Path to Darkness

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything associated with it belongs to JK Rowling. No profit is being made of this work.

A/N: What do you know? I decided to stat writing another story. "The Rise & Fall of Harry Potter" is not going the way I want it. After reading Chapters 4 and 5, I agree that the reviewer I criticized had a point- I myself, the author, nearly fell asleep reading it. Now I know how bad it is. But to those who enjoyed it, fret not, its not abandoned.

This plot for this story has a same end as TRFHP- it will be Dark!Harry. With regards to whether this will be an Evil!Harry like in TRFHP, I'm not sure. I will decide that when the time comes. Also, I'm opting for less description and the likes, which I felt slowed the pace of TRFHP and made it quite boring.

The idea to write this came after I realized just how similar Harry and one Tom Marvolo Riddle are.

Complete Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle had suffered during his childhood. Guess where that led him? What if Harry was not so tolerant of his relatives; what if Harry made a mistake when he was younger; a mistake which would invariably set the path he would walk in future? What if the path had been one attempted by Tom Riddle before? Harry might not have turned out the iconic Golden Boy he is now. He may be something far more darker. Eventual Dark!Harry and Independent!Harry.

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Chapter One: Murderer

The world itself seemed to be devoid of pity, watching on emotionlessly even as a young skinny boy lay squat on the grass, made soggy by the heavy downpour an hour ago. He rubbed off the grimy mud caked on his knees, and blew off any remaining remnants of grass on his arms. Nothing, however, could be done about the distinctive bruises hidden by the dimness, courtesy of one Dudley Dursley and his gang.

The world was never fair, but still, the ten-year old felt that he should not always be the one getting all the tough breaks. The boy's life was nothing more than a series of misfortune- his parents were supposedly useless alcoholics and bums who got killed in an automobile accident after getting their silly selves drunk, leaving him to be carted off to his relatives.

Relatives…? The kid chortled to himself, his high, sinister peals of laughter contrasting against the total silence of the park. They were no relatives of his! He was only a servant to them, as well as a punching bag to his cousin Dudley and his little playmates.

But he promised to show them one day. He was Harry Potter, and he will rise from the ashes, and teach those who despised him a lesson. He would make a name for himself, and would never allow himself to be looked down upon. He was Harry Potter, a name to be greatly respected one day.

It's just too bad Harry had to be tolerant for now. Every punch from Dudley or Piers, while the older kids or even adults watched on and jeered, every backbreaking chore he was ordered to perform, threatened to shatter his resolve. Harry did not really know what would happen if that occurred, only it would be related to one of his many daydreams.

What would I give to see dear Duddikins aflame, squealing like the pig that he is? Oh, I could already imagine it, all those combustible fats in him making the ideal explosion. A fireball it will be.

Indulging in these daydreams, or should it be night-dreams now, seeing as the sun has set hours ago, was a rather frequent pastime of his.

The 'conducive' environment was soon broken by a cacophony of footsteps, slowly trudging in the dust, and the loud voices of, no points for guessing, his dearest cousin and his clique.

"Well, well, well, look which skunk has contaminated our path tonight?" The voice was high-pitched, with a hard edge, though it sounded more like a girl's squeal. Still, it garnered responses of laughter from the four other boys.

One of them, whom Harry recognized as Piers Polkiss, slouched over, his huge frame struggling with the effort, ape-like face grunting from the effort, though Harry suspected he had only a quarter of the creature's intelligence.

The ape stopped in front of him, sniffing the air, "You are right as always, Dud, there is a stench around him", giving Harry a little kick.

Tolerate, I must tolerate.

"What would you know, you overgrown buffoon?" Harry was not about to stand for their crap again. A boy has to have his pride.

