This story is based on a challenge from moonandshadows:

-Harry is raised by millennium. (Accepted-sort of)
-Harry stops being human (I'll leave the how and why to you as well as what he becomes) (Accepted)
-Harry has a realistic either dislike or hatred for humanity(realistic because he can give real explanations for it, not just because they are weak). (Accepted)
-Can include more crossovers than just hellsing. (Denied)
-Not a one shot. (Accepted-Short story-5 Chapters planned)
-I leave the rest to you.

I don't own Harry Potter or Hellsing.

WARNING: mentions of child abuse, child rape, and other disturbing contents. Do NOT read if you are of a weak heart. You are warned.


Meeting the Monsters

It was a rather normal night of November in Surrey, England. Since it was late in the year, even though there was yet to be snow, the temperatures often dropped below zero degrees Celsius, and as such it was quite habitual for the inhabitants of Privet Drive to wake up to the sight of their lawns covered in a thin layer of frost that would melt later in the day. A cold wind blew over the street, making the already cold temperature even lower, and causing a small figure to shiver violently as the clothes on its' back were far too thin to allow the person to retain any form of body heat.

Harry James Potter was a rather small child, with the height of a five years old when he was actually seven, something that was due to the fact that his body lacked the nutriments to allow him to grow properly. This wasn't surprising, as his relatives, whom he lived with, didn't see any reason to feed him more than once a day, his unique meal consisting of an old slice of bread, as well as an old fruit it he was lucky. When he was extremely lucky, he may even get to eat some bacon if Dudley found it overcooked, though he didn't dare deliberately overcook the Dursleys' breakfast, as he didn't want his Uncle Vernon to get angry at him. He got hit enough when he didn't make mistakes, he didn't want to get hit even more, even if it was to be able to eat bacon. Besides, he had found where the school dumped the food the children didn't eat, so once or twice a week, he went to get some more food, and he often found still-packed cookies and food past the expiration date, but he didn't care. Ever since he had found that place, he had been able to go some days without being too hungry, as he was careful to make some reserves of food that would last until his next visit. Of course, he made sure to not be followed, as he knew that his cousin, Dudley Dursley, would immediately rat him out to his parents if it got him into trouble, and Harry didn't want to get in trouble.

He was aware that the way he was treated wasn't normal, and when he had asked his Uncle why he was treated the way he was, the only answer he got was that Freaks weren't to be treated like normal people. Now, as a result of his very solitary childhood, Harry was a very intelligent child, spending his time reading whenever he could, as he was aware that he needed to be able to fake his results so that his relatives didn't get angry with him for getting better grades than their perfect "Duddykins". It was also a way for him to remind himself that the world was far bigger than the miserable place he had to live in, that there were billions of people out there with lives that sometimes were even worse than his own.

Due to the treatment from both his relatives, the other children in school, and his teachers, Harry had grown to hate people, as they always treated him badly, regardless of the fact that he never did anything bad, unlike Dudley, and yet he was the one mistreated, scorned, and mocked. He knew that a child his age shouldn't feel that way about people, but quite frankly he didn't care. Why wouldn't he hate those that mistreated him? Animals didn't fear him, he knew that, if anything, they seemed to like him more than the average person, so why did humans hate him so? In the end, he hated everyone on principle, as he had too often been let down when he tried to trust strangers, so now he stayed alone, and it was fine with him. At least when he was alone, nobody mocked him, nobody hit him.

In the end, he decided that he would never trust any humans again, as when he had tried to tell a teacher about how he was treated back at his relatives' place, the man hadn't believed him and had called the Dursleys, which had ended up with him being beaten and thrown into his cupboard, without food or water, for five entire days. He had almost died then, and he had resolved himself to never trust a human again. People were just too fickle, too interested in their own, comfortable lives, too self-centered for him to find any worth in them.

As he curled up on himself, praying that he would survive the night, he swore to himself that one day, he would make humans pay for what they had done to him.


He was let inside the house early next day, as his Aunt Petunia expected him to cook breakfast for the family, as if he hadn't spent the night outside, freezing, and that he wasn't shivering violently due to the cold. He didn't voice his complaints, though, he had learnt a long time ago that doing so only made his Aunt and Uncle angry, and more likely to hurt him. He had no idea why they hated him as much as they did, but in the end it mattered little, as he'd be happy to never know the reason if only they started treating as an actual human being, though as time passed, he thought of himself less and less as a human, and more as a freak.

