Ye Old Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended. J.K. Rowling owns it all, I am just playing with the Story.
This story will contain a Dark but not evil Harry. Will Feature lemons from time to time, torcher, blood, gore, and other nasty deeds. Like I said, Dark Harry but not evil. Definitely twisted though.
Chapter 1, The Fallen HeroIn the semi darkness of the prison cell an emaciated figure lay upon a tattered blanket, its only protection against the insanely cold stone floor below. The sounds of the storm tossed sea sounds endlessly though the dreary halls about, but the figure does not hear it. All it hears are the screams of a woman begging for her son's life. Begging endlessly for his life to be spared only to be denied by the cold laughter of her murderer. No one else hears those sounds, only him since it's all in his head, courtesy of the Dementors that surround his cell. The same ones that have been there for the last 90 days, not that the figure knows what day it is or how long he has been here. He only knows the screams of the woman, the vision of his best female friend being felled by a dark spell, and the broken voice of a male friend telling him, there was no pulse.
Other times he sees other people fall. His Godfather falling though a dark curtain. A young man bathed in green light next to him and an endless stream of beatings and abuse. His ears ring with pain-filled screams of pain, loss, and hurt. Most times the voices belong to someone else. Sometimes, it was his own.
He had received quite the education on Dementors since he came to this place. He learned that they not only feed on good emotion and make you relive your worst experiences, but over enough time they learned how to dig about to parade them across the victims mind. The longer the same Dementors feed from a person, the better they got at it. They learned what hurt you the most and brought those to the foreground.
He knew a way to fight them but guards never left him alone long enough for it to do any more good than hold on to just a small shred of his old sanity. Then again, he knows he might have lost even that some time ago. Like his Godfather he was an animagus, but it did him no good in this place. No one knew of his ability but they kept him far too weak to be able to transform. Not that he could feel enough of his magic to be able to do anything anyways.
Aside from the mental battleground he was forced to fight every moment he was in this place, he had to deal with the physical too. His enemies owned the prison; little did anyone but him know it. Most of the guards belonged in Voldemort's camp and they took great pleasure in coming to his cell to show him how much Voldemort thought of him. Daily they strung him up and beat him, shredding his skin and abusing weakened muscles and bone only to heal him up, leafing no evidence and so they could do it again the next day.
This was his new life and had been since the Wizengamot had sentenced him to three months in the prison for use of an Unforgivable Curse, destruction of Ministry Property, and breaking and entering of said Ministry. Did it matter he was trying to rescue someone? Not to them. Did it matter he brought proof of Voldemort's return? Not in the slightest. All that mattered was that he was guilty of those crimes. They called his sentence justice, yet he called it hell.
Every day here felt like years and years to him. The Dementors sometimes showed things from his mind that he had never even lived. He found himself plagued many times by memories of Ginny torturing him, being tortured by many different people, Hermione being tortured by Bellitrix, and being betrayed by his best friend Ron. In all these things he was older than he is now, but he lived them again and again. Once they showed him Dumbledore being killed by Snape, but he never saw that one again because he enjoyed it too much. Dumbledore was the main force that put him in here and Harry would love nothing more than to do the deed himself.
Years of near starvation thanks to his only blood relatives and the old man himself gave his body the understanding it needed to survive the meager rations they called food in this place. His body was no stranger to light meals and though they made sure to give him just enough to live, it was a pitiful amount. Still, he was a survivor, and he was still here, no matter how much he wished for the end to come.
Voldemort had not been idle either. He sent him visions many times of the things he was doing in back in the world. Rape, torture, murder, he showed him everything he did. His mental defenses had been shredded in this place and it only furthered to crush his meager grip on his sanity. As he opened a blood-encrusted eye he thought to himself, he was still here. He was still alive. His eye fogged in pain looked over to the Dementor that stood watch in front of his cell. He wondered again for the thousandth time if he could somehow convince it to just kill him. He hadn't yet but there was always hope if he could ever figure out how communicate with it.
That was pretty much how his days went. There was no day or night here to mark the passage of time, just pitch-black and gray dark. When it was gray dark the guards came in, strung him up and beat him with knotted, coarse ropes soaked in rancid water or urine. Sometimes just to change it up they used rods of bamboo. Those, though only broke over his body, which led to shredding him and making more work for the healers. Then, when they grew tired or he was too close to breaking he was healed and two Dementors were posted outside his cell to torment his mind. Voldemort would break into his ravaged mind on occasion, which broke the cycle nicely.
