AU. Enter Severus Snape, Mycroft Holmes and Lucius Malfoy, alongside with powerful enemies from both the muggle and wizarding worlds, and mix it up with the explosive combination of Albus Dumbledore's and Lord Voldemort's imposing personalities. Add a sociopath with an abusive family and evil tendencies as the main protagonist, and shake it well. And before serving the drink to Harry Potter's best friend who has been his main influence since Harry was seven, think whether you really want to deal with someone like James Moriarty. No pairings.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Sherlock belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. No profit is made. No copyright intended.
The timeframes are shifted to fit the story. All Sherlock Holmes characters are non-magical.
Beta: Julie. fjad
"Tell me, Harry, do you still hear voices after you take the pills I have prescribed you the last time we met?"
Dulled, green eyes behind round, broken glasses focused on the man sitting opposite of him, and the thin, pale face twisted and formed a small smile that resembled a frown and a smirk.
Dr. Magnus Allison, a man in his forties, with smart eyes and an inviting smile, was looking at the young boy, sitting comfortably in the patient's chair, not letting any detail escape him.
This child was special.
Harry's green eyes met the blue ones of his doctor.
'Is the boy really crazy, or is he truly special?'
The green eyed boy, who was seven but looked smaller and thinner than most children his age, smiled a small smile and nodded.
"I don't hear anything, Dr. Allison," he replied in a calm, polite tone.
'He is lying,' the doctor thought and was rewarded with a mischievous twinkle in the now sharp, green eyes.
"How do you feel after you take the pills, Harry?" Dr. Allison asked, while checking the notes with the previously prescribed medicine.
I don't take them. Dudley takes them with his morning meal. No wonder Petunia started freaking out when Dudley would just stare at the ceiling, drooling like a vegetable.
Harry shifted in his seat, stretching his legs.
"I feel calmer. I feel…"
I feel like I always do.
"How you do truly feel, you can tell me anything, Harry."
'Why is he not affected by medicine?'
"I feel wonderful, Dr. Allison," Harry said honestly, with a polite smile and leaned a bit forward, his eyes behind the spectacles greener than usual with small, tiny pupils.
"You find our session to be to your satisfaction. You are more than pleased with my results. And you are going to prescribe me even more mind-altering pills. Aren't you, Dr. Allison?"
The walls seemed to expand, and the whole room was suddenly larger, more spacey, and it was filled with Harry's words. Dr. Magnus Allison blinked a few times and nodding, he started writing in his notepad.
"I am very satisfied with our session today, Harry. I am very pleased to tell you that I find you to be getting better and better each time we meet. I'll give you a new prescription, though. Alright, Harry?"
A small smile was all Dr. Allison got in response, those sharp, green eyes not leaving his face even for a second.
"If you'll forgive me for a minute, Harry, I am going to make a call. Would you like some tea?"
The doc was going to make the call he had been forced to make every time, ever since their first session.
Those green eyes caught his blue ones again, and a shiver ran down Dr. Allison's spine.
'I need to call him. I need to let him know about the boy, or I will be dead.'
"Dr. Allison, who do you need to call, if I may ask?"
A seven year old had to be curious, even if he could read minds.
'I need to call the worst psycho I have ever met.'
"A colleague of mine, Harry. Nothing to worry about." Dr. Allison got up and ruffled Harry's black, unruly hair.
'He'll kill everyone to get to you.'
"Is that so?" A raised brow and squinted eyes, along with the soothing tone, made Dr. Allison think that maybe, his boss wasn't the biggest psycho he had ever met. Maybe, just maybe he was number two, after that freakish boy called Harry Potter, who made him feel like a bug under a microscope.
When the door to his private study was closed behind him, Dr. Allison took out his phone and with a shaking hand, dialled the number, and trying not to stammer, he said in a trembling voice.
"May I speak to Mr. Moriarty, please?"
Harry crossed his legs and leaned onto his hand, onto the armchair, deep in his thoughts.
Ever since he could remember, he had been able to hear what people thought. He knew their deepest secrets, only by looking them in the eye. He could tell when someone was lying to him, and he could control the mind of a person for a short period of time.
He was very young, a first-year, but he felt so much wiser, especially when there were no secrets from him. He knew everything around him.
Had it not been for this interesting ability, he would have turned into a drooling vegetable, stuffed with pills for children with ADHS and developed schizophrenia. His beloved relatives had brought him to the shrink the first time when he had been six.
Who brings such young children to the docs to get pills when they aren't needed?
Too bad for Dudley, Harry had decided to forego the spectacle of refusing to take the pills, and instead managed to hide them in any food his cousin took.
Not that he cared about that fat whale, or the horse who was supposed to be his aunt.
If he could, he would murder his 'family', and live happily on his own, or even in the orphanage.
He had tried, actually, two times already. Arson was spotted by the nosy neighbours and the gas leak by Marge's bitch dog.
Now, he was sitting in the comfortable chair of his psychiatrist's office, waiting for the doc to finish talking to 'the worst psycho who would kill everyone to get to him'. Harry could have walked away after brainwashing the doc, but the killing part interested him the most.
Maybe that psycho would off the Dursleys for him?
Harry had been abused by his family for as long as he could remember, not getting enough food and living space. He was constantly being lied to, and Harry hated lies.
Even more than his so-called family.
The doctor returned and Harry plastered his polite smile onto his face. What will the doc be lying about now?
"I apologize for the inconvenience, Harry. I had to make this phone call. I hope you didn't get bored?"
It was so, so boring without you, clown. Mr. Moriarty, huh?
