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Dark Rage (Revised!) by The Dark Sorceror
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Dark Rage (Revised!)

The Dark Sorceror

Dark Rage

~He Is To Be Feared~

***

It was in the kitchen that Harry was to be found the next morning. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was paler than usual. He was sitting at the table, slowly sipping a cup of coffee and eating a breakfast he had made for himself. He currently was mulling over the nightmare he had last night in his head. The details were as clear as day.

Two figures loomed in the distance, almost impossible to distinguish from the night. Their cloaks were black; as was everything else they were wearing. They were like living, breathing shadows. They were communicating to each other in hisses, and sometimes large serpents would slither up to them, listen to their will, and then disappear. They were in a graveyard, where rotting corpses were unearthed from their graves. Everywhere there were serpents, some even in the eye sockets of the fleshless bones. There was a stench of death.

But then the dream changed.

Voldemort was torturing someone. Someone who looked very familiar, with jet-black hair and green eyes hidden behind swollen eye sockets. It was himself that was being tortured. And when Harry realized what was happening, Voldemort discovered Harry was there, and in an instant Harry was feeling all the pain of his torture…

"Harry, what are you doing up this early! It's five o'clock!" Mr. Granger asked, bewildered.

"Actually I've been up for a few hours already, I don't sleep very well. But don't worry, I'm used to it now," Harry asked while idly examining the last drops of coffee in the bottom of his cup.

Mr. Granger stared at Harry, his head swimming with this new fact. I'm used to it, again he said that! How many things like this was he used to? Instead of pursuing the matter further, his pushed the phrase to the back of his mind and went about getting himself some toast.

Mrs. Granger joined them shortly after, and she too, asked what Harry was doing up so early. Mr. Granger caught her eye and she understood to just drop it.

A half hour later found Mr. and Mrs. Granger gone, off to their dental practice, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. Hermione was still asleep, and Harry had no plan on waking her. She deserved her sleep, he didn't. Not after the way he had spoken to her last night. She was trying to give him comfort, and he threw it in her face.

He made up his mind. When she came down from her room, he would have a nice meal prepared, and he would apologize for his actions. He set to work immediately.

***

It was a surprise for Hermione to find Harry standing humbly before her when she came down from her room.

"Err….sorry about last night Hermione. You were just trying to comfort me and I hurt your feelings, which is unacceptable," Harry said while looking down at his feet, ashamed.

She reached out and placed a finger underneath his chin, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers. She looked deeply into his green eyes and spoke softly, "You had a right to be angry. Bad things have happened to you, you need to be able to vent your anger. You don't want it to control you. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

A small smile broke out on his face as he heard these words, and he spaced out for a few seconds, in pure emotional bliss.

Hermione suddenly realized that there was a large feast waiting for her on the table. "Did-did you make this for me?" she inquired as she edged closer to the table.

Harry came back to, and looked around to see what she was talking about. The food he had prepared was sitting on the table. "Umm…oh yeah, yeah I did."

"You know how to cook?"

"Yeah, I've been cooking since I was old enough to memorize directions. I always cook the Dursleys breakfast," he said absentmindedly.

Hermione's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…just forget it, okay Hermione. Please?" he pleaded. She nodded hesitantly in consent.

There was a long pause. "I'm," Harry started speaking to break the eerie silence, "I'm going to go take a shower. Er….see you in a bit." He took off up the stairs.

Hermione leaned against the counter and closed her eyes, remembering everything that had happened since she had come down for breakfast. She saw in her mind how hesitant and strange Harry acted. A solitary tear made it down her face.

***

Harry stood there as the water ran over him. The warm water felt good. He could not help but recall the conversations he had had the past couple of days. They were all going to find out. They were going to find out what happened to him. He did not want them too.

Then don't let them.

Harry's heart stopped. He knew that voice well. It was not Voldemort's; it was the voice of the manifest of the Dark. The supernatural force that had plagued him all summer.

And then it happened. The Dark sprung out at him in his moment of fear, and tried to get control of his body. He could feel it flooding through his veins; it burned like the fires of Hell. His mind was going numb, his legs were turning to jelly, and his stomach felt ready to burst. He fell to his knees, and vomited up the contents of his stomach. The Dark was almost there.