Through the fog of his mind he could never understand what the Healers got out of this. They did not look like the typical Voldemort supporters, but they never said anything about what was happening to him. It was just another day at work for them. It was a small consolation that there might have been others being tortured like him.
Suddenly, he felt the presence of the Dementors leave and withdraw from his mind. He blinked several times at the sudden feeling of their absence and wondered if he had somehow gotten his wish and they had finally killed him. It was such a heady feeling to be free of them for the moment and a small smile, the first since his time here, graced his face. It disappeared when he noticed the new figure standing at his cell door. Dressed in eye watering brightly blue robes decked out with little stars and planets, was the one person he never wanted to see.
"Hello Harry." His gentle grandfatherly voice grated on his every nerve. That mad twinkle in his eye brought a rage to his barley beating heart.
"Dumbledore." His own voice was ragged and rough. It was the first word he remembered saying that was not ripped from his throat during endless hours of torture.
Harry Potter continued to lie in his filthy tattered robes sending all his hatred through his eyes to the old man before him. They where the same robes he was wearing that day at the Ministry three months ago. "Your sentence is served, it is time to go." Harry watched as the cell door opened and the old man stepped in. He struggled to rise from his blanket hissing with the pain that spiked though his joints and muscles all the while.
He was never able to figure out how the Healers did it but they removed all physical traces of what was done to him but managed to leave behind the pain of the experiences. As he wobbled to his feet clutching the wall, he wondered if it was phantom pain from remembering what they had done to him, or if it was real. Either way he was hurting, but fought to rise anyway. Dumbledore made to steady him but when he felt the old mans touch on his arm he jerked away falling roughly to the ground again.
"Don't touch me! I don't need your fucking help." Harry noted that Dumbledore pulled back allowing him to get up on his own with only a sigh at his language and attitude. Once again he was back on legs that refused to support his meager weight and leaning against the wall to catch his breath keeping his eyes on the man in front of him.
It seemed to take them hours to transverse the multiple layers of the old prison due to his weakened condition and refusal of aid. He had to stop many times to catch his breath or to relive the aching discomfort of his bones and muscles. By the time they boarded the boat, he was exhausted beyond any he ever remembered. On the same token though, his first taste of air not filtered by the dank corridors of Azkaban seemed to lend him new strength. As he curled up into a loose ball at the front of the boat, he wondered if he was going to wake up anytime soon. His freedom could only come like a dream after his time as an inmate. He would never understand how Sirius had lived in that hell for all the years that he did.
xxxxxx
"Now remember, we only get one shot at this so it's got to go smooth." Stated the young man in the back of the van. He was tall. Just about six foot and built like a brick house. He watched as the others nodded, not that he expected less, he was the leader of their gang and they always did what he told them.
A wiry, rat-faced teen behind the wheel turned in his seat to look at him. "I still don't know about this, Big D. The neighborhood's one thing, but this puts us in the big time. You sure that club guy's got our back?"
Dudley Dursley nodded his thick neck. "Don't sweat the details, all you got to do is drive Pierce. Me and John got rest." John was built like Dudley, massively. He gave Pierce an easy grin while thumping the cricket bat in his hand. The only other person in the van that was apart of his crew was Jacob. He sat shotgun keeping a pistol lowered but ready. "As far as The Boss goes, I told you already, he's got our back. We do this job and we've done him a solid. Now shut up and do what I told you."
The last person was a woman none of them had ever seen before, and only Dudley had seen her face out of his crew. She was the reason they where here in the first place. Her face was hooded and a great gray cloak that concealed her body. The others thought it was weird, but after Dudley told them about what he termed "The Underground" they backed off.
"Just remember, I get first shot at the freak. I got a score to settle with the prick." The others nodded as he and John climbed out of the van.
They walked up to the area between houses eleven and thirteen looking about when John turned to him. "You really believe this crap about Magic don't you?"
Dudley nodded. "Just take him by surprise and you won't have to worry about it. I've done some reading on them. We don't want him able to fight back. If what she told us is true, he should appear here. Do your thing and I got the rest."
