Full summary: At the night of his sixteenth birthday, Harry is granted a wish; to no longer be the Boy-who-lived, Chosen One or Harry Potter. With a wizarding world full of hypocrites and a new face, Harry decides to flee, believing that people count on chance to save them too much, it's time for them to wake up to reality and the fact that their saviour might not necessarily choose to save them after all, it is time to be Dark. With Harry Potter gone, their world is thrown into a frenzy of panic and uproar, just the kind of distraction needed for a new unknown pureblood, Ari, to make his appearance without bringing too much attention to himself. Slightly Dark!Harry. Eventually Powerful!Harry. HP/DM
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Rating: T for now but M later.
Pairing: Both slash and Het. Main will eventually be Draco/Harry but for those against slash you can consider this a Harry/no one fic, coz I'll be placing slash warnings for each chapter so readers can avoid direct slash.

Chapter Title means - Know thyself.

Tenebrae Aeternae
Chapter One
- Nosce te Ipsum -

-ϟ-Tenebrae Aeternae-ϟ-

A velvet blanket of darkness had settled once again over the endless rows of houses that made up privet drive. Another day had passed by at a sluggish pace suiting the dense humid air that was especially draining to deal with for someone holed up in his room most of the day.

Harry Potter was currently laying spread out on the very same bed Dudley had stopped using when he turned nine due to the fact that it was too narrow for his heavier cousin, causing him to roll off the edge repeatedly in their younger years. Lucky or unlucky Harry wasn't sure if he should consider it a good or bad thing that the child sized bed still suited his less than average height body just fine as he never seemed to get that amazing growth spurt which had become norm to the weasley boys, even Ron had grown considerably since their fourth year yet little Harry remained more than lacking in height as well as a regular amount of body fat, but not even that was something he could achieve despite eating extra food in secret whilst the Dursley's were out.

Let out an annoyed sigh, he began massaging his sore temple where a headache was in the making as he tried to clear his mind from useless thoughts, and so his eyes trailed from the foot of his bed, up the wall till they came to rest on the ceiling.

The ceiling was immaculate. It was so clean and simple, if only the same property could be applied his mind, that now was reduced to the constantly clashing thoughts that hindered the sleep and peace he desperately needed.

Death was a curious thing. Harry knew he was not by nature in any stretch of the word, suicidal, but all events taken into consideration he was now spending a major part of his time alone this summer. Left to himself and his own devices, he began to unwillingly twist and turn every memory of the events which had led to Sirius' unfortunate death. And the mere emotional turmoil that seemed to cause, left him crying in this pathetic mess he had become as of late. What would Hermione and Ron do if they knew that the moment when darkness settled over Little Whining their friend and the supposed hero of wizarding world, spent his time staring at the plain white ceiling - sleepless - night after night dwelling on the same doubts, fears and insecurities.

Harry felt too ill, sick and powerless to consider the random stings in his chest as anything other than yet another symptom of the heavy depression that weighed him down. It had become a vicious cycle. Powerless to fight the loneliness that came with the realization that the only person he had truly considered family, was gone, actually made him wish from time to time, that he could become someone else entirely, if only for the fact that he could lock away all these feelings linked to this strange unwilling hero, named Harry Potter. How pleasant wouldn't that be, if he could take a break and just, not feel?

The more days that went by, the stronger the desire to up and go became. To switch off the torturous consciousness of Harry Potter, the self-sacrificing fool of a hero who let others dictate the path his life should take. In a moment of weakness he had already packed his trunk two days ago - and ended up unpacking it all again - after a particularly nasty comment from his uncle about his lack of friends, sparked by the fact that he barely received a letter a week.

On his nightstand Hedwig gave a soft hoot and nibbled at the bars, flapping her wings and doing all she could to rustle her cage to draw his attention to the unanswered letter from Hermione, still laying around like a painful reminder of his indecision.

"Hedwig stop that," He whispered with a hiss he hadn't intended to let out. "It's the same questions as last week. How are you? Are the Dursley's starving you? And so on...She obviously can't tell me what is going on, and neither can Ron, that's why they don't bother writing in the first place so why should I respond, there's no point."

The white owl made a sad cooing sound and walked to the far end of her perch, causing a sting of guilt to prickle the young Wizard, but detached as he was he tried to ignore it. His eyes fell on the wrinkled newspaper on the floor, where fat, bold letters covered its front page with the words; HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?

"I'm sorry..." He whispered with a thin voice that seemed to break on his lips. He quickly turned to his old friend, letting his still watery green eyes convey his regret and deep-rooted sorrow. Unable to push away his only companion, he continued in the same broken state. "I didn't mean to raise my voice. It is just so frustrating. I can't do anything right, and I'm not the hero that everyone wants me to be. I never asked for this, but at the same time I'm not allowed to refuse." A well-known stinging sensation, burned in his eyes, glazing the angry green as he paused to massage his temples and release tension that made his jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. Something he had developed a habit of doing to keep from exploding in a fit of rage. "To them, I'm killing people if I don't fight...they expect things from me...t-things that I don't think I'm currently capable of giving. Am s-so twisted for wanting to disappear?"

Was that really too much to ask. Was he selfish? Selfish for wanting to be the one to lead his own life, the way he wanted to.

His heart sank once again as he watched Hedwig's big, yellowish, round eyes looking back at him in silent understanding. For a moment the thought that Hedwig might have been able to read his soul through those sharp eyes, didn't seem so absurd anymore.

But then again, was he even capable of hiding his emotions at all? His godfather was gone, a madman was after his life and Dumbledore had been hiding the deadly truth from him and finally been cornered into telling him about the prophecy after his breakdown in the office – if not for the encounter with Voldemort in the department of mysteries, would Dumbledore have told him at all? Probably not - the wizarding world had finally come to realize that he wasn't a big fat liar and that Voldemort really had returned. So what did that mean to him now? That he was expected to miraculously finish off Voldemort before Christmas to please the readers that now had the prophet print an extra five pages of reader letters aimed at their unwilling chosen one, requesting absurd things to make Harry prove himself and once and for all confirm his role as their saviour.

He laughed bitterly to himself. Maybe it was better to be portrayed as that hated, insane, attention craving boy with megalomania after all, now the melody played a different tune and suddenly this bunch of hypocrites wanted him to step up to some hero status and walk to his fate, as was expected of him.

"If only… no one knew me…" He whispered to himself as he laid down on the bare bed, feeling more tired than usual. The prickling sensation becoming insistently more pronounced, but he would not acknowledge it. He was already too numbed by his emotional distress to see it. "If only, I didn't have to be… Harry Potter."