"Harry are you okay?" Hermione spoke through the door, "you've been in the shower for a long time."

Her voice, so gentle and soft, spread over him, and the Dark was driven back. Once again it had been thwarted.

Taking deep breaths, and trying not to vomit again, Harry stood up, called back an "I'm fine," and got his pants on. As the moments passed where Hermione did not speak again, he felt the Dark reaching out towards him. The nausea overwhelmed him, causing him to vomit in the toilet. He began to lose consciousness.

***

Hermione had just turned around when she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone getting sick. Her concern for her friend overcame her senses and she rushed into the bathroom, only to find him throwing up and about to faint. She rushed towards him to try and comfort him.

She glanced into the toilet and immediately wished she hadn't. Mixed with the bile was a thick, red liquid. Oh no! He's coughing up blood!

"Harry!" She whispered into his ear, "I'm going to go call my parents. They'll know what to do."

"No," he said hoarsely, "Nobody needs to know about this."

"Yes they do!" Hermione said, aghast. "You're coughing up blood, there's something seriously wrong!"

"There isn't," Harry said forcefully, "Nothing is wrong. This happens all the time."

Hermione looked at him in horror. This happens all the time.

"W-what do you mean by it happens all the time?"

"I mean that this is not the first time something like this has happened."

He stood up, and unsteadily made his way to the door. And that was when Hermione noticed them. His body…littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Long ones crisscrossed all the way down his back, several coursed down his arms. His right arm, scared from the burn she knew he had obtained. Small, round shaped scars all around his midsection from where his crushed ribs pierced his skin.

"H-H-Harry?"

He froze. She could hear him whispering to himself.

"Harry?"

"What?" he asked softly.

"T-the scars," she whispered. He looked down at himself, at his scar littered body. They had always been a normal part of his appearance; he had grown used to them.

"What about them?" he asked.

"H-how did you g-get them?" She sounded as if on the verge of tears.

"How? How did I get these scars?" he asked incredulously. He then laughed; a bitter, cruel laugh. His voice changed. "These scars are physical marks of my experiences. I got them from many places. And I get new ones every year."

Hermione began to sob. She just realized how horrible of a life he had had. To have so many scars, was unbelievable. She stood up and hesitantly walked towards him, reaching out and tracing her fingers across several lines of his marred flesh. She felt him tense up.

"How do you live like this?" she whispered gently into his ear as her eyes filled with more tears.

"I live like this because I have been forced to, believe me, it was no choice of mine."

She looked up into his eyes, and took a step backward. They were not the eyes she knew. These eyes were malicious, and full of anger. It was like some ethereal force had taken him over for that moment. Which raised a question in her mind.

"Harry-what happened this summer? At the Dursleys."

His mood changed and his body tensed up so fast she couldn't even see a blur. It was instantaneous.

"Why do you want to know?" he snarled.

She was taken aback by his sudden anger. "I-I care about you Harry, I'm here to talk."

"I don't need to talk to anybody." Hermione could actually feel Harry's anger pulsating throughout the room. It was feeling she did not like at all.

"You do," she said, surprised at her ability to speak to him when he was this angry.

"And why do I," he spat.

Hermione faltered. She just stood there looking at Harry, her lip trembling, trying to find something to counter with. Her resolve failed. She looked fearfully up at Harry: at his glowing eyes that rested in shadow, and his angry face that taunted her.

Seeing she had nothing to say, Harry smirked. He had won. The Dark laughed in his mind, drawing away its influence over Harry's actions. Harry, free of the Dark again, looked at Hermione. The sight he saw was heart wrenching. She was….afraid of him. How could he have let this happen? He took a step back, his eyes returning to their normal color, and stumbled.

"No, no, no, no," he whispered hoarsely. Leave me alone!

You're weak, the Dark laughed at Harry.

I said, Leave. Me. ALONE!

Hermione lifted up her head just in time to see a bright flash of light as Harry grit his teeth together in a painful expression. She screamed as his eyes flashed with that bright red, and then died out. She watched as he passed out.

He came to a few minutes later. Hermione was grasping his arm, trembling, her face pale.

