Disclaimer: This is a fan written work based on the works of J.K. Rowling. It might possibly also have some elements of a number of other works. There is no money being made from this, it is merely a work meant for the entertainment of myself and the masses. This is merely for fun, and no profit. I repeat: I am not making any money out of writing this.

Warning: OCs OOCs Sues, and some crack. You have been warned.

Note 1: AU.

Note 2: Got bored, wrote this.

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Avada Kedavra

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chapter one

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One would think that being a hero would make life a helluvalot easier, thinking like that can get one sent to the loony bin. The life of a hero is not all fun and games. Living the life of a hero does not immediately entitile one to vast power, riches, and fame. It is a privilege, a burden, a reward, a curse, a blessing, and a punishment, all rolled into one.

One would like to think that saving the world, albeit a secret or hidden one would warrant respect, and other such things. One would think that a hero, even a child hero, would at least have a decent place to live, or simply to sleep for that matter. One would think that being a hero one would have been left in the care of caring people, not freaks of nature, true people of the world, fearing or hating what they cannot understand of hope to ever be able to achieve.

One would think that being a hero, or simply a child, one would be able to spend their childhood having fund, enjoying life, growing in mind, body, and spirit. One would think that a child would be allowed to have friends, properly interact with other's his or her own age. One would think that a hero would not have to deal with being seen as a criminal after not doing anything wrong in the eyes of the law, the eyes of religious leaders, and other such figures and organizations and institutions.

One would think that a hero would be seen as an upstanding citizen worth idolizing and trying to be emulated, and not scorned or tossed aside like garbage.

One would think that a child, not even a hero, would be given the time of day, would be given the necessary tools to grow. The necessary tools and knowledge to learn, to improve, to evolve. One would think that a child would be allowed the things in life that are needed to be happy and healthy.

One would think that a child's guardians would care enough to allow a child to actually enjoy his or her rights to an educaton. Not putting the child down whenever he or she would surpass their own natural born child.

Harry Potter was only one year old when his parents left him in the harsh world called reality. With one green beam of light, he had lost all form of innocence, as well as all hope of ever regaining that innocence ever again.

At the tender age of one, he was in a manner of speaking stripped from his parents' loving and caring embrace, and placed in the world to care for himself. Left on the doorstep of people that refused to believe in the possibilities in the world, the possibilities in life, and accept the mysteries in life as magical and amazing, and not something to be destroyed, or beaten discriminately.

For most of his young life, he had been treated as little more than a slave, slaves were treated better than he was. At the age of one, after suffering the loss of his parents, and even at such a young age he had felt his connection to them shatter, a connection which had formed on the day of his birth. Motherly instincts? Bah! It was the intrinsic connection the child shared with his mother. A spiritual or magical connection between mother and child, and at the age of one, it was shattered by a monster that had never known love, never felt it, and never needed.

From the loving arms of his mother, taken from the only place he viewed as home by a moronic entity that believed that vicious monsters were cute little rabbits. The entity then handed him over to a man steeped in his world views and beliefs about the greater good, clouded by the need to keep the peace, and had decided then and there to deprive a youth of his rights, even after being told that the home that the child was to live in was run by the foulest non-demons in the mortal realm of existence.

How can a hero actually grow up happy and healthy, and possibly even heroic, with all those virtues, when he had to deal with things that inhibited growth, dampened the spirit, and skewered the world view of even the most naive of children.

Harry Potter grew up learning things, through experiences, that were supposed to be learned later on in life and not as a child. He had been deprived of an adequate standard of living, any form of health care, a proper education, and time to actually play. He had been deprived of proper social interaction. Being deprived of such things taught Harry Potter that if he wanted something he had to go out and get it himself.

He had to live in the cupboard under the stairs, along with the cleaning supplies, which would normally be considered or even classified as poison if a child were constantly exposed to such chemicals. He also only had a single blanket to protect him from the cold, and give him comfort when he was in there. There was also the fact that his clothes were hand me down, nearly thread bare things, and things that had been taken from the local charity places, and second hand shops. The only times that his clothes were replaces when they were beyond beyond repair. His glasses, didn't even help him see better, in fact they made his sight even worse, but he needed to use them lest his aunt or uncle decide to punish him for his blindness, and ungratefulness.

His only social interaction was in school, where he was bullied by the local bullies which consisted of his cousin and company. The teachers also tended to pick on him, and not bothering figuring out how or why he acted in certain ways. None bothering to see how his homelife was. Neighbors simply took what his aunt and uncle told them about him as the truth, that he was a problem child, a criminal in child's clothing. How in heaven's name could a two year old be as bad as Hitler? Well Harry Potter was rumored to be just that, and worse. The Black Death? To the residents of Privet Drive, thanks to the Dursleys, it should have been named Harry Potter, not that Harry was ever caught doing anything wrong.

