Dark Rage (Revised!)

The Dark Sorceror

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/09/2005
Last Updated: 06/09/2005
Status: in_progress

After the events in OOTP, Harry must deal with his burdens while trying not to fall into his anger. A mysterious force known as the Dark begins to make residence in his mind, clouding his judgement and trying to control him. With new allies, Voldemort plans to launch the world's largest wizarding attack. Harry's powers are becoming volatile, and his darker side is beginning to show itself. Can Harry survive the war, or will he be defeated by Voldemort's hand?

Chapters

1. THE DARK

2. SHADOWS OF THE DARK

3. HE IS TO BE FEARED

4. RAGE VS. EARTH

1. THE DARK

Dark Rage

~The Dark~

***

Voices. Voices; he could still hear the voices in his awakened state, tormenting him. The agonizing cruelty of the dark masses that haunted his every living moment were beginning to strain his sanity. Conscious or unconscious, he could not escape them. They were planted into his brain, where they had rooted down into every nook and cranny of his mind: into his soul. Ever so slowly they were breaking him, shattering ever part of him so that he was hollow inside. The Dark was twisting its way into him, destroying his very humanity.

***

Harry Potter was ever so gently cradling his right arm. Since his return to the Dursleys, he had become a slave: worth less than the dirt that was brought in by his shoes when he had finished gardening for his aunt, and the act had given a brutal punishment. Brutal punishments, however, were not uncommon for Harry in the Dursley household. If he did not get breakfast on the table fast enough, he received no breakfast himself and a blow from his uncle somewhere on his upper body. If he talked back to his aunt, he would receive no meals and a nice, hard, slap on the face. If he did not finish one of his daily chores, he would receive no meals for a week, a lecture on how he needed to work for his stay, and a couple of blows to his body, sometimes a vicious beating if his uncle was angry or annoyed enough.

Recently Harry had obtained a very painful injury, one that had been given on his second week back at the Dursleys.

*Flashback*

“BOY! GET DOWN HERE! WHERE'S MY BREAKFAST?” Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs, looking livid.

Harry miserably got up out of the bed he was currently laying on, and walked over to the door, wrenching it open and passing through. He walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen, merely ignoring the presence of his hated relatives as set about his work of making breakfast. It was hard to keep this tactic up, considering that as soon as his presence was noticed, a large, angry purple face was in front of him.

“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG, BOY?”

Harry didn't answer, and continued to fix breakfast. Again he was interrupted as large, meaty fists, grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.

“ANSWER ME BOY!” Vernon roared. Harry looked at him, his face expressionless.

“I was busy,” Harry answered after a few moments' silence.

“Busy? Busy with what!” Vernon demanded.

“Busy with nothing,” Harry replied, his mind a blank as he continued finishing up the chore set up for him.

“Nothing. You were busy with nothing,” Vernon inquired.

“Yes, nothing. Here's your coffee,” said Harry as he handed Vernon the coffeepot.

“What kind of coffee is this? De-caf?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Harry.

“WELL I DON'T WANT DE-CAF, BOY! I AM TIRED OF YOUR STUPIDITY! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS MAKE GOOD COFFEE! MAKE SOME MORE!” Vernon practically threw the coffeepot at Harry, and as Harry reached out for it, the lid flew off, and the extremely hot liquid splashed all over the skin of his right arm.

Harry made no sound as the boiling-hot liquid covered his arm, but one could see the pain he was suffering clearly in his eyes. As Harry stood there, cradling his right arm, Vernon laughed.

***

The burn was still stinging painfully as Harry sat on his bed. His arm was completely red, and the skin was uneven and torn. It was rough too, and broke easily. If he moved it too much or too sharply, the skin would crack open and bleed.

Harry closed his eyes, willing the pain to stop, but it did not. He could only sit and wonder why his life was so messed up. Why did he have to suffer so much? Not only was he punished physically by his relatives, his mind, and body to an extent, were tortured by the demons in his nightmares. The voices that belonged to the demons were relentless in their attacks.

Every day, every night, Harry watched as people were tortured and killed, himself included. He watched as Voldemort would use magic to disfigure muggles and wizards, severing their limbs, smashing, ripping, tearing them, which inevitably led to their brutal deaths.

Voldemort would attack him to, and make him suffer pain to such an extent he thought he would kill himself in an attempt to get it to stop. Voldemort would have him bound to something, usually a rock or a tree, in an area full of people, where the scent of death lingered in the air. Voldemort would force Harry to watch as people, muggles and wizards, were graphically destroyed in every meaning of the word. And then Voldemort would tell him, say to him that his death would be like that, only worse. He would describe in excruciating detail how exactly Harry would feel pain that only torture could bring. He would promise that Harry would die a very painful death, assured him that he would suffer agony that no creature, man or beast, had ever felt before. After that was done, Voldemort would do exactly as he had promised, and Harry would feel the pain, the torment, and the anguish. Even after he woke from his nightmares, the pain would stay with him, as a reminder of what was to come.

And some nights, it was worse. Psychological pain was far worse than anything Harry could describe. Physical pain, physical wounds, they all healed quicker, the scars faded faster compared to psychological torture. To relive one's worst memories, to remember seeing the blankness of dead eyes, to remember being in a situation where there was no hope. To watch as the ones you loved died. To see their blank, lifeless eyes…

No, I refuse to think about that!

Harry woke up from his daydream-like state in his room. He was trembling, and his scar was aching. There was thin line of cold sweat running down his forehead. He was feeling nauseous, and he was starting to feel cold.

He was exhausted, and before he knew it, his eyes were closed and he was falling into a deep sleep.

The archway was speaking to him. The voices were calling, telling him to come closer, to walk through the veil. It swayed slowly, as if caught in a breeze. He wanted to meet them, to see who was talking to him. The whispers were making him curious. He walked towards the archway, reaching out to it.

Harry was knocked out of the way as someone fell through the archway, and just before they disappeared through it, Harry caught a glimpse of who it was…Sirius…

He could hear laughter behind him, and he turned around, expecting Bellatrix Lestrange to be there, but she was not. Instead, the pale face of Antonin Dolohov was glaring at him. To his right, he saw Hermione. She was looking frightened, as if she knew what was to become of her. Harry glanced back at Antonin, and saw him smile and point his wand at Hermione. He made a slashing movement with his wand, and what looked like purple flame flew from his wand and hit Hermione straight in the chest. She fell to the ground, and Harry ran towards her, screaming her name. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and gently shook her, trying to wake her. She did not stir. Neville came running over, asking what happened. He felt for a pulse, but his response was not one Harry could take.

“There's no pulse Harry, she's gone,” Neville said quietly.

“NO SHE ISN'T! SHE CAN'T BE GONE!” Harry roared, “She can't be dead, she just can't be…”

Black spots were appearing in front of his eyes. He couldn't breath; he didn't even realize it when his knees hit the ground. His vision was swirling, he was dizzy, and he felt like he was going to vomit. Over and over again he kept muttering disbelievingly, “She can't be dead… Please, no, don't let her be dead… She just can't be dead.”

There was a laugh, a loud, roaring laugh that made Harry's insides swirl with the greatest of rage. He spun around, and saw that Antonin Dolohov was indeed laughing. The fact that he had just killed someone that Harry loved, was enough to get Harry to want to destroy him, but to laugh about it…

Harry felt the rage inside him break free of its restraints, he let out a roar of fury, and before he knew it, he was on his feet and his wand was pointed at Dolohov. He was enraged, and it was fueling him, providing him with enormous power. He felt that power, felt it as it began running through his veins, making him feel alive with magical energy. Tendrils of the energy were beginning to escape his body, crackling and burning with pure anger and hatred. It was dark magic, but it was so powerful that Harry did not complain. With this power, he could do anything; he could do what he wanted, when he wanted, wherever he wanted. The Dark was clouding his judgment, showing him absolute power with no consequences, trying to persuade him to use it, to strike down at his enemies with all the hatred he could unleash.

And unleash it he did. His desire to hurt, to destroy, Antonin Dolohov, was too great; the fact that he killed Hermione, his best friend, was unbearable. In the seconds it took for Harry to summon all of that which is dark and look into Dolohov's eyes, was enough for Harry to discover that he had installed fear in the person of which he so hated. The knowledge that he, Harry, had put such fear there was empowering.

With his wand pointed at Dolohov and his body charged with magic, he uttered two words that showed how much he hated the person who stood before him.

“Avada Kedavra!” As Harry shouted these words, he felt as if a snake had just risen up inside of him, and coiled around his mind. The snake's desire was to kill, and so was Harry's. They both enjoyed watching as Antonin Dolohov's life was taken from him in a jet of green light.

Harry walked over to the lifeless man, and enjoyed the feeling of triumph. But as he looked into the lifeless eyes of the man, fleeting images flashed before his eyes.

Flash. The lifeless eyes of Cedric.

Flash. The lifeless eyes of Hermione.

Harry dropped his wand, horrified at what he had just done. He had just committed the most terrible of crimes. He had just killed someone. They had died, just as Cedric had, just as Sirius had, just as Hermione had…

A voice rose up in the back of his head: a high-pitched, cold voice. “I didn't know you were a murderer, Harry.”

Harry instantly woke up; his scar was on fire, and he felt very ill. He vomited over the side of his bed, and then placed his hand on his scar, trying to get it to stop burning. Every time he touched it, however, he succeeded in only intensifying the pain.

There were voices echoing around the room.

“You're a murderer, Harry!”

“You've always been a murderer!”

“You kill everyone you get involved with!”

“What will happen when everyone finds out?”

“They will hate you!”

“You're just like Voldemort!”

“You are Voldemort!”

Harry fell out of his bed as choruses of “Murderer” were chanted, mocking him.

“I AM NOT A MURDERER!” Harry shouted, trying to get the voices to shut up.

“MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!”

“SHUT UP!” Harry roared.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!” Uncle Vernon bellowed. The voices had ceased immediately as he entered.

Harry did not hear him; he was having trouble breathing, and he was desperately trying hard not to fall victim to the darkness that was beginning to fall over him.

Uncle Vernon continued to yell and shout at Harry, and did not realize that Harry was going to pass out. He was getting agitated that Harry was not answering him, and strode over to him. He gave him a good kick in the stomach, which was enough to send Harry into the pits of blackness.

***

“Wake up!” Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was enough to wake Harry from his unconsciousness, “It's time for you to make breakfast!”

“Argh,” Harry moaned as he sat up. His body was stiff, probably because he had been lying on the floor for the past few hours. He also had a terrible headache, and his aunt's voice did nothing to quell the throbbing pain in his head. His stomach also hurt quite a bit, and he wondered why it was so sore until he remembered the night before. His uncle had kicked him.

As he stood up he had to suck in his breath as a wave of pain from his stomach region washed over him. He lifted up his shirt, and saw that there was a very large bruise there: purple, blue, black, and slight shades of green and yellow. It was not a pretty sight. The bruise stretched up to about an inch above the bottom of his ribcage, which is where it hurt the most. Just running a finger lightly over the bruise was enough to make his eyes water.

He carefully got dressed, making sure that he did not stretch anything in range of the bruise.

It took him a while to walk downstairs into the kitchen, the slightest movement from side to side hurt a lot.

He immediately began to cook breakfast as he entered the kitchen. He did not want his uncle to attack him again. He needed to have everything set out nicely for him so there would be no punishment.

He finished quickly; he wanted to get back into the confines of his room instead of staying in the openness of the kitchen.

He left just as Uncle Vernon entered, and only received a nasty glare from him.

