Title: The Rise of the Reaper

Author name: Ham

Summary: After the death of his Godfather Harry nearly breaks, the only thing holding him together is a terrible rage. He swears to himself that he will destroy Voldemort and his minions. The thing Voldemort fears above all is death and so Harry decides to turn himself into death. The feared Dark Lord would learn what fear was all about.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: This is a new fic I'm starting. It will be written in a different style than TDH. Shorter, snappier chapters and fast moving action. It has a new idea that hasn't been done yet (hopefully). The fic isn't going to be betaed as I don't have time for it so excuse me the spelling and grammatical mistakes. I shall try and make as few of them as possible.


The Most Absurd Idea


Harry Potter lay on his bed staring into space. For the past few days, ever since he had returned to Privet Drive, he thought of nothing but the events of that night in the Department of Mysteries.

Sirius Black was dead!

Harry never knew it was possible to hate himself as much as he did. How could he be so stupid? How could he be so reckless?

The guilt ate away at him like a vicious acid till it was too much to bear. Then a part of his mind asked a simple question. What could he have done differently?

Dumbledore and McGonagall had both not been present and there had been no Order members around except Snape. He had told Snape! But the way the slimy ex-Death Eater had reacted had left a very strong suspicion in Harry's mind that Snape might just let Sirius die because of his never dying hatred for the Marauders. He had contacted Headquarters and there was no possible way for him to have known that Kreacher was such a sniveling traitor. He supposed he could have not gone, but to be very honest it could have been very possible that Voldemort had actually captured Sirius. Padfoot had been going really stir crazy because of his confinement and it would be just like him to have gone out for a little excitement and got captured.

There was no way he couldn't have gone to save his godfather. Sirius meant the world to him. He meant a start of a new life for Harry, the prospect of a home after being denied one all his life.

It was then that Harry Potter finally realized that blaming himself was useless. He did the best he could under very difficult circumstances.

It didn't hurt any less. The anger at himself had been keeping him together and now that it was gone he broke. For the first time in many a long year Harry Potter broke down crying. He cried till there was nothing more left inside him.

He couldn't take anymore. He desperately wished that Dumbledore had killed him when Voldemort possessed him in the Ministry. He was willing to embrace even death to have his loved ones back.

His mind flickered to the prophecy as it had done several times in the past few days and suddenly a flicker of rage flashed through his eyes.

No, he wouldn't die. He couldn't die! Not till he had killed Voldemort. Not till he had avenged his parents and Sirius. He wouldn't let their deaths go to waste.

He swore to himself that he would do whatever was necessary to kill Voldemort. Even if it meant destroying himself in the process. He would gladly die if it meant he could take Voldemort with him.

But Voldemort wasn't the only person who would die. His Death Eaters would not escape either. He would make them pay for every crime they committed. They who showed no mercy to their victims would receive none.

Ofcourse, there was the issue of him not having had any training. He couldn't defeat Voldemort any time in the near future… if at all.

Harry got up tiredly and stretched his cramped muscles. He didn't think he could lie in bed for another second or else he would surely go crazy. All this brooding wasn't helping him.

He looked around his room and wrinkled his nose in disgust. It looked like a pig sty. He hadn't been down to eat since he arrived at Number 4, and this had alarmed the Dursleys who had thought the Order might think they were ill-treating the 'freak'. So they had made it a point to shove food through the cat-flap every day. The food now lay stale and rotting, the plates making a mess near the door. His open trunk was lying near his desk, clothes spilling out. He had not bothered to unpack since he had been back. He also noticed some old cartons lying near his wardrobe, probably old stuff that Dudley didn't want anymore and had decided to dump in Harry's room.

Harry had spent an entire childhood doing most of the cleaning in the Dursley household. His Aunt Petunia was a cleanliness freak and over the years some of it had transferred to him. He couldn't bear to be in such a filthy room anymore.

He slowly began to collect the plates of food and carried them down to the kitchen. It was late afternoon and both Aunt Petunia and Dudley were out, something Harry was grateful for, the lesser he saw of his relatives the lesser the chance of him losing his temper and blowing them up.

He threw away the rotting food and rinsed and washed the plates and put them away. He then headed back up and started unpacking his trunk, neatly putting his clothes away into his tiny wardrobe. He nearly broke when he saw the remnants of the mirror that Sirius had given him, but with great willpower was able to ignore it and finish his unpacking.

He tackled the boxes next. They mostly contained old and ruined toys and clothes of Dudleys and Harry put them away in a corner of the room. One of the cartons contained old comics and Harry thought it might be something to kill time with.

Finally he was done and he headed for a much needed shower.


That night Harry was unable to sleep and so he found himself digging into the carton of comics and killing the night while reading them. They contained many superhero comics – Superman, The Avengers, Hulk, but the ones he liked the best were the Batman comics.

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the Dark Knight. He was a man, a mere man. He had no superpowers and he was very much mortal. But did that stop him? He made himself more than a man, his enemies feared him above all else. What had made him into the feared Batman from the ordinary Bruce Wayne? Harry realized that it was simply an astonishing willpower and a ruthless dedication. Bruce Wayne had decided that he would fight crime and he moulded himself into the ultimate crime fighter.

And then something hit Harry. If Bruce Wayne could become Batman, and he was a normal man, why couldn't he, Harry Potter, mould himself to be like him? He had the added advantage of being able to do magic, Batman couldn't even do that! What was stopping Harry from becoming the thing his enemies feared?

Harry suddenly realized what he was thinking and snorted. Maybe the newspapers were right in thinking he was touched in the head. Honestly! He wanted to become Batman? Harry Potter, the caped crusader!

He couldn't help but think that this was one of the most absurd notions he had ever had.

He slowly put the comic away, took off his glasses and put them on the side table and lay back to try and catch whatever sleep he could that night.


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