Harry Potter & The Dark Revelations.

Chapter 1: The Many Faces of The Summer Sun.

A/R (I think I read too much of VMorticia's work to be able to think of this as anything but 'Author's Ramblings'… ^_^ Cheers VMorticia! Go read her stuff): So, I finally posted this first chapter. A lot of build-up for the next chapters in here. There are no OCs in this fic, so the girl is actually someone from the books. Figure it out yet? Lots of foreshadowing, pick them up. The whole story is laid out for you right here.

Summary: chapter is rated PG-13 for mention of rape, and because someone bleeds. Severitus challenge. The prospect is dark for everyone, and many dark revelations await our characters. This will turn out pretty angsty and maybe even dark. A little drama. Harry walks the thin line between dark and light, where will he fall? Darkness of soul, of life, of action and of thoughts… will it lead to Dark Magic? It did once, didn't it? Adults are clueless and lost when it comes to Harry. He is too. But then, there's his newfound father…

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Harry looked at his clock. 1 AM. Good. Since the sandman had decided to ignore his very existence this summer, he had all the time in the world to do this. Or was it he who had decided to ignore to sandman? He couldn't tell anymore. In any case, he didn't sleep. Not that he cared to, with his nightmares.

He got up and dressed in his wizard's robes, cloak, took his money and left the house. Once in the street, he flagged the knight bus down.

"Diagon Alley," he told Stan, who couldn't recognize him since he had his cloak's hood pulled over his face. Harry really didn't want to deal with a pimpled, grown-up version of Colin Creevey right now.

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Harry looked around the darkened street. Not so many people around after dark, he realized. Maybe they were scared; Diagon Alley was always crowded, even late at night. Or at least there were people around. There were only about 5 people tonight. Could it be that wizards had taken Dumbledore's warnings to heart?

He made his way to Knockturn Alley, and there he stood, admiring the place. Knockturn Alley was really a beautiful place, though to the untrained eye it would look like a scene out of a horror story. Not that he knew any horror stories, or had seen any horror movies, but Dudley would've been scared witless. He sneered. Yes, one day he'd bring the git here, just for the heck of it, before torturing the twit until his brains leaked out of his ears…

Harry suddenly narrowed his eyes and punched a nearby wall, making his knuckles bleed. Of course he wanted to make Dudley suffer; heck, if he did to that moronic excuse for a muggle a tenth of what Dudley had done to him, the whale would surely die of pain… But he wasn't going to. He'd sworn to that when he was 6. He wouldn't become like them, like his relatives. He wouldn't beat people, or hit them, or torture them.

Or rape them.

Or sell them.

But then again, could revenge be compared to the reckless craze of torture that the Dursleys had indulged in so often?

Harry hit the wall again, splattering the wall in crimson droplets, and watched as his knuckles bled even more. He was always amazed at how hard he could hit without feeling any pain… He was probably immune to pain… Except for the pain of Cruciatus. Nothing could compare to that. Nothing. He should know.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a murmured "incendio" and a flick of his wand. He didn't really smoke: he was just experimenting… He'd stolen this from Dudley, as he'd wanted to try. It wasn't that bad at all. He wouldn't get in trouble for using magic here, he knew. Use of magic in Knockturn Alley couldn't be detected, the inhabitants had seen to that. Or at least, use of magic by underage wizards couldn't be detected. That he was sure of. But as for the use of Dark Magic… Well, Aurors had some pretty developed detectors. But then again, Knockturn Alley hung on to its secrets like drowning sailors…

Oh how he'd had to work to find out the intricacies of Knockturn Alley. Coming here, every night since the beginning of summer, just to watch how people went about their things… And what he'd found out, except the bit about being able to use magic undetected, wasn't much.

He first went into the bookstore and took all the "Introduction to the Dark Arts" books he could find. He'd decided long ago that to survive in a world that unfortunately housed Voldemort, he'd have to know what he was up against. He'd never use the Dark Arts, of course… Of course not… He just wanted to be prepared…

Keeping his hood up at all times, and speaking only in hushed whispers, he bought the books. "You can't tell what you don't know" was one of his principles, and, he'd heard people say, one of the rules in the Slytherin Code of Conduct. Why Gryffindors didn't have a Code of Conduct, he'd never known. Maybe because writing things like "Stand up for what you think is right, even if you're standing alone" and "Don't be afraid to say what you think, even when you don't think about what you say" would be a bit redundant after a while. Just 'Be brave and bold' covered that… and stupid, one could argue. Though Harry was of the firm opinion that stupid people existed in every House, some Gryffindors confused the traits of their House with reckless stupidity.