An owl was waiting for him upon his return to his room. He untied the scroll that was attached to the owl's leg, and watched it fly off as soon as it was free of its burden.

Harry looked down at the letter, untied it, and found it to be from Dumbledore. Harry just threw the scroll onto his small desk, like he did for all of his letters. There were giant stacks of them everywhere, most of them being from Hermione. He never bothered to open them; he just couldn't summon the energy and will power to open them.

He settled down onto his bed, and stared up at the ceiling.

“BOY! GET DOWN HERE! YOU NEED TO MOW THE LAWN!”

***

Harry was afraid to sleep. Ever since that dream, where he had become a cold-blooded killer, he was afraid to close his eyes. Afraid to let sleep take him. Afraid to let the nightmares plague him.

He sat on his bed, gazing out at the wall opposite him. He never blinked, moved his eyes, or move at all, for that matter (except for the slow movements of his breathing). He was growing very tired, all the work he had done today had exhausted him. The bruise on his stomach was aching terribly, and his muscles were all sore.

As his eyes began to droop, images flashed before him. All of his darkest memories came up into the forefront of his mind. As he watched them all, a voice spoke inside his head.

Having fun, Harry?

Harry knew whom that voice belonged to. Only the voice of Voldemort could be so cruel, cold, and bone chilling.

Have you ever had the feeling, Harry, where you just want to kill someone?

Don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him… Harry was trying to keep the voice out of his mind, but the harder he tried to ignore it, the more forceful it became.

If I'm not mistaken, it seems that you have committed a terrible crime, Harry. And I thought you didn't like hurting people.

Harry had his hands over his ears, trying to block the sound of Voldemort's voice. His scar began to burn very painfully; like a white-hot knife, slowly cutting his head into two pieces.

You have interesting memories, Harry. Mind if, we take a look?

At once the memory of the graveyard, where Voldemort had been resurrected, came into view. He could see every tomb, every Death Eater's mask in such detail that he thought he was there again physically. He could see himself and Voldemort standing, on opposite ends. Voldemort was trying to make him bow, “Bow to death, Harry…who knows, it might even be painless…I would not know…I have never died.”

Harry turned around, and on the ground before him lay Cedric, his eyes open, looking as if he had been frightened… It was a haunting sight, and Harry was beginning to retch…

The graveyard faded, and in its place was the Chamber of Secrets… The young Tom Riddle was speaking in parseltongue, calling upon the basilisk… The basilisk fell from the mouth of a giant statue of Salazar Slytherin… It began its rampage on Harry; trying to catch its prey… Harry watched as his twelve-year-old self pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, and stabbed the basilisk in the roof of its mouth…Harry felt again the pain of the basilisk's venom flowing through his veins…

He was in the room with Quirrel… He watched as Quirrel unwrapped his turban, and Harry saw Voldemort's face on the back of his head, asking for the stone… Quirrel grabbed Harry, and then started getting covered with blisters…

A hundred dementors were now swooping down upon Harry… His younger self was trying and failing to protect his godfather and Hermione with the Patronus Charm… He was about to get his soul sucked out through his mouth…

The Department of Mysteries loomed in front of him… Ron was struggling with the brain on the ground… Antonin Dolohov fired the purple flame at Hermione, causing her to go unconscious… Sirius and Bellatrix were dueling on top of a raised dais, where an old archway stood with a tattered old veil… Sirius dodged the first beam of light… The second beam of light hit him… Sirius was falling through the veil…

“NOOOOO!” Harry shouted, doing everything in his power to get the memories to stop. He could still feel Voldemort in his mind, laughing maniacally. Harry's scar was flaming, it was hot to the touch. He felt the few mental walls he had been able to come up with shatter easily, and Voldemort continued to laugh.

Not that skilled in Occlumency, I see. Well, then again, you actually believed the image that I put into your head last month of your dear old godfather. He's dead now, Harry, and it's all your fault!

Harry could feel a liquid trickling down his forehead as echoes of “It's all your fault!” rang around in his head. He fell off his bed onto the floor, where he vomited. He was curled up into a ball, enduring the pain that he was feeling.

Harry lie there all night, never daring to even blink his eyes anymore.

***

The rest of the week passed by torturously slowly for Harry. A combination of no sleep, little food, and a lot of work had put a real strain on his body. He was afraid to sleep, even the tiniest bit; he did not want to be forced to revisit all of those memories that haunted him.

The Dursleys were getting quite, well, aggressive was the only word he could think of to describe the way they were acting. They had all taken to shoving him around all the time, and inflicting a lot of physical `punishment', as they called it.

They were different though. They didn't seem to be the people they once were. As Uncle Vernon glared at Harry one afternoon, Harry could have sworn he saw the faintest tint of red in his eyes. However, it disappeared as soon as it came.

Harry's nights were not any better than his days. In fact, they were worse. He hardly slept anymore, and when he did, it was filled with nightmares of death and horrendous torture. Voldemort was making every effort possible to break him. Sometimes, Harry thought that he would die from sleep deprivation. The only time he ever slept was when his body shut down, and forced itself to sleep. Those were the bad nights.

There were times when Harry felt as if he was fading away; he felt thin as if spread far too much. His eyes were dull, his hair unkempt (well even more than usual), and his face pale. He was barely eating anymore; he would vomit it all up anyway.

Harry wanted it all to end. He wanted to get out…he needed to get out. This never-ending plague of pain and misery was turning him into nothing but a shadow of what he once was. He was imprisoned in his own anguish, guilt, and sorrow. All these feelings would then lead to great streaks of anger that would end in an almost nervous breakdown. It was a sort of pain that should never be felt by anyone; it was too horrific, too much like a fist was crushing him so that there was no hope to escape.

All the pain he had to endure was thrashing at his mind, breaking and ripping it to pieces, so that all he felt was the ever-greatening feeling of death and madness.

The Dark was growing…

***

It had been three weeks since Harry had arrived at the Dursleys. He was not what he was when he had arrived. He felt no joy, no sorrow, nothing at all. He was hollow. It seemed as if there was no person. He was like a machine: emotionless.

Harry had not checked his mail all summer. The only thing he did besides working for his relatives was write to the Order of the Phoenix, telling them that he was all right. In truth, he was far from it. But for some reason, he did not feel like seeing their faces; such happy faces, with no worries of anything. They could not imagine what he had gone through, what he was still going through, and what he had to go through. There was no way they could comfort him, they could not understand. But who would want to understand? The only way to understand something like this would be to experience it for themselves. There's no way anyone would want to do that.

Why must I suffer so? Is it something I did? Have I not done my part? Is the prophecy foretelling my part in this world? Must I fight Voldemort and kill him, when I have already stopped him when no one else has? Am I just some tool, to be used and then thrown out when there's nothing left for me? Why can I not live a normal life, a happy life? Why must my life be so horrid?

“Why must I suffer?” Harry asked quietly…

***

Four weeks had passed since Harry's imprisonment at the Dursleys. A month of torment and agony was all that was on Harry's mind. He was breaking. One good hit was all that it would take to shatter Harry completely. The Dark had nearly encompassed him entirely.

He had been having many nightmares about the Dark. Horrendous, they were. They were based in areas of desolation and death, where the foul stench of evil creatures and dark entities reigned supreme in the air.

Voldemort was not the only one trying to destroy Harry Potter.

***

The kitchen was dark and empty at eleven o'clock. Harry was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring off into space. He had not slept for many days now, and he was very tired. The Dark had kept him awake.

A gust of wind blew throughout the kitchen. None of the doors were open, as Harry had just closed and locked them all recently. Harry stood rooted to the spot, listening for any rustle of movement. He could hear a low murmur of cold voices. They began to grow louder; speaking in a language that instilled fear into the hearts of many. Their chant was echoing in Harry's head, making it play over and over.

The chant immediately as one voice, colder and more terrifying than any other, began to speak.

“Harry!”

It came from right behind him. Harry spun around, only to see no one there. His breath quickened, and his heart began to race.

“I see you…”

Thump thump…

The beating of his heart seemed to have magnified, so as Harry could hear it as clear as if it were speaking to him.

“Scared, Harry?”

Thump thump…thump thump…

There was figure not three feet in front of Harry, encased in shadow and impossible to identify. It was large, and it was moving.

“I can hear your heart beating so very fast…you must be frightened…”

Thump thump!

“You should be…”

The figure was closer; Harry could see its outline. It was a man… The figure came even closer from the shadows, and Harry could see some detail on his face. No, it can't be…

THUMP THUMP!

“Surprised, Harry?” Uncle Vernon asked evilly.

The voice that was coming from his uncle's mouth was not his usual unkind bellow; it was the cold voice of Voldemort. Uncle Vernon was smiling maliciously, his eyes glinting with a cruel glare. But they were not Uncle Vernon's eyes… Uncle Vernon did not have eyes like a cat, which leered red in such an inhuman way.

Voldemort was possessing Uncle Vernon.

“Have you had fun this summer, Harry?” Voldemort asked cruelly, “I sure have. It is always fun to torment those you hate, those you want to see in pain.”

Harry could feel his anger rising to the surface. All the darkness that he had been keeping inside was threatening to break his strongest walls of will.

“I'm going to kill them,” Voldemort said cheerfully, “Every last one of them. I know their names, Harry. I know where they can be found. I know that their deaths will rip you apart, they will destroy your life.”

“My life's already destroyed, Voldemort,” said Harry, as his fury began to become apparent, “You've taken everything from me. EVERYTHING!”

Harry whipped out his wand and pressed the tip against his uncle's windpipe. The Dark was clouding his mind again, controlling his thoughts and actions.

“Avada Ke-“

“I wouldn't do that Harry. You see, if I go, your uncle dies.”

“You think I care about that?” Harry chuckled. “I care nothing for the life of this insignificant muggle.”

“What will your friend's say?” Voldemort asked quietly. “I don't think they would enjoy being around a killer. But then again, you already are one, considering you murdered Antonin Dolohov that one night.”

Harry's eyes widened as the Dark receded from him. “But that was a dream, it wasn't real!”

“It was very real. You killed him. I have the body still with me. Would you like to see?” Voldemort laughed.

The body of Antonin Dolohov appeared in front of Harry on the ground. It was rotting, and the scent of decay burned at Harry's nose and made his eyes water. He felt sick.

“Now, Harry, enough chitchat,” Voldemort said casually, “It's time for me to get down to business. I have been preparing for this moment for a long time. You don't know how long it took me to discover how to break the shield surrounding this house, but I finally managed it. It seems that killing your aunt was the easiest way. The shield fell as soon as she hit the ground.”

Harry was shaking. Is legs felt like jelly, and he almost fell to the ground. They killed her. I never wanted her dead.

“Now it's time for you to endure your slow painful death,” said Voldemort gleefully. “Mortifer poena!”

Such pain came upon Harry that he knew not who he was, where he was, or what was happening except that he was feeling a torment of immeasurable agony. The pain of being possessed by Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries was the only pain that rivaled what he was feeling now.

The Curse of Deadly Pain was not lifted for what seemed to be hours to Harry. His body jolted in different places from the aftereffects of the curse. Blood was spilling from his mouth. It was coming out from his pores, drenching him in the liquid. He knew he was going to die sometime soon.

“You have not shrieked with agony yet, it seems I have not made enough of an effort. Do not worry Harry, for I shall fix this problem immediately.”

In an instant, Uncle Vernon was gone, only to be replaced by none other than Voldemort's pet snake, Naginni.