"Harry?"

"H-Hermione….there's something wrong with me."

***

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, trembling.

"This summer…. strange events happened….strange voices were calling to me….horrifying images were placed in my head. I saw….Voldemort's idea of fun. People were dying, men, women, children….getting dismembered, burned, tortured with curses….skinned alive," Harry was speaking in an almost inaudible whisper.

Hermione's face was tinged with green. She tried her hardest not to vomit.

"And then….Voldemort came after me….he did to me what he did to all the victims I saw. Such intense pain occurred that I had never felt before.

"The Dursleys didn't make it easier. They hurt me as well. Never had I seen Vernon so angry. I have many scars from him."

Harry's lip was quivering as he told his tale. However he did not cry. Hermione was trying to console him, comfort him in his time of agony. Harry continued after a few moments.

"The voice….it came after me too. It would sometimes try to take control of me. It accomplished this when I fell asleep. It gave me haunting nightmares.

"I remember one of the nightmares. In my sleep I revisited the Department of Mysteries. When you were struck by Dolohov's curse, I lost control. When we were there last June, Neville found your pulse. Such intense relief hit me when I heard that. But in the nightmare, Neville didn't find your pulse. He said you were gone. I lost you. At first there was immense sorrow as I mulled over the thought of you not being there. Rage replaced the sorrow when I heard Dolohov laugh about your death. The darkest rage I had ever felt was filling me to the brim. And then I killed him, I killed Antonin Dolohov!" Harry let out a loud, hollow laugh that made the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stand up. She backed away from him.

"My body count is up to five Hermione! First my parents, then Cedric, then Sirius…." he trailed off. Hermione looked questioningly at him.

"But, Harry, that's only four. Who was the fifth?" she asked.

"I already told you, Antonin Dolohov. He was the fifth," Harry replied.

"That was just a dream-"

"It was real. I killed him. Voldemort showed me."

"Harry, he's showed you lots of things. How do you know this one was real?" she inquired.

"I know it was real because I saw his dead body with my own eyes. It was when Voldemort attacked me. He asked me what my friend's would think of me. He asked if they would live amongst a murderer. I remember what happened now," said Harry as he searched through his memories for that fateful night.

"Uncle Vernon had been possessed. He was taunting me. He said some things that made me angry. Very angry. The dark presence began to rise up inside me again. But that was when he showed me the body of Dolohov. I can still remember the smell: the horrible scent of decay. I remember how the rotting flesh was falling off his bones…"

Hermione had to stop herself from throwing up.

"And then he put me under this curse. A curse that made all my blood drain from my body, as well as the pain I felt. Like being skinned alive, except much worse. I know what it feels like to be skinned alive…."

Hermione vomited into the toilet. Harry didn't notice it, he was too far lost into his storytelling trance.

"His snake soon came after me. With each outward breath the snake would crush me more. That's how my ribs were crushed. I then felt her fangs pierce my neck. The venom traveled like fire through my veins. The last thing I can remember about it is the dark presence coming to the forefront of my mind again. After that, nothing."

Coming out of his trance, Harry noticed Hermione bent over the toilet. Immediately he began to comfort her.

"I'm sorry for telling you about that-you shouldn't have heard about it. You don't need to be burdened with such things. I'm sorry," Harry said.

Empty of stomach and feeling better, Hermione turned to face Harry.

"Harry, I asked for it, you needed to talk about it."

"There's more."

"What?" Hermione asked incredulously. More? How can he stand this.

"There's a lot more that you don't know about, and it will be better off that way. You don't need to be burdened with all my problems, especially the ones that I haven't told you. Just, forget everything I've said so far."

"No, Harry," Hermione said, "I want to talk about your burdens so I can help you through them. You always do everything alone. You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do Hermione!" Harry exclaimed as he stood up. "If I do this alone, no one else has to get hurt. It's me he wants, me! All his doings are my burdens to bear. No one else's!"

"But why does it have to be you?" Hermione countered.

Harry became very quiet. He looked her in the eyes and she saw the pain clouding over.

"I can't tell you….not yet."

"But why?" Hermione said desperately.

"Because it is a secret best kept forgotten."

