Well, here it is- my first fanfic! Let's hope it isn't a huge failure, no?
Anyways- if you review (and I'd prefer it if ya did), Constructive criticism only, please!
Harry stared listlessly at the wall, melancholy spreading through his veins like quicksilver. The summer weeks had been long and tedious, crammed with chores as his aunt and uncle demanded him to do vulgar tasks like some house elf.
His lip curled. Stupid fools. If he survived until he was seventeen, he was definitely getting revenge. Of course, nothing but death would suffice…
Harry gasped as he realized what he had been contemplating. What was wrong with him? The blood magic he had used in second year should have sealed all such thoughts away, never to be witnessed…and more importantly never carried out.
He shuddered as he imagined some of the tortures his 'Slytherin self' had imagined. The vast majority included someone either screaming with pain, or moaning as they twitched in a bloody mess on the floor.
He attempted to ignore the fact that a thrill went through him at the sight of blood, that he delighted in other's misery. He struggled to suppress the lurking suggestions that if he twisted the Mudblood's arm –no, Hermione! He scolded himself- she would scream in such a pretty way…
Harry slapped himself out of his daze. The blood magic was obviously not working. The repressed urges were escaping their cage.
A moonbeam curved its way into the window, a ray of the pearly essence of the moon. The Potter heir's eyes glanced out into the darkness encroaching outside his window. The darkness…without a second thought, he followed the primal urge and slipped out the windowpane easily.
Uncertain about where he was going, he strolled down the lane, enjoying the night air. Instinctively, he kept out of the glow thrown by the lamppost, again not certain why he did so.
He followed the almost full moon and found himself in the park.
Out of habit, he sat down on the broken swing and stared moodily at his feet. With a start, he realized that his shoes were still in Dudley's second room. He refused to call it his own- the room at Grimmauld Place was his, not that sad excuse of a closet.
But was it really? Was the room at Grimmauld Place really his? Legally it was, since Sirius had left it to him, but did it actually feel akin to home?
Harry growled in frustration, not having a ready answer for that. Ever since Sirius had gone into the Veil, he had felt out of sorts. Everything he did was mechanical; he did it, but was not really there.
Everyone he loved had died; it was only a certain amount of time before Voldemort got a hold of Hermione and Ron.
Suddenly, he felt something inside of him move. Harry froze, a strange expression on his face. What the hell?
His gut rumbled, and he clutched it fearfully. What the fuck?!
Was this some strange scheme of Voldemort?
No, the answer came to him immediately. This was something more. His scar wasn't hurting. The sensation increased with power, and he found himself off the swing and on the ground on his knees.
Pain flared up in his core, until he couldn't retain his screams. Blood poured out of long scratches, fashioned from his nails dragging down his arms. Something was trying to get out.
He howled as darkness conquered his mind, until all he could see was the raging shadows. It was him, he realized blankly. The blood magic had been bested by…what, he didn't know. However, he wasn't to inclined to worry about the delicacies of the situation when agony was tearing him apart inside.
With a final scream, Harry Potter succumbed to the darkness in his mind and the pain destroying his very soul.
The sun awoke with a fiery passion, a crimson blaze that indicated the beginning of a new day. With a plum paintbrush, the vast sphere of daylight smothered the land with hues of purple, red, and pink, infinitely much too cheery for so early in the morn.
At least, that was the opinion of a certain green eyed teen that laid on the park ground, staring at the sky.
Harry blinked owlishly, sitting up cautiously. When no remnant of the night previous existed to make his life a living hell, he sighed gratefully. At least his throat wouldn't have an excuse to ache any worse.
The Potter heir blinked as he surveyed his surroundings. Everything was fuzzy; obviously, his glasses had fallen off due to his actions last night. With a sigh, he squinted at the earth around him, noticing with some surprise that the soil was red with blood.
His blood, most likely, he realized. Encouraged by the desire to know what happened to him, he resumed his search.
Five minutes into his quest, he sat back and grumbled to himself. "Damn glasses…" Harry reached a hand up and brushed his bangs from his eyes, freezing as he did so. Why was his hair so long? And was that his glasses on his face already?