"Hurry, you good for nothing waste of space!" shrieked the horse-faced woman, none of the fake kindness she showed the neighbors in sight. "Duddykins has a test today, and he can't do well if he hasn't eaten well!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." came his monotone answer, as he knew that showing any hint of emotion was likely to end him in trouble, no matter how much he wanted to yell that the odds of Dudley having a good grade on his own were lower than the ones of them all dying after being struck by a meteorite.

How Petunia and Vernon couldn't see that their son was a complete idiot was beyond him, as even with the teachers telling them that Dudley was one of the worst students of the school they denied what was in front of them, saying that it was just that the teachers didn't know how to teach him properly, that the other children bothered him and prevented him from showing his true potential. Said potential was, in Harry's mind, well hidden, if he could give advice to the both of them, he would have suggested training their son to eat as fast as he could, as that, at least, was something he was good at.

Taking out the bacon, he set to prepare the usual amount of food for Vernon and Dudley, which was about what three healthy people would eat in a day. But no, the two pigs kept eating greasy food as if they weren't already fat enough, both of them being vastly overweight. The only one who seemed to be somewhat healthy in the house was Petunia, since Harry looked as if he could do with a good meal, yet was never treated to one, his teachers having all bought the stories his relatives had told them about it being a special condition in his family.

As he prepared the food, his concentration slipped, as he had not slept well due to the cold, his blood sugar was far too low to allow him to focus correctly, and the cold, which had yet to fully be fought off by his body, made his moves sloppy. As such, when the pan slipped and sprayed boiling grease over his arms, he was too slow to avoid it, and screamed in pain as he was burned, while Petunia shrieked, her pristine kitchen having been soiled by the food, and that Vernon marched over to the prone form of his nephew, who was clutching his arm in pain and sobbing.


By then he had lifted his much smaller nephew by the collar, holding above the ground as he thundered, spit flying everywhere from his mouth, and a vein throbbing on his forehead. He was shaking Harry violently, making the already sickly boy even sicker.


Unfortunately for Vernon, Harry, who was already feeling quite unwell, only had one thing in mind: getting his beefy relative to release him. As he wished to be free of his Uncle's clutches, he found the large man suddenly thrown against the wall with great force, causing quite a few of the objects decorating the room to fall on the ground as the shock dislodged them from their positions.

He then lost consciousness.


When he came back to himself, he could immediately tell something was wrong. After all, he didn't recognize where he was, as he had spent far more than enough time inside his cupboard to recognize it, and he was not in his cupboard. After what had happened, he knew that Vernon would have made sure he couldn't leave the small room under the stairs until he felt that Harry had learnt his lesson.

He was currently staring at a metallic wall, and there was a small pitching, as if he was on a boat. He tried to get up, but found that he couldn't move, looking down he saw that his arms and legs were bound by ropes, and when he tried to curse he realized that to top it all, that he was gagged. Feeling panic rise in his chest, he desperately tried to free himself, as he had the inkling that something bad would happen to him if he didn't escape soon. Vernon may have been a bastard, but he had never done something like this, and in Harry's experience, whenever the Dursleys did something to him for the first time, it was something he really didn't want to know.

A particularly violent shift of the room he was in sent him to the floor, tears of pain welling in his eyes as he hit his head, hard, on the metallic floor. Looking everywhere around him, he found that he was in some kind of boat's hold, where several wooden crates were stored. While this was bad news, as it meant he wasn't at the Dursleys' anymore, it also meant that Vernon had done something to put him there. He didn't know what, and considering the large man's thought process, he really didn't want to know either, all that mattered to him at the moment was to free himself.

Wriggling until he was next to one of the crates, he proceeded to rub the ropes against the edge, hoping that it would be enough to slowly cut his bindings. Any other child would have abandoned the idea after only a few minutes, but Harry having been raised the way he had been at the Dursleys, he had far more patience, as well as an eye for the details, allowing him to see that while it was slow, he was cutting the rope. With renewed enthusiasm, he set to free himself, hoping that nobody would find him. Vernon had warned Dudley once, about child trafficking, and while he certainly hadn't wanted Harry to listen, the young boy had been just around the corner of the house, tending to Petunia's flower beds, and had listened avidly. Needless to say, Harry found the situation to be a bit too close to what Vernon had described to be comfortable with it.