Harry swept from the room, passing some windows in the hallway, not realizing that all movement had stopped outside the Granger household.

***

"I can't reach him," the Dark Lord was clearly unhappy, "He is being blocked by forces unknown. I can no longer feel our connection. He has been masked."

The Dark Lord turned to face the only other occupant of the large chamber. A man dressed all in black, with black stripes lining his face. The man was listening intently to Voldemort's every word.

"Why is this boy such a big deal to you?" He asked. Clearly he was unafraid of the powerful wizard in front of him.

"Let's say, Shaman, that he is just a pain. A very major one at that. I want him eliminated," Voldemort started walking towards the center of the room, "He is the only one to have ever survived an encounter with me more than three times, besides my old Headmaster. Gifted, yes, he is very gifted indeed. I have seen his magical prowess at times when I have invaded his mind. So much ability, and such anger. You should see what he can do if he gets angry enough. I've lost a very talented Death Eater to him, my old friend Antonin Dolohov."

"Dolohov? I thought he died a long time ago," said the Shaman.

"No, he was sent to Azkaban. The old Auror reports had him reported as dead before they found him again and sent him to Azkaban. They didn't rewrite the files for a while."

"If the boy is so gifted, then why kill him? The way you speak of his darker side makes me think that he could be a powerful ally, could he not?"

"Don't think I haven't thought of that," Voldemort said warningly, "I've tried to persuade him many times. Always he chooses the side of righteousness. I can't turn him."

The Shaman smiled. "There are….methods….available to convert him. If you choose me to, I can force out his darker self. I can erase his mind of any pure thoughts as well. He will be left with nothing but his darkest experiences, which will in time break him. After that, he will be a loyal friend and obedient servant."

"There is only one problem. There is another….party trying to control him. I discovered the night I wounded him that he is host to the Dark. The Dark does not give up easily. I know for myself."

"As do I, Lord Voldemort. The Dark can be subdued. I was a host once, but I freed myself. I can do the same to the boy. Or better yet, I can do it to the Dark as well. The Dark does not rule me, I control it!"

***

Harry was sitting out on the shore of the Granger's pond. Yes, the Grangers had a pond, and a rather large one at that. Harry was continuously staring at his reflection in the water.

He kept thinking about his conversation with Hermione. His mood had shifted so erratically. He had scared her again. She was now weighed down with the information Harry had given her. Dangit Potter, you did it again!

Harry did not realize that the water was beginning to push away from him. Ripples were being sent out toward the center of the pond. The angrier he became, the more violently the water behaved.

Damn it! Why does my life have to be so fucked!

The water began swirling in the middle of the pond, like a whirlpool. It began to grow larger and more violent as Harry thought more raging thoughts.

I wish Sirius were here now….he'd know what to do….

Harry saw a flash of headlights. Hermione's parents had just arrived home. He looked out onto the surface of the water. It was extremely choppy….

But there's no wind….

Putting his questions to rest, Harry trudged back to the house forlornly.

***

Dinner was a quiet affair. Harry was extremely somber as he ate a little of his meal. He off-handedly answered the few questions he was given. Realizing that he didn't feel like talking, they everyone left him alone.

Harry soon excused himself and trekked slowly through the large house to his room. He fell onto his bed and tried to go to sleep, even though he wasn't tired at all, well physically at least, he was extremely tired mentally.

Harry didn't know that just a floor below the Granger's were talking about him.

***

"I'm really worried about him," said Mrs. Granger in a motherly tone.

"As am I," agreed Mr. Granger as he took a drink from his glass, "just this morning I came out here and he was sitting down drinking coffee! At five a.m.! He told me that he didn't sleep well anymore and that he was used to it. Remember what he said at dinner last night? `I wasn't really allowed to eat…much, but it's okay, I'm used to it.' He must have had a really hard life."

"You don't know the half of it," said Hermione quietly as she moved her food around her plate.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, today, while you were gone, Harry and I talked," Hermione closed her eyes as she remembered what happened.

"What did you talk about?"

"It's not my place to tell," said Hermione. She didn't hear her mother's comment however, because she could sense something emitting from somewhere. A magical emission, and she could feel exactly who and where the source of it was.