Hedwig looked away for a moment, then slowly turned to face him with a coo. He managed a weak smile as the owl began stretching its snowy white wings. The feathers rustled and a strange black colour seemed to corrupt the pure white feather coat from the shaft and out through the inner and outer vane. Within seconds he had a completely black owl in his possession, causing him to bolt up, pressing against the wall as if expecting the animal to suddenly turn into a dark cloaked wizard.

The owl made a sharp shriek as he drew his wand, and stared at him with her big eyes for three long seconds before twitching, letter her feathers rise and expand before smoothing them. She tilted her startling black feathered head from side to side as if challenging him.

"H-how…" Harry hesitated for a moment before lowering his wand and feeling stupid for reacting the way he had. Of course his owl wasn't some dark wizard in disguise, he was untouchable at the Dursleys. "You've always been able to change this way? Show-off." He chuckled with a hint of jealousy, but couldn't help himself from shaking his head and smiling ever so slightly and failing to read further into the warning his own owl had subtly tried to convey with her sudden change of coat.

Hedwig cooed softly and made herself comfortable on her perch, lowering her head, causing the feather coat to bulge around her head as she closed her big yellow eyes, to sleep.

His smile turned to a frown as he sank back into bed, now uncomfortably aware of the shivers coursing through him, making his hairs rise in alarm and brows knitting as he his own misty white breath. One wouldn't think it was in the middle of summer, the possibility of his room suddenly turning into a freezer was illogical so what was causing this? Magic?

His eyes flickered to the digital clock that the Dursleys had gotten for his birthday last year. The red numbers seemed to glow in the darkness as it ticked from 23.59 to 00.00 signalling the change of date, and with it. His age.

A gasp escaped him, as his green eyes widened in acute panic, and he struggled against the blanket of coldness that assaulted his body through ears, nose, mouth and even the pores in his skin. The prickling in his chest became unbearable and the clammy cold air felt heavy in his lungs, like a strangling murky liquid forcing its way in, even as his lungs convulsed and pulled, trying to draw in some real air, but the choking sensation was slowly overpowering him and he was helpless as a strange magic, wrapped around his magic core and penetrated every cell of his being.

Any struggle caused by the panic quickly diminished, as his mind became hazy from the lack of oxygen. Consciousness faded to nothingness as the last bit of awareness was wrenched from him, and the blanket became whole.

The room was cascaded in a strange glow, and then the light exploded.

-ϟ-

It was a peaceful evening for Arabella Doreen Figg, as she watched the starry sky from her cosy armchair in the sunroom with Mr. Tibbles purring comfortably at her lap and an attentive Snowy begging for attention at her feet while rubbing against her grey skirt and holed stockings.

Mr. Paws and Tufty were both sleeping next to her with their eyes closed, lying lazily draped over the twin armchair, across of her.

As usual it had been an uneventful day in the muggle world. Sometimes she would dream of how her life could have been if she was not born a squib, but was a witch instead. Couldn't she then fly across the sky at night while watching the houses at Private Drive grow smaller and smaller below?

She sighed. There was no point thinking about what she couldn't have, and as it was now, her life was quite good as it was. Who needed magic? She might not be able to perform magic, or even see it but she could most certainly still feel it when it was used close to her. She might not be able to feel the magic of the more ordinary wizards but the more powerful they were, the easier it was to distinguish them.

Whenever Dumbledore had stopped by, she would always feel her mood lighten, even if it had been a very bad day. She sure liked the presence of it. Dumbledore's magic was unintentionally released after all; he was a strong wizard and also the defeater of Grindelwald.

Although she had read all those lies last year about how Dumbledore had gotten senile and that his magic had weakened, she still had no doubt in her mind that none of that could be true.

Mr. Tibbles flexed his back in her lap while showing his teeth, as he made a lazy yawn and decided to lie down again. She stroked his silky fur with a small smile.

He had always liked to sleep, and not just sleep like all other cats, he would sometimes sleep for a whole day in the same position without moving at all, and that had sometimes brought her to think, what if he suddenly dropped dead while she just thought he was simply sleeping as always?

What a negative thought to have. She willed herself to not dwell on such frightening scenarios and instead went to grab the cup of tea sitting at her coffee table where she had placed it not even two minutes ago. It had gone icy cold. How peculiar.

Her throat felt slightly painful and she released a small cough that appeared as a cloud of white in her living room. Why was her warm and cosy house mysteriously turning cold, and in the summertime even? Had her newly installed aircondition possibly short circuited and somehow caused this?

Her cats all stirred and sat up, ears pointing up sharply as they all stared in the same direction.

At a wall. No, not a wall… this direction led to.

The Dursleys.

Harry Potter was in danger.

The antique Grandfather clock was sounding as it ticked to twelve. A surge a magic pulsed through her as she felt herself reflexively gasp for air and holding her air. Fighting the urge to faint, she sensed the heavy onslaught of magic in the air, so very thick that it was almost strangling her.

Had He-who-must-not-be-named managed to somehow break the wards around the Dursleys house? No, that couldn't be it, could it? Dumbledore had assured her that those wards were impenetrable! Why would he here now, if he knew that an attack would be impossible?

The air seemed to have turned into a mass of poisonous gas around her and the last thing she could remember before fainting was the way, Mr. Tibbles had stiffened as if in cramps, and was falling off her lap without a sound, hitting the carpeted floor with a heavy thud.

-ϟ-

It was with a deadly headache and a very sore body that Harry finally managed to wake up. It felt like he had slept for a week without using his body. That however couldn't be as he could confirm that it was still the 31th. It was still his birthday. He stretched his body, but retracted his feet fast as they hit against wooden planks of his foot end, and dang was it hurting now.

He hurriedly dressed himself, feeling strangely uncomfortable in his clothes. It was a bit tight. Hermione and Ron would have a good laugh at his expense if they realized he'd gotten fatter and with the small amount of food the Dursley's offered him, no less! Even with the additional food he had consumed he was pretty sure people, not even magical were supposed to grow fat overnight.

A call from his aunt alerted him that he was in trouble if he didn't come down soon.

He hurriedly made his bed and turned to look for the photo album with his parent's pictures in it.

He froze.

Where his room was normally full of scattered robes, thrash, schoolbooks, parchments, quill's, etc, you-name-it, there was now, nothing. His room was squeaky-clean. Books were stacked on his shelves, and his clothes were neatly folded and in the closet, and the letters and parchments were now on his desk also stacked, how could he not have noticed? From this he could conclude, the only thing that had remained on its previous spot was the cage with a very happy Hedwig who cooed at him as if to congratulate him on his birthday.