With a last effort, the ropes fell, and Harry immediately went to free his legs, before taking off the bit of cloth gagging him. He'd done it in that order in the case someone came across him trying to free himself, as he would need his legs to be free if he wanted to run, while he didn't think that screaming would be such a good idea, especially if he was indeed on a boat owned by people involved in child trafficking.

What do I do know? he wondered. He couldn't very well stay where he was, someone was bound to come check on him, and he didn't think they'd be too happy with his escape. He needed to hide, that much was certain, but for how long could he hide? He didn't know anything about the boat he was on, while those working on it must know every hidden corner of it, not only that, but how could he even survive the travel? He had no idea how long it would be before the boat arrived to its' next destination, and while he was used to survive with little food and water, he did need some.

So he resolved to explore the boat, while being very, very discreet, as he had no wish to be caught.


Harry knew exactly when his escape was found out, as the crew member who found out walked right next to his hideout, a small, very small space between some crates, cursing up a storm. While he couldn't quite place the accent the man possessed, the words he used seemed Spanish, or at least Harry thought so. He carefully munched on the morsel of food he had been able to sneak out of the boat's kitchen, as well as the water bottle with it, before curling into a ball and trying to get some sleep. He didn't need to worry about being found out when he slept, as the Dursleys had managed to make it so that he had a very light sleep, as well as very silent.


Harry tiptoed around the boat. It was currently nighttime, which was the reason why he was out and about. He had finished his food, as well as his water, and as such, needed to get more. Since it was night, he figured that now was the best time to sneak into the kitchens, as while some of the crew members would be up, the odds of them spotting him with the low light were slim at best. Having being used to spend a lot of time in a dark cupboard, he on the other hand was quite used to darkness, and sneaking around was something he had done since he was four.

He carefully listened to the sounds around him, trying to spot anyone that might be hiding, just in case one of the people on the boat had gotten the idea to keep an eye on their food supplies. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they noticed that some of their food was missing, which was why he had decided to take as much food as he could, hoping that it would last him long enough to escape the boat he was on. He didn't know how to swim, as the Dursleys had never seen fit to have him learn, which meant that the only way he could escape was by sneaking out while the boat was docked.

Finding no suspicious sounds, Harry carefully opened the door to the kitchens, and made sure to hold the door when it closed. He didn't need the sound to attract the entire crew. He wrinkled his nose at the poor state the kitchens were in. As someone who had been raised by a clean-freak, he wasn't used to the greasy floor, the stained cooking appliances, or the permanent smell of food. He didn't know what was cooked regularly there, but he certainly had no intention of discovering it.

Tiptoeing to the reserves, Harry paused once more, checking for anyone who might have had the idea of taking a late snack. The last thing he needed after hiding successfully for so long was to be discovered by being careless. Once he was certain nobody was around, he sneaked inside the room, making a beeline for the only food he was willing to take: those which were vacuum packed. Any other food might be expired, and while he could eat it, what with being used to it thanks to the Dursleys, he'd rather not take any risks.

However, before he could take anything, he felt large, sweaty hands close around his body, while a stinking piece of cloth was forced over his nose and mouth. He tried to fight whoever was holding him, but he was only a child, a malnourished one at that, and his aggressor was an adult, one who was apparently quite strong as not even Harry's kicks in his legs did anything to make the man move. As he breathed, he felt himself grow drowsy, and realized that the piece of cloth must have been imbibed with some form of soporific substance.

Struggling harder in the hopes of escaping, he soon found himself too tired to fight off the sleep, and fell unconscious, despite his struggles to stay awake.


The next time Harry awoke, he was bound again, though from looking around him, he could tell that he wasn't in the boat anymore, as the walls were no longer metallic, but instead made of what appeared to be concrete. He was laying on a filthy cot, his arms bound behind his back, and his legs secured to each other by ropes, while his ankle had the cold metal of a pair of cuffs around itself, the other secured to a metal bar that stuck out of the wall. He was not gagged this time, but he was not stupid enough to scream, as he guessed that if he wasn't gagged, it was probably because even if he did scream, nobody would come to help him. He didn't even know where he was, so it was better to wait and see what would happen. Of course, he wouldn't be staying idle, as he tried to at least free his hands, however unlike last time, there was nothing for him to use to cut the rope, as the only furniture in the room was the cot.

