Harry Potter And The Dark Throne
All ideas, characters and locations are the property of their rightful owners, who will hopefully remain unaware of them being borrowed at all. As one may no doubt guess, this applies to things from the original universe's canon and the thoughts stolen from other fanfiction authors. Flattery, not theft.
The young man with the lightning bolt shaped scar and profound green eyes gazed thoughtfully at the snake-motif sink before him.
On one hand the memories evoked from even this location were unhappy and somewhat terrifying, lingering deep in his nightmares. Odd, as he was in what appeared to be a disused lavatory but when put in combination with it being for those of the female persuasion and the fact that this was the second time he'd sneaked into it, perfectly reasonable. A potential source for others to suspect perversion or gynaphobia, but still reasonable.
Of course Harry Potter was slightly gynaphobic, but in the typical teen-aged male social anxiety way and not the life or death, flight or fight way the memories of this place were tainted with. Talking and relating to anyone, let alone a girl, was difficult after being deprived social interaction from a young age to the present, after all.
But then such trivialities were hardly of concern when threatened with a dragon breathing down your neck. In both a metaphoric and literal way.
For young Harry was but hours from facing down exactly such a beast in what was almost assured to be a life and death struggle, not to dismiss the possibility of surviving to face the next round of Tri-Wizard Torment he'd been shanghaied into. And then, looming beyond that threat in a more distant, nebulous point was the unavoidable conflict with the much feared, mostly deceased dark lord Voldermort... Or was it Voledmort?
With so few people mentioning him by name it got sort of hard to remember.
Voldemort. That's the one. Dark lord Voldemort, who, while it had as of yet to be explicitly stated to him, Harry was certain he would have to face in inevitable combat to the death.
Assuming the tournament or some other wizarding ritual didn't kill him first. All he wanted was one, single normal year. No threat of eminent demise hanging over his head, no freaky rumors about him and no encounters with his arch-nemesis. Oh, he longed for it, yearned for it. To be plain and average and just another face in the crowd. Why, he'd probably give up immortality for it!
Unfortunately, he didn't have immortality to give up, if he did the dragon wouldn't be a problem.
But that was why he was here, wasn't it? To get a weapon powerful enough to destroy a dragon.
With a hiss to the sink fixture he opened a secret passage and cautiously crept down the newly emerged staircase, descending to the grimy depths.
And there, laying exactly where he left it two years ago, was the corpse of one of the mightiest creatures in the magical world. A thousand year basilisk.
The boy paused, unnerved yet again by the size of the thing.
Had he really killed this? And now he was worried about some piddling dragon? Then again it was normal to be worried about a dragon, and he rather liked being normal. Not enough to die fighting a basilisk, mind you. He could accept being a little weird in that particular aspect.
Harry swallowed nervously and realized he was staring at it. The thing hadn't rotted at all, probably too poisonous for the usual vermin to gnaw at or for fungus to take root. But then again, it was a hundred and fifty foot long snake, so if some rat was gnawing at it for the last two years he'd barely be able to tell.
Part of him grimly reminded the rest that there was something he needed to do. The young man grimaced, but didn't actually move quite yet.
Maybe this wasn't the best idea, the fang he'd had lodged in his arm wasn't venomous enough to kill him, a scrawny, malnourished twelve-year old at the time. Phoenix tears or not, if the poison was so weak he survived long enough to destroy Voldemort and then have the phoenix cry into the wound, especially with how much a dagger-sized fang had to inject, how could he count on it to give a dragon a stomach ache, let alone kill it before it killed him?
Feeling rather foolish with himself, he laughed. That proved to be a bad idea as five short, house elf-like creatures emerged from hiding at the sound. Four were clad in simple loinclothes and held small wooden clubs, the fifth, however. The fifth wore some sort of cowled robes and had a lantern hanging over its head, using its club as a walking stick.
"Human! It human!" One of them squawked primitively to the others.
"Yes, it is indeed a human. A disgustingly young larval stage human. And yet, what is a human larva doing here? Even after the creature's death, few would dare to enter a basilisk's lair." The hunched, slow-moving imp spoke with a creaky, decrepit voice, sputtering into a series of wracking coughs as it finished.
Harry bristled at being called 'larval'. His malnourished frame was admittedly shorter than it should be, but for something as short as Dobby to mistake him for a child... There were only five of them and they did only have clubs... "I came to collect a basilisk fang."
"Hmm..." The evident elder of the minions hobbled closer to him, marginally wary from the boy's terse tone. It slowly lurched around the wizard, the walking cane/club thumping against the floor in an uneven pattern with shuffling steps. "This basilisk died of a sword, piercing the roof of its mouth. But I suppose you won't know anything about that..." The old being shuttered to a halt, turning to face the human before it. "...would you?"
Harry gulped nervously as he gazed into the short creature's evil, yellow eyes, clearly hearing the others shift in murderous anticipation. "I killed it." He swallowed, grasping subtly in his pocket until he found his wand. "A madman was controlling it against the students and..."
"Excellent!" The short, huddled thing cried, immediately collapsing into rattling coughs. As its wheezing subsided it spoke again. "Yes, great, terrible news... Assuming you have proof?" The minion said slyly, eyes narrowing just the slightest degree.
Eager for any distraction that let him draw his wand, Harry slid the left sleeve of his robe up by sliding it against his body. "You can see a scar where it bit me."
"Minions, this is a glorious day! We have found our new overlord! Take him to the tower!" The old one shouted, nearly toppling in the fit of coughs that followed.
Instantly the young wizard had his wand in hand. "Stupefy!" His aim was true and the closest minion fell over unconscious, its brethren charging over it. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Another had its club violently pulled from its grip and swung against its own head, the weapon sweeping around towards the next as they continued to advance, unphased by the loss of half their number. The club whipped at its next target, Harry focused fully on manipulating it as...
"Ow!" The old, not-as-harmless-as-it-looked minion stabbed his foot with its own club before smacking the wizard's shin.
Focus was lost and the other two leapt onto him, clubs flailing wildly to strike him in a manner reminiscent of pikmin on a bulborb.
The young man struggled briefly, trying to retch the stronger-than-they-appeared beasts off him, succeeding only in losing his wand by the time a blow to the head knocked him out.
The elder gave a satisfied, choking cackle. "Yes, a rather vicious and paranoid young human, isn't he? Why I imagine in a decade we'll have a new lord so evil that Overlord Olimar will be considered little more than a slightly rude man!" The aged thing gave another gurgling cackle even as the minions shivered in terror of the thought of Overlord Olimar.
"No say name!" One of them shouted, glaring suspiciously at the chamber's shadows as if expecting an attack.
"Come, we must return to the tower forthwith. Gnaw, grab his legs, Nobhead, get his arms. We can come back for the others later." The old little beast ordered, picking up the wand the wizard had dropped and snapping it spitefully. Wand magic was unbecoming of an overlord, something only a lesser, commoner magician or hob sorcerer was expected to do. The boy would need to be taught purer magics it seemed. Still, things such as that could be taught, instinct, viciousness and paranoia could not, at least not to the level an overlord required.
Just a brief little prologue. I imagine this will be terribly predictable for a time, but I do hope people read regardless.