Whenever his cousin got sick his aunt and or uncle would immediately bring him to the doctor, even if it was just the common cold, or just a sneeze. But when Harry Potter got sick, or even if he just sported a wound, even a pin prick, he was sent to his cupboard until everything got back to normal, without food or water. It was a miracle that he hadn't died yet. His magic had always been working overtime just to keep him alive. It was no wonder he looked as he did, small and mousy in a way. Right to health care my ass. Whenever he got sick his relative just made sure to make it even worse than it was. Harry believed that if he ever got cancer or something like that, his relatives would simply chuck him into a hole in the ground, cover him in dirt, and not even bother to leave any evidence of there being a body there.

Children have the right to protection from abuse neglect, exploitation and discrimination. Well, technically, Harry was protected from all three of those things. His relatives made sure that they were the only sources of such abuse, exploitation, and discrimination, everyone else just took advantage of the leftover. Ah, who am I kidding, Harry Potter was used, abused, reused, exploited, and simply had one of the worst childhoods ever. Paupers had better childhoods than he did.

The abuse was obvious if anyone cared to look. Dudley never did any chores, unless going to school and bullying Harry was considered a chore. Harry did all the cooking, cleaning, washing, gardening, everything that a regular housewife would do, or a maid for that matter, except that the rewards and benefits were punishments and threats of bodily harm, the mental scarring was a given.

Discrimination? Simple: Freak.

Children have the right to participate in communities and have programs and services for themselves, which includes children's involvement in libraries and community programs, youth voice activities, and involving children as decision-makers, among other things. Harry Potter was not allowed to even set foot in any kind of library or bookshop. Harry Potter was not allowed to have friends. Harry Potter was told what to do, and not asked what he wanted to do. Harry Potter was called Freak.

But when Harry turned nine, all that changed.

On his ninth birthday, he had a dream, one which was not really a dream or a nightmare, it was a memory. A memory of the last moments of his mother's life. A memory which gave him knowledge, knowledge about the existence and proof that magic existed. From the memory he learned his very first spell.

One spell, one piece of magic that would forever change his world. It was simply, two words made up the incantation, two words that allowed the caster to change his or her own destiny. He witnessed the magic shoot out of a stick, a wand. But he didn't have one, he didn't think he needed one. Magic was magic, who said that one actually needed a wand to perform magic, it was just a tool, not the source. He was sure that he had magic, it explained many oddities in his life, like how he just couldn't seem to die. If he could fall from the roof of his school and land safe and unhurt on the ground, or jump and land on the roof as if there was nothing between the ground and the roof, all without a wand, who was to say that he needed a wand to cast that two worded incantation.

Come to think about it, who said that incantations were even needed, they seemed to be just as much a tool or focus as the wand itself. If seeing was believing than magic must be as well. Magic is believing. To think is to create.

Upon waking up in the morning he tried it out, believing that he had the magic to do it, willing the power to come forth and show itself. Nothing happened the first few tries.

It was probably due to his not having an actual target, or the will or belief needed for his magic to manifest itself outside of life and death situations.

A month after discovering the memory, Harry had been walking on the sidewalk as he had been shoved out of the house to run an errand, only to be shoved once again, but this time into an alleyway. Looking like a pauper apparently didn't make one one, as the man that had pushed him into the alley knew that he had some money on him. Money that was supposed to be spent on whatever it was that his aunt ordered him to buy.

The man demanded that Harry handed over whatever valuables that he had on his person, pulling out a knife just to prove that the man didn't care all that much that he was a child.

Harry's first instinct was to try and escape. But he squashed that instinct, and thought that perhaps it was time to test out his magic, if it didn't work, he'd be stabbed and possibly die of bloodloss or something like that, end his suffering and all that. He had learned about Children's Rights, and the Basic Human Rights in class one day.

So he fearlessly grabbed the man's wrist and plunged the knife into his body, and willed the power to surface, focusing all of his belief in the possibility of magic, as well as focusing all of his intent on killing the man in front of him, as well as possibly robbing the man of his lifeforce. That last bit he got out of a TV show his relatives had been watching this one time.

The man tried to jerk away, panicked that he had found an insane kid instead of a rational individual that was afraid of death, and not one that didn't really care about the consequences of plunging a knife in his gut. It was at about that time that Harry's magic finally manifested itself outside of his body.