"Morning girl."

Surely the Dursley's hadn't been in his room, that would be impossible, they wouldn't go near anything that was related to magic after all, but then… had he been so tired that he'd forgotten about cleaning up?

Momentarily forgetting about last night, he left his room in a few long strides, heading for the living room expecting to find the Dursley's sitting lazily in the couch and watching the morning news, and that they were, without looking up at him, of course.

It was how they did things, they managed to co-exist with him under this agreement of silence on both parts, neither would disturb the others unless it was about visitors, or rules. Harry had played their games for years, and knew what he could and could not do.

Today was just not a good day though. If Dudley's sudden screaming was anything to go by.

The fat Dursley son pointed straight at him as he was opening the fridge, while screaming loudly, causing both Petunia and Vernon to look over at Harry as well, he sighed. Did they have to be so dramatic?

Vernon jumped up from the couch while Petunia covered her mouth trying to hold back the surprised scream that came from herself.

"GET OUT MY HOUSE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE THIS INSTANT!" Vernon yelled, as his face turned to the shade of a plum. He reached for the nearest vase and threw it at Harry, who evaded in time, but winced as it crashed against the wall behind him.

"What's the matter with you today?" Harry shrugged, not quite understanding the current situation. Was Vernon really freaking out over him eating a little bit of breakfast-?

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, WALKING INTO OTHER PEOPLES HOUSES YOU THIEF!"

Harry blinked, and stood there dumbfounded for a moment, till he decided to run upstairs, when Vernon started throwing other things, while yelling incomprehensible nonsense at him.

"GET BACK HERE YOU BURGLER! HOW DARE YOU ROB AN HONEST MAN'S HOUSE!"

What the hell was going on?

He darted up the stairs, heart pounding in his throat as he spotted something that made him freeze up as he mistook the mirror at the end of the hallway for a young man. When said man, or teenager or whatever the hell he was, started mimicked his own gaping mouth and disbelieving expression he couldn't believe it. It was HIM!

He was taller. No, not just that, he looked very…different.

"-Yes! He's hiding upstairs! Hurry and get him! We don't know what he could do to us! He was threatening us in our own living room I tell you!" Vernon cried downstairs to the policemen on the phone whilst pacing at his front door to block all exits.

Harry snapped out of his initial shock and rushed into his room and pushed the bed over to cover the door with impossible ease, whilst he threw his stuff in his trunk as fast as he could, then he stopped and reached for his wand. It was still underage magic… should he or should he not? NO. He could not deal with the ministry again...

He felt his hand loosen around the wand as it dropped to the floor. Panicked he reached for it again only to have the wand fly up into his face and smack him. He caught it tentatively, mystified at what was happening to him. The wand was tucked into his belt and Harry surveyed his room, eyeing a stack of books on the far shelf at the other wall and stared, glared and examined his targeted objects intensely, but they refused to move.

"Come ON!" He rasped, exhausted from gritting his teeth and tightening his muscles like some common fool, thinking that was how wandless magic would respond. As he had already made a fool at himself with failed eye-levitation, he offhandedly pointed his hand at the shelf and pretended to drag them out and throw them into his suitcase because why not?

Not a split-second had passed before the wooden cupboard creaked noisily and flew across the room where it plopped on top of his baggage with a loud thud that most have sounded like a giant jumping around the upper floor of the Dursley house and sure enough, Harry could hear the scream and hysterical yelling of his aunt downstairs who was by now probably out of her wits playing with all the colourful ideas of how their robber could be splitting the upper section of their house apart.

Seriously? Harry groaned, but soon changed his mind. This could work. No, it had to work.

Throwing away all caution and consideration he delved into the task at hand and aimed at the shelf, hurling it away from his things before he pointed at the objects, breathing frantically, as he felt the unexplainable force of magic channel through his hands and to his fingertips.

Wandless magic, of course, was untraceable. Within seconds all belongings in his room were safely packed into his trunk and he threw a locking charm at the door, once again aware of the screaming voices outside the room. From his now splintered bedroom window he heard the unmistakable sound of sirens down the road growing increasingly louder.

How do I get out, how do I get out, how do I get out! He screamed inside his mind trying to find any solutions that didn't mean blowing the door away and taking down the police AND his retarded relatives.

Why can't I apparate!

Maybe he could? He had never done it before alone but, perhaps, just perhaps he could. Holding tightly onto his trunk he closed his eyes and tried to imagine some place far away from here, far away from civilisation, far away from everything. No wait. He didn't even look like himself so no one would recognize him anyways. Perhaps a common place would be less suspicious.

He felt the magic swirl around him, unexpectedly eager to be of use as it covered every inch of his body and luggage and with a sudden whoosh of rushing air he was pulled violently into a tunnel of whirling scenery as his room disappeared before his very eyes in an blend of colours.

As horrible as the nauseating sensation was, the adrenaline had his blood pumping with an intoxicating excitement. It was pure relief that finally flooded him when he heard the scraping crash of his luggage landing on solid ground with himself flat on his stomach in the dust of a dimly lit room, at The Leaky Cauldron. Just his luck that the bar and inn seemed to be entirely empty today.

A grin broke as he rolled over, nursing a somewhat aching hipbone from the crash and silently swore that he would have to achieve a better landing.

Sudden laughter broke him and although it was by no means hilarious that he had barely escaped his prison of sixteen years he couldn't help it. It was the joy and relief he had not felt in a very long time, if truly ever. Not that anything could stop him now, he had all the time in the world - to live! Oh how selfish had be become?

He couldn't care less about that right now.

-ϟ-

It was getting darker these days, and the darkness would easily change a mind's perception of the time. It had merely been three in the afternoon when the daylight had started to shy away, and the mood was gloomy around number twelve Grimauld Place.

The dark hallways would have been silent if not for the occasional sobbing of a certain portrait, hidden safely behind heavy curtains. Quite unlike the bustling people that had inhabited the house just yesterday, yet today it was empty.

Now gathered outside their old headquarter, were the members of the Order, with the exception of the owner of the house, Sirius Black.

A person they would miss in more than one way, because not only had he been an valuable member of their Order and the loving godfather of their saviour but was also the only male heir left in the line of Blacks.

Now though, things had changed, and the house had kicked them out, warding itself against strangers. Without the owner's permission none of them could enter, not even to retrieve their belongings that had been carelessly left inside, whilst ownership of the house had gone to, a stranger – and perhaps even a dark wizard for all they could know – and that meant trouble.