Panic gripping his heart at the situation he was in, Harry forced himself to calm down. Panic had never helped him, all it had ever gotten him was more trouble. Whenever he had panicked when Dudley and his gang were running after him, he always ended up tripping and getting beaten up. However, when he was able to think with a clear head, he managed to escape them, either by hiding or by distracting the group. This was no different.

At least that was his thought process until the door of his cell opened, letting in a grinning, slightly overweight man. He was wearing a brightly colored button-up shirt, along with several golden necklaces, and as he spoke, Harry could see that several of his teeth were in fact made of gold as well. He had a rather bushy mustache, and sunken, beady eyes, as well as short, black hair.

"Eh? Awake already, menino?" he asked, his voice loud and gravelly. "Muito bem. Let's see..." he mumbled, grabbing Harry's cheeks and twisting his face from one side to another, uncaring of Harry's muffled protests.

"Hmmm... Un puco mais fino, but not too much... Nice hair, good eyes, great color...I'll see if I can find some better glasses, the traça look might be good for you, menino...You'll attract a lot of customers. But first, we need to train you well, menino..."

Harry could only shiver in fear at the look the man was giving him. He couldn't quite place it, having never seen it before, but it was close enough to how Vernon looked at some young women to scare him. Then his eyes widened when the man started to unbuckle his pants, and started to walk his way, grinning all the while, his bits dangling with each step. He tried to move away, however he was bound and couldn't move much. He could smell the man from where he was, sweat mixed with some very heavy cologne clinging to the man's frame like the smell of rot clung to a corpse.

Then a large, sweaty, and smelly hand touched him.

No! Nonononononononooooooooooooooooo!


Harry stared at the ceiling, unmoving. His eyes, already showing far too much maturity when he had stayed at the Dursleys, were now completely empty. He was completely naked, his eyes red with dried tears, his nose with snot, and his pale skin was oddly red, especially his behind, from where dripped some clear liquid. His breathing was slow, almost unnoticeable, and he was no longer bound, though the chain around his ankle was still present.

If one had been able to take a peek at his thoughts, they would have immediately withdrawn from his mind due to the massive alteration it was currently undergoing. Even if so far Harry had hated people, there had still be a tiny, extremely dim hope that he could have, one day, grown to appreciate the comfort of human contact again. Now, however, his mind had broken, having been strained far too much for a child his age, leaving him as a living corpse with no more morals, no more reasons to tolerate humans, and no more reasons to cling to life like he had done so far. All of his old self had disappeared, replaced with a burning hatred for everything human, be it man, woman or child, as well as the need to hurt whoever he met before they hurt him.

What Harry didn't know, was that he was a wizard, and that the scar he had on his forehead, instead of being the result of a car accident like the Dursleys claimed, was a result of a curse cast on him when he was still a baby, a curse cast by a madman trying to kill him. Unfortunately for said madman, something had protected Harry, and the curse had rebounded. The result had left the Dark Wizard Voldemort as a wraith, only living because of the parts of his soul that he had stored in several artifacts to anchor himself to the plane of the living, while Harry became the unknowing recipient of a tiny piece of the man's soul. Until that day, the piece of soul had been somewhat isolated from his body and soul, clinging to it while being kept at bay by Harry's own magic and unconscious will, which recognized the piece of soul as something that didn't belong where it was. Now, after having suffered from the trauma of rape, and having a complete mental breakdown, nothing was left to stop the piece of soul from attaching itself to him, from fusing with his own soul, as his magic was working overtime to keep him from going completely mad.

As such, when the piece of soul of Lord Voldemort latched on the unstable soul of Harry Potter, it began fusing with it, using what resources it had to "repair" its' container. While Harry Potter didn't know he had magic, or how to use it, Lord Voldemort knew that he did, and knew how to repair the damage done to his body. As the small piece of soul fused with the much larger, but weaker soul of Harry Potter, it modified it, adapting it so that it would be more powerful, cleverer, and more suited to survival than the soul of an abused child. It got rid of any kind of remorse or guilt that would have popped up after harming another, and cultivated his hatred for all things human, for all who were weaker than him. The abused child that was Harry Potter died that evening, to be replaced with a cold-blooded monster that would stop at nothing to get what it wanted, to get its' revenge against mankind for what it had done to him.

