It all started as a coping method for the fact he was alone, again, and unable to contact anyone who could help. Well that and a little too much firewhiskey.
Harry Potter was on the run from the world at large, and the easiest way to hide was to get rid of the things identifying him as "The Boy-Who-Lived".
Which meant contacts, some really good quality permanent hair dye, and a bit of make-up to hide the damn scar. And most importantly, a change in wardrobe, because even he hated wearing the crap the wizards thought was fashionable. And the less said about Dudley's cast offs, the better.
He used a few hair growth potions (to grow bangs that would obscure the scar in case the make up wore off) dyed the entire thing with a permanent dye that somehow turned his hair purple, and managed to get his hands on color contacts to turn his green eyes into a shade of purple that could be mistaken for red in the right lighting.
Not only could he finally see properly (the glasses were never his proper prescription, and the Dursleys hadn't paid for them the first time around) but it helped to hide his vibrant green eyes, another major identifier.
Besides, at least the purple color (which thanks to his own eye color came out a delightful shade of amethyst) matched his new hair.
His wardrobe was equally easy to sort out. He went into a popular store called Hot Topic, and was then dragged around by the very enthusiastic goth clerk after her shift was over in revamping his "look". His new wardrobe now consisted of mostly black, but in a much more tasteful way than Snape ever managed. It also held a lot of chains, rounded spikes in artful decorations, and was very form fitting. A pair of fitted shoes (made to match his new outfits) also took care of the fact his own trainers were falling apart.
As far as the stores were concerned, he was reinventing himself after living with cheapskate relatives who had a vice grip on his inheritance until he came of age, and he wanted a fresh start without them.
Thank god he was able to walk into Gringotts and not get arrested after he changed his hair and eyes enough. That and he had found the best place to exchange his gold for real cash. The goblins didn't care that he had paid for all the "useless" pounds which were only kept in stock because they hated to waste money, even if it was "foreign". Only the oldest stock was burned, and that after the spells wore off.
Harry loved his new credit card, and the fact it all went into a nice shiny Swiss bank account where he kept his gold. It wasn't like the goblins could complain since he converted his entire trust vault (which held far more than he had ever thought) into gold bullion.
With a new look, a new lease on life, and no real reason to go running around Europe trying to find items he had no idea how to destroy since the Sword of Gryffindor went missing and he couldn't use fiendfire, Harry debated on what to do with his life now.
He had walked past Tonks herself and she hadn't recognized him. Which meant he could possibly leave and never have to deal with the mess Dumbledore had left behind for him to clean up. He could leave and no one would know to stop him until much too late.
He really, really didn't want to become a killer to the ungrateful bastards that made up the magical society of UK. Every year he went through hell and not once did the morons apologize for thinking the worst without a good reason! Hufflepuff certainly never said anything kind to him after the mess with Cedric, and it was pretty damn obvious he hadn't wanted to enter that stupid tournament once they showed the bloody dragons!
So no, Harry had zero interest in 'saving' magical England a second time. Voldemort could sit on it and spin for all he bloody well cared.
And with a new lease on life and a new look, for the first time since his parents were murdered, Harry had a chance to decide.
In the spirit of adventures, and wanting to find something to kill time while he relaxed in a nice cheap hotel with good room service, he hit the bookstore. He had always been fascinated with the graphic novels, since he had never been allowed to read comics growing up. What little he could get his hands on had left him wanting more.
He had always been partial to Batman.
And after learning the truth, he felt a sympathetic kinship with the rich billionaire Bruce Wayne. But there was no way in hell he was going to become a vigilante hero. Not after the way he had grown up and the way his own kind treated them.
Perhaps an anti-hero would suit his style more, but what kind?
As he walked through the graphic novel collection, his eyes caught on one of the older comics called Mouse.
Inspiration hit.
He bought the entire set, and read them the entire night. The assistant thing didn't really appeal to him, as the wounds were simply too fresh, but the idea of being a mysterious phantom thief sounded like fun.
And he had had precious little to brighten up his day.
Plus with magic, he could get away with a lot of things and leave the police baffled. If he played his cards right, then perhaps he could provide a bit of entertainment for the people who had lost someone to the Death Eaters.
Now how to go about it?
One Year later...
Purple eyes looked outside his small house in the country. One of the things that had been emphasized by his vast research (mainly comics and 'anime' based off the idea of the phantom thief) had been a base of operations that was more than it seemed on the outside, and that most operations should be conducted by night.
Hearing the croon on his shoulder, he grinned and scratched under the chin of his rather unusual familiar. The moment he found out the odd rabbit-looking thing could turn into wings and give him the ability to fly without a broom, his grin had nearly split his face in half.
Wiz the odd rabbit had been quick to bond with him after he shared his mid-afternoon snack of strawberries. He loved the garden that his new partner had loving placed close to the house, hated the rainy weather of the country they lived in, and could be reasonably counted on to be on hand whenever he had a nightmare.
Cuteness aside, he honestly didn't give a damn about any perceived manhood when his life was already shit enough. He didn't need the stress.
He had learned though painstaking trial and error how to unlock his potential as a metamorph (like Tonks, only he had figured out how to make certain things permanent), and thanks to that never had to worry about being identified as "Harry Potter: Enemy Number One" ever again.
He liked purple much better than red and gold, or silver and green. It wasn't the color of bravery, cunning, intelligence or loyalty. It was the color of royalty, of calm nature.
Purple wasn't associated with anything to do with that school, and frankly he would be glad never to see it again.
Therapy with someone who knew what they were doing helped his fractured mind greatly. He had managed to get rid of a lot of anger issues once he found a temporary tattoo that suppressed accidental magic. Having a sympathetic ear who didn't expect anything out of him outside of their job who helped put things into perspective meant he had been able to move past the guilt of his godfather, a guy he barely knew, and his first beloved pet.