Question now was, who would enter the house next only to find their secret battle plans sloppily strewn around the property, and would that person be able to used their own hard work against them?

"Maybe Harry can-"

"He has to stay at his relatives, Tonks." Another wizard interrupted. "There is no way we can put him at risk at a time like this."

It was then that their leader, Albus Dumbledore had apparated to their spot, with an unfathomable expression of hopelessness.

"Harry has disappeared." He said, simply, leaving the small crowd in stunned silence, horror and confusion written across their faces.

"You mean that Voldemort has..." Molly pushed forward, eyes desperately begging him to say 'no'.

"I am sorry, Molly." Dumbledore said, as he turned to the rest. "At the current time, it is not quite certain what has occurred last night but a letter from Arabella Figg states that a magic strong enough to induce sleep to anyone within 2 miles of the Dursley's home was used before the disappearance, whether he disappeared during the night or the morning after, we still do not know, everyone was asleep, except for the Dursley's themselves, but they hadn't seen Harry at all that day. They only realised that he was missing, when their house was invaded by a burglar the following day."

"I KNEW we couldn't trust those muggles to take care of our Harry." Tonks cursed. "The worst kind there is. I bet they didn't even bother to check if he was dead or alive in those weeks before."

The rest of the Order, ignoring Tonks' outburst, was left in contemplating silence wondering if Dumbledore had really gone crazy this time.

"Two miles? He's really gone…"

-ϟ-

Tom had to reluctantly admit it wasn't everyday he had handsome strangers dropping from the sky.

Especially someone who didn't inhabit some kind of hereditary semblance to any other known wizarding family, like the Malfoy's with blonde hair, pale complexion, groomed style, grey eyes and elfin features, or the Weasley's with their red hair, and freckled faces, all very tall and gangly looking boys there. Could the boy be muggleborn?

The magical community had been bustling with life for a good decade with many new children being borne in the time of peace, but he kept up with the newspapers – and of course the current ongoing political drama after Fudge's blunder last year - and could with certain pride remember about every face to have graced his inn with their presence but not this boy – or young man – sitting in front of him.

"Are you from around here, Sir?" Tom the barkeeper asked, smiling gently at the ruffled young man currently paying more attention to the butter beer in his hands than actual conversation. It was hard to imagine that only minutes prior this same person had landed on his floor with luggage and owl-cage on top of him, laughing excitedly.

His hearing had not been the same for many years so it had not the been sound of the crash, but the impressionable delighted laughter that rang in his ears for several minutes afterwards that had tipped him off of his new arrival. Tom had helped him off the floor, offered him a chair at the bar and opened a butter beer to soften a dry throat. Now he wanted answers, curiosity getting the better of him. But his new arrival had simply nodded thankfully and placed a a galleon on the table before assuming a vacant expression, staring nothing in particular.

The question registered almost a minute too late, when the other finally spoke. "No, sir. Not quite, I am currently on a journey." The youth said, looking around the place seemingly distracted with soaking in his surroundings.

"Oh, please call me Tom, like everyone around here does." Tom responded eagerly. "Do you wish to stay at the inn or are you here looking for a guide? Maybe both? If so I can nudge you in the right direction."

The youth regarded other with blank eyes for a moment, before leaning in over the table with an uneven smile. "Thank you, Tom. I-erh..." The youth glanced to his side, tracing the pile of strewn luggage. In the owl-cage was the most beautiful coal-black owl cooing reassuringly at her owner. "I'm an orphan, you see...I was looking to stay here for the summer in search of family. That wouldn't be a problem would it?"

Tom allowed himself a smile and chuckled. "Does this place seem busy here to you? Of course there isn't a problem! And if you are in need of money, we can sort that out too! I've got connections so a summer job wouldn't be hard to get, in fact an old friend of mine has a pharmacy in the alley-"

"No need," The boy assured him. "I have money on me." A moment later, the boy had dug into his pocket and pulled out a substantial handful of galleons. More than enough to rent a room a few months.

"If you don't mind me asking, which name do you go by?" Tom dared himself to ask, but feeling slightly disheartened when the boy glanced up nervously, fidgeting in his bar stool.

The light now brightened the stranger's face more and Tom stared in poorly hidden awe at the face in front of him. The boy's eyes that had definitely looked pure green from a distance, now sported vaguely different colours.

In the dim light it would be hard to notice though but he was sure of it, the left was the a deep vivid emerald green whilst other eye though appearing to be a piercing sapphire blue, was actually rimmed with green at the center as well, and together the colours made up an enchanting sea green shade that subtly set itself apart from the other eye. Green and blue wasn't so far apart really so it wasn't that notable unless you stared directly into the boy's eyes.

The youth was staring hard at him, and then sighed, eyes turning soft and pleading. The young man, for an instant looked even younger, as if he was merely sixteen or so, but that couldn't be.

"As I said before, I'm looking for relatives, if I have any that is… " The boy stopped for a moment, then looked at him determinedly. "You see, I don't know who I am really, and was hoping I could perhaps get my heritage examined, if such a thing is possible. I do not wish to go by my old name, I've been living with among magic hating muggles for so long," Then added. "Abusive muggles."

Tom felt angry on the boy's behalf. Not only was this young man an orphan, probably abandoned by his real parents, he had been adopted by the worst kinds of muggles there was "I...I see, that must have been, a horrible experience." He couldn't even articulate the mere disgust he held, but Tom figured that his guest would have gauged his reaction on the matter by now.

The boy's shoulders sunk making him strangely small as compared to before. Tom pinched himself for not being able to tell. He hadn't even noticed how tense the boy had been prior, yet now that the boy finally allowed himself to rest against the desk now it was plain obvious that despite the defensive posture, broad shoulders and hodded sharp eyes this boy was exactly that – a boy, albeit a bit on the tall side.

"I know someone who may be able to help you trace your ancestry." Tom began carefully, wanting nothing more but for the youth to relax. "Should you need any assistance, of course."

"I guess you may call me, Arie Evans for now. And yes I'd very much like any help I can get in finding my genealogy, I have considered quite a few families already and would like to learn of my origins, my muggle caretakers wouldn't tell me anything." Arie finally said, inclining his head.

"Nice to meet you then, Mr. Evans." Tom held out a hand as if greeting the young man for the first time.

"Likewise, Tom." Arie's smile made Tom very happy, he couldn't explain why, but seeing the boy happy pleased him immensely. Was he perhaps wearing glamours?