The process was slow, as Harry lay on the filthy cot unmoving, hours going by without him so much as twitching. Had any of the people present in the building thought of checking on him, they would have noticed a very faint glow coming from his body, magic working overtime to heal the broken child, repairing years of abuse far more effectively now that it could be used somewhat consciously, as well no longer needing to keep the soul piece at bay. Brittle bones were healed, internal scarring was reduced, failing internal organs were repaired at returned to peak efficiency. It was a lucky thing that Harry had managed to eat so much during his brief escape on the boat, as he would normally lack the energy to keep his magic working.

Eventually, Harry's eyes focused, and he batted his glasses away with an irritated huff, his eyes having been healed, meaning that he didn't them anymore. However, unlike before, his eyes were no longer emerald green, or at least, the left one wasn't. It was deep red, a crimson color that would remind anyone of the sight of freshly spilled blood. The other thing that had changed was that the cold look in his eyes, which showed his maturity earned from an abusive childhood, was now gone, replaced with a spark of malevolent, sadistic glee.

The chain that had held him secured to the wall fell to the ground with a clunk, while he stood up, looking around with a repulsed expression on his face. Waving his hand, he vanished whatever filth had coated his skin and body, taking extra care of the semen that remained on and inside him,before conjuring some clothes on himself. A dark grin slowly formed on his face, as he walked up to the door, blasting out of its' hinges and stepping out of the room he had been confined in. A man who had been walking in the corridor saw this, and took out a gun, pointing it at his face, and yelling at him in the same language that the man from earlier had occasionally slipped to. A lazy wave of the black-haired child saw the man torn to pieces, coating the corridor in his blood, though the sight didn't deter Harry at all, as he slowly walked across the puddle of blood, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

The man's screams had, however, gotten the attention of several other people, who all took out their weapons and proceeded to check on what was happening. They got a rather nasty surprised when they saw a child, one of the last arrivals of their "establishment", with blood coating his feet, walking out of the corridor with the rooms designed for the training/conditioning of the children they received.

"Parar, menino!" bellowed one of the men, a rather tall fellow with a large, muscular frame, an open shirt, several tattoos on his arms, and who was holding a submachine gun pointed right at Harry's head.

Ignoring him, as well as the other men pointing weapons at him, the young wizard looked around. Now that he wasn't inside anymore, he could see that he was in what appeared to a large mansion, built around a central courtyard. It reminded him of some pictures he had seen of South American houses, those that belonged to the wealthy, and not the starving majority of the population. He could see several cameras, probably used both to make sure that none of the children escaped, and to keep an eye out for eventual intruders. He could easily disable them with a pulse of magic, but doing so would prove too tiring and wasteful at the moment. After all, dealing with the cameras could be done in many ways.

Looking back at the shouting men, who were still leveling their weapons at him, he felt a sadistic grin stretch on his face. This was it, the time for retribution he had so longed for, the opportunity to unleash the pain and anguish he had suffered through on those who were responsible for it, on the beasts known as humans. He didn't care if he was a monster, he had always been called a Freak by the Dursleys, and since he had been punished time after time for being what they considered as abnormal, he might as well become the monster he was punished for being. Humans were wild beasts, beneath their "civilized" exterior, they were nothing but greedy, gluttonous pigs, and yet they had the hypocrisy to hide their true nature beneath a mask of civility.

As the shouting got louder, the men obviously irritated by the fact that a child didn't listen to them, even if they had guns, he looked back at them, distractedly noticing that the man whom he wanted the most to kill wasn't present. These men, while obviously criminals, hadn't been the one to rape him, and even if he was going to kill them, they weren't those he hated the most.

It doesn't matter, he thought, I will find him, and then my screams will look like nothing when I am done with him.

He grinned evilly. He was going to love this.



The Captain stared at the burning mansion, the screams of those trapped inside echoing in the night, and they would certainly have driven a lesser man to his knees, but his expression didn't change at all. He had been charged to come and eliminate the gang that used the mansion as a base of operations, since they hindered Millenium's operations in the area, and his work had apparently been cut for him.