He peeled off the wire rims, laughing at his stupidity. As soon as the glasses were off, his vision cleared. "I suppose I don't need them anymore…" He talked aloud to himself, after putting them on and off repeatedly.
Throwing them aside, ignoring the moral code to never litter, he stood up smoothly.
Instantly, he almost stumbled and fell. The ground was farther away then he last remembered it. Stunned, he glanced down at his hands. They were pale and elegant, with an aristocrat's extensive fingers.
Now utterly gob smacked, Harry struggled to come to terms with this new development. His hands looked like a Malfoy's, of all people. A shudder racked his body at the thought. That was disturbing to simply think about.
Sighing, he glanced about for anything that would pass as a mirror. However, the fact that there had been no rain for the past four weeks promised that all puddles were nonexistent and the metal on the playground was not the consistency of a mirror.
Deciding on going back to the Dursley's for the item, Harry slipped in through the trees and towards the general direction of the house. Order members would most definitely be lurking about; it would not be wise to be seen, when he himself had no idea how he had changed.
With a confident gait, the green eyed teen glided through the trees and onto the Dursley property. After examining the perimeter and noting that only the perfectly ordinary grass blew in the wind, he snuck in through the back door.
The Dursleys, oblivious to his entrance, continued to get ready for the new day. He could hear Petunia singing in the shower, wincing as her voice reached a rather high-pitched warble.
Reaching Dudley's old room without incident, he closed the door silently and dug into his trunk.
The Dursleys had allowed him to put his trunk in his room, surrendering to his constant pestering. Finally, he was able to get his homework done before he went to the Weasley's.
Harry's heart constricted as he touched the fragmented mirror Sirius had given him. The panes of glass were still connected, though thoroughly cracked. It would have to do, as the Dursleys were occupying the bathroom with the full body mirror.
Taking a steady, reassuring breath, he stared at the mirror.
Pale skin flowed smoothly over finely sculpted cheekbones, unblemished and smooth as a babe's. Long, wavy black hair contrasted decently with his skin, accentuating his vibrant jaded eyes.
His figure was tall and lithe, bringing to mind a predator hunting its prey. His awkward teenage body had been replaced by smooth and graceful movements, and long ropy muscles purred down his arms and legs.
Shock vibrated through his entire being, breathes coming fast and shallow. What the hell had happened?
For one terrible moment, Harry wondered if he was some long-lost relative of the Malfoy's; it would explain everything. However, the steel grey eyes were always apparent in any Malfoy, and his sparkling green was far from it.
His eyes became distant as he was pulled into an entertaining torture he could force the Malfoy's through. One that would most definitely have muggles and impure Mudbloods.
The smirk that slid briefly across his face was replaced with one of horror. He needed to fix the prison on his 'Slytherin self.' It would not do to accidentally call Hermione 'Mudblood' after all.
Even if it was true.
The Dursleys left later that day for some clothes shopping for their Duddykins, leaving Harry alone to plot like only a Slytherin can.
His first course of action would be to create a glamour that would hide his new features, preferably strong or impermeable. If he remembered correctly, the Mudblood had once said that the Ministry could not track wandless magic. He would have to test that.
Hopefully, the Knight Bus would be in the area, as he would need to get to the Leakey Cauldron and Diagon Alley for a shopping trip. How had he ever lived in these filthy robes?
Then he would have to go to Gringotts and check up on his Vaults. Maybe even a potion that would reveal who his parent's were- since it was obvious Lily and James weren't his parents. At least, one of them wasn't.
Afterwards, he would be free to do as he wished; even visit Knockturn Alley, as the Weasleys had never allowed him to go there, as it was a nest for snakes and dark wizards…
With a start, Harry finally comprehended how much his friendship with the Weasleys had cost him. Without their bigoted views, he would have ended up in his proper house; he would have been much more powerful then the wizard he was currently.
Well, he thought critically, it's high time to change all that, no?