John smirked at him. "Cheers then." He handed the bat to Dudley and walked over to a light pole to wait. Dudley hid himself behind a row of bushes that where big enough to hide his massive bulk.
It was a huge surprise when the woman had come to him yesterday demanding his help today. Once she had outlined everything for him and what he was likely to face, he knew there was only one person to go to, The Boss at Club Three. The most connected guy he knew, not that he knew many, and the only one he that believed him about the Magical world. He had supplied the van and weapons for the job today as well as outlining the plan for how things were to go. All things considered he wanted to send a message of his own to the freaks and saw this as two people doing each other a favor, though he assured Dudley that if he succeeded today he would actually owe him. Free drinks and VIP treatment at his place were just a few of the perks. He also offered money, lots of money. Dudley needed that to convince his crew to go along with him on this. They liked money.
Right after he had come back from school he noted that his parents where in great moods and they seemed to be practically celebrating something. It was not until the woman showed up that Dudley began to understand what. All of that led him to the here and now. The woman was plain strange. He had never seen her before, nor did he ever read or hear about her from any of Potter's things when he used to snoop.
The night passed by for some time as he sat and waited. This was the hard part, the waiting. He did not like to wait, but he knew that this time he needed to. There was no telling when the freak would show. Minutes turned into hours as the night passed quietly in this little corner of London until finally he heard a 'pop'. His eyes had grown droopy but he came wide-awake as he took in the sight before him.
Two figures had just appeared out of thin air in front of him. The first was an old man dressed in outlandish freak clothes. The other looked like a bum. The old man was holding the arm of the bum but let go when he jerked his arm from his grasp. He fell hard on the ground seeming unable to stop himself. He could feel his heart began to pound with excitement. It was time. He looked over at John and noticed he was walking over to the two and nodded his head.
The old man had bent to help the bum get up when he heard his signal from John. "Hey old man, you got a smoke?" Dudley rushed forward from his hiding spot just as he heard the van down the street start up.
It was over quick. The old man stood up quick and pulled a stick from his robes half turning to Dudley's running footsteps. He never got a look at him though, since before he could complete his turn, Dudley had swung the Cricket bat right in his face taking him clean off his feet. He had no sooner than laid out the old-timer when he tossed the bat to John who took a couple of swings into the torso of the guy. He pulled the 9mm from his back just as the van screeched to a halt beside them and the door opened.
John grabbed the bum up and jumped inside but Dudley was not finished quite yet. "Pay back's a bitch, ain't it Freak?" As quick as he could, he pulled the trigger several times putting three rounds into his right arm like he was told to. Just before he jumped into the van himself, he snatched up the freaks stick. "Go go go go go!" he shouted as he pulled the door shut hearing the squeal of the tires. He looked out the back window and did not see anyone run outside before they made the corner and were lost from site. He let out a bellow of victory that his crew echoed before he looked at the prize of the night.
His cousin Harry Potter was currently in the arms of the woman in the van. He could hear her crying while she clutched him to her, possessively. Harry was looking around confused while being held and leaning up against her. Dudley would have smirked, but this Harry Potter was a different man than the one he saw last year.
He had no idea what he Freaks had done to him, but he was all messed up. "Dud…Dudley?" At the tone of his voice Dudley could not hold back his smirk and let it grace his face.
"Hey Harry, you look like shite you know that?"
Harry blinked several times looking around at Dudley's gang. He was not surprised, they tormented him for years, they where not exactly friends. Finally after several moments he turned to look at Dudley his confusion not lessened at all. "What the Fuck is going on?"
"Rescue, o'course. She told us you were gonna be here tonight and so I called in the cavalry to pull you out." Harry looked at him blankly not seemingly to understand what was said to him.
"Rescue? Why in the nine hells would you come to rescue me? We hated each other since forever!"
Dudley nodded looking at him seriously. "Yeah, and you saved my arse last year anyways. I treated you like trash. Mum and Dad treated you like shite, yet you saved my life. I been thinking all year I was gonna make it up to you, but then your "people" went and locked you up. Mum and Dad thought it was a great laugh. Me though, I didn't think it was funny." He looked up at the woman who was still crying and holding her cousin for a moment before he looked back at Harry. "She started showing me "your" paper. I didn't understand a lot of it, but I understood the fact they were throwing you in jail for a couple of months over something stupid."