The snake slithered over to Harry. It was larger, much larger, than the last time he had seen it. Its fangs were as long as Harry's fingers, and black venom was dripping from the tips. The snake's eyes were the exact same as Voldemort's, and were mocking in the darkness. Its tongue was as black as the venom that dripped from its fangs.

The snake coiled around Harry, ever so slowly crushing him. With each outward breath of Harry's, the snake's body would tighten around his own, suffocating him. Harry felt his ribs crack underneath the strain, and would have screamed if he had the breath.

The Dark was fighting up to the surface again. It needed to keep its host alive. The Dark would not let Harry die.

As the Dark began to strengthen Harry, the snake's coils were loosened. Sensing resistance, Naginni moved her head around to Harry's neck. Naginni could feel, almost taste, the blood pumping through the veins in her prey's neck. She bit down, releasing her venom inside him.

The venom flowed quickly throughout Harry, causing everything in its trail to burn with unimaginable pain. The Dark, however, would not let the venom kill Harry. It began to destroy the venom; diluting it so that it was no longer lethal. It did nothing to lessen the pain.

Voldemort was laughing as he sensed his victory almost achieved. There was no way for him to lose now.

A second person began to laugh. The laugh of a man with no sanity. It was a dark, maniacal laugh, chilling even Voldemort.

Harry Potter was laughing as he fought back from near death.

“How is this possible?” Voldemort asked incredulously.

The snake Naginni was suddenly thrown from her prey. A rush of magical energy blew throughout the house, upturning all objects not connected to the ground.

Harry's hair was blowing as if in billowing breeze, and the magic seemed to radiate from him. His eyes were changing. The irises were beginning to change to a blood red color, as his pupils disappeared. He was smiling in a way that showed that he knew cruelty, knew how to deal pain and destroy lives.

The Dark had broken free of all of its barriers, and taken control of Harry's mind and body.

“Did you actually think you could stop the host of the Dark?”

A flicker of fear passed over Voldemort's eyes as the demonic sound of Harry's changed voice rung through the room. He had not known of this. The Dark was a dangerous force.

“I see the fear in your eyes.”

Voldemort had to think of a way to stop the Dark Harry Potter from killing him. An idea came to him quickly. He remembered it from all of Harry's torture sessions; it was a technique Voldemort favored.

“Legillimens!”

A swarm of memories flowed through Voldemort's and Harry's minds. Voldemort began to search through them, as the Dark Harry tried to fight him out. Just before he was thrown out, Voldemort found it. The memory of the dead Hermione from Harry's nightmare.

As soon as Harry saw it in his mind, the Dark was pushed away as emotions he had not felt in a long time washed over him. He was back to his old self.

“I'm going to finish this now!” Voldemort roared. “Avada Kedavra!”

The jet of green light was rushing toward him. It was reflected in his eyes. The end had come.

He wished he could be anywhere other than here. He did not want to die, although it would be a welcome reprieve from the suffering he had done lately.

He closed his eyes, waiting for death to claim him. He could see his parents and Sirius, waving at him, welcoming him. He could see Hermione and Ron, mourning at his gravestone. How he wished with all his heart he could be there with them.

There was a flash of light…

He was speeding down a blinding tunnel…

He landed on pavement…

His whole body hurt. Blood was spurting from his mouth onto the white pavement beneath him. His vision was blurry and there were black spots everywhere.

He lifted his head, and saw a blurred shape running towards him, screaming his name.

All was darkness…

-->

2. SHADOWS OF THE DARK

Dark Rage

~Shadows of the Dark~

***

Stars were gleaming brightly. Planets slowly revolved around their suns. Galaxies stood out in front of Harry as he traveled through space and time. He could hear whispers of souls through the echoing darkness. There was a shadow, spread out before the magnificent sight, threatening to enclaim all in blackness darker than the lightless veils of space.

Space was fading…. There was a room; filled with people. One figure sat at the head of them all: upon a throne of silver bones and green snakes. He was hooded, thin, and tall, and radiated a sense of power that sent fear chilling through the ranks of those before him. The people grouped before him parted; a small band of cloaked figures walked down the pathway. There were five of them, their black hoods drawn up, carrying themselves in a way of arrogance and overconfidence. They showed no signs of fear at the man sitting upon his throne.

Four of the figures walked side by side, the one in the center stood in front of the rest, obviously indicating leadership. The figures kneeled simultaneously as they reached the foot of the throne, portraying their high respect for the one sitting before them. There were different colored rings on the fingers of the four followers: white, red, blue, and brown. They seemed to serve as some sort of representation, though it had yet to be explained. The four wearing the rings looked up to the center figure for guidance.

The center figure was a man; tall and thin like the figure sitting on the throne. His face was not that of any normal man, for there were horizontal black stripes on his cheeks and vertical black stripes on his forehead and chin. There were shadows around his eyes, slightly masking them. His skin was slightly dark.

He was carrying a staff in his right hand; black, long, and with two red jewels sat in the top. As he raised his staff to hail the one he was bowed before, his eyes began to glow a horrible, deathly, dark yellow color.

The four figures, men, they appeared to be as well, hailed along with their leader. They were silenced immediately as their leader spoke in a deep, slightly raspy voice, “Lord Voldemort, honored I am to be in your presence.”

Lord Voldemort smiled, “I am glad to see you came as requested, and delighted to see that you have brought your own additions to my ranks.”

“Yes, my lord, my sons were eager to arrive and serve you.” The man smirked.

The four men spoke in unison, “Our allegiance lies with our Master, Lord Voldemort!”

“You have done well, Shaman, for this, you will be rewarded,” Voldemort said as he beckoned them closer, “But first, you must accept the mark.”

The five men obeyed, and silently strode over to Voldemort.

“Kneel, and hold out your left forearm, as I brand you with the Dark Mark,” He took the leader's forearm, and placing his wand upon his flesh, spoke the incantation.

“Morsmordore!”

The Shaman did not cringe or shriek with pain, instead, he let out a chilling laugh. Voldemort himself seemed surprised to see someone who could tolerate the pain of the Dark Mark.

One by one the rest of the men were marked; none screamed, for they seemed to be above such things. When the initiation to the ranks of Voldemort was complete, they retreated from the chamber, their dark cloaks billowing behind them.

Voldemort rose from his throne, and walked over to a large mirror standing a few feet from him. As he looked into it, he lowered his rood, revealing a white, snakelike face, with raging, red, catlike eyes that burned with a fierce intensity no other man's had ever achieved.

“You can't stop me now, Potter! I have a Shaman and four Elementals at my control! You will fall and cower at my might!” Voldemort laughed maniacally. “Not even the Dark can help you now…”

***

Harry's scar burned with a fierce sting. His eyelids felt like deadweights. He could not summon enough energy to open them.

“Dai nu sieno Nazril… Terenes don retradr…” There was a whisper in the wind. The language they spoke in was unknown to Harry, but it was haunting; a feeling of dread rose in the pit of his stomach from the words being spoken. “Scyi vazsn yri et calama… Scyi xan dreazt rnahd Nahechadt…”

There were shadows all around him. Shadows of what used to be men: along with some other creatures. They towered above him, speaking in forbidden languages that defiled nature and devoured flesh. They were circled around him now. Harry wanted them to stop. Their voices were making his head throb, it worsened with each second.

The vilest looking Shadowperson came forward. He was mere inches away from Harry. His Shadowfinger grazed Harry's scar as he examined him closely.

“Let the Dark control you… Let it rule your actions and thoughts… The Dark will stop Voldemort, for the Dark contains powers unimaginable to the sorcerer who deems himself a Dark Lord… Voldemort is unworthy of such a title… It is you who should be the Dark Lord!” The Shadowman said forcefully, “You have a magical capacity that surpasses everyone that has ever existed… You are the most powerful! Let the Dark control you!”

“No,” said Harry defiantly. “I will not bow down to the Dark! I have seen what it does!”

“You are the host of the Dark and you will let it control you!” The shadowman shouted.

“NO!” roared Harry. His anger was building; he would need to release it soon-

“YOU WILL BE CONTROLLED!” The Shadowperson glared at Harry straight in the eye, before raising his hand and plunging it into Harry's chest. Harry gasped and his eyes widened as the pain of the Shadow entered his body. The Shadowman then walked into Harry, intertwining the evil forces of the Shadow with the Dark inside Harry. Harry felt immense pain as the Shadow began to take control of his body. But Harry resisted; he would not let them control him. He would fight, even if it meant suffering.

Noticing his resistance, the Shadow inside him called upon his companions, and one by one they entered Harry, intertwining their own darkness with Harry's. His resilience was failing; he could not stop the combined forces of all the Dark and Shadow.

They almost had him completely; he was falling to their combined powers. He was being forced to completely succumb to all that was Dark. He was being forced to become the Dark.

He had always had a bit of the Dark in him. From all the ill treatment and pain he had felt in his lifetime; the Dark had endured and grown. Now all the Darkness of the world was in him, fusing with his own evil: to create a beast of Shadow that knew no mercy, feared not death and pain.

The Dark had wrapped around his mind, locking Harry in, disabling him from doing anything.

He needed to escape; he would do anything to be free of this evil, this Dark. All power that he could summon from what was left in his free will, and tried to force the Dark away from him. He was able to push it away for just a second as magical energy burst forth from him that was completely unrelated to any of the Dark's evil magical powers.

Harry took his chance and forced himself to escape.

***

The torches in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts were blown out as a wave of powerful magical energy surged forth from an occupant of one of the beds. The wards around the school were temporarily shut down as the huge amount of magical energy collided with them. A gust of wind blew throughout the castle.

Harry Potter's eyes opened. But they were not his normal, bright, emerald-green ones; they were glowing red, pupil-less, and glazed over.

Harry could see nothing except for tiny pinpricks of light from the reignited torches. The rest was darker; only outlines of large objects were visible. There were outlines of a few people. Harry could not think right and count them.

He heard a voice speaking that evil language again; it was coming from his right. He turned his head and saw nothing. The voice was above him; he looked up, nothing there. He knew where it was next before he heard it. There, at the end of the bed, was a figure, cloaked in black robes that made the darkness surrounding it look gray. He was speaking in that evil tongue, the one that physically and mentally hurt him when heard. He had a black staff as dark as his robes; with two jewels set in the top. The cloaked figure began to speak louder, and his staff began to glow, and Harry's head was thrown back hard against the headboard. He could feel something trailing down the back of his neck.

The figure raised his staff high, and was speaking more quickly, and as he did, Harry's heartbeat stopped, his throat constricted him so he could not breath, and his body froze.

The figure than spoke in English, “I will finish you off now…”

Just as he was about to deliver the final blow, one of the blurred, shadowy, outlined figures ran towards him and shook him. When they received no answer, they called out to someone, but Harry could not hear. He then saw someone: they were clear, not hidden in shadow like the others. He was a tall man, with a long silver beard, and blue eyes that were hidden behind half-moon spectacles. The man spoke with a fierce determination in his voice, “Be gone, Shaman of the Dark! Exorcism Expulsum!”

A bright light issued from Albus Dumbledore's wand, and the Shaman was pushed away from Harry. The Shaman then disappeared, not without a few parting curses in the foul language Harry had been hearing lately.

But as the Shaman was pushed away, so was Harry's mind. He was drifting on the edge. Again he was traveling through the mysteries of space and time as he heard people screaming his name.

A girl's voice was most prominent.

***

Every part of his body ached. His ribs hurt terribly, his arm hurt. Hell, everything was in pain. He could hear people muttering beside him, but he could not make out the words. His ears seemed not to be working properly.

