The Department of Mysteries, 1996
Bellatrix Lestrange triumphantly cackled as she darted down the hallway.
Harry was quick on the Death Eater's trail, nothing else on his mind other than harming her. His senses had become numbed, and the gaping hole that had been extracted from his heart pulsated to the tune of his rampant footsteps.
By the follow of her shrill giggle, Harry was gaining on Bellatrix and was more determined than ever to corner her and unleash physical retaliation.
Just moments ago, Sirius Black had been brutally murdered by Bellatrix, his own cousin, and something within Harry simply snapped.
Years upon years of struggling to manage his wayward emotions had been thrown out the window. All that was left was a deep-seated yearning to wreak vengeance; to inflict a similar amount of pain and suffering that Harry had been forced to tolerate all of his waking life.
And there was presently no one more deserving than Bellatrix Lestrange.
The last figure who represented parental ownership over Harry had just been savagely murdered, and he was left without a confidant once more; he was left to pick up the pieces all by his lonesome, once more.
But this time would be different.
This time he would not withhold from impulse, he would not listen to reason, and he certainly would not allow himself to be manipulated into a state of complacency ever again.
Harry's heels skid across the black marble floor as he cut the corner and dashed after the echo of Bellatrix's maniacal laugh.
"Stupefy!"
The startled gasp of Bellatrix filled their vacant surroundings as she was hit by the powerful stunning spell. But she made a quick recovery, her bemused cackle heightening as she stood to her full height and met the eyes of Harry.
The simple sight of her made him sick; her shit eating grin with rotted yellow teeth, her lifeless black eyes, the deranged look of pleasure that followed the demise of his godfather.
For a short-lived moment, Harry fantasized the psychological standpoint of the established Death Eater.
The ability to harm anyone that got in the way without a shred of sympathy; to lash out against foes with zero remorse; to inflict pain upon others because the culprit simply felt they deserved it.
To be entirely numbed of logic between right and wrong.
Harry paused in place, his teeth grit and his wand hand furiously oscillating before him. Despite the spastic movement of his arm, he kept a firm eye on the Death Eater who continued to taunt him with howling laughter.
As Harry dragged one slow foot after the other, the grip on his wand whitening his knuckles, he felt an unfathomable level of fury quite like he had never experienced. He craved for Bellatrix to suffer; to feel pain; to be tortured.
And he was more than happy to assist.
Harry's lashed his wand with all of his might while roaring, "CRUCIO!"
His elevated voice echoed down the hallway as a jet of red light catapulted from the tip of his wand and hit his target with seamless administration.
Bellatrix made a choking noise as she was hurled to the floor, and she writhed against the surface in an insurmountable level of pain.
Harry relished in the visible despair that overshadowed the Death Eater's demeanor. Thus, he heightened the intensity of the spell in greedy observation.
"Didn't think I was capable of it, did you?" he taunted, his lips curling at the corners. "Didn't think I could produce a proper Dark Curse." As his eyes narrowed, he warned, "You underestimated me. The whole lot of you have."
A single tear streamed from Bellatrix's deranged eyes as she stared back at him in something that appeared to be similar to desperation. Her body continued to convulse in agony, and she sucked in a strained breath while positioning herself on hands and knees.
And in that moment, Harry blacked out.
He no longer held control over his body movements or the incantation that was soon to fall from his lips. As he pulled a leg back, his limb picked up momentum as he swiftly kicked her in the ribs.
Bellatrix was thrown to her back, screaming in pain as Harry grinned in insatiable pleasure.
In further observation of the Death Eater, gripping the side of her torso and screeching in torturous pain, he felt an intoxicating adrenaline rush wash over him. But the sensation of ecstasy didn't simply derive from physical retaliation. No, it wasn't just the fact that he had weakened the culprit who took Sirius' life.
It was simply the phenomenon of watching someone suffer other than himself.
Harry could get used to this, he thought, as he ogled at her in fascination while fixed in place.
The Gryffindor's first and only attempt of administering Dark Magic appeared to serve its due diligence; as he had been told in his fourth year, one had to actually mean it in order for the spells to work.
And he fucking meant it.
"What's the matter, Bellatrix?" Harry chastised above a whisper. He used the tip of his wand to push a lone lock of curly black hair from the Death Eater's face with his head tilted to the side. With an eerily low tone he inquired, "Fancy to be put out your misery?"
Bellatrix's eyes widened, whimpering against the grueling sensation as she clutched her broken ribs. But her expression suddenly shifted as she made a move like a rabid animal, snarling and growling at him.
It was debatably an impressive move; even under the Cruciatus Curse, Bellatrix maintained the mental stamina to transmit the fact that she wasn't intimidated by Harry. She made it a point to wordlessly communicate that she didn't believe he had it in him to harm her any further while mocking him despite the pain she was experiencing.
Unfortunately for Bellatrix Lestrange, she had greatly underestimated the Chosen One. He was a man that had nothing left to lose which provided a lethal concoction for reckless actions to come.
Harry swished his wand over his head like a lasso before centering upon the Death Eater. "Avada-"
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry's wand promptly soared from his hand, high into the ceiling, as his neck craned in the opposite direction.
There Albus Dumbledore stood, gaping back at Harry as though he had met the eyes of Lord Voldemort himself.