"Hermione, is something wrong-"

Hermione jumped up from her chair and dashed upstairs. Quickly opening Harry's door she frantically hurried over to him, only to find that he was deep into one of his nightmares.

Her parents entered soon after and found her trying to wake Harry. Hermione explained that Harry usually had nightmares that had some bad consequences and asked for help in trying to wake him.

Unfortunately, that's when the visions started.

***

Harry was twitching and writhing on the bed, trapped in an endless nightmare. He was radiating magic and heat, lots of heat. The Grangers could barely get an arm's length to him.

Hermione touched his face and jerked her hand back; she had been burned by his skin, which was burning like a white-hot flame.

She tried calling to him, but as soon as she did, she began to see things. Strange things, to which she had never witnessed before, never in this perspective.

"Lily! Take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!"

She watched as James Potter stood, facing the Dark Lord with no trace of fear. Without hesitation Voldemort took the offensive and James defended for all he was worth. James never once backed down. But soon, Voldemort had him on the ground, and told James Potter to beg for his life.

"Fuck you Voldemort!" James sneered. To himself he whispered, "I wish I could be there for Harry and Lily when they need me…. I love them both….so very much-"

His words were cut short as Voldemort ended his life.

Voldemort laughed and then began to examine the rest of the house. He heard movement from the upstairs. Slowly he walked towards his destination, savoring the moment. He heard the noise again, a quiet whimpering, from the door to his left. He entered to find himself in a nursery, and there caught in the corner were the two objects he had wanted to find. Lily and Harry Potter.

Lily's eyes widened as she saw him, and she wrapped her arms protectively around her son, trying to hide him, protect him.

"Lily Potter…. At long last I have finally managed to find you. I have `neutralized' your husband so to say. And now it is time for you once again to reunite. Ah, if it isn't the little Harry Potter. They say you might be the cause of my downfall, but I am here to prove to you, little child, that I am immortal."

Lily let out a sob. Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry.

"No!" Lily screamed, "Take me instead! Not Harry! Please not Harry! Take me-Kill me instead!" She stood protectively in front of the little Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort said quietly. Lily was dead before she hit the ground in front of her son.

Voldemort turned to Harry. "You see, little Harry? See what I can do? You will not be the cause of my downfall, because you can't hurt me when you're dead! Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of green light emerged from Voldemort's wand, and flew straight towards Harry, hitting him in the forehead. Harry was immersed in the green light. He screamed and cried at the pain of being hit with the killing curse, when his body was not letting the curse take his life away. But then, the green light began flooding to one point, Harry's forehead. There was a small cut there, shaped like a bolt of lightning. The cut served as a focal point, and all the energy from the curse was contained there. The curse shot back at Voldemort, and Voldemort's body was taken away. It seemed like it took an eternity since he fired the curse, but it had only been mere seconds

The Dark Lord fled, in his ghostly form, and Harry was now the savior of the world.

All of the sudden, the little boy lying crying on the floor appeared in a cupboard, a few years older. His uncle was calling for him. The little boy walked out into the kitchen.

"BOY! I WANT YOU STANDING RIGHT HERE IN FRONT OF ME THIS MINUTE! WHAT'S ALL THIS TALK I HEAR ABOUT YOU TURNING YOUR TEACHER'S HAIR BLUE? I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS ABNORMALNESS FROM YOU!"

The large man advanced on the little boy, and raised his hand.

Hermione was thrown back out into reality. She was sweating profusely. She looked at her parents. They looked the same as she felt.

"Did you-did you see what happened?" They nodded.

"My God," said Mrs. Granger. "Is that how his parents were actually killed? The poor boy, having to revisit it in his dreams. Who was that large man?"

"So you saw my nightmare then, did you?" Harry asked. Everyone jumped in shock; they didn't realize he had been awake.

Hermione wrapped him in a hug. "We're so sorry Harry! You were twitching and burning up, and then all of the sudden we entered your dreams and saw how your parents died and a little bit about your life at the Dursley's and I am so sorry!" She said this all in one breath.

"It's okay Hermione, I'm not mad at you. I just…. don't want you to have to see things like this." Harry looked towards Hermione's parents. They had their mouths open in horror.