One would wonder how a single man was enough to take care of a gang rumored to count around fifty members, all with submachine guns and military-grade weaponry, however the Captain was not an ordinary man, he was even anything but.

He was a tall man, standing over six feet tall, with a stoic expression that rarely wavered, and wore a faded green greatcoat, which he wore with the neckguard constantly turned up, hiding most of his lower face, while a M43's officer's cap, with the Totenkopf symbol emblazoned on it, cast a shadow over what little could be seen of his face. What little features could be seen were that he had silver hair, as well as crimson eyes.

Watching the fire, he sniffed the air, trying to find any survivors that he might need to take care of. He was very careful to always accomplish his missions to the best of his abilities, after all. His nose caught the surrounding scents, sweat, blood, which were already being covered by the acrid smell of burnt flesh and boiling blood, but he disregarded them, trying to find any smell that might indicate survivors-

"Who are you?"

Blinking, he looked to his right, finding a young boy staring at him, heterochromic eyes staring at him coldly, as if judging his worth. Focusing his sense of smell on the child, he smelled sweat, blood, some dried chemical that he recognized as a cheap soporific substance, as well as one smell in particular that he recognized, that made his eyes widen. It was a very nostalgic scent, one that dated back to the years of World War II, at the height of the war, when he had met the entourage of the Führer himself. He remembered very well the imposing man that the Führer had introduced as a close friend, one supposed to help them win the war. Who would have thought that he would meet another wizard, after all this time?

Unlike the man he had met, the child was certainly less impressive, standing at the average size of a five years-old child, yet his body structure clearly indicated that he was older than that. If he had borne the tanned skin and looks of the local people, it would have been easy to understand, as children were often malnourished in these parts, however his facial structure clearly pointed him as either American or European, both parts of the world where the amount of malnourished children was very low. Though considering what he had been briefed on about the activities of the gang he had come to deal with, it was possible that this boy came from an especially poor family that had sold him to erase some of their debts.

Showing his hands palms up to show that he did not mean harm, he examined the child. The fire that was currently devastating the mansion was clearly not natural, he could see and sense it, yet from what little he knew of the world of magic users, such advanced feats were only for those with decades of training in the arts, which this boy clearly didn't have, yet he seemed to be perfectly in control of the situation, as the fire didn't go further than the mansion, burning it to the ground, yet ignoring all the easily flammable wood surrounding it.

He idly wondered what he should do. On one hand, he doubted the Major would want him to bring back a stray, however on the other hand, this child was clearly not average, and could prove a very valuable asset to their plans. That, and the Doctor would be absolutely thrilled to be able to examine a wizard up close. He had never been the same after he had learnt he wouldn't be able to dissect the Führer's friend.

Deciding that if the others didn't want the child to know about them, then he would simply dispose of him later, he made a beckoning gesture towards the boy, who was still staring at him with his oddly mismatched eyes. He was aware that he was intimidating, however he simply did not know how to look less imposing, and as such didn't squat or try to appear less threatening.

He was surprised when the boy spoke again, once more using English.

"You aren't human, are you?"

He was honestly surprised. Even if he was more imposing, and exuded a different presence than the average human, few, if any, ever noticed it, and those who did usually chalked it up to their imagination running wild. This child was becoming more and more interesting by the minute. He seemed almost eager to hear him say that he wasn't human, when in his experience, humans were usually afraid of those that weren't like them.

Slowly nodding, the was surprised when the boy relaxed and then walked up to him, looking eager to follow him. The way he looked up at him reminded him a bit of Schrödinger, though he didn't have the energetic or childish atmosphere the young cat-boy had around him.

"Well the, should we go?"


Harry stared at the people present, or at least where he thought they were. He was actually standing in a small circle made out of light, while everything else in the room was bathed in darkness, hiding how many people were present or even what they looked like. He knew he wasn't alone, after all the man who had led him where he currently was had vanished in the shadows when they had entered the room, and from what little he could tell of his personality, he wasn't the one to just drop someone he had apparently taken an interest in and vanish, which meant that he was probably one of the people hiding in the darkness. All that could be seen were crimson eyes glowing in the dark, which he had to admit, spooked even him a little.

"Oh? It zeems ze Captain brought us back a guezt." came a voice. "Tell me, junge, why are you here?"

He shrugged. He didn't really have a reason for being there, he had simply had a hunch that he might find something interesting if he followed the man he had met earlier.