A transparent green glow formed over his hand, the hand that was gripping the wrist of the would be holdapper. It was through that hand that Harry was able to absorb the life out of his victim. As it seemed to be a slow process, he pulled his hand away and the man staggered backwards, stumbling, then falling on his ass.

"W-w-what did you do to me!?" the man panicked and said.

"I took your life force," Harry said with an expressionless face, "It was very tasty, you had a lot more years to live, but sadly you chose the wrong child today."

Harry then stepped forward, moving closer to the man, one hand outstretched.

"S-stay way from me!" the man shouted, wondering why no one was coming into the alleyway to investigate.

"No one but I can hear you now," Harry said, after realizing his success, he unconditonally and believed with his entire being that magic was real, and with it he could do anything. Making the man's voice, and their presence only heard by him and known to him were simple things after that.

His magical reserves were huge, considering that magic was like a muscle, the more it is used the more developed it gets, and Harry had been using a hefty amount of it since day one of his imprisonment at Number 4 Privet Drive.

"S-stay a-away..." the man pleaded as he scampered backwards until his back hit the wall.

"You've seen far too much," Harry said, "I think I'll take the rest of your life as well."

He then reached out his hand, which then grabbed hold of the man and somehow pulled him closer to Harry. A feat which no ordinary malnourished nine year old would have been able to do. When the man was face to face with Harry, he, Harry, let go of the man's body, while his hand gripped onto the man's lifeforce, spirit, and soul.

He then took the lifeforce into one hand, and moved it towards him mouth, and as if it were the most common thing to do in the world he ate it. Ate it as if it were cotton candy, noodles, food. He followed that by eating the spirit, leaving only the soul left.

The man's soul was an orb, like a pearl, but it had swirling colors in it. He guessed that the colors must have represented something about the man, but until he knew more about the soul, and the colors they represented, he'd keep the soul orb, the soul pearl. Where to keep it was simple, he transfigured a rock into a pouch, and placed the soul pearl into it.

After disposing of the body which was very hard to do as he had to hide it, then he remembered that he could use magic, so he transfigured the body into a rock, then he left the alley as he still had errands to run.

He now had the power, the power to end his suffering. The world was his oyster, but first he needed to be free of his present guardians.

After getting back to Privet Drive he immediately went to his aunt and handed over the purchases.

She then sent him into his cupboard as he had taken too long, or so she said.

He was sure that she didn't really need a reason to shove him in that cramp little space, she just did it as a habit, as well as the fact that he knew she hated him for just existing.

That night his uncle pulled him out of his cupboard and began shouting at him and beating him, saying things to the extent that he didn't have the right to live, that he didn't have the right to exist.

Seeing as all of his rights were being denied, him he thought that perhaps it was time that he denied his relatives the blessing that was his presence.

He had watched a part of Star Wars one day, it was when one of the jedi got his way by simply saying something, kind of like mind control Harry liked to believe. Well he may not have the Force, but if he could steal lifeforce, eat spirits, and take souls, why not mind control.

So he willed his words to be the medium of his mind control.

"You will get your affairs in order and leave all of your worldly possessions to me," Harry said, his magic lacing his words, "When you have done that you will tell me."

"I will get my affairs in order and leave all of my worldly possessions to you," his uncle and aunt said, "When I have done that I will tell you."

It worked like a charm, the lawyers couldn't really care about the sudden filling of two wills. It wasn't like the Dursleys were that well off, they had money, but not enough to really need a binding will. The lawyer thought that they just wanted to feel richer than their status. He didn't really bother reading it all. He didn't realize that the Dursleys were not leaving anything for their own son, everything would go to their nephew on the event of their death.

"It is done," his uncle and aunt told him, once they did, an aura of emerald flames rose out of his body and surrounded him.

Before they could react to this deathly green light surrounding their nephew, Harry had already gripped him uncle, and pulled out the lifeforce, spirit, and soul. It was then that his aunt remembered her sister one time telling her about a spell that was colored green that would kill any living thing it touched. She screamed, right until her life was taken from her as well.

As soon as Dudley returned, for he had spent the afternoon after class with one of his friends, he saw the dead bodies of his parents, and also Harry sitting on the couch watching some TV as if nothing was wrong in the world.

"You will find a knife and stab your parents, then you will smear their blood all over the room," Harry instructed his bully of a cousin, "When you are done, you will run into the neighbor's house and slit your throat wide open, afterwhich, you will disembowel yourself."

His cousin immediately did as he was told to do, Harry decided that copying the movie was a total waste, so settled to tweaking his intent for when he did his mind control trick on his cousin. It worked like a charm. A few minutes later Privet Drive was swarming with police. Police that were horror striken not by the fact that a child had mutilated his parents to the point that their bodies were nearly unrecognizeable, but due to the fact that the sole remaining member of the household just sat on the couch watching television as if nothing had happened.