"Harry," the Headmaster spoke in a calming tone. "This isn't who you are."
"You don't know who I am, or what I'm capable of!" Harry shouted. "Look what you've made me become!"
"You are not thinking clearly," the Headmaster replied, his demeanor stoic. "Please, Harry."
"Where have you been all year?!" Harry shouted, his voice raspy against strained vocal cords. "Where have you been while I've been made a fool of? You wouldn't even dare look at me as though I was some freak!" With his face tilted downwards and staring at Dumbledore from the tops of his eyes he warned, "Just how I felt around the Dursleys in my childhood."
"I have an explanation for my absence," Dumbledore assured. "Now, however, is not the time."
"I'm tired of catering to your conveniences," Harry argued, his whole body uncontrollably shivering now.
"If you wish to target your anger upon someone," Dumbledore began while referencing to Bellatrix who continued to thrash against the floor under the Cruciatus Curse. "Then I implore you to do so upon myself."
"What?" Harry seethed.
Never in his life was Harry more inclined to hurt Dumbledore, to lash out at him for his phony calm tone and empty words. He was done with the riddles and roundabout directions he had been placed in that ultimately, time and time again, put himself in impending danger.
Put Sirius in danger.
Harry's last source of sanity had been murdered right before his eyes, and he couldn't manage to witness another death while powerless. A part of himself died with Sirius in that moment, birthing a heavily neglected side to him that was hungry to seek revenge.
Harry felt disgusted.
He felt like a show dog to Dumbledore; something to groom and raise as a blind side kick with an over glorified hero complex.
It had all been fueled off of false hope and empty promises.
Harry was tipping on the verge of making a move that would shift the tides of the wizarding world forever. If he were to quench his thirst of killing those that he thought as deserving, he would finally gain a level of control quite like he had never experienced.
"It was a foolish act to be baited into the Department of Mysteries this evening," Dumbledore noted. "Reckless."
Was Dumbledore actually using this opportunity to give Harry a lecture, of all times? Was he trying to get himself killed?
"However, it is my fault for not sharing this sentiment with you; an old man's mistake."
"An old man's mistake?!" Harry retorted, his feet slowly backstepping in the direction of his wand. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"I transferred my duties of practicing Occlumency onto Professor Snape in the hopes that he would succeed in teaching you to block Voldemort from your mind," the Headmaster patiently continued. "If I were to have taught you first hand, there laid the opportunity for Voldemort to use you as a spy upon myself."
"Selfish!" Harry shouted. "How could you be so fucking selfish?!"
"You are not listening," Dumbledore persisted. "The chances of Voldemort possessing you were too high; too dangerous."
"It's too late," Harry quietly noted. "Perhaps I'm already possessed. Just not within the same context that you feared."
Dumbledore looked at him inquisitively with hands calmly clasped in front of himself.
Harry took advantage of the short pause that had been presented and darted in the opposite direction of the Headmaster. His knees slid across the pavement and his body shifted to the side as his hand clenched onto his most prized possession.
"Just go!" Harry firmly demanded, his wand hand trembling. "Leave before I hurt you! I have nothing else to lose."
Bellatrix emitted a struggled groan from beside them, and for a moment the Gryffindor had forgotten she was even there.
Dumbledore stared back at Harry with pristine focus, and Harry sensed hesitation, maybe even fear, from the resilient Headmaster. Nonetheless, Dumbledore's piercing gaze and sympathetic expression would not dissuade him this time.
Not anymore.
"If you're refusing to leave.." Harry seethed through clenched teeth. Pivoting on his heels, he swished his wand in Bellatrix's direction while puffing out his chest and bellowing, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
With a flaming roar of green and a blood curdling scream, Bellatrix lifelessly collapsed to the floor.
"That wasn't meant for you," Harry spoke above a whisper, turning back to Dumbledore. "Not this time."
Dumbledore's demeanor instantly faltered as his true, harrowing emotion erupted from the surface. The Killing Curse that had just been administered by Harry seemed to deeply trouble the Headmaster; he appeared heartbroken, betrayed..
Something that Harry had frequently experienced all of his young life.
From over Dumbledore's shoulder Harry could make out the snakelike, revolting image of Lord Voldemort as he neared them from around the corner. The Dark Lord's robes billowed behind him as he made a rushed approach to his befallen ally.
And in that moment, Harry promptly reasoned that the Headmaster was on his own for this one.
Dumbledore had gotten them all into this mess and held a heavy hand in Sirius' untimely death; he was also responsible for years of emotional manipulation and unreasonable misjudgment upon Harry.
As the Dark Lord observed the lifeless body of Bellatrix with an expression of indifference, there was another spark of invigoration that titillated Harry's senses. He felt a sickening and perplexing wave of envy in the presence of Tom Riddle.
What would it be like to be void of all emotion? To kill those who were thought of as deserving, whether in a moralistic fashion or otherwise?
Harry made a promise to kill Voldemort one day, primarily in spite of his parents and loved ones. And then, he would continue to rid the wizarding world of the vermin that was left behind from the Dark Lord's reign.
For every family member and friend, for every piece of emotional trauma that he had been dragged through, Harry made a vow to seek those who rightfully deserved their demise.
He was faced to make the ultimate choice:
To either run from his demons, or chase after his demons to the beat of his own drum.