Chapter 1

First Steps

Walking into the house at number four privet Drive, Harry could feel the tension in the air. He silently counted the seconds as he waited for his now probably livid uncle to enter the room. It didn't take long for the beetroot red face to appear in the doorway, hovering for a moment before unleashing the onslaught that could possibly burst an artery.

Yea, my luck has always been shit, so why should it change now? There isn't just a slight chance he might have a heart attack and keel over? Harry thought, noticing that his uncle's mouth had started to move. How many years had he put up with this now? 15? 16?

"Now listen hear, you are in my house again and I will not have you hiring some freaks to intimidate me at a train station! Do you hear me, boy!? Your magic is unnatural and if you want to stay here then…"

Harry drifted off, not really listening to the usual sermon he heard every summer. Harry hadn't hired anyone, a couple of aurors and Mr. Weasley had warned Vernon not to be his usual, abusive self over this summer, that was true, but apparently, Vernon didn't want to change. Harry suddenly noticed Vernon was saying something about magic; how evil and destructive it was.

Is it evil? Harry wondered. Magic killed Cedric, that was evil. It had brought Voldermort back, that was evil. And then there was losing Sirius. Harry felt a strange prickling sensation around his eyes. But it gave me a new family; that was beautiful. It had let him see his parents twice now; those had been the most beautiful moments of his life.

"Shut up." said Harry slowly, his voice soft.

Vernon's mouth fell open, looking as if it would crash through the floor, his face becoming scarlet. Not once in all his years had someone spoken to him like that.

"Listen here boy, I give the orders in this house!" he shouted, but Harry hardly noticed.

"You don't scare me anymore, Vernon. I have fought Voldermort, the Dark Lord himself. He has possessed me. I have survived. Do you know what that is like, Vernon? To survive? I don't think so, and after tonight, I doubt you ever will."

At the utterance of his last words, his eyes flew open. For the first time since the battle inside the department of Mysteries, he opened his eyes completely. The usual bright green was gone, instead replaced by an inky blackness. Cold and emotionless, inhuman, not unlike Voldemort's. Something had happened to him.

"You... you can't hurt me! Vernon stammered, "Not in my house! I've raised you since you were a child!" The man had always been an idiot, but now he had gone too far.

"You raised me?" Harry gazed around the entrance hall, as if seeing it for the first time, "You raised me in hell! Do you know what the problem with hell is? It burns. And houses like this can catch alight."

A small globe of fire materialized just beyond Harry's fingertips, as his words sunk into Vernon's thick skull. He held out his hand, palm up, as if offering his uncle the flame.

Vernon slapped at Harry's hand, causing the illusionary flame to flicker and die. Harry stared at his hand, watching as it turned an angry red. Vernon smiled wickedly.

"Not as tough as you think, are you boy?" he said as he raised his hand again.

Bad move, Harry thought. Looking his uncle straight in the eyes, he yelled "push!"

The resultant crash echoed around the room as Vernon flew into the staircase, the force of the impact causing the cupboard door to swing open. Harry's eyes narrowed in contempt.

"How long did you keep me locked in their as a child, Vernon? Do you know what it's like, to be stuck in that little slice of hell? I wonder, would you even fit?" Harry's voice was barely a breath. Vernon groaned.

"Raise a child in hell and you may end up with a devil."

"Out," he said, waving uninterestedly at the cupboard. The contents flew out of the tiny space with such force that many of them were embedded into the opposite wall, leaving all that was breakable broken.

"Up," he breathed, waving towards Vernon. The blubbering mass rose slowly, battering its way through the balustrade as Harry pointed at the floor in front of him.

"Good God, Harry! STOP!" shrieked Petunia from the safety of living room, her face pale. Dudley, ever brave, was cowering behind her.

"What is wrong with you!" she continued "You don't d…"

"Don't do this sort of thing?" Harry concluded. "It's not good to assume things, Aunt Petunia. You never knew me, and now, well lets just say I'll spare you the effort."

He smiled evilly. "Bring," he muttered. Dudley shot towards Harry, knocking his mother over as he flew towards him. He stopped a meter from Harry and was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

Harry stared at the pathetic figure on the floor. Dudley resembled some failed experiment involving copious amounts of jelly as he lay quaking before his cousin on the floor.

