It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It always was. The rush he got from the magic coursing through his body, unbridled, unrestrained, had no comparison. The power, raw and untamed, sent waves of glee through him. Ever since the Dementor attack something had pulled at his gut, his heart, and it wouldn’t let go until he let it go.

And, Merlin was he happy when he did. He felt lighter than air, his head was up in the clouds, he was flying on such a high that he’d never felt before. His name had just been called from the Goble of Fire. He was to compete in tasks that could possibly cause his death but he just didn’t care.

The dark magic all but consumed him. He was addicted. Roaming the Forbidden Forest late at night, among dark creatures that would run with him, following his magic, he had never felt more alive than he did in that very moment.

He let the magic burst out of him. He had more control now. He focused it on casting spells. He wondered what the Entrail-Expelling Curse would do to a tree. He focused and he cast. The tree warped and shuddered, its leaves shaking and falling to the ground. The branches curled around the trunk as if for some sort of protection from an outside force. But Harry’s curse worked from the inside. There was no stopping it.

Slowly, the tree began to leak sap. It spilled over the rough bark and dribbled to the ground. Harry’s pupils dilated as he watched, pushing more and more of his magic into the tree. The liquid started coming out faster and faster, the small puddle it was forming on the ground was being soaked up by the soil pretty quickly.

Not long after Harry’s next push of magic, the tree turned inside out. It was almost grotesque, but fascinating nonetheless. Harry had just controlled life and death, albeit only of a tree. He could have stopped his magic if he had wanted and let the tree live with only a little sap lost. But he didn’t. He went all the way, and now that tree was dead.

Harry felt no guilt in what he had done, just as he would feel no guilt when he did it again. The tugging in his gut ceased but he was still on a high from the sheer power he had just had. This time was so much better than the first. He no longer feared what he had done, he embraced it, loved it, even.

The first time, it was an accident. He’d been so angry; he wasn’t in control of his mind or his body.

He blew up a tree… or ten.

He’d tried to replicate it numerous times after. He felt tonight had come quite close. He’d tried to get angry enough; at Dudley, at his aunt, at his uncle, at himself. None of it worked. So he started reading.

He came across all manner of new spells and theories. He found the theories on dark magic the most interesting. It seemed that the generally accepted definition of dark magic had a lot to do with the will, and the intention, of the caster. Another was that all curses, hexes and jinxes included, were dark magic no matter what. A third theory he had read said that any spell that caused physical injury to another person was dark magic.

Harry experimented until he came up with his own definition of it; it was magic that made him feel good. Powerful. Unstoppable.

He never did replicate that first spell with quite the same effect as he had. But when his uncle would beat him down, he’d use the magic to rise back up. When his uncle made him feel worthless, the magic made him feel important.  But each time his uncle would just beat him harder. Whenever he saw that little light in his nephew’s eyes, that bit of hope, of happiness, he had to get rid of it.

Of course, Harry wasn’t stupid enough to try any of the spells he learnt, but knowing the theory, and knowing that he could helped. Putting his theory into practice would get him kicked out of Hogwarts and his wand broken. If he ever wanted revenge, he’d have to be careful about using his magic outside of school.

That’s what drove him at the start, made him want to learn more. Revenge. Well, that and the initial thrill he’d felt blowing up those trees. But mostly revenge. He was supposed to go to the Quidditch World Cup with Ron, but that never happened. Something must have happened to really piss off Vernon the night before he was meant to leave because Harry didn’t wake up for two days. His limbs were stiff and sore, and every muscle ached in protest when he got up to make breakfast on the third morning. Aunt Petunia had been furious that she had been cooking for the past two days while Harry ‘lazed around’ and acted like an ‘ungrateful brat’. Harry went to bed with bruises on his hips that night.

But still, he figured he could handle it until he turned seventeen. He spent most of his time away from his uncle, at Hogwarts, he could handle the few weeks he had to spend in Little Whinging. If not he always had a rather large sum of money he could access. He could stay in a hotel if it ever came to it. But he was sure he could handle the waiting, handle the magic.

Only, it turned out, the more dark magic he used, the more he felt the pull in his gut. It was always tempered for a while after he’d used the magic, but the craving was coming back faster. He needed the power.

He wasn’t sure if his friends were oblivious or just didn’t care. No one had brought up his late night excursions, or his late morning rises. He skipped breakfast most days, too tired to get out of bed before he really must to get to his classes on time. He knew he had to go to his classes, whether he wanted to or not, he couldn’t afford to get expelled. The magic didn’t have such a strong hold on him yet. He still knew the difference between right and wrong; he knew what he should do and actually cared enough to try. It wouldn’t always be that way.