"Don't know. I thought I might find something interesting if I followed the man I was with earlier. He's not human, after all."

He could hear several whispers coming from people in the darkness, though he couldn't hear what they were about. However, he was honestly surprised when the man who had spoken earlier laughed, his cackle reminding slightly of someone else he remembered.

"Oh, it zeems ze boy iz clever! Tell me, what made you say zat?"

"I can do things most can't. Since it's unlikely I'm the only one able to do them, there's bound to be some other things people don't know about. That, and he was smelling the air earlier. Considering there was a fire right next to him, the fact that he was able to smell anything other than the fire means that his sense of smell is considerably better than a human's."

The cackle came back, this time a lot louder. He didn't know who he was talking to, but it was clear that whoever it was, found him immensely amusing.

"Wunderbar!" laughed the man, "You are good, boy. But ze Doctor would like to see what you meant when you said you can do zings most can't. How about a demonstration?"

Quirking an eyebrow, he held his right palm open, creating a ball of fire in it, causing hushed whispers to break out once more. He was surprised when a very tall man, clad in a blood-stained lab coat suddenly appeared in front of him, causing him to reflexively blast the man away.

His action seemed to cause a ruckus as growls could be heard, before the man from he had blasted away reappeared, apparently fine, at the edge of the circle of light.

"My apologies." he said, his voice smooth, "I did not mean to startle you. I was simply enthusiastic to finally see a wizard again."

"Errr...Sorry about that. I don't react well to being surprised." Harry apologized. He usually didn't apologize, but considering that these people may not be human, he felt that he could at least be civil to them.

"He's so cute!" squealed a female voice, startling him, "Major, can we keep him?"

"Zat remains to be seen. Tell me, junge, what is your name?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

"Gut. Now tell me, Harry Potter. Do you wish to join Millennium? The Captain has vouched for you, which is very impressive." asked the man who had been referred to as "Major".

"Will I be able to kill humans if I do?" he asked. After all, this was his goal, to take his revenge for all the misery humans had caused him during his life, so joining a group who may be dedicated to the protection of mankind would be stupid.

Again, the Major laughed, and he wasn't the only one as other laughs could be heard in the darkness.

"Wunderbar! Yes, Harry Potter, you will be able to kill humans. Millennium's goal is to wage eternal war, I am sure you will be satisfied zen."

"Then alright, I'll join."

He could almost see the grin on the Major's face.

"Zen welcome, Harry Potter, to Millennium!"

At once, the light erased the darkness, showing him that he was standing in what appeared to be some kind of command room, with large screens showing transmissions from hundreds of different TV channels. He could now see that there had indeed be a lot of people present, most of them men wearing what he recognized as old, World War II Nazi uniforms, complete with armbands depicting the Svastika, all of them grinning at him, showing off teeth a little too sharp to belong to humans.

Where the voice of the Major had come from was a group of several people that stood out. The first one, and the one he guessed was the Major, was a man wearing a white suit sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair. Said man looked slightly overweight, with blonde hair and strangely, yellow eyes, that peered at him from behind a pair of round glasses, a sinister grin stretching his lips.

Standing behind his armchair was the Doctor, the man he had blasted earlier. Now that he could see the man clearly, it appeared that not only was he very tall, but also very thin, and the bloodstained lab coat he wore was open, showing a strange shirt that stopped above his stomach. He was wearing odd glasses, which appeared to be adjustable by using the different lenses attached to them.

On the other side of the Major was the man he had followed. Oddly enough, he had yet to utter a single word, and had made himself understood through gestures. It was easy to see that the Captain, as it was how the Major had called him, was very high in Millennium's hierarchy, as he stood next to who for now Harry assumed to be the big boss of the organization.

However, there were other people present, standing behind the Captain. One was a very tall woman, with tanned skin and short, spiky orange hair, and a muscular body. Oddly enough, her eyes were green, however her right one was so dark it was almost black. She had a large scythe swung over her shoulder, as if it was merely a toy and not a heavy weapon. However, her most striking feature were her tattoos. The entire right part of her body, that he could see at least, was covered in dark writing and tattoos, with a pentagram on her forehead and a large purple spiral on her right shoulder being the most prominent ones. She gave him a smirk, the cigarette in her mouth moving in accordance with the move of her lips.