"You know, Dudders, I don't hate you…" Harry's voice was still barely a whisper. Dudley looked up at Harry with the slightest glimmer of hope.

"However, I just don't care to keep you alive." The last word tripped something in Harry's mind. Some shred of the boy who he had once been, surfacing for an instant, his eyes blazing green again.

Harry paused. Was this that he was? Was he a killer? Another Tom Riddle? 'This isn't me, I am not a killer! As Harry tried to gain some hold over the dark emotions surging through his body, the front door crashed open, a charred hole taking the place of the lock. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks rushed into the room, finding themselves staring down Harry's wand.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Harry. His voice was still soft, but hardly gentle.

"Our wards were triggered Harry! Where are they?"

Kingsley seemed unaware of the danger that the boy now represented. Harry grinned mercilessly.

"Who? The Deatheaters? With ,Voldermort, I assume. If you want to know if they are here, the answer is no."

"But then who was using wandless magic?"

"Take a wild guess." I hissed, and let Vernon drop with a mental command. The colour drained form Tonks' face.

"You did this? asked Kingsley.

"No," Harry drawled sarcastically, "Voldermort dropped by and seeing as he such a nice guy, he offered to get rid of my relatives for me. Of course I did it, you smegging idiot!"

"But why Harry?"

"Because I have more power than they can imagine and yet every summer I let myself become their punching bag, and for what! Ties of blood? They broke those ties the moment they first split my blood years ago, while you were having a bloody vacation from the dark forces, brought with the lives of my parents!"

Harry's voice changed, becoming loud and hateful, Kingsley and Tonks instantaneously picked up on the mood swing, becoming cautious this was not the same Harry that they had said good bye to at platform 9 and three quarters. They whipped their wands up to point at Harry. The green in his eyes had been fading slowly ever since they had entered. Harry could feel it growing again, the wild rage that gripped him so powerfully, so completely. It promised to take away their distrust, it offered him shelter, even if it was just temporary. He accepted its warmth and Harry's eyes turned black once more.

"Harry, you must come with us." Kingsley's voice was calm, the voice of an auror.

"Really? I don't feel any compulsion to do that and I have no reason to either. This past year the Ministry screwed me over with the media and got my godfather killed, and you want me to come with you? Not an effing chance." His voice was soft again.

"Well then, there is nothing else I can do. Harry James Potter, you are under arrest for the assault of these muggles, you will come wi…"

"Another bad move, Kingsley. Repel" Harry shouted the word, it burned his throat as he poured his rage into the spell. There was an odd, low sound and a misty bubble flew out around him, shoving Tonks and Kingsley backwards. They landed on either side of the now thoroughly destroyed front door with audible cracks as bones broke. I started to walk. Once through that door I could leave, be free.

Something snagged my ankle. I looked down. Tonks had reached out and was hanging on to my leg. Blood was trickling down her face from under her now purple hair, she was barely conscious. Once again the old Harry emerged, floating near the surface. It was as if he was returning to his body. He felt his eyes change. Green again, human once more, but the humanity brought the pain back too.

"Don't worry Harry! Dumbledore's coming." She whispered, eyes bright with something… hope perhaps? And with an effort at a smile, she fainted.

Dumbledore, that arrogant git! It began again, the rage rose, his eyes began to darken. But Tonks! No! I must stay human!

"Shit, Tonks! What did I do?" His voice was panicky, but at least more human.

"I have to heal her, dammit!" In the rage it was so easy, he just had to imagine the result he needed and utter a word to focus his magic, maybe wave his hands. But now with Tonks bleeding… I fell to my knees and held her head.

This is wrong! Why me? Why did I have to lose control like that?

Use your fear, simpleton! The thought sounded in Harry's head, but it wasn't his.

What the hell is happening to me?

Stop whining. Think of what will happen to her if you fail to heal her. Use that to create your effect and then use a word to focus your energies.

It sounded so easy, so nonchalant. But Tonks was bleeding everywhere and… I saw her funeral, her mother, everybody crying, but I wasn't there. I saw her tripping, laughing, her hair changing through the rainbow.

This is what you'll lose. It hissed in Harry's head.