Someone grabbed hold of his hand. He could barely find the energy to squeeze it back. A sudden, cold, wet sensation was felt on his forehead. He wondered what it was.

He could still hear distant voices murmuring in that accursed language inside his head. They would not leave.

Many different memories started to come back to him. His eyes bolted open as he remembered his fight with Voldemort. His breathing quickened, and every time he took in his breath it hurt his chest terribly. It felt as if he was being constricted.

He sat bolt upright as his fight came crystal clear back to him, but he regretted it later as a sharp pain shot through his chest.

“Lie back down Harry, or you'll hurt yourself even more,” a calm voice spoke in his ear. Who was that? Harry glanced around the room. He was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. There, standing next to him was Dumbledore. Sitting in a chair next to him was Lupin. Behind Lupin was-

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit. How are you feeling?” she asked concernedly.

“Not too good,” Harry said truthfully.

“You gave her right a scare Harry, appearing in front of her house,” said Dumbledore calmly, “She informed us right away.”

“You mean I-I apparated in front of her house,” Harry asked, bewildered.

“No, you teleported,” Dumbledore said gently.

“Teleported?” Harry asked.

“That is something to be discussed at a later time, for now, you need some more rest,” said Dumbledore kindly.

He left the room, leaving Harry with Lupin and Hermione. They both sat next to him as he closed his eyes. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The nightmares awoke him…

***

Forty-six minutes, that's all the sleep I got! Having awoken nine hours previously Harry Potter was laying in his bed, gazing at the ceiling. He wasn't really looking at anything, he was just looking at the ceiling, and not taking anything in, as flashes of Sirius flew threw his brain. The nightmares this time had been about him. Harry felt guilty, remembering that he had not thought about Sirius for quite some time, well, considering the fact that Voldemort and the force that revealed itself as the Dark were tormenting him endlessly.

But now Harry was free to let himself wander in the past with Sirius. The tears that were falling down his face could explain the grief he was feeling. Crying did nothing to help, though, as terrible thoughts and emotions filled Harry to the brim. The fact that he, Harry, had brought about his Godfather's demise was not happy ground to tread. Albeit unintentionally, Harry still found himself guilty for bringing his Godfather to the place of his eventual doom.

The endless abyss that was Sirius could never be filled again. It was now two fathers that had died for him, along with a mother and a newfound friend. He could not help but feel that four murder counts were now placed upon him.

A snore came from a bed to Harry's right. Lupin had spent the night in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts with Harry. Harry could help but feel grateful towards Lupin, for showing such care as to stay here. But then again, if Lupin cared for him too much, then Lupin would end up dying as well. Harry could not lose another fatherly figure. In truth, Lupin was like a father to Harry, for they had been friends before Harry had even known the truth about Sirius.

Sirius, how I wish you could come back. The melancholy of Sirius' untimely death made Harry want to crawl under his covers, curl up, and die. But Harry couldn't curl up, because the slightest movement to his torso sent a ripple of pain jolting through his body. His entire midsection was wrapped in bandages, along with his right arm, which had been scalded by extremely hot coffee by his Uncle Vernon. His midsection had been crushed by a giant snake, Naginni, the pet of the evil Lord Voldemort (dark wizard, desire to rule the world, determined to kill Harry).

Harry recalled what had happened that night, but to his surprise, most of the details Harry had forgotten. That was a good thing though, because he had the slight suspicion that he did not want to remember what had happened to him. Judging by his injuries, it had not been a pleasant experience.

A wave of fatigue washed over him, and he needed sleep. But he did not want sleep, because it was in his slumber that he was most vulnerable to Voldemort and the Dark, and that is how the nightmares came. He did not know which one he feared the most, Voldemort or the Dark. On one hand, Harry thought about Voldemort. Voldemort wanted him dead, and would stop at nothing to do so. The prophecy had condemned him to this fate. On the other hand, he had the Dark: The strange, mysterious force that plagued his mind, offering him power and lordship with no consequences. The latter seemed like the better choice, but Harry had a suspicion that the Dark was not all that it seemed.

A door opened and Harry watched as Madame Pompfrey marched over to his bed to examine him.

“Well Potter, how are you feeling this morning?” she said briskly, eyeing his pale and thin form.

“My ribs just hurt a little, along with my arm, but other than that I'm fine,” Harry answered. In truth, every time he breathed in he felt a bit dizzy and his chest ached. But, he detested being in the Hospital Wing, considering he had been here so many times before in his years at Hogwarts, and was keen to leave already. “So when can I leave?”

“Leave? You're not going to be leaving for a long time, Potter! You're entire midsection was crushed, and you had traces of snake venom in your blood, along with serious scalding on your arm and some other bruises and lacerations. You're lucky to be alive!”

Overall the examination went pretty well, with Madame Pompfrey muttering under her breath at how much Harry got injured. He was quite relieved when she left so that he could relax. He had been given several potions to ease the pain and help the bones and internal organs damaged, heal.

Lupin had been awoken by Madame Pompfrey, and was now sitting by Harry's bedside, eyeing him with concern.

“Are you alright, Harry?” he asked.

“Yes,” lied Harry. He did not need to worry Lupin; Lupin was already looking older than his age. He looked considerably paler and worn today, which had Harry guessing if the full moon was coming up.

“You're sure?” asked Lupin.

“Yes,” Harry repeated. He didn't like lying to Lupin, but he did not want to talk about what was troubling him. Nobody else needed to be bothered by it. He could handle it on his own.

Lupin sat in silence for a long time, no doubt thinking about Sirius. He had also suffered from Harry's Godfather's death. Lupin had been best friends with Sirius since his school days, and had just been reunited with him two years previously. Lupin then got up and left, saying that he had to meet with the Headmaster today.

At around lunchtime, the door opened again, and a mass of bushy brown hair was all that Harry saw before it obscured his vision. She had him in an awkward sort of hug that made Harry's torso give a very unpleasant ache. She seemed to notice in an instant and let go.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” she said quickly. Harry told her not to worry about it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“I'm okay. Nothing Madame Pompfrey can't fix,” he replied, giving her a small smile.

“You look tired,” she said, eyeing the bags under his eyes and expression of fatigue.

“I haven't gotten much sleep this summer,” he answered quietly.

“Is it because of the nightmares?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

At the thought of the nightmares, horrible images flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered seeing all of these things while he was asleep. And then, as he looked at Hermione, he remembered one of his nightmares very clearly.

“There's no pulse Harry, she's gone,” Neville said quietly.

“NO SHE ISN'T! SHE CAN'T BE GONE!” Harry roared, “She can't be dead, she just can't be…”

Black spots were appearing in front of his eyes. He couldn't breath; he didn't even realize it when his knees hit the ground. His vision was swirling, he was dizzy, and he felt like he was going to vomit. Over and over again he kept muttering disbelievingly, “She can't be dead… Please, no, don't let her be dead… She just can't be dead.”

“Harry?” He was broken from his reminiscence at the sound of Hermione's voice. He looked up at her, and saw that her face was full of worry.

“Are you sure you're alright, Harry?” she asked apprehensively.

“Yes,” he answered, “wait, no, I'm not.”

“What's wrong? Do you need anything?” she asked gently.

“No, not really.”

“Then what do you need?”

Harry thought for a second. “Hermione, do you ever have nightmares? Ones that are almost real?”

Hermione shook her head no.

“Oh,” he whispered.

At that moment, his stomach gave a loud rumble, and Hermione couldn't resist a giggle.

“Someone's hungry,” she smiled. “I'll go get us some food.” She gazed at Harry for a few moments, blushed when she realized Harry was looking questioningly at her, and walked out the door.

She returned a few minutes later, her arms laden with all sorts of delicious, mouth-watering, Hogwarts food.

“You didn't have the house-elves make that, did you?” he asked with a grin on his face. “I thought you were against them working without pay?”

“Yeah, well, I can change my views if I want to,” she said defensively, although she broke down into a smile as Harry laughed, and then she joined him.

When they were done, both of them were feeling quite content and relaxed. Hermione was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, watching him as he leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes. He looked peaceful, for once today.

For a long time they just sat in silence, glad to be in each other's presence. Instinctively, Hermione moved a bit closer to Harry to get more comfortable. Absentmindedly, she began running her hand through his hair.

“Mmm, that feels good,” he said. Hermione only smiled. She was glad she was able to make Harry at peace. Harry had never had an easy life, and it pained Hermione to see him when he looked so tired, and so…old. Not physically was he old, of course, but Hermione could see in his eyes that he had seen things that nobody should see, horrors that would haunt him forever.

“Hermione, how did you get here?” Harry asked suddenly. Her hand stopped its routine as Harry turned his head to face her.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. “I came here by portkey. After you appeared on my front lawn, Dumbledore appeared moments later and came to collect you. How he knew where you had gone, I don't know, but after taking you here, he came back to me and asked if I wanted to come. I said `of course' and he gave me the portkey which brought me here.”

She closed her eyes, and seemed to be remembering a rather painful memory.

“The portkey brought me here, into the Hospital Wing. The first thing I saw was you on this bed. You were covered in blood, and you're breathing was ragged, and you looked as if you were going to…” she trailed off as tears filled her eyes.

Harry sat up and wrapped Hermione in a hug, he could care less about the pain in his chest, all he wanted to do was comfort Hermione. He whispered soothing words in her ear, and was letting her cry onto his shoulder.

Soon his shirt was wet with Hermione's tears, but he didn't care. “I'm so sorry Harry,” she sobbed. Harry just hushed her.

“What happened that night, Harry?” she sniffed. “What happened to you?”

Harry did not want to tell her the gruesome details; he did not want to tell her how he had almost been killed yet again, and how he had been tortured all summer long. He did not want to burden her with this.

“Harry?” Hermione pleaded.

“I was attacked by Voldemort,” said Harry darkly, pausing at Hermione's gasp, “he possessed my uncle and tried to kill me.”

Hermione clung to him even harder, as though afraid he might die any second.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“No,” Harry answered, “there's more, a lot more. I don't want to burden you with it, though, it's too horrifying.”

“You need to talk about it, and I'm here to listen,” she answered.

Before Harry could say anything else, the door opened yet again, and Albus Dumbledore himself walked into the Hospital Wing, followed closely by Lupin.

At the sight of Dumbledore, a surge of anger rose within Harry. This man, this great wizard, had been withholding vital information from Harry, which had in turn led to his Godfather's death. Although Harry blamed himself mostly for Sirius' death, a small part of him blamed it on Dumbledore too.

Harry glared at the aged man as he took a seat next to Harry's bed. Dumbledore mentally winced at the anger and disgust Harry was expressing.

“Harry, I know you and I are not on the best of terms at the moment-“

“Damn right, we're not on the best of terms,” Harry spat. Hermione and Lupin looked taken aback at the word choice Harry was throwing in Dumbledore's face. They both muttered things like “Harry!” and “Don't use that language!” Dumbledore, however, looked calm and deserving of Harry's detestation.

“Harry, I am sorry for what I have done, but please, can you at least find the kindness in your heart to forgive me. It is sometimes difficult for the old to remember how the young feel. I will try my best not to repeat my misdoings, but I cannot make a promise I am not fully sure I can keep.”

Harry glared for a moment longer, and then his expression softened, a little bit. “What did you want?”

“There were a couple of things that I wanted to do, one of which was to ask you how you are feeling at the moment.” Dumbledore said calmly.

“I'm fine,” Harry said dismissively.

“That's good,” Dumbledore said, “Once again you have thwarted Tom Riddle.