Next to the first woman was another, this one very tall as well, however unlike her muscular colleague, she sported a rather thin build. She was wearing a suit, as well as glasses that, combined with her cheery expression, made her a rather amusing sight. She also had a large Svastika pendant around her neck, and was leaning on a very long musket while waving at him cheerfully.

Sitting in front of the Captain was a boy in his mid teens, with cat ears popping out of his head, who had a cheery face and seemed overjoyed at the prospect of Harry joining them. He was wearing what the young wizard remembered as the Hitler Youth uniform, meaning a yellow shirt, black shorts, as well as black knee high socks and black dress shoes. As far as he could tell, the boy's eyes were purple, though considering the lighting, they may have been blue.

Finally, a man wearing a suit and shuffling cards gave him a nod. He was rather tanned, showing that unlike the other people he had seen so far, he might have been from South America, or at least a tropical country. He was also sporting a fedora assorted to his suit, as well as white gloves, like many of the people Harry had seen.

Blinking, he jumped back in shock when the woman wearing the suit and carrying the overly long musket suddenly appeared in front of him and proceeded to hug him while cooing about how cute he was. She however stopped immediately when he tensed up, unused as he was to pleasant physical contact. The Dursleys had never hugged him, and he had never had anyone to do so to him, most people avoiding him like the plague.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" cooed the woman, looking oddly concerned.

"...Sorry? I'm...not used to hugs. At all." he apologized.

However, he was relieved when she hugged him again. It felt...oddly nice, to have someone hug him. The fact that she now had a bloodthirsty smile on her face that promised pain that apparently wasn't destined to him was nice as well.

"It seems Obersturmführer Van Winkle likes you, Harry." smirked the Major. "Perhaps ze ozers could introduce zemselves...?"

"Yes, Major!" shouted the people in the group, saluting.

"First Lieutenant, Zorin Blitz. A pleasure to meet ya, kid." waved the tattooed woman, grinning. "You and I are going to have a lot of things to talk about." she added.

"A good day to you, Mister Potter." drawled the suit-clad man, taking off his fedora and offering an exaggerated greeting as he bowed.

"Warrant officer Schrödinger, a pleasure. That fire ball was soo cool!" grinned the cat-boy, as he seemed to bounce in place.

"First Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle!" grinned the bespectacled woman hugging him, "Ooohh! You're so cute!"

"...My name is not important, just call me Doctor." greeted the man clad in the lab coat as he adjusted his glasses.

Nodding a bit dumbly as he took in the names of the officers in front of him, Harry blinked when the Doctor made a beckoning gesture towards him.

"Well, I leave you to ze good hands of our dear Doctor, Harry." grinned the Major.

"Yes, sir." he nodded, before following the older man through a corridor. Said man's excitement was obvious as he took large strides that Harry had trouble following, even when running.

Eventually, they reached a door that the man pushed open, entering what appeared to be a cross between a laboratory, an operation room and a medical room.

"Sit down, please."

Doing as he was instructed, Harry sat on a stool, while the Doctor took out a syringe and immediately drew some blood from him, before setting it aside. He then proceeded to do a very thorough medical check-up on Harry, noting down several things while muttering to himself.

Finally, and after using some of the blood he had just taken to do some tests, he sighed and turned towards the young wizard.

"Well, you seem to be in rather good enough health, though there are quite a few things that don't add up. I guess that for now, we'll have to let them slide. Your blood sugar is a bit low, so I'll ask for some food to be sent to your room. Just be careful to not eat too much at once, otherwise you'll be sick."

He nodded. That wasn't something he wanted, having already experienced it when at the Dursleys.

"Good. Now, this will be all, for now. I have much I want to ask you, however for now I'd rather make sure you get back to full health before asking anything."


Later, Harry sighed in pleasure as he rested on his bed. His room was rather Spartan, however considering that he had lived in a cupboard until Vernon had sold him, or given him or whatever to child traffickers, so he wasn't about to complain.

Well then, he mused, I wonder what my life in Millennium will be like?

Well then, here is the prologue. I hope I managed to show the reasons of Harry's hatred for mankind (indifference to his abuse, abuse from his relatives, and his rape after he was sold).

Hope you liked. And don't worry, I'm not abandoning or pausing The Bloody Ashikabi for the time I'm writing this.