"Does this happen-happen a lot?" Mr. Granger asked.

Harry looked at the ground and said grimly, "This is the first time I've actually had this dream. My dreams are usually filled with….other things. I've never actually gotten to see how they died. Over the years I've heard bits and pieces from that night, but not the whole thing."

"What about the bit when you were young and that large man was yelling at you?" asked Mrs. Granger timidly.

"That was me with my Uncle-just a little bit of my home life," Harry said coldly.

"Your Uncle-did he hit you?"

"More times than I care to count. Not as many times as my cousin hit me though, I was his punching bag." There were audible gasps.

"How-how do you live with this?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Funny, this is the most times I've ever been asked that question," Harry said irritably. "Let's just say that I have no choice in the matter." Harry ended with a drop-it-now voice.

"Harry, if you ever need to talk-"

"Everyone keeps trying to get me to talk! What if I don't want to talk! Why can't everybody just leave me alone!" The windows were beginning to crack. Hermione noticed.

"Harry! Please, you need to calm down!"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN? I CAN'T CALM DOWN WHEN EVERYONE IS TRYING TO DISCOVER THINGS ABOUT ME THAT I DON'T WANT THEM TO KNOW!"

The windows shattered. Harry's eyes began to glow the strange red color. Hermione placed her hands on the sides of his face and looked directly into his eyes. She could feel his anger, confusion, sorrow, and guilt bubbling beneath the surface.

"Please Harry. Please stop," she whispered into his ear. The glow began to disappear, and Harry soon became calm.

"I'm really sorry Hermione. I'm so sorry," he said, on the verge of tears. "I can't control myself, I don't know why but I can't. I'm so sorry."

She enveloped him in a hug. When they parted, Hermione could see tear tracks along his face.

Harry turned to face Hermione's parents. "Sorry about shouting and the windows. I'll fix them or pay for them, whatever it takes-"

"Harry that's really not necessary, everybody shouts," said Mr. Granger. He looked at Harry strangely, for Harry had just stood up and walked over to one of the windows. He placed his hand on it.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"They're fixed. The windows are fixed. I didn't even do anything." The Grangers looked at him in amazement.

***

Harry lie awake shaking in his bed. He had just had a dream about Sirius, something that had not happened in a long time, not since he was in the hospital. The dream had brought about all the guilt and sorrow that Harry had recently forgotten. Like tidal waves they crashed upon the walls of his mind, permeating through to his core.

"Sirius…" whispered Harry to the darkness. The darkness actually seemed comfortable in this setting. It hid him from the rest of the world, making him invisible in its black blankets.

"Oh baby Potter, did you love him?"

Harry looked about trying to figure where it came from. And then realization hit him like a hammer to the head, he was hearing Bellatrix Lestrange's voice. The anger began taking over again.

I promise you Sirius, Bellatrix Lestrange will DIE!

Harry thought about how she said he had to mean to hurt someone for an Unforgivable to work. She told him he had to enjoy it. Well, taking her life would definitely entertain me now!

There was a rustling sound throughout the room as an unfelt breeze picked up. Harry's hair began to move in time with the breeze.

Wait a minute, why do I all of the sudden want to kill everybody? Harry felt sickened with himself. The breeze stopped and Harry brought his knees to his chest. There was a light knock on the door.

"Harry it's me," Hermione whispered, "is it alright if I come in?"

"Sure," said Harry absently. Hermione opened the door slowly, stepped inside Harry's room, and closed the door. She tip-toed over to the bed where Harry was sitting.

"I felt something, I was just checking to make sure you're okay," she said gently.

"I'm fine, I just-I was just thinking about Sirius," said Harry sadly. He felt as soft arms wrapped around him.

"I know how much you miss him," said Hermione softly, "he was more than just a godfather to you, wasn't he?"

"He-he was like a father, actually, since I never got to know my real father," Harry was having difficulty not crying. A small sob escaped.

"Shh," Hermione said soothingly, "it's okay."