He found himself once again staring at the boy's tousled, though silky black hair framing his face softly, there was something graceful about the way even hair seemed to curl slightly at the tips. Surely if he could just reach out, and touch a strand or two it would slide through his fingers like water.

Arie's face was defined, with somewhat high cheekbones, and a straight nose, giving him a long face that would be considered undeniably attractive to many. Arie seemed trustworthy and had a strange innocent curiosity about him, which Tom couldn't blame him for if he had lived all his life in shadows of their world.

"An acquaintance of mine, is very interested in bloodlines and family trees, perhaps he could help you. I must warn you though, he is a bit eccentric, and a dark pureblood at that, so he might sometimes act a little, stoic." Tom explained, as Arie fidgeted once more at the mention of 'dark wizard'.

"I would like to meet him, if you could arrange it?" The boy finally said.

"I'll try." Tom grinned and reached for a butter beer, when he found the boy's glass empty. "On the house. Here's your key, room 14 is available, enjoy your stay, Mr. Evans."

-ϟ-

Cyril Bulstrode enjoyed his morning coffee greatly without it he simply could not wake up, and as a good father he had to keep structure in his everyday life, for the sake of his daughter. Millicent's mother had disappeared many years ago, and no one knew if she was dead or alive anymore - likely the first option in this case – but he still, even fourteen years later found himself thinking of her.

How did his daughter feel, not having even known her own mother?

Cyril's still youthful face wrinkled with worry. He was merely thirty-four and had married Millicent's mother Genna when he was just eighteen, it had been a sudden marriage and one of the reasons were the fact that Genna had been pregnant with Millicent already then. It was shameful to give birth outside marriage amongst the purebloods so he hadn't had much of a say in it, he couldn't allow his own blood child to appear as a bastard child in the wizarding world, also though he didn't always show it, he adored his daughter immensely, it wasn't her fault that her mother had run off to the dark lord and gotten herself killed after all, was it?

"Dad, there's a letter for you."

He turned around smiling as his eyes fell on his only daughter, oh yes, she looked so much like him and not much like Genna at all. "I see, thank you, Milly, I hope it's not Lucius again. I will not be a witness at his hearing, he should learn to sort out his own mess." He grumbled.

Millicent grinned in an almost child-like fashion as she handed him the letter, and for a moment she didn't look like the cunning Slytherin she strived to be. Her dad was spoiling her so much as it was, so she didn't even need a mother, she just longed to see her own dad happy too, and soon. He wasn't getting any younger and his life seemed to have come to a halt. She knew he was trying to appear settled as always but he lacked interest in the future, now his only interest was his family.

Cyril's eyes narrowed as he read the letter, but soon broke into a smirk, or was it perhaps a weak smile?

It could only mean one thing. Business. Bulstrodes did prefer to keep themselves busy after all.

"Clearly this does not have anything to do with the Malfoys." She stated candidly.

"Old Tom has found a stray cat." Cyril chuckled.

"And that's a good thing?" She inquired.

"He usually has a knack for finding… interesting people." Her father admitted and looked up. "Now where did I leave my quill?"

-ϟ-

The room wasn't anything great, but compared to any room in the Dursley's house, the feeling he got here was something he'd never felt at that house. The room was big and spacious, decorated with old furniture; there was a medium size table and some chairs near the only window. Next to the table were empty shelves, waiting to be filled out with books. And there was even a small fireplace.

Indeed it was a bit empty but nothing a little unpacking couldn't fix. He had talked with Tom about staying here for a while and had even paid the barkeeper in advance; there were still many things he would need to settle before he could look for more a permanent solution to his lack of residence.

Harry Potter, no Arie Evans, once again found himself looking at his reflection in the mirror, from head to toe, and suddenly felt a small amount of narcissism point out its dirty head when he found that he was extremely comfortable with this new look of his. Oh no, he would never want to be a narcissist. It didn't seem to be the work of any spell. He soon found himself wondering if he could still turn into Harry Potter again.

So far no such luck, but then again wouldn't it be ok like this? Maybe to change back he needed to really want to BE Harry Potter, and that was something he could assuredly say, he did not. It was a bit odd how unexpectedly calm he was about all of this, not on the overly shocked side nor frightened by his changes, he was surprised yes but the disbelief had quickly been brushed aside in favour of his newly found freedom.

The name he had given the innkeeper had been Arie, originally he had intended to go by Arry as it was derived from his given name and thus would be easier getting used to, but Arry not only sounded similar to Arie it was also too easily linked to Harry in written form, it simply wasn't worth the risk.

Hedwig cooed and rattled in her cage as if asking him to let her out. He chuckled and opened the cage to let out his only friend. "I'm sorry, girl. I know you like to explore new places, but try not be seen here, ok-? Even with this black coat of yours..."

The snowy white owl cocked her head a bit and flew to his shoulder gently, careful not to let her claws cut through his robes. "Woah.." Arie cried out as Hedwig started nuzzling his hair, endearingly. "That tickles." He chuckled and reached up to pet the black owl.

A knocking from the door made Hedwig lift a wing only to bury her head underneath to clean her feathers and absolutely refusing to get off her owner's shoulder, he was hers after all, snowy owls were most possessive of their masters.

It was Tom at the door, handing him a letter.

"Mr. Bulstrode has sent this for you, Mr. Evans." Tom relayed then noted. "My, what a beautiful owl you have."

Arie carefully let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yeah, she's one of a kind." It wouldn't matter if Tom eventually saw her white form he decided. Owls were magical too of course. But, it was better to be safe.

"Well see you later, Mr. Evans." The keeper said cheerfully as he turned to walk back down to the bar while muttering to himself.

Arie closed the door and let himself fall backwards onto the bed, ripping the letter open and pulling out its contents, consisting of small piece of paper and a small black stone.

July 31, 1996

Mr. Evans:

For many years I have studied various bloodlines and families and as a result of that gained knowledge on new ways to link people to their ancestors, even over 20 generations back, which others do not possess.

I would gladly accept your request but to follow through I must have you swear an oath, to make sure that none of this knowledge leaves my house, also for the sake of your privacy as well. I hope you can agree to these terms as I can not accept your request otherwise.

If you agree, use this temporary Portkey at exactly 10.00 tomorrow, I will be awaiting you. Do not be late and please burn the letter when you have read it.

If you do not agree to my terms then either burn this letter still or it will self-destruct before midnight today, and I highly doubt you'd want an indoor explosion, Tom might be upset with me if that happens.

Yours sincerely,

Cyril Teion Eadmund Bulstrode.

Arie grinned, well if Mr. Bulstrode hadn't insisted on an oath of silence, then he himself would have either way.

