A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Takes place post-HBP.

Through A Glass Darkly

by

NeoPenWarrior

Chapter One: Becoming

Harry leaned against the bathroom sink. Beads of sweat dripped down his pale flesh and his eyes were bloodshot. Something was terribly wrong. His muscles seized and he had to fight to keep himself upright. He found it harder and harder to draw breath with each passing moment. The lighting bolt scar on his forehead felt as if it were about to split open and strange images flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

The images were like those he saw across his link to Voldemort, but they were not of the present. In the midst of his agony, Harry recognized certain images as the Dark Lord's memories he viewed in the pensive with Dumbledore. The young wizard bit back a scream as his gut felt like it were on fire. The flames moved across his body, spreading to his chest and legs simultaneously. He could not stand any longer and fell to the floor.

He was bombarded with the memories of Lord Voldemort as his body convulsed and twitched. He opened his mouth to scream, but his throat closed and only a harsh wheeze escaped. The flames underneath his skin licked their way along his neck and up into his face. The images were constant now and each one burned itself into his psyche.

Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled over, dripping to the floor. The pain had reached heights that he thought impossible. Harry's back arched as a black aura radiated out from within him. It slowly wrapped itself around his thrashing body until none of Harry was left visible. After a few moments, the aura withdrew back into the body from which it came.

Harry laid still for a time afterward. Finally, he rose using the sink to prop himself up. His vision was blurry. He reached up and took off his glasses. The world was now clear.

Tossing the useless things aside, he gazed into the mirror. He cocked his head to the side curiously. His skin had become deathly pale and burgundy irises stared back at him. Harry looked at his hands and noticed that his fingernails had blackened. He strummed them for a moment and stretched his muscles. Satisfied with his renewed mobility, he returned to the mirror. He moved his hair back to look at his forehead and he smiled.

The scar was nowhere to be seen.

"An unexpected development," Harry muttered to himself.

Voldemort's memories were his now. Not just of events, but every piece of the Dark Lord's vast reservoir of knowledge; at least up until that fateful night at Godric's Hollow. Harry understood now what had happened to him. Voldemort had marked him as his equal and, in so doing, created another holocrux. A piece of Tom Riddle's soul had resided within him all his life.

That soul had now somehow merged with his own.

He did not understand exactly how it had happened. It was irrelevant now. The fact of the matter was that it had happened and he was a changed man; born-again as it were. He was still Harry Potter, or at least, he still considered himself as such. Yet, along with his eyes, his perception had also changed.

His thoughts and emotions were tinged with a darkness which could have only come from the shard of Voldemort's soul. Things occurred to him in new and unfamiliar ways. He considered his options and knew there was no going back from the transformation which had taken place within his being. His very essence had been corrupted and no amount of 'love' could change it.

With that thought, his mind wondered to Ginny Weasley. He felt warmth flood his chest. Even with the merger of his and Voldemort's souls, he still retained his feelings for the lovely redhead. To approach her now or to abandon all hope of a relationship, was a dilemma which briefly crossed his mind. He decided that he would give it some thought. He had distanced himself from her at Dumbledore's funeral in order to protect her, but that was before he had been corrupted. Now, his feelings were telling him to claim her despite the risks.

A very selfish spirit possessed him and his thoughts turned to his relatives. They had abused him, treated him like a house elf, and tried to crush the might of magic out of him. His blood boiled and he seethed in his hatred for them for a few minutes. Images of how to exact his vengeance upon them floated across his mind and he decided that for all the misery they had inflicted on him, he would return tenfold.

Harry made his way back to his room. It was still dark out and the Dursleys would be asleep. He went over to his desk and picked up his wand. Since he was supposed to be leaving with the Order of the Phoenix in a few days, they had allowed him to pack his things and keep them in his room. The wand resonated with him in a way that it never had before, as if acknowledging his merger with its brother's wielder.

The Ministry's tracker disintegrated with a forceful push of dark magic. His wand hummed, almost in appreciation. He conjured himself a set of black robes. They would do for now, until he could procure proper vestments. It was time to wake his cousin.

