Disclaimer: This is a fan written work based on the works of J.K. Rowling. It might possibly also have some elements of a number of other works. There is no money being made from this, it is merely a work meant for the entertainment of myself and the masses. This is merely for fun, and no profit. I repeat: I am not making any money out of writing this.

Warning: OCs OOCs Sues, and some crack. You have been warned.

Note 1: AU.

Note 2: AK was written with boredom as a motivation, in this holds the inspiration writing AK.






chapter one



Summer vacation was going rather splendidly so far, over a hundred seemingly random people had gone missing over the course of two weeks from all over the city, their corpses would be systematically released to the public later on in the summer, seemingly still alive, but in truth not.

Aside from what he had been doing so far, Harry had found an interest in animating corpses, bringing them to a state which could be called a semblance of life, or something like that. But his experiments and projects did not end there, and would not end there.

A number of the books that Charity had procured for him were not really on the soul itself, but on necromantic applications or uses for the soul, as well as the information which he had already gleamed from the Mirror of Erised. It had grown in usefulness as a means of finding answers to questions, it all depended on the will and belief of the user of the artefact. All Harry needed to do was desire the knowledge about certain things, and the mirror would provide the answers, but not always the answers, sometimes it would lead the way, or give hints, or point to the path. It could even be used as a spy device, but Harry preferred not to use that function of the thing as he had seen somethings that even he did not want to ever see again.

For example, he at one time spied on Charity and Tristan, for the next two days he ordered them not to show their faces at the complex lest they want to have plastic surgery, while he didn't say it with any emotion, just the mention of plastic surgery meant that he was irritated, annoyed, and a host of other emotions or feeling that could and would get them killed if they did not do as they were told. Charity did nto pick up on the correct emotion, but Tristan got it, though he wondered how he knew.

The different swirling colors found in the soul pearl corresponded to a different memory. While Harry had managed to figure out that the soul contained the memories, he was not sure which color meant what kind of memory. But now that he knew, he could separate the ones he wanted and or needed from the trash.

Mind control was made up of uploading instructions or directives or objectives directly into the mind of the victim, while manipulation of the soul was something else, something bordering on necromancy. With the soul pealrs, and knowing which color meant what, Harry was able to rid melt down the soul pearls, and separate each memory and group them together, viewing them was easy peasy.

Soul pearls were similar to pearls in that they could be crushed, but different in that they could be melted down into something akin to mercury, but not as poisonous. The parts of the soul which were like mercury in color, represented the limitless possibilities which a soul possesses, the potential of the possesor of the soul, the potential of the soul.

The mercury like substance, not just in texture but also in color, was a blank slate, it was the programable slate where the memories were stacked upon to create the being which the soul belonged to, the physical and mental representation of the soul. Where the soul was the idea, the personality, the being, and usually the person, was the symbolic representation of the soul. The person, the personality is the product of the inumerable stacked up memories, as memories are experiences, and experiences are what molds beings, especially human beings, as animals have instincts as well.

Harry had managed to assimilate years worth of information by absorbing the melted down parts of the soul. He kept each memory separate in vials, these ones unlike the crystal fials used for keeping memories which are placed of used in a pensive, these ones were made out of diamonds, the illegal kind only found in certain places in the world, and were all black, black diamon vials, each one containing a valuable memory, a an element of a soul.

Separated parts of a formerly unified soul, the parts lost some characteristics to them, like their former identity, the original being blurred out, ready to be replaced by their new owner, namely Harry. Once used, one a memory was assimilated its corporeal substance was more or less gone forever, which was why Harry only assimilated the most impotrant of memories, and simply viewed the others. With so many memories, he had to hire new employees, all of whom had to have their minds and memories updated on what their duties were to be, that of managing the library of memories, the Biblioteca delle Memoire.

Through his readings, memory assimilation, and knowledge he gained from the Mirror of Erised, Harry was able to quickly, but efficiently, piece together the process by which he would be able to create not your run of the mill inferi or zombies, but Resident Evil style living dead but with brains...or a sort, or possibly like those Terminators, but human flesh and not cybernetics. Harry planned on exploring that field when he was older, magic was easiest when young, therefore go with the most efficient one before entering into the harder field.

The dead bodies of his victims, there really were more than a hundred of them, they would be reported missing only to turn up a few weeks after their intial abduction, and they would be observed by Harry's people, as they were the prototypes of what Harry planned on making his future grunts of his fighting force, in case he ever got bored. Start small and start simple, these people, his creation, would be like those abducted by aliens, but in this case they were abducted by something akin to an alien, something which even a xenomorph would think twice about hunting or using as an incubator.

The process of creating these living dead puppets, was fairly simple when one understood all the basic proceedures and parts of the process. The first part was forming or reforming the soul pearl, Harry had compiled different sets of colored liquid metal memories and poured them along with the grey blanks slates, into special molds, molds which had been created by Harry, instructions provided by three books and the Mirror of Erised, the molds had been tempered and heated using Harry's emerald flames.

After forming the soul, personality, and the like, Harry had to give up a little bit of spirit to keep the body together, and some lifeforce to give the body life. He had to fuse the reformed soul pearl with the lifeforce and spirit cocktail, it was a magically draining process, one that wasn't all that hard for Harry who was extremely magically powerful.

