A/N: I'm writing this as future material/setup for a big crossover I'm planning, but if I get the right kind of response, I'll continue it. And probably even if I don't. I write for writing's sake. Mostly. It's still nice to get reviews, though.
Harry Potter: Raven
by Shadow Crystal Mage
Chapter 1: 'Prologue' or 'Dementors Are Dark, But Harry's Darker...'
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Teen Titans (any incarnation). However, I one day hope to fix that by buying Time-Warner.
The Dementors surrounded them as Harry and Hermione stood by Sirius. Icy cold tried to penetrate Harry's insides. Resolutely, he ignored it, pushing it down with shear force of will. Emotion was useless. It had no place in his magic. Emotion was nothing. There was only control.
"Hermione, think of something happy," Harry said, raising his voice slightly, but not changing his tone, which remained flat, even, and slightly throaty. He ignored the faint screaming in his mind, ignored the images of blood and darkness, of fists striking a young boy. Control. There was only control...
Raising his wand, he said the words Lupin had taught him, knowing they would be worse than useless. He wasn't thinking of any happy thoughts. "Expecto patronum. Expecto patronum."
At his feet, Black gave a shudder, rolled over and lay motionless on the ground, unconscious.
Harry's eyes flicked momentarily in the man's direction, and for a moment, something that might have been pity stirred in the boy, before it was ruthlessly crushed. Control. "Help me, Hermione. Expecto patronum. Expecto patronum."
"Expecto-" Hermione whispered, "expecto- expecto-"
Harry mentally wrote off any help from her, a nano-second of annoyance crushed as ruthlessly as the pity. After a few more moments later, Harry felt more then saw Hermione collapse, unconscious, joining Sirius into sweet oblivion. That was all Harry had been waiting for.
Tucking his wand back into his robes, he raised his arms in front of him. His eyes glowed white as pearly energy aura-ed around his hands. Opening his mouth, he spoke his true words of power, letting a little of his suppressed emotion rise to add extra juice. "Azarath, metrion, zinthos!"
A dark nimbus of energy blasted the Dementors away as Harry waved his hands. Yet he knew it was a futile gesture. It would only take a moment for the Dementors to adjust, before they started to feed on his emotions again and destabilize his magic. But a moment was all that was needed.
Drawing out his wand once more, he raised it, this time thinking the closest thing he had to a happy thought, no matter how much it was against his nature. "Expecto patronum."
The water in the lake exploded in various spots, some trees were crushed into splinters and a few Dementors were blown to bits as if from a bomb blast. Yet Harry ignored these side effects as he focused his diamond-hard concentration on his spell. From his wand, an enormous bird appeared, formed from silver mist. The Patronus glowed in the dark as it drove the Dementors off, flying around its creator in protective circles. Eventually, they went away.
Harry allowed himself as sigh. Raising his arm, he allowed his namesake to perch on it. For a moment, he stared into its four red eyes. Them everything that had happened that night finally caught up with him, and he collapsed next to the other two, no longer willing to keep himself going. As he fell, the raven Patronus disappeared.
Harry Potter was not normal. Not just because he was a wizard. Not just because he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Not because he was prophesied to one day kill Voldemort.
He was not the son of James and Lily Potter. They found him on their doorstep one morning, and took him in. From the start, they loved him as their own. Lily was sterile, a problem even wizard medicine couldn't solve, and so she rejoiced in her good fortune at finding this child.
Yet even at the very beginning, there was something off about the boy, whom they named Harry. Whenever he was upset, things tended to break, either exploding or getting crushed. Of course, this was brushed off as accidental magic. Even at such an early age, it wasn't uncommon, since infants had more potent emotions with which to cause accidental magic. In fact, the spell most used by newly-parent wizards and witches was Repairo.
But the accidents were usually more violent than was usual for accidental magic. Moreover, the things that got destroyed usually glowed black before meeting their end, something that puzzled the Potters, and by extension, their close friends, greatly. And always, the end result of the accidental magic was something being destroyed. Not having his bottle refilled, or bringing a favorite toy to him. In each and every instance, the end result was something being crushed, bent, melted, ripped apart, and, in some instances, blown up. And always, the thing glowed black before its demise.