He crumbled the letter and threw it into the flames of the fireplace and tucked the stone in his hand. He changed into a more neutral robe for work use. Unfortunately he had another problem on his to-do list. His clothes was now way too short for him and that meant he would have to venture out into the dangerous outside world - to buy a whole new wardrobe.

"Mr. Bulstrode," Arie wondered out loud, tasting the name. It was familiar and there was no doubt he had heard it somewhere before. Oh yes, Millicent Bulstrode, from Slytherin, how could he forget? "I'll be going shopping in diagon alley, Hedwig. Please take care of my things for me while I'm gone." He smiled as Hedwig gave and annoyed huff at being left behind.

"I'll bring something good for you to eat, but I have to check if I can even pull out money from Gringotts' now that I don't exactly look like a P-myself anymore." He told her, silently making a notion to himself of being careful with what he said. One could never know who might listen, although Tom seemed to have been genuine, it wouldn't mean others couldn't listen in.

He tapped the stones to unlock the entrance to diagon alley with his fingers as he thought it best not to bring a wand. This had of course been a mistake as relying on wandless magic to save his hide wasn't a foolproof option. He had tried a few simple spells and the magic would still only work half of the time or less. He would have to practice diligently when he got back from shopping.

The streets were packed with wizards and witches like it always was when a new school term was nearing. He distantly felt a sting knowing he might soon miss school again, but the longing for Hogwarts were soon far overshadowed by the experiences he'd felt as Harry Potter. He shuddered as he felt himself slip further into his new identity as an ordinary wizard.

Gringotts came into view right ahead and Arie's hand was firmly clutching the small golden key to his parents vault. The wizard bank seemed darker than he remembered it, the light was dim and there were only a few people today. Marching to the nearest counter he braced himself as the Goblin looked up from a book to meet his eyes.

-ϟ-

Kunx was bored, so very bored.

These humans weren't exciting at all and sitting in a bank all day glaring and potentially frightening young wizards and witches was only so much fun. The last 'client' had been a lady with her young son. Kunx knew, from the displeased look of the child's face that here was another spoiled young brat with little patience. He didn't look surprised when the child started to point fingers at his fellow Goblins and talked loudly, in his arrogance.

"Why is their skin like great grandpas? It's so wrinkly!" The child said with disgust. Impertinent child. Before he could stop himself, his magic had already unconsciously pulled the child's pants down to reveal a pink butt to the rest of the audience, making the child scream and fall on his knees trying to hide his remaining pride.

The mother gasped and threw her coat over the rude little screaming balloon. Children these days. So loud and obnoxious, and Kunx wasn't getting any younger, he really didn't want to deal with creatures of this low intelligence, he could forgive the ugliness of humans, after all they didn't choose their appearance as much as he'd chosen his own, he could certainly forgive their pink, brown, purple or whatever ugly colour their skin had, but he could not forgive a stupid AND ugly human, that was just too much.

The Goblin sighed and buried his nose in large black book, waiting for the next lowly creature to come forth.

Kunx was surprised to say the least when a certain smell invaded the room, he smelled pureblood, and not such a weak one either, the magic was almost sizzling in the air and it was obvious that the fool wasn't even aware of his own weak control of his magic, it was nearly effecting the whole room, and he wasn't surprised when even the old Goblin, Grodz looked up from his account-book behind stacks of paper.

The young wizard looked around the room nervously and Kunx concluded that the youth had something to hide, not so surprising really, if his appearance was anything to go by. He'd never been in Gringotts before, ever, or at least not in this shape. Of that Kunx was certain, he remembered each and every human no matter how alike they all looked to him and he took great pride in his skills of observation.

Purebloods usually carried themselves with a certain grace and didn't usually speak carelessly, making it much easier to deal with them, they seemed to at least have acquired some amount of intellect. Kunx pretended to read, silently watching the boy walk towards his counter.

"And who may you be?" Kunx asked quietly, his gaze scrutinizing and calculating as his eyes took in the shy boy's appearance. Definitely never seen this one, Kunx grumbled to himself, but he guessed that in magical humens eyes, this boy might be quite decent looking, not that he could ever understand that. Kunx eyes stopped at the boy's eyes that sported two different colours -sapphire and emerald. The Goblin fought back the impulse to cackle at his discovery.

'A rare one this boy is.'

"Arie Evans." He answered and hurriedly placed the little golden key at Kunx' counter, and the Goblin could immediately feel the awkwardness from the boy as he spoke the name. A fake one, obviously and this key was certainly, Harry Potter's. How interesting, maybe his day was finally turning a bit more exciting, Kunx would play along for this one, he thought as he led the boy to the Potter vault.

"A different name but still the same person I see. You have many names it seems, Mr. Evans." Kunx said with poorly hidden entertainment as if he was ready to cackle any moment, but held his mask. "Too bad we Goblins are bound by an oath of secrecy and therefore can't reveal other peoples' secrets. Or should I say good for you?"

Kunx decided that he liked the sudden snap of the wizards face as he turned to meet his eyes, remaining silent for another moment. Oh yes, this one knew what he was up to.

"How much is there left?" The interesting human finally asked, gracefully letting Kunx' comment slacken its obvious hold on him. Evasive is he?

"78.458 thousand galleons, Mr. Evans." Kunx answered uninterested then added. "And three knuts."

The wizard placed a small bag on the floor in front of the opened vault letting the money levitate right into it, without a wand. Kunx wasn't surprised it was to be expected. The bag was sealed carefully and was levitating for a moment before it fell to the ground. The boy sighed embarrassed and picked it up with his hands instead, from this Kunx immediately understood – this child wasn't used to wandless magic at all, in fact it seemed forced, maybe that explained the force of magic around him. Only by using a large amount of magic could he cover up for the wasted magic he had not yet learned to channel and use through wandless means.

"I wish to move the rest of the money from this vault to a new one under my, current name, but I want the old vault to remain as well. And…." He met the Goblins eyes coolly. "You are not to document the transfer."

"Tricky are we? And what name should this new account belong to?" The Goblin inquired, eyes sharpening with piqued interest. He doesn't want to be found, the Goblin added as a mental note regarding his newest object of interest. It wasn't often these days that something managed to keep Kunx' attention for more than a few seconds, yet here was a runaway child, who had no clue who he was and used wandless with such an enormous amount of magic, that would have caused any normal wizard to faint, that if the boy ever learned to master it and lessen the wasted magic then he'd be a very lethal weapon that no one would wish to cross paths with. Perhaps, ignorance was better after all?