With the soul reformed, all he had to do was prepare the body, the process needed ritual circles, runes, and seals, to be painted and whatevered everywhere. They body was reformed, and the process finished when the soul gem, for that was what the reformed thing looked like, was joined with the body. With the body activated, all that was needed was the activation of the mind.

Harry needed to still input some instructions and the like into his creations, which he many at a time magially, but some with help. After the additional instructions, objectives, and the like had been uploaded into the brains of the puppets, he jump started them by pouring a bit of his magic into them. His death magic forming a connection, like the strings of a puppet with the puppeteer, in this case the puppeteer was Harry, and the puppets were the bodies of the dead.

But even with doing all of that the puppets seemed to move and react slower than he had expected them to. It seemed like their nerves had atrophied, in the sense that messages from the brain were no longer transmitted as fast after death. Harry needed a way for the messages to pass along faster, just as fast, if not faster than before the body died.

This was where another dream memory came into play, from an old memory of the now defunct dark lord, Harry had discovered another helpful, to him, magic. The magic of pain. The Cruciatus Curse. While it showed promise in the memory, first hand experience was the best way to really figure out how things worked, so he subjected himself to the curse, how was the weird part, he made one of his puppets do it, perform it on him until way beyond the point of insanity, which was right before the puppet's spirit died out, making magic after that point impossible, along with the rest of the functions of the body.

By experiencing the effects of the spell first hand, Harry was able to determine the speed that his nerves sent the messages to and from the brain, as well as how his pain receptors really worked. The nerves were able to transmit messages five times faster than normal, while his pain receptors on the other hand quickly adjusted to the pain after five hours of being subjected to the, normally considered torture, experiment.

With this new tool, he used it on the body before brining it to life, just to get the nerves moving again, and to three times normal ability and capacity, for dead bodies could never attain the potential of a living one.

With his money, Harry purchased several warehouses and abandoned buildings, had them renovated, and fitted out as offices and the like, while the warehouses remained empty for the time being. The Complex, what his headquarters was being called, had enough basement space to hold his illegal goods, and there were rooms for some of the illegal services. One of Harry's specialities were snuf films, He enjoyed participating in them, his empty of all expression face, but usually eyes, were the last thing anyone could see at the end of the untraceable videos.

The formerly abandoned buildings were where Harry had the puppets stashed before the times that they were to integrate themselves into society, before they would return to the lives of their bodies, and live as deep cover agents in society, ready to act at the drop of a hat. They would be monitored from a far, as they were just the prototypes, Harry intended to keep upgrading them every now and then until they reached a suitable and satisfying level of perfection.

He opted not to use pain on his surbordinates, the threat of death was good enough for people that still feared it themselves even if they were ready and willing to deal it out.

But the Cruciatus Curse did inspire Harry into incorporating some of its effects, it was more than a pain curse, it also manipulated the nerves, and pain receptors. He had mastered mind control, now he had discovered a way to perform or exert a new form of control. Reflex manipulation.

He had found a way to control someone's body movements thanks to the inspiration gained from the curse. A person would be themselves, freely thinking, but their bodies were Harry's to command.

The first test of the newly acquired abilities came on Harry's birthday, for some reason some of the letters he had been expecting to receive from his operatives in the magical world kept getting lost along the way, in short none of them were getting to him. He had to call in those operatives to hand in their reports personally, their minds spoke of no betrayal, even those with walls hiding their deep dark secrets were safe from his mind probes, but none of them had forgotten to send in their reports, and the like. Something was definitely trying to play with him, but whatever it was would not be surviving an encounter with him.

The night of his birthday he had an unexpected visitor, one that was able to bypass all of his protections. He had never encountered such a creature in all his short life, and it looked like some of his magically connected peons had failed to mantion such a thing, even his horcrux memories had failed to produce any information on the thing. The other pearls of wisdome, for the soul pearls in a way were like that, must have categorized such a creature as inconsequential.

"What are you?" Harry asked the creature, for once showing some form of emotion, curiosity, as he had truly never encountered or expected to encounter such an odd thing.

"I is a house elf, great Harry Potter sir," the house elf said, "Harry Potter mustn't return to Hogwarts, there is going to be bad things there, bad things."

"I don't see how such these things could be bad for me," Harry said, returning to his deadpan self, which for some reason did not seem to affect the house elf.

"Dobby insists that you do not return to Hogwarts, it is too dangerous for the great Harry Potter to return," the house elf said.

"What sort of danger?" Harry asked.

"I cannot say," the elf said, "I is not able to betray my masters."

"Your masters? Who are they?" Harry asked already planning to kill these so called masters for sending in their odd henchman to tell him not to go where he pleased. No one had the right to tell him what to do.

"I cannot say," the elf said, then began to slam its head against the wall for some offense, it kept repeating, "Bad Dobby, bad Dobby," over and over again.

"If you stop that and stop your attempts at ordering me to not return to Hogwarts, I will let you leave in one piece," Harry said.