So in any case, as long as the shopkeepers didn't know who he was, they couldn't tell anybody what he'd bought, that's what "You can't tell what you don't know" meant.

Next stop was the wand shop.

Harry knew he would have the misfortune of meeting The Dark Lord again. It seemed to be his fate. The man could devise extremely devious plans, just to kill the object of his hate. And Dumbledore hadn't been the epitome of guardian of security so far. Why, the way he'd fallen for Barty Crouch Jr's stunt was proof of that. Enough! he told himself. This isn't about Dumbledore being at fault, it's about Barty Crouch Jr.  being an expert in manipulation.

And he didn't blame Dumbledore for putting him in the flimsy care of the Dursleys, so why should he care about him making another mistake? Errare humanum est. It wasn't the man's fault he didn't know what Harry's relatives were like, since the teen himself hadn't told.

Harry made his way through the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, the only light being that of the waning moon and a few torches here and there. He didn't want to buy his new wand at Ollivander's, because the old man would recognize him and tell Dumbledore. But Harry would rather no one knew that he was preparing against Voldemort. That way, the Dark Lord wouldn't get wind of it either. His first wand being the brother of You-Know-Who's, Harry decided he would need another one to fight him. Voldemort had no doubt thought along the same lines, but he could still hope to take him by surprise… One moment of distraction is all I need…

He entered the shop, which seemed just about the same size as the one in Diagon Alley. In other words, it was tremendously big.

"What do you want?" spoke a young, bored voice in the dimly purple-lit shop.

"A wand," Harry answered, stepping towards the female voice. He saw a girl at the counter, leafing through an old Grimoire. She was his age, and he was sure he'd seen her at Hogwarts, but he couldn't tell who she was. She had dark red hair, not the vibrant one that Ginny had, but more like the colour of red wine.

The girl's head shot up. "Why, you're a customer!" she grinned "I'm sorry, we don't get customers lately so I wasn't expecting one." Harry nodded in understanding. "Which is your wand-hand?" she continued, rummaging through the drawers of a desk.

"Right"

"How do you know?"

Harry stared. "Aside from the fact that it's my hand we're talking about?"

"Can you right with your left-hand?" she asked, still going through various papers and books.

"Yes"

"Did you ever use your wand with your left hand?"

Sigh. "Yes."

Now she looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Do you like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans?"

Harry blinked (though she couldn't see it). "Yeah…"

She went back to looking through her files. Harry had a feeling the girl was too bored for her own good. Then she asked him if he liked bubble baths. Harry snorted.

"Are you quite finished? I'm here for a wand, not a kinky date." Then, as an afterthought, "and no, I prefer showers."

She smiled up at him, and handed him a wand. Rosewood and Veela hair. He almost visibly recoiled. Rosewood? Yuck! He hated pink, and that wand was pink. It didn't work, thankfully… After having tried a wand with giant's blood, one with vampire fangs and another with werewolf fur, she handed him his fifth, a black one.

"12 inches long, ebony, flexible and Dementor skin."

Harry almost dropped the wand in shock. And horror. And disgust.

"Dementor skin?!"

She shrugged. "I know it's gruesome, but it's a really powerful core, and it doesn't have any of the effects that real Dementors cause. Well? Try it."

So he did. And as a familiar warmness surged through him, the wand produced a weird, tinkling sound and they were showered with a bout of rain.

"Well," the girl said "that'll be 9 galleons."

~*~*~*~

Harry shrunk all that he'd bought and put them is his inner cloak pocket. He then moved towards Diagon Alley, he still needed to stop by Apothecary.

Since the twins had confided in him that potion making couldn't be tracked down during the summer, he'd taken to studying that course by practising. In the three weeks since the holidays had started, Harry had reviewed everything he had been taught so far. He'd read it all over again, memorized, learned and researched every topic they'd covered. (He wasn't supposed to, of course, but Harry always found a way around the Dursleys.) He'd even read through his previous essays… and he'd finished his homework.

How he found the time is a wonder, though, since during the day Harry was the Dursleys' personal slave. And Vernon loved torturing the boy. But at night, Harry didn't sleep and spent all his time either on studying, or in Diagon Alley.

Most important of all, he'd rediscovered potions, and he had to admit that without Snape, the subject was not only enjoyable, but also entrancing. And potions were the only reason he was still able to walk or write or even breathe, since he cured himself every night after being disfigured by his uncle and cousin.

Once he'd bought everything he needed from the apothecary, Harry returned to his own personal hell for the remainder of the night.

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A/R: ok, was this too short? Was it boring? And what else do you think? Please send a review.

Terra Aeris.