen of very bad times to come.

"May the Heavens help us all," He muttered to himself, before rearing on his hind legs and galloping deeper into the forest, intent on reporting to the Elders.

/To Be Continued/