Dudley strutted over; okay, strutted as best as his whale-like frame could, while clutching his heart in mock shock. "Good heavens! The freak has learnt to talk back! Where did you learn it from, freak? It cannot be from us- we only taught you," here he started to wriggle his fingers, as though pretending to count, "to serve, to be my punch-bag, to lick the mud off my shoes, to be the neighborhood idiot…Hmm what else", he said to raucous laughter.

Another boy, face full of freckles, stepped forward, kicking some mud at Harry. "How should we punish him, Dursley? I myself would like to give him a treat." Here he picked up a thick wooden branch.

"Oh no, no no no. We can't have that, Gordon. He's my little freak; not for you guys to kick and punch. That's right, say 'Thank you, Big D' to me freak! At the same time kiss the mud of my shoes. I think they are a little dirty. We will decide how to punish you for your insolence next."

This elicited a small growl from Harry, who was starting to rise, but it was drowned out by the others' voices.

"Maybe we should have the freak wash out his mouth" at this another boy, whom Harry thought was called Malcolm pointed to a small puddle nearby, "That will teach him to respect his betters."

Dudders had a truly wicked smile on his face as he contemplated this idea. He slowly strode over, bending down to Harry's height. Raising a flabby arm, he grabbed the weaker boy's jaw, giving him a few insulting slaps, with the other, preparing to drag Harry over to the puddle.

It was at this point where his rage had boiled over; it could not be held back any longer. It was as strong as a swollen river prepared to burst it's banks, as uncontrollable as a raging firestorm. While Dudley was oblivious to the happenings, the other boys had noticed Harry's outstretched clenched fist glowing lightly in the dark, as his desire to throttle his cousin, wring his neck till it snapped, threatened to take over his mind.

On the other hand, Harry, who was so caught up in his anger and hatred, did not notice Dudley falling to his knees, hands holding his neck, looking as if he was trying to free himself from an imaginary attacker. Some of the others were starting to panic, bursting into tear-filled wails. Harry's cousin had been lying sprawled on the muddy ground, his face an odd shade of blue, eyes bulging frantically as though trying for a last attempt at survival, before a loud 'Snap' echoed through the distance, his neck falling limply to the side.

It was then that Harry 'woke up' to the chaos that had occurred. He stared at his hands in disbelief, looking over to the now still Dudley.

Oh gods… I have killed him… I have killed my cousin, great heavens above!

Harry watched as the other boys started to flee, with Piers in the lead, crying out 'Murderer!' as they disappeared into the distance. Harry did not know how long he sat there, staring at his cousin's corpse.

What am I going to do! If I am caught, I will, I will at the very least be sent to jail! Uncle Vernon will make sure of that. I cannot be caught, no, I must run. Yes! I must run. Now!

For some unknown reason, Harry did not feel any guilt about killing his cousin. He did not feel any emotion even as he stepped on Dudley's corpse, dead as a doornail. All he knew and felt was the urge and importance of running away. To where, he did not know. Just that he had to flee immediately before the cops came.

So he ran, his feet kicking up dirt as he passed trees after trees in a flurry. He had barely covered a yard before hearing several loud 'Cracks', making him jump up in shock. His already frayed nerves and senses, heightened by fear, was about to send him into sensory overload.

What was that?

Moments later, there came behind him a tremendous roar of "STUPEFY!" from what Harry assumed had to be the police, he turned around only to be greeted by a hail, no, an avalanche of crimson jets of light. His eyes widened as his brain registered what the eyes had seen. His body also seemed to have frozen, leaving him unable to duck, which was just as well, as there was no way he could avoid such a barrage.

One of the red flashes of light striking him was the last thing he noticed, before his world went peacefully black.


Dudley dies, and the crap has hit the roof for Harry. The lad's now wanted by the Muggle police, as well as the Magical Law Enforcement patrol (who had caught him). Want to find out what happens next? Easy enough, just review! The more the reviews, the faster the updates.

This will NOT be a Harry-in-Azkaban story.

All suggestions or queries, or even constructive flames, are also welcomed. Once again, please review.

Lucullus