The next day found Harry up bright and early at dawn, wearing clothes that could pass as a rather eccentric muggle or prudent wizard venturing out into muggle London.
After a brief moment of concentration, Harry looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. None of the Dursleys got up this early, so he was safe from their prying eyes. Of course, their reaction to seeing him use magic would be hilarious.
Dark brown hair cascaded down broad shoulders, and matching brown eyes pierced him in a haughty glare. His nose was curvilinear, akin to Snape's but much less prominent. A pointed chin gave his face a narrow look, completing the pureblood facade. He was tall, dark, and mysterious; handsome, but not enough to comment on as he passed by.
Smirking at himself, he turned on his heel and disappeared out the back door, absentmindedly casting a wandless Silencio on himself. He laughed at Tonk's futile attempts to hide herself in the shrubbery, listening with no small amount of amusement as she cursed and ranted.
After appearing out of the forest in the park, Harry traveled farther down the lane and summoned the Knight Bus, giving Stan the money necessary and looking for all the world that he owned the magical vehicle, and only out of the decency in his heart was he allowing them to come along.
Harry bought the offered Daily Prophet, though, with concealed eagerness. That bastard Dumbledore had kept him cooped up all summer; going in ignorant of the current goings on in the Ministry would be foolhardy indeed.
The very first page consisted of death, murder, and mayhem. A slight smirk played on his lips as he read about Voldemort's latest endeavor, a raid against a muggle town not far from London. A large picture depicted the Dark Mark floating over the town, evil and conniving.
The rest of the paper was filled with pointless political maneuverings and tedious reports on the latest styles, manufacturers, and business deals. Harry was relieved when they finally screeched to a halt outside the Leakey Cauldron; he wouldn't be forced to continue to read the Prophet's prejudiced lies.
Harry slipped easily into the Leaky Cauldron, sighing at the racket the other wizards were creating. Give him the quiet solitude of the library any day. Sneering as a witch with a mop of mousy-brown hair almost tripped and fell in front of him, the Potter Heir entered Diagon Alley.
With unnatural grace Harry slipped past the crowds like a wraith, ignoring the shops on display. No one noticed his passage; and with a smirk Harry realized that he liked it this way. Not one wizard or witch thought him out of the ordinary. It was a pleasant change from the usual crowds he received as Harry Potter.
Reaching Gringotts without any hassles, he marched inside, slightly nervous. Goblins could see through glamours; it would not do to have his new identity announced for the whole world to see. Of course, the Goblins wouldn't want to destroy a potential deal, and were said to be ferociously protective of secrets…
With a mental shrug, the seventeen year-old decided to let it be. He only could roll with the punches, now that he was here.
"Can I help you?" Sneered the goblin, sitting on the high chair behind a mahogany counter.
"Yes; I would like to see the manager of the Potter vaults." He announced with all the authority he could muster.
"Oh? And who are you to demand this?" The goblin snarled, evidently not able to notice his glamours… or simply seeing through them and only noting his changed features.
Sighing, Harry readied himself to explain…only to be interrupted by a semi-familiar voice. "Mr. Potter!"
Turning, Harry glanced down at the little midget that had called his name. Like all goblins, he was wearing a brown-gray robe that did nothing for his complexion.
"Come along, then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you are here for the letter?" Snapped the little munchkin briskly, twirling around and marching down the aisles to the back of the room. Harry stared after him in surprise. What letter? And how did he know he was Potter, when he was so obviously different?
Shrugging, and deciding that the goblin had more of an idea of what was going on then he did, Harry followed the goblin past hallways and through corridors.
Finally, they reached their destination…wherever there destination was, Harry thought morosely.
Russet colored couches and chairs were placed strategically around the room, with an occasional coffee table offered as a footstool- or, for the more conventional use of a place to set your tea.
Sitting next to the fire, Harry shook his head. He had always considered the goblins to never be able to have such a cheery room- if you could call all these shadows 'cheery.' The goblin cleared his throat, tearing him out of his musings.