"So, she comes to me yesterday and tells me that old freak was gonna pull you from the slam they threw you in. Gonna bring you to a safe house and lock you up here until you do what they tell you to do. She asked me to help spring you for her. I owe you big time, so I go see this guy I know at Club Three. He's connected if you know what I mean. Anyways, I tell him I got a problem. He tells me he's got a solution. Knew who you where and seemed down right pissed about what was going on. He set it all up and I pulled in the Surrey Crew."
xxxxxx
Harry lay there listening to his cousin, telling him all of this, unbelieving all the while. DUDLEY rescued him from Dumbledore? What sick twisted parallel world did he wake up in where a Dursley saved him from Dumbledore? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way? He blinked a few times after his cousin stopped talking. The Greatest "Light" Wizard of the age had his arse handed to him by his muggle cousin. He couldn't get his head around that concept. His time in Azkaban must have unhinged him. He was mad, that was it. He lost his mind. No other explanation seemed to fit. He looked about the dark van trying to assimilate everything. If he was mad, it was still better than what he was expecting. Maybe madness was not so bad after all. Maybe sanity was just as overrated as Sirius had always claimed. It sure beat Azkaban. He wondered for a bit if Sirius went through something similar when he made his escape.
"Who is this 'she' you keep talking about?" He asked his cousin.
In response, Dudley simply looked above him. Harry leaned his head back and noticed for the first time that someone was holding him. His head was resting in her amble bosom and he tried to take in her appearance, but was defeated by the hooded cloak she wore. Just at that moment, they passed a light pole and it illuminated her features for just a second. He did not recognize her but something in him told him he should have, as something about her was familiar. Real familiar. Her hair was long and looked like freshly fallen snow. She was beautiful with high cheekbones and amber eyes. He blinked again. She was crying softly and he realized she was clutching to him like she was afraid he would disappear if she let go of him. She had a watery smile on her face as she looked down on him. Her eyes locked on his own, but he could not place what he saw there. It made his stomach flutter, though.
"Master…" her voice was so soft it struck his ears like a feathers touch. He felt one of her hands unclench and began stroking his matted and filthy hair from his eyes. He had no idea who she was, but she seemed to know him. He still could not shake the feeling he should know her from somewhere.
He brought his eyes down to Dudley and raised an eyebrow. "You know, this is really fucking bizarre, even for me." His cousin just chuckled at him.
It took a few hours to arrive at Club Three, which turned out to be their destination. He looked at Dudley who was handing him a cloak. "Put that on and we'll get you in to talk to The Boss. You might want this too." Harry lay there staring at the wand Dudley was offering him. "Took that from the old guy, figured you might need it since I doubted they would give you back yours after the prison thing."
Harry reached for the wand with a shaking hand. "Thanks, they snapped mine after the trial." His voice a broken whisper.
Harry reached out and took the wand immediately feeling raw power coarse through him. It made him feel light headed and his eyes rolled back in his head from it. Not since he was locked up did he feel as good as he did at that moment. He let out a shuttering breath as the feeling passed. He just managed to croak out a thank you as the woman helped him to don his cloak. He held the wand in a death grip once they stepped out of the van.
Who ever the woman was, the second he wobbled on his feet, she took his arm and draped it over her shoulders to support his meager weight. "I have you Master." He felt someone lower his hood while he was looking at the beautiful woman next to him trying to figure out whom she was and why she was calling him Master. His thoughts though where interrupted as he was led into the Club. The bouncer at the door seemed to be expecting them as no sooner than they reached the door, he dropped the rope and let them in nodding at him respectfully. Harry shook his head not understanding what was going on.
The Club was loud and jumping when they entered. He heard and felt the techno beat blasting through out the dark area and caught a look of the dance floor, which seemed to be on the floor below them. The floor he was on was built like a balcony that overlooked the dance floor and offered a large bar that covered two whole walls. Looking down he noticed a second bar that covered one wall below. Several tables where all about and as he looked up he noticed a floor above them similar to this one. Neon lights flashed about reminding him of a movie he saw once that featured a laser light show. His head was starting to pound from all the noise and lights before they managed to reach a door that he was ushered inside of.