Even with all the blood covering him, Harry pretended not to be aware of his surroundings.

The Police questioned him on the events that had occurred, he said that his aunt and uncle didn't really care for him much, so he didn't care about them either.

"What do you think about your relatives?" one officer asked him.

"They could all die for all I care," he told the officer.

"They're already dead," the officer, trying to get a normal reaction out of the kid, said, "In case you haven't noticed, you're covered in their blood."

"Oh," Harry said, no trace of any emotion on his face, in his voice, not even his eyes. He had trained himself well.

"Kid, didn't you hear what I just said?" the officer asked incredulously, "I just said that they're dead!"

"So?"

"Gah!" the officer frustratedly said and attempted to strangle Harry only to be held back by his peers.

"Get him out of here," the officer in charge told the ones holding that particular officer back.

"Hey, let go of me! I'm gonna kill that kid!" the officer said as he struggled, apparently he had seen his parents or a loved one die before his very eyes, and was pissed that some kid didn't really or couldn't really care, at all.

A gunshot rang throughout the house, all eyes immediately turned to face the origin of the sound, and found the formerly struggling officer. He had a gun in his hands and had just shot his superior through the heart, killing him instantly.

A second gunshot rang out, this time the bullet went through his own head.

"I didn't think he'd ever shut up," Harry said flatly.

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Harry inherited everything from his relatives like he had planned. But he was unable to touch any of the liquidated assets until he reached the age of majority. Anyone that took care of him was sure to benefit from it. While they weren't rich, they were when they died as it was found out that someone had gotten them life insurance, and no one dared suspect a nine year old kid of planning it all. Even Harry had to admit that he wasn't aware that they had life insurance.

After the death of his relatives Harry had at first been placed in a half way house for orphans, then moved on to several families, ones that didn't have children of their own. Of course all of them died, one after another, all in mysterious circumstances, they mostly killed each other in fights, leaving everything they owned to Harry, of course in order to not make it that suspicious they left some things to their own relatives.

After the twenty-seventh family had died, Harry had amassed quite a huge fortune, all inherited from the people he killed. They were not killed mercilessly, they had all been granted quick deaths, it was just that their bodies weren't always treated with care.

It was also by that time that social services decided to take him to an orphanage and leave him there, hoping that this latest move wouldn't bear poisoned fruit.

It was an orphanage filled with many children, as well as secretly very strict caretakers. Once they had been briefed on Harry's situation, they treated him differently. He saw the greed in their eyes, they wanted him to die so that his fortune would pass on to them as his caretakers. Such was the reason why Harry had killed his previous other caretakers.

After about a week of staying at the orphanage, he could no longer stand it, the thoughts and feelings of the caretakers had become too much for him. Killing them would be easy, but how to deal with all the innocent children. He had killed Dudley because he was guilty, obviously so. But these children had yet to do anything to him. He would spare them.

That was until he found out that the adults had corrupted the children into not paying him attention, treating him as if he did not exist. They hated him because they knew he had something. While they were the run of the mill kind of orphans with nothing to their names. The caretakers told the children to hate him, because he refused to give the orphanage money to help the other children, greedily hoarding it all for himself. So the children hated him too, and wanted what he had worked hard for.

He killed them all, framing everything on the owner of the orphanage, placing all the blame on him and his staff. While he didn't outright kill the caretakers, he had them kill the children. Quick deaths were not granted to those hellions. He only took their lives himself when they were just about to die. He caught their souls just as they were leaving their bodies.

Leaving him the only child remaining at the orphanage. The police and social services had to once again transfer him to yet another orphanage, and so the cycle repeated itself all over again. It eventually reached a point where he had been emancipated, as no one would willingly take him into their home our of fear that they would be next on the Grim Reaper's list of victims.

So at the ripe old age of ten, Harry was officially an adult, one that no one wanted to bother or get on his bad side.

There had apparently been one incident that a man had been rude to him, and that same man had been found dead the next day. Harry had been able to time the amount of time before his life stealing ability took affect on his victim, as well as how to do it from a far. Even his mind control could be done in such ways as well. He no longer needed to voice his instructions, but was able to implant them directly to his victim's mind, with or without eye contact, but with eye contact was easier than the indirect approach.