"I'll come back in seven days, by then I'll make the transfer and name it." Arie said sternly.

"I see, probably the clever choice, you seem, unaware of your other accounts." Kunx said intentionally confusing the boy. Screw ignorance, the world is so boring already, a little excitement might spice it up, dark powers or not, he should know.

"My other accounts? What does that mean?" Arie demanded, unknowingly increasing the pressure of his magic. Kunx knew that had he been anything but a Goblin now, his mind would have been swayed to answer things he shouldn't. The ancient defensive magic of Goblins kept his mind safe though and he didn't blame the boy, it was obvious that the young wizard had no clue about his own powers and Kunx sincerely hoped that he would gain control of it soon or else others might notice it too.

"Well I cannot tell you, in your current state, to enter these accounts you must know whom they belong to." The Goblin informed with a cackle.

"You said they belonged to me, did you not?"

"True, and yet not entirely. Who do you speak as?"

"Arie Evans."

"If that is your name then I cannot lead you to them. They belong to your other selves after all, not this Evans that you claim to be."

"So as… H-Harry Potter-?" The boy asked quietly, almost as a whisper. Kunx face scrunched up in a grimace as he questioned himself whether the boy was openly goading him or if he was just that slow.

"No no no no no! Such a pity... Unfortunately you are very lost, silly human I thought you were interesting but I see you are still quite thick like the others of your...race. So I shall try to make this as simple as I can... As Harry Potter you would never have the authority to enter these vaults." Kunx cackled, Potter was a light wizard family, if the boy had kept the Potter name he would never be allowed near his darker inheritance - and Kunx would never have bothered to mention them - which was probably why. "I believe it is very simple really. When you've found your name, your real name, come back and I'll lead you there. I shall say no more."

With a satisfied grin the little Goblin turned to leave and didn't know why it shocked him so much that he stopped dead in his tracks when the boy asked;

"Thank you, I appreciate your help a lot… if…If you don't mind, could you tell me your name?"

-ϟ-

"Ouch! Be careful with those things!" The boy snapped, hissing in anger. Miranda Malkins did her best to ignore her blonde customer and continue as if nothing had been said. She knew that Malfoys were all a bunch of whiny- scratch that – it would be best to avoid conflict, especially with the young boy's father sitting in Azkaban and mother shamed as the article, Malfoys: Fallen from Grace suggested. She decided the boy must have enough on his mind as it was and held back, completely forgetting the prior outburst when the next needle went even deeper, bringing a loud wince.

"Stand still!" Her retort came fast and effective like a whip before the Malfoy child could protest any further. The doorbell was set off but her eyes remained on her task.

Only after sticking the needle a bit too far quite a few times with no apparent consequence from the young Malfoy, did she finally notice the silence in the room?

Her eyes caught the way he looked into the mirror that reflected the door where the newly arrived customer was waiting patiently. Was it pride that made him put on a front or was he merely so caught up in staring at a stranger that he'd become unresponsive towards physical pain?

The room that had seemed almost cold prior was now just right, and she sensed a faint brush of heat as her eyes traced the newcomer, through the mirror reflection. She certainly hadn't seen this man before. It was a extraordinary young man, sitting there by the window in unbreakable silence, and staring at his own hands with a thoughtful expression in those clear blue eyes. Or was it green eyes-? She didn't know.

His hair fell loosely around his face like a waterfall of the finest black silky hair she'd seen for a long time, it wasn't so unusual for wizards to actually stay well-groomed, fashion was after all an important element of the british wizarding society, especially amongst the pureblood elite, however it wasn't often she found herself jealous of a man's hair. The next needle pierced the nape of the Malfoy heir's neck.

Mulling over the unfairness of genetic traits, she grudgingly continued to admire the living sculpture sitting her boutique like he fit right in with the dummies in the window.

The young man had to be of some distinguished pureblood family, anything else would be absurd. And yet. If he was a pureblood then wouldn't she have known him? She could proudly say that her own family was pureblood and she had many favourable connections with pure-blooded families to whom she sewed clothes and she was sure that she would have heard of this one, if he was in fact a pureblood.

She finally finished her fitting and silently thanked the unknown man at the window with a grin; this man had just made her fitting with a difficult customer, easy, and he didn't even know it.

"All done, Mr. Malfoy." She said and secretly enjoyed the pained expression Malfoy gave when he finally realized almost a whole minute later that it was over and it was – time to leave the mysterious stranger - time to leave the shop.

"You'll receive your robes within a week then, Goodbye." She fought back a grin as the Malfoy boy had stopped outside her shop with a strange look on his face, before re-entering.

"My mother will be by shortly for her fitting as well so I'll wait here." He drawled and held his mask as he tried as gracefully as he could to sit down next to the stranger who didn't spare him even a glance, he was by now deeply occupied with today's article posted in the Prophet, and the HARRY POTTER GONE WITHOUT A TRACE one at that.

"I see." Miranda was enjoying this, could the Malfoy boy even be any bolder?

She cleared the floor and went to greet the stranger who finally looked up at her with an unreadable expression as if scrutinizing her coolly, before he produced a small smile. "I guess it's my turn now then?" The black haired boy spoke.

"Certainly," She smiled. "I don't remember seeing you here before, Mr….?"

"Evans." The young man said, something flickered through his eyes, but was gone too fast for her to see what it was. "I need four regular robes and two formal ones - no embroidery, frills or laces mind you - and if possible, some robes for travelling, in cold weather weight doesn't matter I will enchant it myself. My preferred colours are, green, blue and black I will trust you to do as you like with that information."

"Alright. Mr. Evans. Come right over, dear, we'll get you measured." She explained and pulled out her magical tape measure. It uncurled itself and swirled in the air like a live snake ready to curl around something like a true constrictor.

While the tape flew around doing its work, she watched the man for a moment before striking up a conversation.

"So you've read the news about Harry Potter I presume, Mr. Evans?" She saw his eyes darken for a split-second and thought that perhaps it had been the wrong choice of topic.

"Indeed, 'without a trace' huh." Mr. Evans finally spoke. "It is obvious that they are with-holding certain facts about the incident from the reporters, if the lack of information in this article is anything to go by."

"Yeah, my nephew who works in the ministry has informed me that Harry Potters room was empty when they arrived, only a black marking on the floor between shattered furniture. He told me it looked like a tiny hurricane had passed through the room." She told him, eager to talk to this new customer. The Malfoy boy looked slightly discerned from his spot at the window, secretly watching them closely. "It still doesn't explain why his possessions, such as clothes and trunk is gone without a trace."