The hallway he was walking down now was sparsely decorated. By this time, he was barely paying attention to anything, as the woman who was supporting him was practically dragging him along. The last of his reserves where just about spent. Thankfully he did not have to wait much more to find out what was going on.
He was shown into what looked like an office of some kind. A well-dressed man was seated behind a large desk reading a ledger, when he noticed them standing there.
Harry wearily looked at him. He was an average looking guy; the kind of guy that if he was not wearing such an expensive looking suit you would not look at twice. His face was clean-shaven, but his dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail some of the Purebloods favored.
"Mr. Harry Potter. My name is Robert Logan and I have been looking forward to meeting you…"
xxxxxx
It took him a month to get back into shape enough to be where he was at currently without aid. The night sky over London was impressive from the rooftop of Club Three and he had to admit, it was a good place to think. He could feel the bass from the massive speakers through the floor beneath him vibrating his feet; it was oddly soothing while he tasted the light fall breeze blowing about him.
Harry allowed his mind to drift about as he tried, once again, to get a grip on how his life was currently shaping up. He should have been at Hogwarts today as it was September first. For the previous five years he had at this moment had been sitting in the Great Hall eating with Ron and Hermione at his side. Not now, nor ever again will that ever be. Dumbledore had taken all that from him. Dumbledore and the Ministry.
Surprisingly he had been spending a lot of time with Dudley. Turns out he moved out of Privet Drive a few months ago and had been spending all his free time with one of his mates. He left to go back to school though a few days ago citing that he needed some kind of education for his future. Cant be a street thug forever. Harry shook his head. He still had not gotten over the fact he kicked Dumbledore's arse. It was one of the few things that got him to laugh lately. They had spent the last week drinking in the club to the memory.
Robert had been a man of his word. Dudley and his crew were treated to free drinks; beautiful girls hung on their arms, and in general became overnight big shots within the Club. No waiting in line for them, no sir. They had the Bosses favor and all the regulars knew it, even if not one of them knew why. Harry was amazed at it all, he personally was treated the same if not better. He noticed that the staff treated him like he was Roberts's right hand man. He had his own booth on the third floor, his own waitress and a pair of bodyguards that shadowed him through the club. Word had gotten around quickly at Club Three, Harry was a made man, leave him alone. It only took his bodyguards breaking a few bones to make that point.
Turns out that Robert's real name was Taurus Malfoy. Harry shivered; he would have changed his name too. He was a brother to Lucius Malfoy but was cast from the family for being a Squib. They denied he ever existed. Robert though was a true Malfoy through and through and took the Slytherin cunning his family was known for into the Muggle business world and did very well for himself. Once he made enough money he built Club Three and staffed it with his fellow Squibs. The whole club had a foot in both worlds, and known in both as well though Harry doubted anyone but him knew Roberts true identity.
Dudley was right about Robert being well connected. Club Three was actually a front for the two businesses that were Roberts real claim to fame. The first he called Financial Aid for the Dodgy. He'd give small loans, if you call the sums that changed hands small, for a small fee. Of course Harry found out that by a small fee Robert really meant bleeding them dry. If you didn't pay he'd contract some of the gangs that were about who wanted to get into his good books to 'collect.' It ran side by side with the gambling. For wizards in his pocket, he used a group of goblins that took up with him after getting kicked out of Gringotts. Harry learned that if it could be wagered on, it was, and Robert normally held the books on it.
The other side of his business was the trafficking in items of questionable ownership. Harry should not have been surprised; he had seen Mundungus about in Club Three a few times. Robert mentioned he was trying to pass on Sirius's belongings. It took three of Roberts guys to hold him down to stop him from killing the thief in his club. The only thing that calmed him down was Robert mentioning he would take care of it. Harry had found that Roberts idea of taking care of things to be quite effective. Harry was really starting to like effective.
In the last ten years since he had built up his name in the lower reaches of English society Robert had managed to get his fingers into a lot of pies. Criminals in both the worlds used his information network, all the wile earning him 'favors'. Robert did not like to call in his favors, but liked to have them incase he needed them. A few of the other 'bosses' though did not like Robert, which was where Harry was to come in.