He had yet to figure out what to do with the soul pearls, he had quite a collection of the things, that after buying an entire apartment complex, he had decided to go about buying, instead of making, his own cabinet or something to keep his growing collection of souls. Lifeforce and spirits were his food and drink, and he was now able to mix the ones from different people together, and place them in containers, and treated them as snacks, or energy drinks. Lifeforce being the food, while the spirits being the drink.

He had a few hundred souls in his collection, and the collection grew a little each day.

Six months into his being totally independent, and being an adult, he had his first encounter with people that he would not kill, as they seemed to have some use, or be of use to him.

He had been walking along a street at night, in one of the seedier parts of the city, and had come across what looked to be a gang war. Gun shots were heard, and the like, he had also spotted some police cars that were heading the same way he was, but for some reason had turned around just after seeing him walking in the direction of the fire fight.

He found an unoccupied car and sat on its hood, and simply watched the two gangs kill each other, snatching their souls, as he really didn't need the lifeforces and spirits as he had more than enough to last him for more than a century, it was the souls that he wanted, it was his hobby, collecting souls.

Apparently one side was that of two allied gangs, both of whom had decided to go against the local mafia. The difference between the gangs and the mafia, was that the mafia were more respected and successful, in both the legal world and the underworld.

Harry simply watched them duke it out, taking soul after soul from the fallen. When he finally got bored he hopped off the hood of the car, and walked up to one of the gang leaders, and raised him above the ground, halting any bullets before they could hit the man.

"I have use for you," Harry said monotonously, and asked, "Do want to live or do you want to die."

The gang leader was clearly two feet in the air, held up by Harry's magic, the only thing of Harry's that moved were his eyes, expressionless and dead green eyes. The bullets had long since fallen to the ground, all around them had ceased firing to watch what was happening, as well as fearing for their lives, but being to entranced by what was happening to move.

"L-live," the man said.

Harry let the man drop to the ground, relatively unharmed, any and all wounds the man had received in the fighting had ceased to exist. Not only was Harry able to take life, but give it in a way, healing was one of his skills, not that he really needed to perform it on himself as it was an automatic function already, wounds healing at a rate that most vampires would view as unbelieveable.

"From now on til the day you die, you will serve," Harry stated, "Understood?"

"Y-yes s-sir," the man said.

"Good," Harry said, he then shifted his attention to the mafia members, "Serve me or die. Choose."

"You may have been able to pull that trick earlier, but it wont work on me," one of the mafia members said, "Go ahead and try, I wont betray my boss."

"Admireable, but detestable at the same time," Harry said, "Now, die."

He stretched out a hand, and green fire burst from it, then shot from his hand slamming into the man that had spoken, incinerating his body, turning it into ash, as well as transfering his lifeforce and spirit to Harry, who then placed them into two separate containers. The flames then delivered the soul pearl into his outstretched hand before disipating.

"Anyone else?" he asked in such a way that no one dared refuse his offer, "Good. Follow me."

He lead his his soldiers for that was more or less what they were, to his apartment complex. It was a bit of a walk, the people following him had followed in their cars, motorcycles, and other vehicles, for some reason he was able to move at a pace which the cars could follow while not look like they were obviously following someone.

"Use the garage if you must, and meet me on the roof," Harry instructed them, and implanted certain directives into their minds as he spoke, as well as safeties just in case any of them decided to betray him.

A few minutes of waiting later and all were on the roof, all present and accounted for, any missing persons were turned into ashes, and turned into food for the cursed child.

"This is my home, as well as our base of operations," Harry said, "I have implanted into your minds directives, orders, and a mental link which only I will be able to use. Through it I will send you orders, unless you are with me at the time. Any questions so far?"

"What are you?" one man asked.

"You are of the underworld, and therefore I believe you must have at least heard of the Cursed Child," Harry said.

"Everyone knows about that," one man said, "Y-you're not saying that you're..."

"I am that child," Harry stated, "You will be working for me now. What you will mostly be doing is running around the city, and finding people that no one would miss."

"What are we to do with these people?"

"You are to curse them," Harry said.

"Curse them? How are we to do that?"

"Come by my office in the morning," Harry instructed, "At that time I will give you the tools for marking these people that society will not miss. I would also have you prepare your resumes, as there are a number of posistions that need filling in my new company."

"I..I h-have a question," one man bravely said.

"Ask it," Harry said.

"H-how are you able to do the things that you do?"

"Magic," Harry replied, "I think of myself as a Death Mage..and possibly a necromancer, though I have yet to try anything to do with that. The rest of your orders have been uloaded into your minds. You know where to go. Dismissed."

As his men left to go about their business until the morning, Harry jumped down to the ledge outside his bedroom window, then entered his room via the window, lay on his bed, and went to sleep..hoping to view another memory.