“Which brings me to my next item on my agenda. I would like, if you were willing, to recount what happened to you the night of Voldemort's attack. I understand completely if you decline.”

Harry considered it for a moment, and then spoke, “Not today, a lot has happened and I'm too tired to do anything. Maybe some other day.”

“That's just fine Harry. We can do this whenever you want. My third item was to answer any questions you have; any I can answer without lying to you.”

“I have two questions: one, how did I escape from Voldemort?” Harry asked.

“I'm not entirely sure, but I believe that you teleported,” Dumbledore looked worried as he said this, and Harry was about to ask him about it, when Dumbledore answered his unasked question. “Harry, I must stress this on you, do not try to teleport again. It is dangerous magic, and if not performed correctly, can have serious, if not fatal, consequences. Wizards who meddle with teleportation often end up in different places around the universe, and sometimes in different times, and even worse, in different dimensions. When using teleportation incorrectly, you could end up appearing inside anything, even, another person. Do not try to teleport.”

Harry looked slightly sick at the thought of appearing inside of another person, and tried to concentrate on something else; like the tight grip Hermione had on his hand.

“Now, what was your other question, Harry?”

Harry lost his train of thought while concentrating on Hermione's hand, and had to be asked again.

“What? Oh. I was just wondering where I was going to spend the rest of my summer holidays, if I ever get out of this place. I don't want to go back to the Dursley's or Grimmauld Place, and I don't feel like being around so many people at the Burrow.”

The familiar twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes shone again, and he glanced at Hermione and then Harry. Harry did not see Hermione blush.

“I think you ought to let Miss Granger answer that question,” he said with a smile.

Harry turned to look at her, and saw the blush on her face. When she realized he was waiting for her to speak, her blush deepened. She became immensely interested in the tiles on the floor.

“I asked my parents if you could stay over the summer at my house, and they agreed, and so…if you want to…you know…come over and stay with us…” Hermione said sheepishly.

“I'd love to,” Harry said, and Hermione looked up at him with a huge smile on her face, and Harry could not help but give her a wide grin as well.

***

Hermione and Lupin had both spent the night in the Hospital Wing with Harry: Lupin in a bed to his right, and Hermione in a bed to his left.

Madame Pompfrey burst into the room as Harry attempted to leave his bed to go to the bathroom, but Madame Pompfrey would have none of it. She started shouting at him, saying that he was being irresponsible for leaving bed, especially when someone had their entire midsection crushed from a gigantic snake.

The shouts awoke Hermione and Lupin, and they all grouped up on Harry and forced him back into bed.

Harry's explanations of having to go pee were lost amongst the chastising the adults were giving him and the words of worry from Hermione.

By the time the adults had ceased their muttering it was time for lunch, and Lupin went down to fetch food for Harry, Hermione, and himself. Lupin sat in the chair next to his bed, and Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, and they spent about half an hour just talking. Hermione got into one of her rants about how poorly house-elves were treated, and Harry couldn't help but smile. So like Hermione to worry about the house-elves.

When lunch was finished, Lupin cleaned up with a wave of his wand, and then left, but not before checking up on how Harry was feeling. Harry answered with his usual `I'm fine', which Lupin seemed to not quite believe, but nodded his head all the same.

“How are you feeling, really?” Hermione asked, her voice full of concern.

“Okay,” Harry responded, “my body's just a bit sore. Other than that, I feel great.”

***

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She could see that Harry was suffering more than he was letting on. She knew that he had difficulty breathing. She knew that every movement of his chest and back hurt him a great deal. She didn't want for him to have to go through that.

She also knew that Harry was still grieving over Sirius' death, and she wanted to be there to help him with it. She wanted to hold him and help him.

She also knew, from Harry's eyes, that he was hiding something from her. His eyes had a haunted, bedeviled look that had not been there before the summer. She realized that something had happened over the summer, during his stay at his awful relative's house that had caused him to be fearful. There was something he wasn't telling her, but she wouldn't pressure him into it, she would let him speak on his own terms.

***

Stand aside…There is no good and evil…Only power…And those too weak to seek it…She won't wake…Let's match the power of Lord Voldemort…Heir of Salazar Slytherin…Against the famous Harry Potter…Kill the spare…Bow to death…It might even be painless…I would not know…I have never died...

“Avada Kedavra!”

With a jolt Harry awoke, his scar burning from the voice of Voldemort. The words were still ringing in his ears, echoing in the room. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, trying to block out the sounds, but it was growing steadily louder.

“Stop,” he muttered, pleading with it to cease its endless taunting.

“Stop it!” he said more forcefully, and a loud cackle was his only reply.

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Harry shouted, and a loud CRACK! as of thunder bellowed throughout the room.

“What is GOING on in here!” Madam Pompfrey came racing through the door leading from here office. She gasped at the sights that lie before her.

The windows were all blown out, and all the furniture surrounding Harry's bed had been thrown about ten yards. There was a small, crackling sound, as little bolts of electricity would leap from objects throughout the room.

But the strangest sight to behold there was Harry, hovering about a foot off the ground; His bed was turned to dust, and his clothes were burning. His eyes were glowing, like a flame: a malicious blood red, with no pupils visible.

She stood there for about three seconds, gazing at him, before he fell to the ground, exhausted of all his energy.

***

“It was like nothing I've ever seen! The whole room was charged with magic, and Harry himself was the source of it all. His eyes…they were…red--blood red--burning like a flame.”

“How long has he been out?”

“About four hours.”

Harry could hear Madam Pompfrey as she spoke, but his mind was too befuddled to actually take what she was taking in. He was very tired, as if he had just swam from England to America. Yet he still found the energy to speak.

“Ergh…”

“He's awake!”

Harry felt someone rush over towards his bed. He felt a soothing hand on his forehead. He smiled.

“Hermione…”

“Shhh… Just go back to sleep.”

Her words were so gentle and soft. He felt himself easily slipping away…

***

“You mean I can leave?”

Such joy he felt at finally being able to leave the boring air of the Hospital Wing. He leapt out of bed, but regretted this as all the blood rushed to his head and he became dizzy, and would have fallen had it not been for Hermione and Lupin.

“Yes, you're free, but I want you to be very careful, understood?” She added in a slightly menacing tone. “You are still tender in some places, I don't want you to injure yourself again.”

Harry soon found himself in the Headmaster's office, escorted and aided by Hermione and Lupin. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.

“So, where's my stuff” Harry asked, not knowing what had happened to it when he had been attacked.

“It's already at my house,” answered Hermione.

“How are we getting there?”

“By portkey,” answered a voice behind Harry. Dumbledore strode into the room. “But before, I would like to know, Harry, if you are ready to tell me what happened this summer?”

Harry still did not feel like reliving it over again. But, then again, he had to relive it anyways, every night in his sleep.

“I'm sorry sir, but no, not yet, it's still too fresh in my mind. I just want to enjoy the rest of my summer. I will tell you when I'm ready.”

“Alright.” He looked towards Lupin; “I would like for you to escort Hermione back to her house, I would like a private conversation with Harry here.” He handed Lupin a quill, which he in turn held out for Hermione to touch. The instant before they left, Hermione managed to wave good-bye to him and say, “See you soon!”

Harry heard Dumbledore sigh behind him. He turned to face the elder wizard. The grudge against the man came up to the forefront of his mind again. He frowned.

“I'm sorry Harry,” Dumbledore said apologetically, “I should not be pressuring you every minute into telling me of your recent experience. I should realize by know that most memories and experiences you have are too horrifying to recount. I just wish to know what happened in due time, so I can analyze information that can be used in the resistance against Voldemort. Please forgive me once again for asking so much of you.”

Harry examined Dumbledore closely, noting how his eyes were downcast and he moved in a rather somber manner.

“Apology accepted,” Harry said, “I will tell you when the time is right, I just have so many things going on in my mind. I just feel like I'm, what's the expression? `Tumbling down the rabbit hole', yeah, that's it. I'm just really confused is all.”

“Thank you for your forgiveness, Harry. But if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Oh,” He said as he suddenly remembered something, “Here is your portkey, it will transfer you to the Granger Residence in approximately- (he checked his strange watch)-twenty-two minutes.” With that, Dumbledore swept out of his office, leaving Harry alone in the circular room, to look at his reflections on all the silver instruments strewn around the walls.

Harry glanced around at all the instruments, finding many of them still broken: a reminder. He saw something sparkle out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it. It was a sword, hanging on the wall. The very same sword that he, Harry, had used to slay a basilisk. As his eyes looked over it's magnificent silver finish, he was inexplicably drawn to it. He felt a great urge to reach out and grab it, to hold it in his hands once again. Tentatively, he walked forwards, reaching his free hand out and slowly brushing the hilt of the gleaming blade. An image flashed into his mind as soon as did this.

He was standing with the blade in his hands, before a man who was surrounded by serpents. The man's eyes were red, with slits like a snake, and he was tall and thin. The man began speaking to the serpents: hissing and biting. They obeyed what he commanded. But he would not be frightened. With his courage and power, he used his blade to strike down the man of evil before him. The world went dark, and all that could be seen was the glow of his eyes.

And then, a most frightening voice spoke out.

“Wielder of my blade, I bestow upon you, my memories.”

Harry let go of the blade instantly. Flames had engulfed the blade for a moment, and then disappeared just as rapidly. Harry looked down at his hand. Imprinted on his palm there was a small image of the Gryffindor lion. As he looked closer at it, he heard a very realistic roar inside his own head, which caused him to jump in shock. Before he could investigate any further, his portkey activated and he was flying through the air, his hand firmly planted on the enchanted quill.

He landed inside the kitchen of a very large and magnificent looking house. There were four people already standing there, obviously waiting for him. He was overcome with a wave of dizziness, as thousands of images and memories passed before his eyes. He steadied himself, but then another thought struck him.

He knew everything Godric Gryffindor had known.

But before he could think about this any further. He was being helped to stay standing by Hermione, who had seemed to sense his dizziness as soon as he entered her sight.

“I'm fine now Hermione, thank you,” he said, she had still not let go of him. Realizing that she was still clutching him, and in plain view of her parents, she released him instantly, blushing.

***

Later that evening, after they had all been formally introduced and Harry had been given the grand tour, they were sitting down for dinner. All the Grangers had placed well-proportioned meals on their plates, while Harry, feeling that he did not deserve to eat the food they had worked for, only ate a little. By the time they were finished, Harry had barely eaten a thing.

“May I be excused?” he asked politely.

“Harry, you've barely touched your dinner,” Mrs. Granger said in a motherly tone, “aren't you hungry?”

“Not really, but I've grown accustomed to it,” he said briskly. He didn't notice how all their expressions darkened at that.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Granger asked.

“It's just…well while I was at the Dursleys…I wasn't really allowed to eat…much,” at seeing their angry faces, he added quickly, “but it's okay, I'm used to it.”

This had exactly the opposite effect he had wanted. The women each gave little gasps of horror, and Mr. Granger gave a little cry of outrage. Wanting to get out of the room as fast as possible, Harry excused himself and quietly ran up to his room, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed, and put his head in his hands.

Oh great, now another family pities me, Harry thought angrily, I just had to go and let that slip. Well that's the story of my life. I am cursed to be pitied by all who know me.

A small knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts. He slowly and morosely got off the bed and opened his door, altogether not surprised to find Hermione standing in the doorway. He made way for her to enter, and she stepped into his room and sat down on his bed. Harry closed the door again and sat down next to her. He put his head in his hands again.

Hermione slowly began to rub his back in small circles, trying to comfort him. Eventually, he began to speak.