They also did something that his old friends weren't likely to approve of at all...his insane drive to 'fix the world and save everyone'.
He didn't owe magical Britain a damn thing, and they couldn't demand he 'save them' when they were too lazy to get off their ass and do it themselves.
In order to distance himself from the abused and ostracized child he had been, his therapist suggested he change his name.
So he picked Dark, because if the senile headmaster knew he had washed his hands of the magical England he would have tried to 'convince' (read guilt trip him) into returning to a "Light" path.
He'd rather be "dark", if being dark meant looking after himself first and others he could only scorn second.
The next half of his name took some deliberation. It was only after remembering the comic that set him on the path of a thief, and one of the few cartoons he had been able to sneak a peek at when he was a child that he came up with the perfect last name.
Mouse.
His name would be the Dark Mouse. Ironic, considering the fact he loathed rats.
Tonight would be his first attempt at being a Phantom Thief.
He had been practicing for months, training his muscles and his skills to the point he was reasonably competent that he could pull this off.
He planned to start small and work his way up to big heists. That way people would look back and be able to point and say this was how he got his name. He worked his ass off to earn the title of Britain's greatest thief.
"I hope you're ready Wiz. We're going to change things."
"Kyu!"
Dark ate heartily, but also made sure to keep some mints to settle his stomach in case he got nerves. He grabbed his new wand (after he realized his own was still being tracked), pulled on his mask, and made sure to firmly lace up his shoes.
His clothes were made so that they wouldn't snag on anything, and hugged his body enough to show his muscles.
After a year of bizarre exercises, familiarizing himself with the sort of locks a simple 'alohamora' wouldn't beat and how to hack. It had been a slow, painful process but nothing worth doing was worth cutting corners.
His bushy haired female friend would have been shocked...or appalled...at the fact he put this much dedication in his studies of being a thief.
His traitorous friend wouldn't have seen why he felt the need to do something like this when he was already rich and famous.
Dark still had trouble putting their faces out of mind. It was enough that he had learned to let go of a friendship that had felt smothering the longer they were around.
As the time started to draw near, Dark and Wiz took off exactly forty-five minutes before they were to make an appearance. It was a forty minute flight, and there was nothing wrong with showing up early and making sure things went without a hitch.
There were cops milling around, since he had done what any "true" phantom thief would do and alerted the museum a day earlier. Thanks in part to apparition, the odds of him being captured were astonishingly low. That and the fact his invisibility cloak was hidden in side pocket on his back under Wiz, which could be undone with a flick of the wrist.
Magic made stealing that much easier. But he wanted to pull this of without having to rely on it.
It was clear the police didn't take his warning seriously. They were paying lip service to the threat, and that was just barely.
Dark grinned. This made his job easier.
Ten minutes later...
"STOP!" shouted some random cop.
Dark cackled, his prize firmly in his bag as he ran across the rooftops and off random surfaces. Parkour had been an excellent sport to join, and it gave him a freedom he had never imagined. With the help of a few charms, he could stick to surfaces long enough to get a really good running start and baffle the cops.
In a flash, the cops ran past him as he hid behind his cloak.
With a few changes to his outfit, he waltzed right past the recently made police line.
It was a good thing he was used to baggy clothing. That plus a simple hat made it easier to hide his odd hair color.
Who needed to fly and be seen this early? He still needed to make a name for himself before his notoriety became enough for the press to take any real interest.
No reason to make things harder later until it was worth it.
Dark read the paper with a massive grin on his face. His heist had made the front page, complete with a picture of the notice he sent.
Six years of using a quill meant his notes would be harder to trace. After all, they couldn't track someone who bought their quills and ink from a magical alley. That and parchment really wasn't easily found in the normal world, which made it even harder to track with science.
After all, very few people bothered to make parchment when paper was so much more cost efficient.
Thanks in part to the fact his house was on the outskirts of a very small magical village, his wards went unnoticed. As long as he kept to himself and didn't really make waves, most of his neighbors were content to ignore his activities.
He was obviously a recent graduate trying to get away from the war, but not one of the pure bloods that were fanatical about blood status.
He helped around without asking for payment, and most of his neighbors were neutral about the war, or glad that it was staying away from them.
In short, it was as peaceful as he was likely to get.
"Did you hear? They elected one of the 'innocent' Death Eaters Minister!" whispered the young housewife four houses from his.
"Shh! Do you want them to come here?" hissed her friend.
"I heard that they brought the Taboo back and if you say the Dark Lord's name they send people to take out everyone in the area!" said another.
"I can confirm that, actually," Dark spoke up. "My friends and I accidentally said his name to a foreign friend who hadn't really heard of him and they showed up without any warning at all. We barely got out unharmed."
The trio spoke with him briefly before going back to their homes, extra alert for Death Eaters. They were a small village and didn't want any trouble.
He liked this place. It was quiet, remote, and people minded their own business if it looked like their neighbors had it together...but the first sign they were in over their head they all jumped in to help.
Case in point, when he struggled to fix his house the regular way, since he didn't know the spells. A simple 'reparo' wouldn't cut it.
Most of his new neighbors had come together and helped him fix everything from his roof to the leak in his basement. It didn't hurt that he could pay for all the materials needed and wasn't afraid to get dirty cleaning everything up.
As far as they were concerned, he was a former Hufflepuff.
Dark settled into his house with his rabbit, some strawberry shortcake that Wiz would steal from when he wasn't looking, and a good book. Unlike most of his neighbors, he had working electricity thanks to lightning runes.
His life was getting better, and if he had any say in it, it would be on his terms not anyone else.