"NO!" He screamed the word and he felt his magic swell as he summoned it. Harry pushed it, forced it, His fingers burnt as the magic surged through them into Tonks. He heard her bones knitting back into place as they healed, focusing on feeding more and more power into her body. And then there was nothing left to do; she was healed, everything perfect once again. I gently lay her down on the floor, her head leaving a large, discoloured spot on his shirt. Her blood spilled because of me, by me. Slowly shuffling backwards on my knees, I noticed Kingsley. 'I have to heal him too, I can't let him die as a result of what I've done.' Trembling, Harry turned and lay his hand on Kingsley's chest, imagining his funeral, crying relatives, pain, misery and suffering.

"Heal."

The magic flowed once more and soon Kingsley was breathing normally again. Harry slumped, feeling weak and miserable, his mind becoming hazy, losing focus as the ardeline of the battle faded. A sudden noise startled him. Harry turned and was hit square in the chest by a stunning spell, and then, darkness.

Harry jolted upright in his chair, feeling rather shaken. He stared at the pensieve as if the silvery matter of the swirling memories might reach up and drag him back into the hell of that night.

"Mr. Potter, is that how the events of the night transpired?" the Minister of Magic asked as he stared down at Harry from his podium. Harry nodded, feeling short of breath, his mouth dry. Tonks, the blood, the misery…Why? He was pulled out of his thoughts by Ms. Botten remerging from the pensieve for the second time.

"What is your opinion Ms. Botten?" Fudge demanded.

"I would say that young Mr. Potter is innocent of both assaults, the one on aurors Tonks and Shacklebolt, and the three muggles, your Excellency."

"What? Why?" he spluttered. "On what grounds?"

"In times of great distress, a wizard's magic can act by itself, to protect the wizard. That is a commonly accepted fact. I believe that Mr. Potter's magic acted to protect him. After the battle at the ministry, he was distraught over the loss of Sirius Black, not to mention he suffered exposure to both possession and the Crucio curse. His magic reacted and sealed Harry away in his own mind, a sort of primitive, but powerful, occlumency, if you will. What was left was a sort of copy of Harry, and as the original began to re-emerge, the copy had to be destroyed. In the period of time while the original was still emerging and the copy was dead, there was no conscience controlling his emotions and actions."

"Are there any comparable cases Ms. Botten?" asked Fudge irritably, obviously trying to find a way discredit the best defence Harry had.

"Yes, mostly among the torture victims of You-Know-Who that we rescued after the war. During the re-emergence of the original person, they exhibited signs of great emotional distress, ranging from homicide to suicide."

Ms. Botten's tone betrayed none of her emotions but her face told another story, one that showed the occurence was never a pleasant thing to watch.

"And, how often does this happen? Among wizards, I mean?" a wizened old man with a hooked nose inquired.

"It is very rare. It only manifests itself in those who are naturally inclined towards the mind arts."

"But it has been pointed out that Mr. Potter is only of average skill, if not completely weak in the mind arts." Fudge was beginning to sound like Snape.

"Only in Occlumency, your Excellency. His wandless magic and creation techniques are quite another story."

"Thank you, Ms. Botten," sighed Fudge rather unhappily, "The court shall reconvene in one hour to announce the verdict."

There was a general shuffle as the wizards and witches exited the court room. Harry held back, waiting to speak with Ms. Botten.

"Ms. Botten, I would like to thank you for helping me, what you said in there, it's probably the only thing between me and Azkaban.

She turned and smiled at Harry. She was a slight woman, short and thin, but this in no way mirrored her smarts.

"Not at all Harry. It was all true."

Her voice was smooth and confident.

"I know, but when told by you, my story is a lot more believable."

She laughed merrily.

"Say, Harry, would you like to get some lunch while we wait? I would like to talk with you."

"Okay sure." Harry replied, he didn't have anything else to do for an hour, and besides, he did have a few questions to ask Ms. Botten.

Five minutes later, Harry was sitting at one of the cheap plastic tables that populated the Ministry's cafeteria while sipping coffee and eating a sandwich, the small witch sitting across from him.

"Do you think that it will happen again, Ms. Botten?" he asked her.

"Please Harry, call me Alexia. And do I think what will happen again?"

"You know, the whole making up spells on the spot thing, and the losing control."