"Harry Potter is a great wizard, Harry Potter cares about Dobby, Dobby is so happy," the elf said, a little crazily, Harry didn't care, he was mildly annoyed by the thing, "But if Harry Potter will still try, Dobby will find a way to make Harry Potter not go to Hogwarts. It is for great wizard Harry Potter's own good."

"Are you threatening me?" Harry asked, rising from his bed, which was where he had been when the bug-eyed odball arrived in the middle of the night.

"Dobby would never threaten the great wizard Harry Potter, Dobby cares for Harry Potter," the elf said, "But Harry Potter will not go to Hogwarts, he will only get hurt."

"Dobby," Harry whispered, catching the elf's undivided attention, as well as stopping its planning in its tracks.

"Yes Harry Potter, sir?"

"Do you know the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Yes, I is knowing it," the elf replied, not knowing that it was in for a world of pain.

"No one tells me what to do," Harry stated, then pointed a finger at the elf, "CRUCIO!!!"

The elf had experience all manner of torture, even the very curse which Harry was having it experience. But all his past experiences with pain could not compare to the utter destruction to its nerves and pain receptors. Its body's magic was not fast enough or even great enough to help its body adjust and recover from the pain flooding its system.

"What right do you have to tell me what to do elf! Tell me! Tell me who your masters are! Who are you to dare tell me what to do!" Harry said, his voice like ice, colder and deadlier than the artic winter that had forzen the ninth circle of Hell. The underworld subconsciously shivered and trembled at such an outpour of negative emotion, coupled with the power of Harry's magic.

Dobby the house elf had never ever had the pleasure of experiencing such pain and suffering, he felt as if his own soul was on fire, it was like his soul was being ripped to shreds, reformed, and ripped apart again. The searing flames of another circle of hell was poured into the bloodstream of the house elf. Harry's new ability to cause pain was to the extent that the elf believed its blood to be boiling, in the most agonizing way it thought possible. There was no doubt in its mind that it had crossed the wrong wizard. Harry Potter was truly a great wizard, one that to in its mind, the elf dared not compare the dark lord to. Harry Potter was greater than even the great Albus Dumbledore.

Even before the creature could scream, Harry's power had already incinerated its vocal chords, its voice box was nothing but ashes, for this kind of flame had the ability to leave such left overs. The boiling blood in the creature's veins was enough to melt its veins from the inside out. Following that were its internal organs, and so on and so forth.

Minutes later, which seemed like an eternity to the writhing elf on the floor, some of Harry's subordinates barged into the room, and stared at the writhing mass on the floor, its body contorting into positions that even a contortionist would be jealous of, but would not want to do under the same conditions.

When they looked at Harry, and saw his face, devoid of all emotion, they were instantly drawn to his eyes. In those orbs of normally dull green, they saw two flames, one emerald green, the color of death, and one burning red, the color of absolute pain.

"W-what is g-going o-on here...?" Charity asked, wearing a bath robe, looking to have been abruptly woken up from slumber, as she entered the room, followed shortly by Tristan.

"H-His eyes..." Tristan whispered, his voice laden with fear, "They're burning...burning with unadulterated hate, disgust, loathing, anger, and rage.

When spells, when magic left the body it did not appear as a continous stream. But in this case, as when Harry usually physically moved in a position to let out his magic, there was a small barely visible link. While normally with his emerald flames, the fire would leap or fly off of his finger of hand and land on the victim, this time the red or crimson flames was a constant stream running from the pointed finger to the body of the target, of the victim.

A few minutes after Charity and Tristan arrived, Harry's entire hand burst into crimson flames, burning all the way to the bone, the stream of flames attached from it to the writhing figure on the floor intensifying, when suddenly along the finger a long slender bone white stick like thing formed from out of his bones. The string of fire also adding to the stick, winding around it, sucking in the lifeforce and spirit of the house elf. Killing it slowly, and since it wasn't screaming, softly.

Once the bone wand fully formed, Harry's hand rapidly healed, and when the skin crawled over the muscles, he gripped the wand, and his magic instantly shifted its flow from the finger to and through the wand, intensifying its effects greatly.

"I am the Demon Lord Harry Potter, you will kill your master, by flaying him alive on September two, but before you kill him, tell him my name," Harry instructed via his spoken mind control, the Force like ability he had picked up earlier on in his life.

He cut off the spell just before it would have caused the elf to burst into flames like a phoenix on burning day, he had already exacted revenge on th elf. No one told him what to do, the Dursleys were the first, and they were the last.

"Leave," Harry said returning to his deadpan self, just as the elf left, leaving a stack of letter, reports, in its wake.

"Are you alright my lord?" Charity approached and asked her short lord.

"I'm fine," Harry said, "Go back to bed."

"If you're sure," Charity said as she ushered out everyone from the room, excluding Tristan.

"I'm sure," Harry stated, and got back into bed, and instantly nodded off.

"Tris?" Charity said.

"I've never seen that side of him," Tristan said, "It's as if he was a real demon back there."

"I know, you think he'd ever be like that with a human?" Charity asked, as they left the room.

"If he hated the person, yeah, sure," Tristan said, "I wish I could witness it.."

"Yeah..let's get back to bed too," Charity said, leading the way.