(Author Note: Hello. Long time no see.

There is a special place in my heart for this fic. It was riddled with plot holes and largely made no sense, but it was a comfort to me through a dark time in my life. Now, like then, I've been feeling the need to slip into something more comfortable.

When I wrote Liquida Tenebris the first time, I didn't have the skills or the discipline to fully bring my vision to life. Now, unlike then, I do.

I thought it was only right to invite everyone who favourited this fic to join me as I completely remaster it, I'd love to see you there. I've included a segment of the first chapter here to entice you back. The rest will be posted on my profile. I plan to post two chapters a week, depending on my schedule.)

No Jesus Christ, Seether

You're so quick to choose the path walked by the righteous
So you can go and nest among the weak.
And the innocent observers will refuse to find the lie within
Renew the disappointment of the meek.

'I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!' Once again, without warning, the gloating, high-pitched voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang in his head. The Boy Who Lived shook himself and refocused on his aunt's immaculate front garden. The tedious and repetitive tasks were his least favourite, his mind prone to wandering back into that Atrium, back to the veil and the madness that followed. He plucked at minuscule weeds and focused on the sun beating down on his back. He'd rather be doing something that required more active attention, but, as it was with every enforced return to the Dursleys, he had been worked like a dog through the break and was running low on complex tasks.

'… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…' Harry shook his head with more violence than before and stood from his kneeling position. There was nothing more to be done for the garden. He turned to face the sun and sighed, noting that he'd spent hours in the dirt, and it wouldn't be long before he was alone with his thoughts. Nights were the worst. Without distractions, the previous weeks would roll through his head on a loop. His days at the Dursleys were never pleasant, but this time, more than ever, he counted the seconds until he returned to Hogwarts. To his family.

He made his way inside and said nothing to Petunia as he passed her, which had become customary. Harry had noticed her watching him with more interest, which he guessed had something to do with his sunken eyes, pallid features, and skeletal frame. Food and sleep had become something intangible to Harry James Potter. As he opened the refrigerator to prepare a meal for the Dursleys, his stomach revolted at the mere thought of dinner. He prepared a salad and well-done steaks for his blood relatives, his thoughts once again moving towards Sirius as he plated and served the food, an unrelenting lump in his throat as he silently excused himself to his room.

He took the stairs two at a time, relying more on his arms, legs, and muscle memory to guide him than on his tunnelled sight. He closed the door behind him and fell against it, his vision swimming, blood pounding in his ears as he tried to settle himself. Hedwig hooted softly at him from her cage, tearing his eyes from the carpet to the bird. He moved toward her, petting her through the bars absently as he attempted to steady his breathing.

'…And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…' Harry stepped away from the bird with a jerk and moved to the window instead, staring down at Privet Drive and willing an escape to appear. The quiet street mocked him for some minutes, he couldn't guess how many, before he paced back to his trunk and took out the letters he'd received from his friends throughout his enforced stay at the Dursleys. And reread them as he did every night.

Ron's messy scrawl bled together on the parchment as tears blurred his eyes. Ron had taken the route of only discussing light topics, avoiding Sirius' death and the events prior. Hermione had gone the route of endless placating, worrying, needling, in neat script with meticulous punctuation, always an attempt to reassure him, but the letters only served to dredge it from where he'd tried to hide it away. Hers were harder to read.

'I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!' Her maniacal laugh rang out from ahead of him, as he chased her, wordlessly, thoughtlessly, through the Atrium of the Ministry. He could hear the fighting, spells ringing out, the roaring of flames and the screams and yells of his friends and his enemies alike. He heard them like one might hear underwater, the only sound he heard with crystalline clarity was that of Bellatrix Lestrange.

When she finally turned to face him, eyes bulging, teeth gnashing in a wild smile, as Harry slid to a stop.

'Aww, did you love him, itty baby Potter?" She cooed, dramatically shushing him with her hand.

It can't have taken more than one beat of his heart, but it stretched as their eyes locked. A roaring, white-hot rage was thundering in his chest, his vision tunnelled, and he panted once, twice. His wand raised, no recollection of it. Time felt slowed to a crawl, his blood pounding with the pressure in his head, in his chest. He was screaming, howling, he realised.

Bellatrix hesitated, a blink with a step back. She had drawn her wand an instant after Harry had, but she did not curse him. She jerked her chin at him defiantly, a warning or a dare. Harry's thoughts were razed in the blaze of his fury, incomprehensible and irrelevant, his connection to his limbs and mouth severed, his motions and actions fuelled by a primal drive.

And so, Harry broke the stalemate. Pushed by his vengeance, and in hindsight, something much darker.