"No, I don't think you'll lose control again, but…" she sighed heavily, "… the invention of spells is called creation, it is a talent and an ability. All wizards and witches can do it, but most prefer not to as there are already spells for nearly everything. You know how a spell is made up of three elements? Intent, magic and willpower? The result of a spell is then determined by expectation. That's the reason an animation spell will work on both a teddy bear and a rock. The wizard expects the thing he is animating to come to life. The extent of the animation is dependant on the other three. Are you following? This is all pretty high-level theory, so don't expect to understand it all to begin with."

"No, I think I understand."

"When wizards and witches are taught a spell, they are told what to expect."

"Okay, so when people use the killing curse, they expect green light and their target to die? But they need the intention and the willpower to see it through, as well as the magical power to do it, right?"

"Exactly! A perfect, if somewhat morbid, example. But when you create a new spell you must have the willpower to make your vision a reality because until you cast it, it doesn't exist. If you create one and mentally link it to a wand gesture it becomes easier, but you must get the gesture right just like any other spell."

"But then why do the more powerful spells have more complex gestures? Couldn't the creators give them simple movements?"

"They could have, but they didn't for the express purpose of preventing inexperienced wizards from casting them."

"Oh," Harry's mind was reeling, this made sense at some level but most of the time Harry just found himself nodding.

"Don't worry about it too much, just know you have a rare talent. This theory about spell creation and casting has filled many books and taken up the lives of some researchers, so don't expect it to be easy."

"Um, thanks. But you're sure that I won't lose control again?"

"Positive."

Following the meal, Harry was declared not guilty and allowed to go.

"However," added Fudge, "there are certain conditions. One; Mr. Potter may not visit any of his relatives for at least another two weeks…"

That was one condition that Harry would be happy to fulfil - he had had more than enough of his relatives. Now that he knew his potential, he planned to take control of his life.

"… and he must be, at all times, in the presence of a guardian who will be able to subdue him if he has a relapse."

No real surprise there. It seemed that Fudge was trying to make Harry's life as miserable as possible, seeing as he no longer had the grounds on which to expel him.

"May I make a suggestion as to whom this guardian should be Minister?"

Harry looked up at Ms. Botten with surprise.

What is she up to? Then he felt it, the gentle touch of Legilimency. Harry resisted the urge to shut it out. So far Ms. Botten had proven honest and well-meaning, so he decided to see how this would play out.

Besides, you could always brain burn her senseless if she went too far. It was that little voice again, echoing through the depths of his mind. While Harry was wondering where the thought had come from, a brief muttering among the wizards broke out. The Minister spoke.

"Certainly, Ms. Botten. Your insight should prove valuable." Remarked Fudge, with something resembling a sneer.

"In that case, I recommend Nymphadora Tonks as Harry's Guardian."

This was followed by a near out burst from the assembled wizards.

"May I ask why?" Fudge inquired after calming the seething mass of people. "When Potter has already proven wiling to attack her?"

"Firstly, Mr. Potter attacked what he perceived as a threat while in a state where control over his actions was impossible. Secondly, it was Tonks who brought Harry back under control by reacting so unexpectedly to his attack. Thirdly, I believe that the emotional stress of having an unknown guardian would cause Mr. Potter more problems, and fourthly, Minister, I believe that it is unlikely that Mr. Potter will ever relapse, and so previous actions against Ms. Tonks are irrelevant."

The minister bent down to confer with the other witches and wizards. After a minute or so he straightened.

"I cannot allow that Ms. Botten, as we believe th…"

"Oh, give the kid a break Fudge, you know that what Ms. Botten said makes sense."

The speaker was a surprisingly old man, with a beard to rival Dumbledore's.

Fudge's mouth hung open for a moment, before shutting with an audible click.

"Very well. We will ask Mr. Potter for his opinion on the matter."

Well that was sneaky of Ms. Botten. She never mentioned I would have to sleep in my own room, seeing as a young man needs his privacy.

"Well, Mister Potter?"

"If Tonks agrees, then I have no objections." Harry was pleased with the Minister's reaction, watching as he went a bright shade of red while trying to restrain several insults worthy of a one-eyed carpenter squib.

Harry was starting to regret his insistence to ban all press in the court room, the article about Fudge would have been worth it.