“Why must everyone pity me?” he asked sorrowfully, “Why must everyone feel sorry for me?”

“It's okay Harry, there's nothing wrong with feeling sorry for someone.”

“Yes there is,” Harry said, somewhat harshly, “to be pitied means to be weak.”

Hermione was somewhat shocked at this, it did not sound like something he would say.

“It doesn't make you weak, Harry, it means that they are showing concern and understand what you're going through.”

“But they don't!” Harry said bitterly, “Nobody knows what I've had to go through! Nobody understands! Nobody has had to go through what I have!”

Hermione was beginning to get tears in her eyes. “There are people other than you that have suffered. You're not the only one. You're not alone.”

Harry gave a hollow laugh that sent a chill down her spine. “You're wrong on that account. I have done suffering that no one else has.”

“What are you talking about Harry?” Hermione asked tearfully.

Suddenly Harry's expression changed. It darkened considerably. “Why do you care? No one else does.”

Hermione turned his head so that he was looking at her. She looked deeply into his eyes: his eyes that were so full of pain and grief.

“I care because you are my friend. You mean a lot to me. You're not alone,” she repeated.

“You're wrong Hermione,” Harry said dismissively, “I am alone, for more reasons than you know.”

He strode from the room, leaving Hermione confused, depressed, and full of questions.

***

-->

3. HE IS TO BE FEARED

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.

-->

4. RAGE VS. EARTH

Dark Rage

~Rage vs. Earth~

***

Harry had not been this at peace for a long time. He was currently walking through the park with Hermione. The air was warm, and the world was still. The sky was a light blue, with a few scattered clouds throughout the atmosphere. He relished in the calm and comfort of his surroundings. There was no threat here; all that mattered was Hermione and himself.

“It's been a long time since I've had such peace,” Harry sighed.

“You deserve it,” said Hermione, leaning into Harry.

There was a comfortable silence between the two as they continued on their path.

“This doesn't seem real,” Harry spoke suddenly. “This feels more like a dream.”

“I can assure you it is not,” said Hermione with a smile towards Harry.

“Every day should be more like this,” Harry said while he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

Hermione just nodded. She too, was savoring the pleasure of the moment. This free time they had together, where there was no threat of anything. No Voldemort, no Death Eaters, nothing.

They began to head towards home.

It was dark by the time they got onto the street that lead to Hermione's house. The full moon was shining brightly, its soft glow illuminating their view. It was a beautiful sight. Hermione felt Harry suddenly stop. She turned and looked at him questioningly. He was gazing at a spot about one hundred yards away. She strained her eyes, trying to see what he could see, but it evaded her grasp.

“Harry, what's wrong?” she asked with concern. She didn't like the look on his face. He was dead serious, and his eyes held a dangerous glint to them.

“Hermione, when I tell you to, I want you to run as fast as you can into your house.”

“But Harry, what's wr-“

“Go. NOW!”

Hermione did as she was told. She took off and sprinted as fast as she could towards her house. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, she heard it. A howl. She spun around. The werewolf was running straight towards Harry. She screamed his name.

“Hermione!” she heard him call. “Get in the house!”

“No! Harry! I'm coming to help you!”

“NO! GET IN THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW! IT CAN'T TOUCH YOU THERE!”

No, she thought, I'm going to help him. She started running back towards him.

She screamed as she saw him get tackled by the werewolf. It was mauling him, slashing at him with its razor-sharp claws. She saw blood spray into the air. She was crying his name, not believing what she saw.

But then, all of the sudden, the werewolf was tossed from Harry. She watched in amazement as Harry stood up. His eyes were shimmering that strange red color again. The wind was picking up, and the temperature was beginning to fluctuate. She could feel Harry's fury.

***

Only moments before Harry had thought he was going to die. The werewolf had him pinned and was clawing him to death. But then a voice spoke up.

Come on Harry, you can do better than this!

The Dark, yet again, was speaking to him.

Get out of my mind NOW!

Whoa, whoa I'm just trying to help Harry. I can get you out of this. Just follow my instructions.

NO! GET-OUT-OF-MY-HEAD!

Fine, if you want to die I'll leave. But you do realize, if you die, who will protect your friend? The werewolf will surely get her. I can see it now, the werewolf's claws ripping into her flesh, its fangs, slowly immersing themselves into vital points of her body. The screaming, oh how delicious does that screaming sound! Now, would you want that Harry?

She will not be touched!

So how are you going to tell the werewolf that? You need to show him! Show him that you are superior-that you are the Alpha!

How?

Are you that stupid? You are the most powerful wizard I have ever entered. Use your power, destroy the werewolf!

But how?

Use your anger! Do you remember how much magical energy you channeled when you were angry? Go back to the scene at the Department of Mysteries, where you killed Antonin Dolohov. You were furious, and you placed fear in your enemy's eyes. You were then omnipotent! You were capable of all power! Just think about when I told you your friend would die. I could feel the fury swell inside you. Unleash it! Use that anger! If you don't, SHE WILL DIE!

The werewolf was then thrown back from Harry. He was full of magical energy now. Instead of waiting for the werewolf to come back and attack him, Harry ran after it and wrestled it to the ground. His strength was increased by his abilities, so the super-human strength of the werewolf was no big deal.

The werewolf tried to slash at his face, but Harry caught it with his left hand. Using his right hand, he popped the elbow joint up and relished in joy as the werewolf cried out in pain.

With one quick swipe that Harry didn't have time to block, the werewolf sliced Harry across the right side of his face with its claws. He let go of the werewolf and it bounded away.

Harry recovered quickly from the shock, and then, with an expression of twisted rage, chased after the retreating werewolf. He was running extremely fast, faster than a normal human would have been able to. Seeing that the werewolf was in range, he jumped and landed on top of it, smashing it to the ground. It struggled fiercely to get up, but Harry was able to make it stay down.

He savagely began beating it, siphoning his anger out on the creature. His eyes began to grow brighter, and with each beat of his fists, flashed out in a furious explosion. Soon, his anger began to dissipate, and he stood over the creature, looking down upon it. It was not moving. As the cloud of anger hovering over his mind disappeared, his sense returned. Horrified now of what he had done, he collapsed onto his knees in front of the werewolf, hating himself for killing yet another being. Although the werewolf at this time savage hunter, there was still a human trapped in the form.

Without warning however, the werewolf lashed out again and bit down hard on Harry's shoulder, injecting its venom into Harry's bloodstream. Harry howled in agony and the werewolf was jettisoned away in a gust of wind. It died shortly after.

The venom was soon traversing its way throughout Harry's body. Thin black lines began to appear on his skin, crisscrossing around in a vast system of complex designs. They were signs of arteries being altered. Harry was trying to find some way to fight the mutating poison.

Fool! Don't fight it! That's what converts you! Embrace the venom of the werewolf, and you control it, not the other way around!

Harry did as he was told, and embraced the venom he could feel running through his veins. He could feel the venom bending to his will. It was no longer a curse, it was a blessing. There was an empowering feeling. He was becoming a werewolf without the side effects of the curse. A pure werewolf.

***

Hermione was frantic. So much had just happened so fast, she could not calm down. First, Harry had been mangled, and then all of the sudden the tables had turned. Harry soon was the hunter, and he was dominating the werewolf. Then they had disappeared out of her view as the werewolf fled and Harry chased after it. She could hear grunts and growls and whimpers, and did not know from where they came. She worried about Harry. What if the werewolf killed him?

I would know. Hermione told herself. I would know if Harry died.

There was a rustle of leaves to her right. She quickly looked to where she thought it came from, but there was nothing there. She was trembling with fear. There was a rustle behind her this time, and she spun to face it. Yet again, nothing was there. After glancing around fearfully, she turned back around, and screamed. A tall man was standing not four inches from her, looking down at her disgustingly. She could see there was brown ring on his finger.

She backed away, but before she could move any more, the earth seemed to come alive around her and rooted her to the spot. She screamed for Harry to come help her, but was soon silenced. She no longer could produce any sounds. She watched helplessly as the events unfolded before her.

***

Harry could feel Hermione's cry for help. The needing tone in her voice made him realize just how much trouble she was in. He needed to get to her-and FAST.

And fast he did get to her. Instantaneously he appeared in front of her, ready to protect his best friend.

“Ah, the great Harry Potter,” said the man with the brown ring in mock admiration.

“And your name would be?”

“Terr, Lord of the Earth,” said the newly introduced Terr as he bowed in tradition.

“Oh stop with the formalities,” said a voice from behind Terr. The owner of the voice stepped into the light, and soon nine others stepped in after him. Cloaked in black and masked in white, the Death Eaters stood in an arc shaped pattern behind Terr. Terr seemed to be the leader and coordinator of this raid.

“Fine MacNair, I was just introducing myself to young Potter,” Terr spoke to MacNair as if MacNair was inferior.

“Shut up and get the hell out of here!” Harry snarled, his anger rising again.

“Why of course Mr. Potter,” Terr was staring straight at Harry, and Harry was glaring maliciously back. “But first, I have business to attend to, and that business—is you. My father wishes for me to bring you to him, and I must obey. So, come along now before things have to get messy.”

Harry just laughed. “What? Me? Come along quietly? Are you insane?” The Dark's influence was heavy on him.

“Yes you, yes, and of course,” said Terr, answering all of Harry's rhetorical questions in order.

Harry sighed. “Wow, you are an idiot.”

“You do realize, however, that I have your little girlfriend here trapped,” Terr smiled as he saw Harry's expression change rapidly.

“Don't you even think of hurting her!” Harry barked, the rage building inside him again.

“But you see, I am in control of this situation, not you. You are in no position to command me to do anything.”

The earth surrounding Hermione's legs began to spiral up towards her neck. It turned to stone and was constricting her. Four, sharp little points of rock jutted out towards her neck.

“Stop this right now!” commanded Harry. His eyes began to glow for the umpteenth time.

“Oh no, I don't think so. I am enjoying this a lot. Let's see what happens when the earth pierces her neck,” Terr was maniacal with joy. The ground began to shake as the Earth Elemental began to issue commands to the earth.

The rock slowly began to close in towards her neck. Soon, it was touching her vulnerable skin, and then, it began to draw blood. Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out.

At seeing the pain she was suffering, Harry lost it. He let out a guttural howl of rage, and became supercharged once again with magic. His eyes were blazing brighter than the sun during the day. Enormous gusts of wind came alive and circled around Harry, making a mini cyclone. The moon's light was shut out as dark masses of clouds covered the sky. Electricity crackled around Harry as his ire was set loose. A magical shockwave knocked the ten Death Eaters and one Elemental off the ground.

And, as he unleashed himself, time stopped. Perhaps it was because of the speed at which Harry was traveling, or maybe Harry had in fact, stopped time. Harry neither knew nor cared because he wanted to kill the man who had hurt his best friend. With no conscious thought whatsoever, Harry's fist soon pierced through Terr's chest and lodged itself into the ground. With this, time came back into play, and all the Death Eater's watched as their leader was easily destroyed by this monster that was Harry.

Harry glared at the Death Eaters, and it was at this time that they realized it was futile. They were all going to die.

“Harry! Don't do it! Don't kill them! That will only put you at their level!” Hermione tried to talk sense into Harry. But it was too late, Harry was too far lost in his rage.

Once again, time stopped, and Harry made quick work of the remaining Death Eaters. Some he ripped apart with his bare hands. Some he just tossed into the air with his increased strength. But always, they died. Their mangled remains littered the ground, staining it with blood.