Still, the Potters didn't think too much of this. After all, being beginning parents, they assumed this was normal for all magical babies. Their only fear was that the person who left Harry at their doorstep would one day come to reclaim him.
In a way, they were lucky. They never lived to see that day. Voldemort made sure of that.
Harry Potter shivered. He was a freak. Just as his uncle had always said.
Barely an hour ago, at the ripe old age of three, he had killed the Dursleys.
He hadn't meant to. He had known even before he could talk, even before he could reason, that he was different. He had to be blind not to. He made things happen. Things broke because of him. He never touched them when they broke, but everyone knew it was him. Who else could it be but the freak? He tried to stop it, of course. Every time he saw something was about to break, he'd try to stop it. He'd take a deep breath, and try to stop himself from feeling so sad, or lonely, or helpless, or hurt, or- rarely but it sometimes happened- happy. And sometimes it worked. Sometimes.
Not always, though.
When that happened, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would get mad at him. They yell at him, and call him things he didn't understand but knew were mean. But this just made it harder to stop it. When he tried telling them that, they just get madder and they'd start hitting him. And they'd keep doing this and it would usually make it stop somehow. And then they'd lock him under the stairs, where he couldn't cry because it would just make things break again, and he didn't want them to hit him anymore.
That morning, he had been cooking breakfast, trying to do it right so Aunt Petunia wouldn't yell at him, trying not to break anything, when flying oil had burned his hand. He had gasped and broke the jar of marmalade in front of Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon had gotten mad, and had started yelling at him after he had laughed and broken more things. But Harry couldn't stop breaking things, which had made Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia mad, and made him scared, and made him break more things. They started hitting him to make him stop, but he couldn't.
He broke the house.
When he'd seen what he'd done, he'd ran, and ran, and, ran, until he couldn't run anymore...
Now, far away, he shivered as he remembered the Dursleys bloody faces. He wasn't afraid he'd break anything. He felt empty, and he never broke anything when he was empty. It was the only time he was safe. He didn't like being empty, but if he couldn't break anything, no one would hurt him.
Harry huddled in the cluster of trees. He'd never been out of the house before. He'd gone here because it was a bit dark, and smelled like his cupboard, the one he'd broken with the rest of the house.
As he lay there, something happened. Trembling, more from adrenaline than emotion, Harry looked up as a white swirl appeared in front of him. Out of it stepped a woman wearing a robe and a gentle smile. She held out her hand to the young boy, who flinched out of reflex, causing a nearby twig to twitch slightly.
"Don't be afraid," the woman said. "We want to help you."
Harry huddled into a tighter ball.
"It's alright, little one," she said, moving a little closer. "You're safe."
"Not safe," Harry muttered. "Break things."
"We can help you, little one. We can teach you so you won't break things anymore."
Harry looked up slightly. "Teach me be empty when want?"
The woman seemed to hesitate, but nodded, sympathy evident in her eyes.
Hesitantly, Harry took her hand. "Who you?"
The woman led him towards the swirl, wrapping him in a cloak she had brought along. "My name is Azar..."
Albus Dumbledore was sitting contently at his desk, dealing with some of the paper work that came up during the day-to-day business of running Hogwarts, when professor McGonagall burst into the room.
"Albus, it's horrible... I just heard..." she panted, leaning against the chair the Headmaster kept for guests. She had obviously run all the way to his office. That immediately alarmed Dumbledore, since McGonagall was one of the most composed people he knew.
"Minerva, what is it?" he said, guiding her down to the chair. She seemed too overwhelmed to do it herself.
"Albus, Harry Potter... his relatives house, Albus... it's been completely destroyed!"
Even as this news reached one of the most powerful sorcerers on the planet, Harry Potter was already gone.
- To be continued...
A/N: Trelawney made a slightly different prophecy. By replacing a single word, this can be made to fit. Instead of 'Born to those that have thrice defied him', it was 'Son to those that have thrice defied him'. And 'poof', Harry doesn't have to be the Potters biological son.
Man, I hate shorties. Sorry if it's disjointed, but that's how it came to me.
Please review, C&C welcome. Heck, even flames are welcome. That means at least it's being read, if not liked.
Until next time, this is Shadow, signing off.