The ones who did not like him were mostly muggles. The way Harry understood things Robert has been holding his own against them but with Voldemort in the open now a lot of his clients in the magical world where going dark not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. What this all meant to Robert was a severe lack of magical supplies and gold. Harry had an idea that was where he came in.
Robert had done him what he called a solid. All of the potions and such that he had been using to speed his recovery had cost him a small fortune. Harry had promised to pay him back as soon as he could get access to his vaults but Robert had other ideas. Ideas Harry was seriously considering. It solved a lot of his current problems. Problems like what he was going to do with his life and how he was going to put coins in his pouch.
He was broken from his thoughts by the feeling of someone's lips nibbling on his ear. He took a deep breath releasing it slowly at the sensations that started pulsing through him. He did not have to look to see who it was; there was only one person who would do that to him, Ishtar.
It was not her real name, but the name he gave her while they where around people. No one would ever understand them if word got out. To protect them both he started calling her Ishtar.
It took him a couple of weeks to finally figure who she was but even a few weeks after that he still could not understand how it was possible. O, he knew how it happened, but just could not get his head around it. These things only happen to me. She stopped nibbling on him after a moment and whispered into his ear while her arms wrapped about him. "What is wrong Master?"
He sighed. Nothing he said or did would convince her to not call him that. "Just thinking. We have a lot to do and some hard choices to make. Just trying to get it all sorted."
Harry continued his thinking while she clutched to him. A few moments passed before he started speaking again. "There really is no reason to go back is there?"
It was silent for a moment before she replied. "The old one has plans for you but I don't trust him. He took you away where I could not find you and he keeps his secrets close to him. Most others are indifferent not understanding why you are so important. The young ones are mixed. Your woman was hurt badly, the others not so much but they are scared now. Something is not right about the red male. I don't trust him either."
"She was not my woman Ishtar. She was my best friend. I will miss her the most."
He felt her shrug behind him. "She wanted to be your woman and you wanted her as well. I have not been able to find her since she was hurt and I fear the worst. I miss her too, she was always nice to me." Harry nodded. He knew she fell at the Ministry, Neville himself was the one who told him she had no pulse. Just one more thing that made his blood boil. Another reason to turn his back on them all.
Harry knew why he was so important to Dumbledore. The Prophecy. It did not surprise him he hadn't told anyone else in the Order about it. Harry though didn't care. He was not going to let some crackpot tell him he was stuck with fighting Voldemort and only he could kill him. The wizarding world lost the right to him being their hero when they refused to believe him and then threw him in prison for trying to help them. It was their fault that Hermione…He shook his head not able to finish that thought. If prison time is the reward for trying to save their necks, then as far as he was concerned they could all go to hell. He was done playing the hero.
"Do you trust Bob?" Harry had taken to calling Robert 'Bob the Wizard' every chance he got just to rile him up. Roberts's people cringed when he did but all Robert did was scowl at him. Harry thought it was hilarious.
"I have a good feeling about him. He is not like other people you knew but I think he is good inside. He wants you to help him but he is willing to help you too. He does not treat you like the old ones you knew, he treats you like…an ally?"
Harry nodded at the word. Though she was very intelligent she did not know a lot of the terms or words. They just did not translate well to her but she made the attempt to understand them for him. "I thought so too. I can't help but think that I am trading one set of controlling masters for another." His hands clenched and his eyes narrowed. "I wont be controlled by anyone anymore."
He felt her rub the side of her face against his several times and it worked to calm him down. "Don't let him Master. Be his…partner?" Harry nodded. "Partner but do not allow him to dominate you if it is your desire to work with him. What do you want?"
Harry felt his face harden. "I want revenge. I want to bleed them like they bleed me. I want those guards, I want Dumbledore. I want them all to suffer like they made me suffer all these years. I want the screaming in my nightmares to be someone else's besides people who cared for me. I want payback. "
Ishtar's hands began to lightly move along his chest while she nuzzled into his neck. "Good, then we want the same things. We will need assistance to achieve your desires. You only need to choose who you will allow to do so."
"It's going to be difficult to do with my magic depleted the way it is." His time in Azkaban had done something to him. The healer Robert employed was below average at best but he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Harry discovered that his magic core had become seriously damaged due to his prolong exposure to the Dementors and lack of nutrition. He was pretty sure his daily beatings did not help his situation. His subconscious redirected his magic core from being something he could employ to do spell work to keeping him alive. The Healer called it something but he couldn't remember what, just the jist.