His rage was gone again. He was sickened with himself. Looking upon his blood-covered clothes, he became nauseous. He vomited the contents of his stomach.

He heard Hermione shouting for him to look out, and he looked at her questioningly. He then heard someone chuckling. He spun around and found himself looking at Terr, who was now standing up, brushing some dirt off his cloak. The hole in his chest was being patched up by earth that was twisting up from the ground.

“You can move quite fast. I must admit, you certainly surprised me,” Terr smiled. He reached down towards the ground, and picked up a rock. Showing it to Harry, he closed his fingers over it, and then opened them. The pebble hovered about an inch over his hand, and then became elongated. It began to take the shape of a blade, and then silver blotches appeared as the material transformed into steel. The edges sharpened themselves, and soon, Terr held a well crafted sword in his hand.

Two things happened in quick succession. First, Terr lashed out, without warning, towards Harry, his blade slashing through the air in a curved arc. Harry felt a burning on his right palm and brought it out towards the incoming blade. There was a CLANG! of metal on metal, and Terr stopped in surprise at the magnificent sword that had appeared in Harry's grasp. Harry looked at the blade gleaming brightly in his hand, and marveled at its magnificence. The Sword of Godric Gryffindor had saved him again.

Terr, having recovered from the initial shock, spun his conjured sword around in a quick, graceful arc that demanded expertise. Harry instinctively blocked the attack again. He felt as if he had been wielding this blade all his life. And that was when he remembered the dream he had had. As the lessons came back to him, he fiercely took the offensive slashing his blade around in deadly accurate strikes that Terr had difficulty blocking. He then, following pure instinct, leaped into the air and brought his blade down like missile. Terr, reacting just in time, was able to push off the majority of the attack by angling his blade to push Harry's out of the way. However, the tip of Harry's sword ripped the black cloak's fabric covering Terr's left shoulder. Terr looked down at the newly made slice in his cloak, ashamed at letting Harry get so close to hurting him. He began to get angry that this inexperienced boy was beating him in a swordfight, and he had the studied the ways of the sword all his life.

The ground began to shake as Terr's anger built. “Foolish boy, you cannot beat me in a duel with swords. I have been wielding a sword since I was but a little child.” Little crevices began appearing in the ground as Terr's natural Earth Elemental ability caused disruptions in the ground.

“And I have learned from the greatest,” said Harry as he recalled the teachings of Godric's master.

With strength and speed that defied physics, they both charged at each other, making an outward eruption of air as their blades clashed.

***

Hermione was watching the intense battle with wide, fearful eyes. Harry was moving so fast, so…inhumanly fast. This was not the Harry she knew. This was the Harry that scared her.

But even though Harry was winning, she could not help but think, what if Harry dies?

Filled with frantic worry, she watched as the fight unfolded before her eyes. Then another thought hit her right in the face, if I can get out I can help him!

So she began her struggle with her earthen prison. The solid rock had her bound, and she could not reach the wand that was in her pocket. Her head's movement was also restricted, as the deadly spikes of stone were still shallowly piercing her skin. Concentrating, she closed her eyes and tried to think of a way to get out of this. She searched through her mind, trying to find some plan that she had subconsciously formulated.

While traveling through the internal maze of her mind, she came upon a hidden passageway. Curious, she began to walk down it. It was then that she came upon a huge reservoir of energy. Slowly, gently, she reached out towards it….

It was expelled outward from her, shattering the rock enclosed around her, pushing it away from her body. She fell to the ground in a heap, having not had the time to properly brace herself. She did not realize that someone else stumbled as well.

***

Harry had been busily trying to counter Terr's expert assault when he suddenly felt drained. Something had caused some of his energy to leak away. He stumbled, and was thankful for his luck as Terr's weapon sliced not a centimeter above him. Recovering from that strange incident, Harry jumped back onto his feet and parried Terr's next hit.

He could tell Terr was getting frustrated. The earth was beginning to rumble, and tall pillars of stone began to jut out of the ground.

Harry was also getting irritated. His body was getting weary from battle, and Terr just could not be stopped. The winds roared as Harry's irritation escalated.

***

Where is the Order? Isn't there supposed to be some sort of guard around my house?

Hermione looked carefully around her, trying to find some evidence of a guard supposed to be watching her home. She saw none.

She was stealthily approaching the battlegrounds, where Harry was fighting his never ending feud with Terr. She was hoping that she might somehow be able to sneak up on them and try to neutralize Terr. As she approached, she noticed the temperature was hotter, much hotter than it had been before, and that there was a strong wind coming from all directions. The ground was shaking, and she yelped in surprise as the earth opened up beside her. She quickly covered her mouth, hoping that the two had not noticed she was there.

They seemed not to have heard her, so she cautiously moved towards her target. With her wand in her hand, she quickly ran through all the spells she knew, and decided upon the Stunning Spell. It was the only spell she knew of that would render the target unconscious. The only problem was that she was not sure if worked on Elementals. Elementals were extremely rare and extremely dangerous. Most magic did not affect them if they had delved far enough into their powers. And Terr seemed to be a most powerful Elemental. How Harry had survived so far, she did not know.

Moving in between two of the newly placed pillars, she began to take aim. It was going to be difficult; the two of them moved so fast it was hard for her to see them.

Before she could fire off her spell, she let out a gasp of horror as Terr commanded a large boulder he conjured to fling Harry into the nearest house.

***

Harry had to admit, he had not expected that. His sword had flown out of his grasp, and he had no idea where it was. Harry moved to get up, but recoiled in pain from the aftermaths of the brutal assailment. He turned on his side, only to find a dead muggle woman staring blankly back at him. He quickly backed away, forgetting all about his pain. Turning to his left, he saw the kitchen. Inside, a man was slumped in his chair, dead. His eyes gleamed in the dark and forever etched themselves onto the walls of his mind. Seeing their eyes, Harry remembered those dreams he had during the summer, the dreams about all of his friend's deaths, and how he had seen all of their lifeless eyes. He closed his eyes so that he did not have to see the woman or the man; it brought back too many horrifying memories.

There were footsteps to his left. Terr was walking towards him, kicking rubble out of his way.

He killed these people! Harry screamed to himself. They were innocent! I'll kill him!

The rage built up inside him again, and he forgot his fatigue and pain. Launching himself at Terr like a bullet, Harry was able to knock him down. Closing his hands around Terr's throat, Harry began to constrict Terr like a boa to its prey. Terr's face began to turn blue from lack of oxygen, and in a desperate move, Terr knocked Harry in the side of the temple with the hilt of his weapon. Harry let go of Terr to cover the new wound on his head with his hands. The metal had most likely cracked his skull, and blood was pouring freely, dripping down through his fingers. Terr laughed at what he had done.

Harry's face contorted with a mixture of pain and rage. He took his hands away from his face, and stood. He called out to the sword, and it came at his bidding. Flying through the air and landing in Harry's outstretched hand, the sword brought a feeling of unity and hope.

Terr observed Harry closely. Never had he encountered someone so tough and persistent. And never had he encountered somebody so terrifyingly powerful yet so inexperienced with combat magic. Harry Potter was a worthy opponent.

***

There was a feeling of trepidation in Hermione. After all the violent clashing, Harry and Terr now stood across from each other, both examining their opponent, trying to find that weakness that would bring the other down.

Something was not right. She could feel it. Where was everyone? They had been making so much noise, why weren't the muggles coming outside? And how come her parent's didn't notice anything going on? Harry and Terr were battling only about fifty yards from her house.

Pushing those matters out of her mind, she once again concentrated on taking Terr down. She took aim, again, with her wand.

Harry and Terr lunged at each other again, and caught themselves in a sword lock. Each kept trying to push their weapon towards their opponent. Beads of sweat began to form on their foreheads.

Realizing that this was her chance, Hermione fired her most powerful Stunner.

***

Harry felt the Stunner approach. He glanced in the direction it was coming, and waited for it to impact.

Terr noticed Harry's eyes dart to his right. Glancing at it himself, he erected an earthen shield just in time to block the powerful Stunner. Bits of stone, rock, and dirt flew in all directions from the force of the impact.

Using this as his chance, Harry plunged the Sword of Gryffindor into Terr. Terr let out a shriek, and swiped his sword around at Harry. Harry tried to dodge it, but his sword arm did not get out in time. It fell to the ground as Terr's Elemental sword cut right through it like a knife to hot butter.

Harry fell to his knees and let out a large cry. His right arm was now but a stump, the blade had taken off everything from an inch below his shoulder. It was bleeding madly, and Harry was quickly turning white from a traumatizing amount of blood loss.

Terr, with a hole in his chest from Harry's sword, also fell to the ground. The magic in Gryffindor's Blade countered his Elemental magic, so that Terr could not use the earth to patch his wounds. He died, asking his brothers and father for forgiveness.

Harry's vision was swirling. He dry vomited, and collapsed to his back.

***

“HARRY!” The cry from Hermione echoed throughout the now silent neighborhood. She was sprinting towards him, replaying everything that had just happened. She reached him, and had to look away. There's so much blood! She was wailing now.

She frantically grabbed on to him and pulled him to her. The tears were flowing freely from her eyes. She could hear his faint breathing, coming in and out in erratic gasps. She hugged him fiercely, trying to pour her strength, her life, into him.

She checked the remnant of his arm, and became nauseous. She was relieved; however, as the severed blood vessels had retracted and begun to coagulate. Still, she had to get him medical attention fast.

Just as she was about to gather him into her arms to carry him, his eyes shot open. He was sweating profusely.

“Harry! We need to get you to a hospital!” Hermione was desperately clinging to him.

Harry gasped as the pain of a severed limb hit him full force. “No Hermione, no hospitals,” Harry panted as he spoke slurred words, finding it hard to take in enough oxygen.

“You're missing an arm!” she exclaimed unbelievingly, not quite sure he was right in the head. Then she noticed the gash on his temple. “Harry, you're delirious. I think you've suffered a concussion as well. Come on, we need to get you help!”

He mumbled incoherently as a response, and Hermione took that as meaning `Yes'. She hoisted him up, and wrapped her arm around him to keep him stabilized. He could barely stand, but she had to get him moving. His reluctance to move made him all the more difficult to walk with. Forcefully, Hermione was able to convince Harry to walk, but he couldn't travel in a straight line. The dizziness resulting from the trauma was disrupting his equilibrium.

Stumbling numerous times, and on a few occasions falling flat on the ground, Hermione had finally transported Harry to the front door of her house. Securing Harry's weight with her right arm, she turned the knob on the door with her left hand. The door swung open soundlessly. Disoriented, Harry tripped over the entrance step, causing them both to plummet to the ground in a tangled heap.

The resulting noise alerted the inhibitors of the home, who soon appeared in front of the doorway. Noticing who they were, Mr. and Mrs. Granger helped to untangle the teens and lift them from the ground. The process was disrupted however as Mrs. Granger let out a shriek of horror. She had tried to help Harry up, only to find he was an appendage short and unconscious. Mr. Granger looked upon him as well, and his mouth opened in shock.

Hermione was quick to explain. “We were attacked. We had been on our way home from the park, when we were assaulted. I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore immediately.” She looked around the room, trying to find a means of communication, but there was none. She turned towards her parents.

“Didn't they leave some way for us to communicate with them in case of emergency?” Hermione questioned. This whole night had been very disturbing.

“There was supposed to be a guard on watch, and we were supposed to call on them if help was needed,” her father explained. He was having a tough time following the situation. He turned towards Harry. “He's in very bad shape, he's lost a decent amount of blood, and the resulting damage is putting him in shock.”