Once the members of the court had departed, Harry started to feel slightly better. However, as he entered a seldom used corridor to escape the hordes of reporters awaiting him, a voice that called out to him and crushed all hopes of a clean getaway.

"Harry! Harry dear, can I have a quick word please?"

Rita Skeeter came scurrying up to Harry, Quick Quotes quill already scratching away. Seeing as she was the only reporter in the room, Harry assumed that she had snuck in, using her beetle animagus form.

"I'm feeling generous, Rita, so I'll give you two: Sod off."

Without waiting for her response, Harry continued walking.

"Don't be silly Harry, you know how you can damage your reputation by ignoring a reporter."

Harry halted, he could almost hear the smirk spreading across her face.

"That's better. Now, let's have a talk, shall we?" her voice was as nauseating as a squashed cockroach.

So she wants to fight dirty? Fine. I won't be pushed around by the press's dung beetle anymore.

"Okay, let's talk about you losing your reporter's license for illegally entering the ministry and harassing a minor."

"Come now, Harry. There is no way you could prove such a charge and you know it."

"I disagree. All that would be needed is some of your, Oh, I don't know, blood on the floor?"

Rita laughed, looking at him quizzically.

"Harry dear, you can't attack me, you would be arrested just as soon."

Harry's grin was almost Slytherine in its deviousness.

"Wandless magic is untraceable, 'dear', so you must have cut yourself with your quill in your mad rush to corner me."

A look of slight shock and disbelief flew across her face, but was quickly replaced with her usual irritating smile.

Harry had no idea if he could use wandless magic without losing control again, but Rita didn't know that.

Why is this happening more and more around me?

Harry was about to tell her to bugger off again when there was a noise behind him. As he turned, the doors he had been heading towards opened. A now vibrantly red-headed Tonks walked in.

"What's taking you Harry? I don't have all day to guard you, you know," she laughed in an unnaturally cheerful voice.

"Only because you have to spend the whole day making sure I don't kill anyone," Harry replied in a matching tone.

"Exactly. Now come on, Kingsley can't hold the press at bay forever."

"Wait Tonks, I'm sorry," Harry called, all falseness gone from his voice. He really wanted to make sure Tonks that knew he meant it.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. For attacking you and Kinsley the other night."

"Oh, ok… Come on then, we ain't got all day, Kingsley's waiting," she said rather distantly. Evidently some wounds couldn't be healed by magic.

You could use a memory charm.

Dammit, who are you? Harry thought back angrily.

I thought you would never ask! The Sorting Hat will tell you...

As Harry left the room he heard a faint scratching noise, he turned to see a beetle sitting next to a very small green quill. If he didn't know better he could swear that it was smiling at him, and not a very kind smile at that.

Oh smeg, he thought as he let the door swing shut behind him.

"Hurry up, Harry, the press looks to be out for blood today," Tonks called as she went through the next doorway. Harry wondered if Tonks had overheard the conversation between Rita and himself, but before he could come to a decision, he saw that Tonks was right. The press had formed a huge circle around the opening into the Floo Hall, seemingly even more rabid than usual. Kingsley and Tonks both waved an invisible tunnel into existence and manuevered it towards the nearest fireplace. As Harry passed, Kingsley growled "Tonks' Place". The address, Harry guessed, frowning. He had been expecting to go to Grimmauld Place, not Tonks', but he simply nodded at the instructions and stepped into the green flames.

"Tonks' Place" he spoke clearly, but softly, trying to keep as much hot ash out of his mouth as possible. Harry felt the usual spinning effect as he travelled, before landing on his feet, Harry was surprised by this, he was usually expelled with more force than that, in fact he was so surprised he fell over onto the cream colored carpet, spreading the soot about as he started to get up. 'Tonks and her parents are going to hate me' he thought, trying to get up. Just as he reached his knees, Kingsley stepped out of the fireplace and tripped over Harry, causing them both to land in a heap on the floor. Tonks only just missed them as she spun out of the green flames, but managed to trip over her own feet and add to the newly created clutter of the room. Harry was now feeling rather crushed, and to add to his dilemma, he realised he was being laughed at. He looked up to see Andromeda and Ted looking down on the pile of people. Harry growled, a foul curse and tried to push himself up, only succeeding in spreading more soot into the carpet.