It was early September when Harry saw his first Unforgivable Curse, not including the one sent at him when he was a baby. Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody showed it to them in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He showed all three of them, actually. In fact, Harry was in such awe of the curses, he didn’t care when Moody singled him out in class. Mentioning ‘The Boy Who Lived’ when talking about the Killing Curse was apparently too good an opportunity to miss.

Harry watched enraptured as Mad-Eye cast Imperio on a spider. His eyes tracked the spider’s unwilling movements around the room as Moody made it do whatever he wanted. He was controlling another being’s mind; Harry had to forcibly stop his jaw from slackening in awe. Harry wanted to try that. He felt like a kid in Disney World. Everything was new and exciting and he wanted to try it all.

The Cruciatus Curse was next. Harry watched as the spider writhed on the front desk and fought to keep the smile off his face. He could do that. He could do that to Uncle Vernon. And, oh, what sweet revenge that would be.

Finally, it was the Killing Curse. The tug in Harry’s gut was tearing at him now, his head and his heart mimicked the feeling, being in such close proximity to dark magic made him want to use it more. More than he ever had. He jumped with the rest of the class when Moody delivered the final blow and the spider lay dead in his hands.

A few weeks later, Harry got an up close and personal experience with the Imperius Curse. In another Defence lesson, Moody decided that to properly prepare them for the world of unforgivable Curses, he had to use one on them. Of course that wasn’t particularly ethical; they are illegal for a reason. But moody couldn’t crucio a student, and he definitely couldn’t kill one, so he settled with ruling their minds for a few minutes.

Harry managed to throw it off.

This time, though, the dark magic felt different to when he used it. It was restricting and oppressing, rather than liberating and thrilling. His mind had buckled beneath the weight of the curse, his limbs had felt heavy and sluggish, his thoughts were not his own and he didn’t like it. It had been suffocating him. He let his rage at the spell build in his mind, laying the anger like a wall and pushing the curse upwards and out until he was free.

It was after this lesson that his use of dark magic increased dramatically. The intervals between his visits to the Forbidden Forest became shorter as time wore on. The cravings grew stronger and stronger. He couldn’t concentrate in class, he wasn’t doing his homework or if he did, it was to such a poor standard that the teachers didn’t even bother reading it and just failed him straight off.

Professor Severus Snape was one such teacher. The Potter Brat had been an irritant since his first day and it had just gotten worse over the years. But this? This was unacceptable. He growled down at the boy’s latest essay, if you could call it that. It was little more than two paragraphs of utter nonsense and illegible scribbles.

Detentions hadn’t gotten any of the teachers anywhere, there was never any guarantee that Harry would actually turn up, and with so many detentions he had received and missed, rescheduling them was becoming something of a problem. At the rate he was going, he’d have detentions into his fifth year by November. But the boy did not seem to care and it was frustrating his poor professors to no end.

Snape contemplated what to do with the boy. Surely this was just a pathetic bid for attention. He should pay it no heed, no matter how annoying the brat was getting, he would not give him the satisfaction of paying him any of the attention it seemed he so desired.

He lent back in his chair and rubbed his temples. He thought he had decided on the matter. He would not indulge the Potter brat. But he had promised Lily he would keep the boy safe, and for his own sanity he needed to do something for the boy.

He stood from his chair and walked to the Great Hall. Breakfast was an unusual time of the day. Students came and went in small trickles, but all of them did come and go. Lunch and dinner were different, most of the students tended to be in all at once.

Snape wouldn’t say that he came to breakfast as early as possible, but he was there before most students, and did stay until the very last minute. So unless he was mistaken, Potter had not shown up for breakfast for over a month at least, unless he’d suddenly started getting up at 6 a.m.

Snape moved his gaze to the Gryffindor table. Ron Weasley and Hermione granger were happily chatting away. They seemed not to notice the absence of their best friend. Or maybe they didn’t care, Snape mused, maybe Potter was not as popular as he had thought the boy was.

He nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast and stared down at students who had done particularly badly on their latest potions essay. A sort of forewarning, he thought. Potter still had not turned up by the end of the meal so Snape moved on and went to his first class of the day.

This would not be the end of it.

Harry was in the Great Hall when Headmaster announced the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students’ arrival within the next few days for the TriWizard Tournament.

Harry, however, wasn’t there when the students made their grand arrivals. Hermione confronted him that night.