"I just can't-help to think that I'm some sort of menace," Harry said all of the sudden. "Everybody I get involved with dies. My parents, they died because of me, Cedric died because he became my friend when he shouldn't have, and Sirius died because-because he got too close to me. You should back out now while you have a chance, Hermione. I've almost gotten you killed so many times, how much more luck do you have until you run out?" Tears were making their way down Harry's cheek.

"Harry….all those times you think you almost got me killed, they weren't your fault. I chose to be with you. It was my choice; you didn't force me to do anything. Like at the Ministry, I didn't just want to go with you, I needed to be with you, do you understand?" Hermione tried to explain.

"We didn't have to be there though. You were right. If we hadn't gone, if I had just listened to you, none of that would have ever happened! You knew it was a trap, but I wouldn't believe you. I was caught up in my own saving-people-mind, trying to make sure that Sirius was okay. I completely forgot about how reckless I was acting. It's all my fault!" Harry's sobbing was becoming more pronounced.

He felt small hands reach out onto his face, and he complied as they tilted his head towards their destination. He looked up, to find himself looking into Hermione's brown eyes.

"Harry…please listen to me very carefully. It-was-not-your-fault," she said, accenting every word on the last sentence.

Harry's resolve broke, and soon he was crying into Hermione's embrace. She cradled him until both of their breathing patterns slowed and became more rhythmic.

***

"Just look at them," said Mrs. Granger the next morning, "they look so comfortable."

"They do," Mr. Granger agreed. They were both standing in the entrance to Harry's room, looking upon the two young teenagers asleep on the bed together.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were not at all angry with their daughter or their house guest. There were no signs that they had done anything inappropriate, they had just fallen asleep comforting each other like best friends do. They knew. They knew and could see what Harry and Hermione could not see.

"Do you remember when we used to do this?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"Yes, all the time at the University," said Mr. Granger with a smile. He looked down at his watch. "Oh, come on, we're going to be late!"

With one last look towards the teenagers, Mr. and Mrs. Granger left.

***

A young man was standing in the center of a large stone room. The room was mostly barren save for a wooden target dummy and a few weapons mounted on the walls. He was grasping a beautiful sword tightly in his hands.

"Your training will now begin," a strong voice spoke from the doorway behind the young man. The young man turned around and kneeled before the person making his way toward him. The person revealed himself to be an older man with the aura of someone who knew how to handle himself.

"It is an honor to be learning from you, sir," said the young man.

"No," the older man said as he helped the young man up, "the honor is mine."

The older man guided the young man towards the wooden target dummy.

"Now, about your combat training. Combat is like an art; it takes skill, creativity, patience, and most of all, a strong will. There are, however, two different forms of martial training. One form is focused on the ability to use your knowledge of the body to make neutralizing strikes towards your opponent with your natural speed and strength. The second form is used with magic. This form requires a person to use their magical energy to charge their body, thus enhancing the speed and strength of body. While this form is generally more difficult, once mastered it is a vital ability. Of course, only those who are most magical, in this case I mean wizards, are able to completely master this technique." The old man pointed towards the wooden target dummy. "If I told you to strike this target as hard as you could with your hand, would you be able to dent it?"

"Is it charmed or enhanced in any way?" asked the young man.

"I can assure you that no magic has been used upon it," replied the older man.

The young man took a step towards the dummy. He meditated for a few seconds, trying to place all of his energy, his feeling, into the two largest knuckles on his right hand. He brought that hand down next to his side and curled it into a fist, while bringing his other hand out and pointing that closed fist at the chest of the dummy. In one, quick strike, the dummy was sent careening through the air.

The older man clapped, "Good, I was hoping you had covered this before. Now, let us begin with the real training."

All the training seemed to pass by in an instant, but Harry absorbed it all.

Harry woke up sweating and feeling as if he'd gone swimming all the way to North America.

But Harry smiled as he whispered to himself, "I know how to fight."

***

"Why can't I find him!" Voldemort shouted to himself. "He is somehow blocking me out!"

The large chamber doors opened. Voldemort knew who it was before the man even made himself known.

"What is it Lucius?" Voldemort said angrily.

"My lord, the Elementals-they're getting restless," said Lucius humbly as he kneeled.

"I know!" Voldemort spat. "Just stay out of their way and leave!"