“He also has a concussion,” Hermione added to the diagnosis. “The wound on his temple is deep. So far the symptoms have been disorientation and slurred, incoherent speech.”

“He needs immediate medical help,” Mrs. Granger said. “We can take him to the hospital. Hermione, I'm sure there's some way we can contact your headmaster.”

“There isn't! I don't have an owl and Hedwig isn't here! And we're not connected to the floo either!” Hermione was beginning to hyperventilate. After all the events that had just taken place, there was no way to get wizarding help.

“Hermione, calm down, we don't need you unconscious right now. Just take deep, full breathes—that's it. Slow your breathing down.”

Hermione began to calm down. The effects of her short hyperventilation had already caused her slight tingling and dizziness. She kneeled next to Harry, and grasped his hand, the only one he had.

“Jane, dear, could you please help me carry him to the car?” Mr. Granger inquired as he examined Harry's shirt. He noticed the tears and blood splatters, which led him to tear the shirt open. “My God, what did this?” Large gashes littered his torso from the claws of the werewolf. They were all extremely deep, cutting up large amounts of flesh. The blood vessels had been scored thus causing them to be bleeding pretty badly.

“We'll need to keep pressure on these,” Mr. Granger stated as he made Harry's shirt into a makeshift bandage for a particularly nasty slash.

Mr. Granger then heaved and lifted Harry into his arms. Wow, the kid weighed a lot more than he realized. Mrs. Granger opened the door to the garage and then helped her husband place Harry gently in the back seat. Hermione climbed quickly in and sat next to Harry, grasping his hand once again.

“Please stay with me Harry,” she whispered to him as her dad pulled out of the garage.

They made it out of the driveway and were driving for about fifteen seconds when her dad stopped suddenly, sending Hermione crashing into the seat in front of her. She looked up and out through the windshield to see what had caused the sudden stop. There was a man standing in the road with a long black cloak. Hermione got a really bad feeling.

“What the hell moron! Get out of the middle of the road!” Mr. Granger shouted furiously at the mysterious man.

The man looked up and glared at Mr. Granger. His face was dark; there were black stripes horizontally across his cheeks and vertical black stripes across his forehead and chin. Shadows covered his eyes, making them impossible to see. He brought his finger up and waved it side to side in a motion that said `bad-bad-bad'.

A sharp intake of breath brought Hermione's attention back to Harry. There was fear in his now open eyes.

The world around them went dark, and it was impossible for anyone to see. She dared not move, fearing that the man would attack her in this darkness. A pair of glowing yellow eyes hovered in front of her, and she let out a scream. All at once, the light came back, and the eyes were gone. And so was Harry.

***

The only noise that echoed in the saturnine structure was a scraping sound, like someone getting dragged across the ground. Two figures were slowly traveling down the hallway, a tall man in front, and Harry Potter on his back in the back. The tall man stopped at a large door. He placed his hand on the handle, it shone for a moment, and then the door swung open. The man then pulled Harry through and tossed him at the feet of someone sitting in a throne-like chair.

“Here, I have brought you a precious gift.”

Lord Voldemort stood up from his throne and looked down upon Harry with interest.

“My, my, what happened to his arm,” Voldemort asked as he nudged the stump of Harry's severed right arm with his foot. Harry let out a groan. “Well, at least your son was able to do something to him.”

Voldemort then reached down and grasped the sides of Harry's head harshly. Forcing Harry to look at him, Voldemort snarled. “You are going to become my most ruthless slave. You will be totally obedient, or I will kill you without remorse.”

Voldemort then sat back down in his chair and intertwined his fingers. “Go now, Shaman, convert him and use whatever methods necessary to break his will. I expect to have a monster soon.”

The Shaman bowed, and then waved his staff, causing both Harry and himself to disappear.

***

Harry landed hard on the solid rock ground. His breathing came in short, light breaths.

“I wish I was allowed to kill you,” said the Shaman. “You killed my son, and now I should be able to kill you.” He turned and faced the other direction, away from Harry, and clasped his hands behind his back. “But alas, I cannot. But what I can do,” he said as he turned around to face Harry lying pitifully on the ground, “is cause you as much pain as I like. And let me tell you now, I very, very much want to hurt you.”

Harry just shut his eyes as the thought of what was to become of him washed over him. There were a few light footsteps, and then BAM! he had been struck in the head with the tip of the Shaman's boot, effectively breaking his nose. He whimpered as the blood poured freely from his now smashed nose.

“I want to know how he died. Surely you should not have been able to kill him. He was a very powerful Elemental, whilst you are but a worthless child.” Harry groaned, and the Shaman became agitated. With a kick to the chest he shouted at Harry, “Tell me now!”

Harry suddenly felt himself laughing. It was a dark, cruel laugh that he had no control over. Suddenly a force began using his voice to speak. “Your son was weak! He fell under the power of this boy! You have no idea how powerful this child is! With him, the Dark will end the world!”

“Shut up!” the Shaman snarled. “You know nothing. This child is pathetic; my son must have been killed by his own mistake!” The Shaman, with the strike of a viper, smashed the staff into Harry. A dark glow emitted from it, which then caused a screaming fit to erupt from Harry.

“You will now learn of every aspect of pain! I am tired of this! You will be converted now!”

The dark glow began to cover Harry, and the more it covered, the more the light in Harry was driven away.

***

Hermione was completely in tears. Her parents were holding her tightly, whispering soothing words into her ears. But she paid those words no attention, the only thing occupying her mind at the moment was the fact that Harry was gone.

Her parents led her back to the car, and then drove her home. Her parents had to help her to her room, as Hermione had gone into a catatonic state.

She never slept for the rest of the night, but only stayed in her room, wishing for Harry to be all right.

***

Screams could be heard throughout the entire stronghold of Lord Voldemort. Some of the Death Eaters were uneasy. Who was making that noise? they asked. They didn't remember having any prisoners at the moment, as the Shaman's sons had killed them all. They didn't know about the capture of Harry Potter either.

When a young, inexperienced Death Eater tried to bring this up with Voldemort, he was killed in a flash of green light. “Don't question,” Voldemort said as his eyes twinkled with mass joy.

It was in this moment that Voldemort had a premonition of the future.

He was standing on a high platform, with Harry Potter at his side. The entire world was bowing down to him. As he raised his hands in salute, they all cheered for him.

Harry neither smiled nor waved. He had a look of fierce intimidation. He was gazing throughout the hordes of people below him, seemingly trying to sniff out any traitors.

“They're all clear, Master,” he said. Voldemort smiled.

A swift step of the foot interrupted his premonition. Agitated by this unwanted disturbance, Voldemort cast the Cruciatus at the source of the disruption. Staggering to his knees, Lucius Malfoy quickly apologized. “What do you want?” Voldemort barked.

“My Lord, your followers have been wondering what has been making the horrendous screams. We know not of any prisoners held captive or of any muggles brought in for sport-“

“It is the beginning of the new era, Lucius. The screams and roars of which you speak are the sounds of the newest and most formidable member of my army being converted. Once the conversion has been completed, you will see why he is so valuable. I'd be careful though if I were you, Lucius. I do not know how volatile his powers are. He might just kill you in his irritation.”

Lucius gulped and backed out of the room afraid. “Yes my Lord.”

***

“Are you hearing the voices yet Potter?” the Shaman sneered. What had once been Harry was now no more than a ghostly figure. His skin was pale and torn from the endless hours of conversion sessions.

Does it hurt Potter? Are you feeling enough pain? The voices he indeed was hearing were making a mockery of him.

“I said, Potter, are you hearing the voices yet?” the Shaman's irritation was evident. No matter how joyous this was to him, the slightest disobedience from Harry made him twitch with anger.

Harry stayed defiant, not answering the Shaman's question. He would not crack because of the Shaman. The Dark reassured him that it would free him, and it was in the Dark that Harry placed his trust. He had nothing to lose because of the Dark now. As long as he got to see his friends again, he would give up part of himself to be used by the ethereal force.

“ANSWER ME POTTER!” The Shaman shouted in his face. He struck Harry across the head with his staff. Harry would have been knocked unconscious had it not been for the Dark, who was continuously trying to keep him alive.

Do not give in to him. I possessed him once, but he was weak. He thinks that he overpowered me and exorcised me, but in fact I left him to die and rot in the wild. Amazing how he was able to keep himself alive. He could hardly handle the simple magic I was using through his body.

“Well if you're not going to answer me,” sighed the Shaman, “then I guess it's time for a little more psychological torment.”

Harry gulped. The psychological torment was the worst, as he had figured out at the beginning of summer. Physical pain was happy frolicking compared to the psychological agony the Shaman could inflict.

He could not brace himself before he suddenly was flying through the air. He landed hard on the solid earth. His eyes became clouded and he saw no more of the physical plane.

***

“Potter!”

The Shaman was standing there; not two feet in front of him.

“If it weren't for the Dark Lord I would kill you.”

The Dark was trying to rise up inside.

“He said you had terrifying memories.”

The Dark whispered to him.

Don't give in. I'll handle him.

“I want to see first-hand.”

Harry shivered. This was the worst thing they could do to him. Voldemort did it all the time. Slowly breaking Harry's mind.

Harry could feel it as the Shaman broke into his head. Instantly, a connection was established and Harry could hear the Shaman's thoughts.

`My, my, what disturbing things there are in here.'

I'm going to trap his mind. When I do, I will infuse my power with his lifeless body. I will become the Shaman, and Voldemort will not know that he is actually dead.

`What a pretty little thing this girl is. Quite ripe for the taking, I would say. Ahh, she is a Mudblood. I could still have a bit of fun with her though—`

Anger began to pulse throughout him. Do it now, Harry said to the Dark.

“Goodbye, Shaman.”

And with that, the Shaman's mind was severed from his body, killing him. The Dark then intertwined itself with the Shaman's lifeless body, breathing life back into it. However, it was in the Dark's control now.

***

Rarely was Albus Dumbledore ever angry. This, however, was just one of those times. Where was the guard? He had asked himself this question a million times, and had yet to find an answer. With a loud BANG! the doors to the Great Hall opened before him. Inside, scattered around the tables, was the Order of the Phoenix.

“Now, who,” Dumbledore's voice boomed throughout the cavernous hall, “was on duty last night?”

There was silence. Everyone looked to afraid to speak up. Finally, Remus Lupin voiced what he feared was going to make Dumbledore even angrier than he was now.

“There was no one on guard last night, sir.” Remus closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact.

“No one on guard,” Dumbledore repeated quietly. “And WHY is that?”

“Apparently, Hestia Jones didn't show up last night. We haven't heard from her since we gave out patrolling schedules about a week ago.”

This deeply troubled Dumbledore. Harry had been taken captive and an Order member was also missing. He briefly wondered if the two events were related.

Quickly Dumbledore turned his back on everyone in the room and strode out of the hall.

“Where are you going?” Snape's voice echoed off the walls.

“To find Harry.”

***

Albus Dumbledore was not a man to be trifled with. When provoked, he was a very dangerous Wizard. And right now, he had been provoked to the breaking point.

With his old Dragon hide combat armor strapped on, he motioned to his phoenix. Fawkes flew from his perch and came to rest on Dumbledore's outstretched arm. “Fawkes, I believe battle draws near for us.”

The phoenix let out a trill that calmed and at the same time, empowered Dumbledore. Phoenix magic combined with his own to create the Magus known to be the most powerful wizard alive. Voldemort feared him with reason.

And in a flash of flame, Dumbledore and his loyal phoenix were gone.

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