The end result was that because of all the hard work to keeping him alive he was able to survive greater things now. His bones and muscles where literally flowing with his magic, but his spell work with a wand had been seriously damaged. So far he had only been able to do the simplest of spells. After a few days of trial and error Harry figured his wandwork was stuck somewhere around second year, and not likely to improve any. However he learned there were some benefits.
The first advantage he discovered was his increased strength. Now that he was away form his tormentors and able to take care of himself his muscles began to rebuild. His magic continued to course through him, which gave him almost Hagrid like strength. He first noticed it when he woke from a nightmare and smashed the bedside table into splinters with his fist thinking he was under attack.
Another thing he noticed was his body was fairly damage resistant now. He did not bruise easily and it seemed almost impossible to break his bones. He was sparing with one of Roberts bouncers and the guy had tried to break his leg by stomping on it but only managed to lightly bruise him. It still hurt like hell but didn't break.
His mental defenses where the biggest surprise. He spent so much time trying to block out the Dementors and them tearing them back down that he had unknowingly built up almost impenetrable mental shields for his mind. Now that he was away from them they were able to build up to where they should be. Robert called in a favor to an associate who was an underground Legitimist to test Harry's mental defences. He said it was like his mind was not even there to scan. His mental attacks just seemed to slide off of him like water off a ducks back. In another month, Harry knew his mind was going to be unassailable.
He reasoned that not all was lost to him. He was trying to learn a forbidden branch of magic's known as Shadow Magic's. It was the only branch of magic's left to him to employ now because of his condition. It required superb physical and mental conditioning and normally several rituals to prepare the wizard to employ them. His stay in Azkaban had been all the preparation he needed, and with Dumbledore's over powered wand, he was becoming a natural. Shadow Magic would grant him several advantages that would allow him to take his revenge when the time came.
The thought of vengeance brought a dark smile to his face. Half formed plans danced about in his mind but one thought dominated them all.
Revenge was a dish best served cold.
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Three months later…PRISON GUARDS FOUND DEADSeveral months after the strange attack on Azkaban prison where several of the Wizarding guards of our criminals disappeared we finally have answers.
To recap two months ago Azkaban Prison was attacked by unknown persons who, surprisingly did not seek to free the prisoners but instead captured and disappeared by unknown means with five of the prison guardians and the Death Eater Dolohov who was one of the ones who participated in the assault on the Ministry back in May. They had been missing since the attack but were found yesterday after Aurors received a tip to their whereabouts, though the Death Eater is still at large.
Reports by the investigative forces who found the house where they were held captive have given details as to their fates however, due to the gruesome nature in which they met there ends, we are only giving an abridged version.
Evidence shows that each one of the guards had been tortured extensively, and not by magical means. They showed signs that their captive healed them repetively, most likely in hopes to prolong their pain. Lengths of knotted rope, buckets of salted water, and various bladed instruments were all found on site which paint the gruesome picture of how these unfortunate souls spent the last few months they had been missing. Aurors had also found lengths of bamboo, most of them broken, covered in blood which is believed to belong to the victims.
The only clue as to the identity of the person or persons responsible comes in the form of several daggers that where found embedded into the foreheads of each of the victims. Each dagger was identical and the most identifying traits to them would be the craftsmanship. The handles of each dagger were crafted to appear as a beautiful young looking woman with flowing, slightly bushy hair. Set into the Pommel of the dagger was a triangle cut piece of Obsidian, which the figure appeared to be holding above her. The woman in the design appeared to be crying. The design is identical to similar ones found on bodies of several muggles who had been killed within the last few months. Muggle papers have termed this individual as 'The Assassin.'
The Department of Law Enforcement has asked that any with knowledge of this heinous crime come forward. Any information no matter how small might assist in helping them put the responsible parties behind bars. They also ask that if anyone knows about or can identify the craftsmanship of the daggers to also come foreword.
Jake Granger through down the paper in disgust. He didn't know why he bothered with reading it anymore. They had walked away form anything to do with that horrible world months ago after what had happened to his daughter. He should have stopped reading their paper but could not bring himself to do so. He wanted, no needed to know what was going on. He told himself it was just so they could stay one step ahead of them but there were times he was not so sure.