Soundlessly, he made his way into Dudley's room. He locked the door and cast a silencing charm. Standing over the bed, Harry watched his cousin sleep. He smirked as he raised his wand and hissed,

"Crucio,"

Dudley's eyes snapped open and a wail of pain tore out of his mouth. His body convulsed and twitched, much like Harry's had done earlier. Only, there would be no transformation for Dudley; no indwelling of power to save him from his cousin's retribution. A cacophony of screams and a symphony of pleas for mercy played around Harry; a charming melody.

After what seemed like an eternity to Dudley, Harry relinquished his curse and allowed the boy a momentary respite. Harry's cousin was unable to move or speak, so pleaded with his eyes for clemency.

There would be none.

As Harry exited the room, he cast a cleansing spell to do away with Dudley's blood from his face and robes. It had been...satisfying...to take his life. Harry felt powerful for the first time since he learned he was a wizard. Never again would he fall prey to the machinations of others. He would not allow anyone to make him feel helpless like he had all his life.

Which led him to his aunt and uncle. They had made him feel powerless, unloved, unwanted, and unworthy of affection. They called him and his kind freaks. The irony was almost funny.

Almost.

He entered their room. They were cuddled together. Expressions that radiated comfort, love, and security adorned their faces. Harry's blood boiled again; burgundy eyes glowed with malice.

He directed his wand at Petunia and cast the Imperious curse. She rose quietly, careful not to wake Vernon, and went downstairs. After she left, Harry cast a binding spell on Vernon and approached his uncle. He extended his hand covering the man's mouth and nose.

Vernon's eyes popped open and he thrashed his head about wildly, attempting to free himself. Harry gazed down at him with contempt. The lack of air was taking its toll on Vernon as his movements became more lethargic. Just as he was about to pass out, Harry lifted his hand.

"I am afraid you will not be getting off that easy," his nephew spat.

Petunia returned, holding a kitchen knife in her hand. Vernon started to scream, but was cut off as Harry's hand wrapped around his throat. He motioned Petunia over to them and ordered her to cut out her husband's tongue. She began her work and, in short order, Vernon was rendered speechless. Blood threatened to drown him, but a wave of Harry's wand ensured that such an outcome was impossible.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry spoke. She turned to look at him. "I know you are still with us, experiencing every moment of this. I want you to understand what it is like to feel helpless. I want you to understand the way you made me feel since I was a child. You and your husband do not deserve the happiness you shared in each other while you sapped that same happiness out of an innocent boy. Now, kill him. Stab him over and over again until he is dead."

She did just that. Muffled screams and gurgling of blood filled the room until finally, Harry and his aunt were left alone together in the silence.

"Your son is dead," Harry stated in a matter-of-fact tone. He released her from the curse and she fell to the floor in tears. "Now you know what it means to be helpless, to be powerless, with no one left who loves you. I grant you this gift of empathy, now take it to the grave. Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light and it was all over.

Harry went downstairs into the living room and sat on the couch. He wept. The part of him that was still that little boy cried over his lost innocence and mourned the life that he could have lived had his parents not been killed. Soon, his tears dried and his face became as stone. He stood and said his goodbyes to that child.

Any dreams he had previously entertained about living the life of a normal wizard, were quite hopelessly dashed by the intermingling of his and Voldemort's soul. His desires now veered in a new direction; one marked by power and revenge. The Dursley's were just the first of many. He thought of one wild-haired, female death eater in particular.

Then he thought of Voldemort. If he were honest with himself, he felt grateful to the Dark Lord for releasing him from the bonds of light, though Riddle was unaware of what he had done. Having his knowledge and memories, he sympathized with Voldemort's actions and respected them. Yet, Harry had now become a powerful dark wizard in his own right and every bit the Dark Lord's equal.

There could be only one Dark Lord of the wizarding world and, either way, he would not share power.

For now, when the Order arrived, he would be far away from Number Four Private Drive. He thought for a moment and decided he would seek out Hermione. He would need her intellect and, hopefully, her loyalty in the coming days.

That would be easier said than done.

There was a list of other friends and potential allies, but given his new essence, he knew it would take a great deal of convincing and even that did not guarantee their fealty. Then he thought of the Death Eaters. They were technically his just as much as they were Voldemort's. All except for Lestrange; she would have her reward.

Harry retrieved his belongings and sorted the junk from the useful. Then with one last look at his old cupboard under the stairs, he disappeared in a wisp of black smoke.