"But Master, they've already killed four of the prisoners, and one of your followers who stood up against them in your name. Alderin, I believe his name was. The men are afraid, they want you to-" He was interrupted as Voldemort hit him with a spell that sent him careening.

"I told you," Voldemort was seething, "to leave!"

"Yes Master," said Lucius quickly as he stood up and got out of the room as quickly as possible.

"POTTER! WHERE ARE YOU!" Voldemort continued to shout and curse Harry's name.

"Well, well, well, what's all this ruckus?" asked the Shaman. Voldemort froze; he had not heard the Shaman enter the room.

"What do you want Shaman?" Voldemort asked, trying to mask his anger.

"Well Voldemort, since you asked so nicely," the Shaman said sarcastically, "I.Want.Out."

"What did you just say," Voldemort's eyes flared as he spun around to face the Shaman.

"I said," said the Shaman as if speaking to someone deaf, "that I want out!"

"And why do you want that?" Voldemort challenged.

"Let me let you in on a little secret," said the Shaman as he whispered in Voldemort's ear. "I'm tired of this hideout. I'm tired of your pathetic men who are not able enough to kill a child. I'm tired of doing nothing and just waiting for you to do something. I want to kill. I want to go after this Harry Potter. I want to convert him."

"You'll get your chance to convert him," said Voldemort icily. "Now is just not the time."

"And why not?" asked the Shaman angrily.

"Because I can't locate him, that's why!" Voldemort roared.

"Oh, is that it?" asked the Shaman. "That little problem can be easily solved."

"How?" asked Voldemort impatiently.

The Shaman smiled. "Which creature stands on two legs, has a long snout, has excellent tracking abilities, and loves to hunt?"

"The werewolf," said Voldemort agitatedly.

"Correct!" said the Shaman in a game show voice.

"And?" Voldemort asked.

"And what?" replied the Shaman.

"What else did you have in mind on how to locate Harry Potter," Voldemort was clearly getting very furious.

"I told you, we use a werewolf," said the Shaman.

Voldemort laughed. "And how are we supposed to control a werewolf?"

"Relax," said the Shaman coolly, "I deal with werewolves all the time. They're not that hard to control. No different than vampires or dementors."

"Yes, there's a big difference!" exclaimed Voldemort. "Dementors follow whatever dark leader is in charge, and vampires obey wizards that have powerful methods of, persuasion."

"You know, my Lord, I would think that you were afraid of werewolves if I didn't know better," said the Shaman slyly.

"Than it's a good thing you do know better, or else you wouldn't be alive," hissed Voldemort menacingly.

"What was that?" asked the Shaman dangerously. "Do not test my patience Voldemort."

Voldemort advanced on the Shaman. "I will test your patience as I see fit, Shaman. I do not fear you, but you do have reason to fear me."

"I would stop if I were you, Voldemort. You don't want to witness what happens when I get angry."

"No, you don't want to see what happens when I get angry," Voldemort was looking malicious. "I can do things you have never dreamed of, Shaman."

The Shaman was furious. His staff appeared in his hand, and he looked ready to hurt Voldemort.

"Do not make me hurt you Voldemort," the Shaman was barely controlling his rage.

"Look upon me now, Shaman, am I trembling?" asked Voldemort mockingly.

The Shaman let out a cry of rage and swung his staff around to hit Voldemort in the head. Right before it was to impact, however, it stopped. Voldemort's eyes flashed and his wand was in his long, white fingers. He pressed the tip of the wand against the Shaman's throat, who paled considerably. Voldemort looked the Shaman in his fearful eyes. Burns began to spread from the point of the wand against the Shaman's throat.

"I told you that there was reason to fear me. I am Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, and the most powerful wizard on this earth. Do not accuse me of cowardice; I fear nothing and no one. If I find you again trying to taunt me, you will find yourself in Hell!"

Voldemort lowered his wand, and faced the opposite direction. "Go, find your werewolf and track down Potter. Remember, I reward those who prove their loyalty."

The Shaman kneeled. "Yes my Lord." He then got up and stepped out of the room with a newfound fear. Lord Voldemort was indeed as dangerous as everyone said he was.


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