He climbed out of bed making sure he did not disturb his wife. She hadn't been getting any sleep for a while now, not since… Jake sighed. Coffee…best get this day started then.
After he walked the length of their new home and into the kitchen he stopped cold. He found himself not alone.
Standing in front of him were two figures. One was dressed in robes of pure white with matching cloak, boots, trousers, shirt and long gloves. She stood tall and proud. Her long white hair seemed to shine in the morning light of his kitchen.
The second figure however was dressed all in black; his presence seemed to send chills down Jakes back. His clothes were so black they seemed to suck in all the light from around him giving him the impression that the figure was made of a bit of midnight. The only part of him that did not lend to this aspect chilled him for different reasons. Jake felt his eyes track down to look at his hands. The part of his lower arms and hands appeared to be in some sort of metal and leather bracing. The strange brace continued over his hand and down along his fingers ending in short length razor like claws. He raided his eyes from the chilling sight of the stained blades and back to were their faces where, or should have been.
Both of them were wearing masks of polished mirror like metal. Instead of faces all he could see when he looked at them was the reflection of the things before them. There were no slits or holes for their eyes or noses. Just blank mirrors were faces should have been. He still remembered the first time he meet them over two months ago.
He had been at the height of his emotional distress over his daughter when they had called at their old house. He had an idea who he was the first moment he saw him, regardless of his appearance. The tele and newspapers had splashed images of the two of them for the previous week. The called him 'The Assassin'. It was rumored he was wanted for several high profile murders of people connected within the criminal underground. People were up in arms over him doing the job of the police, others vilified him for his actions since the people he murdered where well to do persons that had only weak links to criminal activities.
All they had on him so far were a few blurred images from security cameras in areas where the murders took place. No one knows how he got into the high security areas he did, and no one had yet figured out how he got out. He was a ghost and Jake now knew why, he was one of them wizarding people.
To say he was shocked would be an understatement of the century. He had no idea what the hell these two were doing at his house but he reacted foolishly when the shock had worn off. He had been very unpleasant to them when he first saw them knowing they where part of the wizarding world but then the dark one said the words he was desperate to hear.
"I know of your loss. I can't bring her back, but I can bring you…closure. If you desire…I can promise you when I am done…he will know your pain."
"Why? What do I have to do?" No one in his daughters world had been willing to do a damn thing, the one who had hurt his child was just put in jail for the attack. He was told later that because his daughter was technically breaking and entering of Ministry property that charges for his assault on her would not stick.
"You have to do nothing…I will take care of it. It is not enough, but it is the least I can do…I am doing this because your daughter was pure and though I know she would not approve, I think she would understand"
Jakes eyes went wide as he spoke this thought without meaning to. "Your Harry Potter…" The one in white turned her head quickly to look at the dark one but did not say anything. He knew though he was right.
It was several moments later before the dark one spoke again. "Harry Potter died when your daughter was cursed trying to do the right thing. Harry Potter died in Azkaban. I am now simply 'The Assassin'. You may call me Cloud."
Jake took in the figures in front of him. A dark hope burning in his chest. "Its done?"
Cloud nodded slowly. "Are you sure you want to see…it is…unpleasant." His voice was just as dead and emotionless as it was the last time he talked to him. Jake nodded. He needed to know it was done; he needed to know his daughter was avenged.
The one in white placed a small tripod on the kitchen table and placed what looked like a crystal ball covered in runes on to it. "When you are ready place your hands aligning your fingers along the symbols on either side of the globe. The first memory is…what happened at the Ministry. The rest of them are after I…acquired him from Azkaban. Those are long as he lasted…quite awhile."
Jake felt tears falling down his haggard face. "Thank you…" he barley got the words out of his chocked throat. The dark figure nodded. Jake stood there and never noticed them leavening. Staring at the magical object left behind by the two most wanted persons on the planet.
Authors Note:
Here you go, This story is apart of the Eight Shades Universe and is considered to be the Fourth Shade. Please feel free to read and review as I enjoy the feedback.
This story has been Beta'ed by my wife, me, and Tigerman. Updated: 7-26-10
Thank you all for reading.