"That's fine, Dr. Allison. I take it I can return home, to Privet Drive Number Four?"
He needed to repeat the address, in case the idiot doc got it wrong, and the 'psycho' would visit another family, instead of his.
Harry wouldn't mind if the whole neighbourhood had been wiped out, but the Dursleys mattered the most.
Taking the receipt and shaking the sweaty hand of his doc, Harry stepped out of the cabinet and hiding his grimace, walked over to the waiting Petunia.
"Aunty Petunia, I am told to go hooome nooow."
Harry had found out that behaving like a retarded, stoned—close to drooling— idiot worked the best when angering his family. It was the highlight of the day, to see their red faces, unable to do anything to a 'special' child on 'medicine' while others watched.
At 'home' he would be punished, like always, however, today, Harry had a feeling it would be different.
He had been to so many shrinks that he would need two hands to count them, all charging money and shitting bull, simply prescribing pills. Petunia would make him work for the extra expenses, cleaning the whole house, and doing all the duties, including toilet cleaning, which actually turned easier after that fucking whale of a cousin was drooling into the pillow, sleeping from the drugs, and not shitting all over the seat. Like he had done once.
After that, Dudley started a new life.
Harry started to urge the psychiatrist to prescribe more powerful medicine— drugs—in higher dosages, so that Dudley could enjoy a ride on daily basis.
Petunia did not know that the pills were getting stronger and stronger.
Tonight Harry would be punished, but it did not matter.
Let them have their fun while it lasted. Soon, his time would come, and then…
Then everyone would pay for their sins.
It was such a boring evening.
Even his punishment was delayed as Vernon had decided to stay at some idiotic dinner with his boss for longer.
It would have been better for Vernon to be here now.
Dudley was sleeping—again, which meant it was quiet in the house—and Harry counted the people he wanted dead, creating small holes in the wall of his cupboard under the stairs.
Where was his psycho?
The wall looked like it had survived World War II by now, and Harry stuck the pen deeply into the wall, twisting the handle, over and over again before the pen fell apart on the floor.
With a heavy sigh, Harry willed the pen to reassemble itself, and prepared for another hit on the wall, when he heard the doorbell ring.
For as long as he could remember, Harry didn't get excited, he didn't do happy and didn't cry. He barely felt anything.
Now, however, he was holding his breath, waiting for the horse—aunty— to open the door and face her destiny.
Maybe, just maybe, he'd find someone to help him out?
Dudley didn't wake from his nap and peed his bed, making Petunia clean the sheets when the doorbell rang.
Her baby Duddlikins was obviously very sick and tired, and Petunia had a lot on her mind—her freak nephew the most—when she opened the door.
A man in his thirties, dressed to perfection in an expensive suit was looking at her with his brown eyes that had the same glint she had seen before, in the freak's eyes.
Insanity, a thought flew in the back of her mind, recognition that was pushed aside.
Petunia would have already assumed the man to be a wizard, had it not been for normal muggle clothing and three sleek, expensive black cars that stood now near her driveway.
"How may I help you?" Petunia asked, looking around for nosy neighbours.
The man smiled, making her insides twist with worry. Something inside her was stirring, screaming at her to grab Dudley and run away, but she never listened to superstitious nonsense called instinct.
"Hello!" The man laughed the word out loud and then Petunia was pushed to the side, as two men entered before clearing the way for the man in the suit.
"Do I know you?" She managed to choke out, her fear clouding her mind.
Who was it?
His smile was now simply sinister, and Petunia wished for Vernon to return sooner from his dinner with colleagues. Not that Vernon could help.
Petunia was shaking as she saw two more armed men enter the house.
"Do you know me?" He laughed, throwing his head back before suddenly getting very serious.
Harry was now pushed down to number two on the psycho list that Petunia had.
The man snapped his fingers and the armed security started sweeping around, looking for something.
"Under the stairs!"
The armed men and the man in the suit froze for a second at the scream, and Petunia paled.
"Mister Moriarty, don't kill her! I want to watch!"
The voice was muffled by the door, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Petunia almost started to sob when the man in the suit—Mr. Moriarty, as Potter had called him—barked out a mad laugh and rushed towards the door behind which Harry Potter lived.
The lock was on the floor after one hit with a gun's trunk, and Petunia's teary eyes met the dishevelled figure of her nephew, whose green eyes were shining and teeth bared in a happy smile, as he saluted the man in the suit.
"I am Harry, but you already know that. Now that I am out, could you, you know, proceed?"
"How do you know my name, Harry?" The voice was soft, almost lulling, but the danger behind it was easy to hear.
"I know many things, Mr. Moriarty, and we can help each other if we agree on conditions." Harry squinted his eyes at one of the security men armed with a gun, and then turned back to face Mr. Moriarty. "That one here, works for someone called Mycroft, and he passed the information about the thermonuclear transmitter, whatever that is."
The silence was quick, and was interrupted by a silent "pop".
The body of the man was on the floor, with a bullet between the eyes, and Petunia would have screamed, had the gun not changed directions, and was now being pointed at her, the mad glint in the brown eyes on the insane face making her almost piss from fear, the hand holding the smoking gun with silencer not even strained, relaxed.
"Can you shoot her legs first?" Harry asked, innocently blinking, before adding a polite "please".
Mr. Moriarty's eyes were calculating and shining as he looked over the boy. "We'll be great friends, Harry."
The man rocked on his heels and then offered his hand to the boy for a friendly shake, taking the gun into the other hand.
"You can call me James."
And Petunia started to sob.
a/n In between my diploma mad-rush, I need an outlet. Hope you like it.