"Get off, Tonks." Kingsley groaned. Harry felt the load above him lighten slighty and assumed that Tonks had picked herself up. Kingsley quickly jumped to his feet and hauled Harry up after him. As soon as he was standing, Harry apologised briefly to the Tonks' and Kingsley. Ted and Andromeda were still laughing, while Kingsley was doing his best to look indignant, and Tonks' hair was cycling through the rainbow.

"Hey, don't I get an apology?" Tonks demanded as the laughter died down.

"Okay," replied Harry slowly, "I'm sorry you tripped over your own feet Tonks."

Tonks glared at him.

"No really, Tonks, I am sorry, you're heavy," Harry continued. Tonks curtly replied by smacking him on the back of his head.

"What kind of body-guard does that?" Harry yelled, grimacing as he rubbed his head.

"An insulted female auror apparently." Kingsley suggested. Everyone laughed again and a few discreetly muttered charms cleaned up the most of the soot.

"Come on, Harry, we have to get to the old Grim House now," Tonks piped up as soon as everyone had exchanged greetings.

"What? Then why did we all come here?"

"Moody's idea, you know, 'constant vigilance' and all that."

"Constant insanity if you ask me," Harry muttered.

Kingsley pulled a rather crumpled piece of paper from inside his robe, unfolding it carefully. Harry eyed it wearily.

"Portkey?" he asked, "Can't we use something that won't make me feel cra…" He was cut off as Tonks simultaneously grabbed his arm and the portkey, feeling the familiar tug behind his navel. Hadn't wizards ever heard of the damn subway?

The tugging ceased after a few drawn-out seconds, and Harry found himself hanging upside down inside his Godfather's old house. At first Harry just sighed and waited to fall, but after about five seconds he opened his eyes and found himself looking at a puzzled Tonks standing, right way up, a couple of feet away.

"Very funny, Tonks, now let me down." Harry said, his glasses hanging off his nose.

"It's not me Harry," Tonks replied, looking at Kingsley questioningly.

"I'm not doing it either, Tonks." Kingsley said, looking slightly confused. "Maybe things are going to happen as Alexia predicted."

"What? You've met Ms. Botten?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Yup," Tonks said cheerfully, "Why do you think I didn't hex you on the spot? She explained everything right after the trial."

"Oh," said Harry thoughtfully. "So can you get me down now?" His voice had taken on a pleading tone.

"She did say it may be accompanied by the usual mood swings." Kingsley said factually.

"Yea, that's great now, GET ME DOWN!" Harry shouted. Tonks merely giggled.

"He's acting just like I did when it happened to me!" she said.

"I was never as bad as this, I was just really quiet for a couple of months." Kingsley said. Harry stared at both of them. Had he become invisible and mute?

"You're so boring, Kingsley." Tonks said in a teasing tone.

"Yes, yes, very touching. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but can we try not to forget about the upside-down savior of the effing magical world here!" asked Harry sarcastically.

"I wonder how long he'll be like this?" Tonks said to Kingsley.

"At the latest, he should be back to normal by the start of school." As Harry was now exceptionally annoyed, he started trying to right himself, managing to flip over onto his right side. Concentrating hard seemed to help, being the only thing he had learned from Occlumency lessons with Snape. His feet where still, however, a good foot off the ground. He tried this again but instead shot upwards and whacked his head on the ceiling. Harry swore, leaving Kingsley chuckling while Tonks collapsed to the floor in fits of laughter.

"Harry! Such language is unbecoming." Remarked Dumbledore as he entered the room, appearing as if from nowhere. Harry stared at him mutely for a second before recovering.

"GET ME DOWN!" he shouted at his headmaster.

"I cannot, Harry," replied Dumbledore sagely. Harry was dumbstruck.

"What do you mean professor?" he asked, summoning as much calm as he could.

"You are doing this to yourself, or at least your magic is. It's trying to find it's limitations and your own. The only suggestion I can give you is to do the opposite of what you just did," Dumbledore continued. Harry just hung there in disbelief.

Oh well I suppose it can't hurt.

And with that he just accepted that he was floating above a room containing two aurors and his headmaster. His body leveled out, leaving him lying below the ceiling. He took a deep breath.

This isn't so bad.

And with that he dropped like a rock, blacking out just as he registered his last thought.

Damn, I guess it can hurt.