"Now, Mr. Potter… my name is Gobhook, the manager of your Vaults." Gobhook paused, as if contemplating on how to continue. "For the past sixteen years we have held this letter, addressed to you from your parents."
Curiosity piqued, Harry took the letter from the little man's hand.
The letter, sealed with the Potter crest, seemed dreadfully formal and forbidding. However, the possibility of discovering what was going on was to tempting to pass up. With a deep breath, Harry slipped a fingernail into the seal and began to read.
If you are reading this, then it is more likely then not that we are gone. I apologize for this, Harry, as we cannot be there to tell you this.
I loved your father, Harry, I truthfully did. And when we realized I was pregnant, cheer immediately permeated the household. However…you are not James' son. You see, a few months before I accepted James' proposal, I got drunk—yes, I admit, not very smart—and had a one night stand with a dark, mysterious character. When I realized that I was pregnant, I immediately accepted the proposal and you came- a bit premature, at least to the hospital's standards.
When you were born, Harry, you were magnificent- the most beautiful babe a mother could ever ask for. However, it was obvious James was not the father. I told your father- and for once, he tamed his lion temper and helped me with the blood ritual. However, the spell will not fade until you reach sixteen. It was agreed that no one really needed to know- it wasn't their business. Thus, the secret is confined within the family.
Blood tests are not safe on infants, and consequently we have not a clue whom your father is. Despite this, you are our son. It does not matter who sired you; remember, you are your own person. If you decide to seek this mystery man out, go ahead and do so. He is family, whatever the circumstances.
Remember, we love you, Harry.
Lily and James Potter
Harry stared at the letter in shock. He wasn't their son? He was a bastard? What? The implications raced through his mind. Maybe he had surviving family? Could he finally have what he had always wanted; a home, someone to look up to? Someone…to call 'Dad'?
Shifting his piercing green gaze to Gobhook, he asked, "Do you know what this letter contains?"
"No, Mr. Potter. But I was told that you might visit Gringotts sometime near your birthday, and that despite your…odd appearance, you would be Harry Potter."
"But how did you know if it was me?" Harry replied, slightly suspicious.
"A simple magic reading charm, Mr. Potter." The Goblin retorted. Harry considered the answer before accepting it. That might be a disadvantage when he wanted to stay anonymous. However, the letter's contents returned to haunt him. Who was his father?
"Do you have any Blood Tests available?" He asked politely. It would not do to make enemies with this man…goblin.
The goblin eyed him strangely, as if sizing him up. "Yes…we do. However, it will cost you…"
His voice trailed off, and Harry rushed to placate him. "Any price is fine. But, I will need the utmost privacy on the results."
Nodding, the goblin excused himself with a low growl. The Potter Heir stared moodily into the flickering flames of the fire, struggling to comprehend the facts. He was a lovechild, the result of a night of lust between his mother and…an anonymous male. Sighing, he fingered the soft cloth of the couch. Would his father accept him? Was he even still alive? Viciously, Harry quelled the hope that threatened to leap in his chest. He had experienced disappointment way to many times in his life.
Gobhook returned with a vial of softly glowing liquid, handing it to him.
"The following events will not be repeated or shared, understand?" Harry demanded, apprehensive. If Dumbledore knew he had escaped his clutches…
"Of course, Mr. Potter!" The little man seemed insulted. "Gringotts prides itself on its protections and fortifications against any and all outside influences. Everything that happens here stays here."
Slightly embarrassed, Harry shrugged and pricked his finger with an offered needle. A drop of blood poured into the vial, turning the potion an ugly brown color.
Harry banished the needle with a careless wave of his hand, concentrating on the potion. The coffee tinted liquid inside turned a forbidding black, and a tendril of mist twisted its way into the air.
Frowning slightly, Harry waited impatiently for his father's name. Why couldn't the potion work any faster?
Finally, after a million years, the second name slithered from the potion.
The mist took the form of a snake, writhing in the air before forming the much sought name.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
So, yeah. Review, if you want to...it'd be nice if you did, though. . please note that it is my first fanfic, and thus that I'm new at this!