"Perhaps You-know-Who's way to trick people into assuming that… Harry Potter has escaped." He said hesitantly. "You-know-who always did enjoy giving false hope to the people only to crush it later on."

"You may be right, Harry Potter would have no reason to escape, after all most of the wizarding world would want to protect him…" She stopped as a shiver caused through her spine, when had the air suddenly turned so cold? It was warm and comfortable only a moment ago, wasn't it-?

Before she could wonder further, she realized the fitting has over, and she looked around confused. When had she started fitting, Mr. Evans? Hadn't she just begun the measurement? She had completely lost track of time and was sad that she would have to let her customer go, how weird.

"Well I guess this is it, Mr. Evans." She said with a tight smile, feeling somewhat off and insecure which was nothing like her at all. What was this strange dreadful sensation that baffled her "Oh, wait! For the formal robes... are yo- do you not have any requests at all?- I-I mean are you sure you don't...want your initials or just anything to symbolize-"

"No, I'll be counting on you to figure something out, as I said earlier, surprise me." Mr. Evans said with a bright smile that seemed to pierce the coldness in the room. "I'll be hearing from you then. Madam."

He did a gentle bow as he turned on his heel and left the store.

The room was warm once again, with a twitching, embarassed Miranda Malkins feeling like she had just completely lost her mind.

-ϟ-

It was with heavy footsteps, he finally made it back to the Leaky Cauldron. The night was still young but carrying a bag full of galleons had not made it easier.

He had found himself thinking constantly of the meeting with Kunx. The little Goblin's words had stirred something inside him, something unexplainable. His darker inheritance?

Arie wasn't sure what to make of such a statement. It was obvious the Goblin had figured out something about him that he himself had not yet known.

But he had a feeling that tomorrow would open up the doors to some of these questions that swirled around his mind.

If there were other accounts that belonged to him… what would he find if he could open them?

And what name was he supposed to take on to gain access?

Kunx had told him that 'Harry Potter' would never have gained access to this knowledge, did that mean that it was something that he as Harry Potter could not use?

The Potter name had in several books been compared to light magic, so perhaps this was about dark magic?

And these were just some of the questions that bugged him.

"Shut up." He told himself as he stripped his clothes and walked towards the bathroom to get a nice hot bath and to clear the pandemonium state his mind was currently in.

-ϟ-

Judging by the fact that he still had not received any complaints from Tom about an explosion, it would seem that the Evans boy had at least read his letter.

He had prepared several books and was at the moment, casting a magic circle on the cold stone floor a sticky red mass. Blood.

Hopefully the child, or man wasn't weak of heart.

Tom hadn't specified the age only written the word "young".

"Dad, he is here! Should I bring him in?" His daughter's voice reached through the closed door.

"No, I'll be out in a minute, I need to ward the room.

"Periurium Silentium." He intoned with a great force as an invisible bubble spread from the tip of his old eleven inches ebony wand with a core of unicorn tail hair. The bubble grew and grew till finally it settled against every nook and crook of the dinner hall, which he had chosen to use for this particular ritual.

-ϟ-

She felt the intrusion as the wards rang with warning when forceful light drowned the room in a strange heat and eventually faded into the shape of a man.

"Welcome, Mr. Evans." She said suddenly giving a small bow, before realizing her actions.

A pureblood would not bow as deep as she had done. It was shameful to bow so deep for someone even if they were equal, it should have been more like a gentle bend of the neck. A bow from a pureblood would only be used to greet a Lord.

She looked up, trying to wipe the expression of horror from her face as she met the eyes of the stranger having not been able to foresee that she would instantly forget her aforementioned conduct.

"Evening, Ms. Bulstrode." The young man greeted.

Hanging off of every word unwillingly, all Millicent noticed was the small smile and the way he bowed his head levelly. His voice was so smooth too.

"Wait here and I'll announce your arrival." She said not sure if she was sad or relieved when she left their guest in the hallway. She wasn't usually one to gawk at good looking men, and she was usually quite picky when it came to boys, but here was a man, not more than a few years older than her at most, making her babble and forget her own thoughts, it was not a good thing.

-ϟ-

There are times in each person's life that would forever stay a clear memory. You'd normally think that these memories were either that of trauma or happiness so great that it couldn't be articulated with unworthy words. But here he was and he knew then that he would never forget the person before him. Not even if he wished to. He didn't need a circle or a ritual to see whom it was, it was clear as daylight, everything fit.

He'd spend much of his time reading old descriptions of these families and although they should no longer exist, the last heir to either of these families had disappeared over threehundred years ago after all, and here was a boy who held the traits of both families as strong in him as if he'd been their direct blood male heir.

The distinctive blue-black hair, the defined face, and the eyes, the watery sapphire eye and the poisonous Avada green emerald, everything fit, and yet, these two families had no record of intermarriage at all and the child was despite his appearance, no older than his daughter.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Cyril Bulstrode stared hard for a moment and without thinking it over, he felt his hard stone mask fall off and let the sincerity shine through unable to hold back his awe and said. "Allow me to formally propose to adopt you, Arie Zuine Peverell."

…End of chapter one…

IMPORTANT! Chapter one and two are now combined into one, longer chapter, because most of my chapters are around 10k words or 20 pages in Word. This story is being rewritten slightly and I have changed the name from Raziel to Arie/Ari as it is more similar to Harry and probably easier to accept for those who have complained about the uniqueness. So if you see the name Raziel in other parts of the story then it is because I haven't edited that part yet.

I hope this isn't too confusing, but to make some things clear.

1. Yes Harry has fled his fate, for now.

2. He'll be influenced greatly by dark wizards.

3. He will turn dark

4. His real appearance isn't gone for good or anything, but he has more than 1 influential family among his ancestors in this story, at the night of his birthday the powers which were lying dormant before has 'woken up' - perhaps answering his desires to be different - and as a result altered his appearance, the two different color eyes is a symbol of two different families.

5. Yes this is slash, but it might not be the main point of the story at all times, it will be very slowpaced and long to build up the relationships better, I hate rushing these days.

If you've read all that and is still interested, then thank you for your time, most people ignore the line under here anyways...

Reviews would be appreciated, try not to be too hard on me, english isn't my language, but contructive criticism I will gladly accept. Saying I should not excuse my native language but just get a beta is not at all helpful so please refrain from making such suggestions, it will be a waste of your time.

Now here is my only response to those still hanging onto their "Get a beta NOW" policy... If my english is so horrible that it burns your eyes, perhaps you should just look for another story. Thank you.