“You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you?”

Harry lifted his head from the book he was reading, one he’d had to sneak out of the Restricted Section. He arched an eyebrow at her briefly and then turned back to the book.

“Harry!” Hermione stepped in front of him, effectively blocking the light he was using to read. He growled quietly under his breath and snapped the book shut. He was just getting into some interesting theory that tied his emotions to the strength of his magic, especially negative emotions.

“What, Hermione?” He snapped. He looked up to glare at her but she didn’t back down. She folded her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been missing breakfast, you’re barely doing your homework, and Ron’s told me you’ve been sneaking out of bed. I thought that it must be something to do with the Dementor attack and that it would wear off soon, but obviously I was wrong, the attack was nearly two months ago and you’re nothing like yourself. You’re getting into trouble, Harry, you’re education is-“

“Leave off, Hermione! You don’t know anything!” Harry shouted and stood up. Hermione didn’t back away.

“Harry, please, listen to me. I just want to help.”

“Well you’re not helping so leave me alone.” Harry pushed his way past Hermione. She stumbled to the side and used her hand to brace herself against the wall of the Gryffindor common room. She righted herself and glared furiously at Harry’s back.

“At least I’m trying! If you would just talk about it, Harry, just tell someone what’s going on, they might be able to help.” She persisted.

“I don’t need help! I’m perfectly fine, Hermione. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“I’d be much more inclined to believe that if you weren’t shouting.” Harry froze and spun on his heel. He stalked up to where Hermione stood at the other side of the room. He was so close to her face that their noses almost touched. He looked her dead in the eye and spoke in a low voice.

“There is nothing wrong with me.” He hissed at her. “And I swear to Merlin, Hermione, if you don’t drop this right now there will be consequences.” Harry turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the portrait hole.

Hermione stood frozen in place, reeling from her best friend’s rejection. She was only trying to help. She was worried about him. But if he wasn’t going to accept her help, she wasn’t going to offer it anymore. He could screw his education over for all she cared, she told herself firmly. But that wasn’t really true and she knew it.

Hermione’s summer had been much like ever summer before that. She’d gone on a small holiday with her parents, bought a new statue as a memento, and written letters to Harry and Ron about what she was doing. Ron was the only one to reply, of course, with Harry’s muggle relatives hating all things wizard it was difficult for him to do anything remotely related to this world, even something as simple as sending a letter.

Hermione had guesses about Harry’s home life, but she’d never plucked up the nerve to ask him about it. She’d often debated the pros and cons of going to McGonagall with her thoughts, but didn’t want to risk losing Harry’s trust, and, really, who would believe that the saviour pf the wizarding world could possibly have been abused? It was almost laughable for most wizards to think that tea by who was powerful enough to beat the Dark Lord could have an anything but perfect life with his guardians worshipping the ground he walked on.

She shook her head. Harry had changed over the summer and she couldn’t ignore it anymore, even if she wanted to. With all her theories about Harry and all her wondering about if she should do anything about it, she’d never really wanted to. And she could make up all the excuses she wanted about the Wizarding World finding it laughable, but really she just didn’t want it to be true.

She forced her body to move in the direction her brain knew she had to go; Professor McGonagall’s office. On the first floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, the office had a view of the training grounds below.

As luck would have it, McGonagall was on her way to her office as the same time as Hermione was.

“Miss Granger?” Her Scottish accent cut through the silence of the hallway. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Professor, I need to talk to you about Harry.” Hermione ventured. McGonagall looked down at her for a moment before nodding.

“Very well, Miss Granger, follow me into my office.” McGonagall sat behind her desk and looked towards Hermione. “Now, what is it that is concerning you about Mr Potter?”

“Well, Professor,” Hermione let out a breath. “It’s just that he’s been acting differently.”

“I have noticed, Miss Granger.” McGonagall said sharply.

“Only, I don’t think things are quite right.” Hermione continued. McGonagall raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘obviously’. “At home, I mean.” Hermione pressed.

“What concerns are you having about Mr Potter’s home life?”

“I… I think you know what I mean, Professor. Harry admits that his relatives don’t like him, and he never goes home unless he has to. But I think that maybe it goes beyond dislike, Professor.” Hermione looked at her professor meaningfully.

“Right, miss Granger, thank you. But I assure you that Harry is perfectly safe and cared for at home. Professor Dumbledore himself has assured me and other staff of that fact.”

“But, Professor, with all due respect, there is something wrong with Harry.” Hermione insisted. McGonagall looked as if she was about to rub her temples to fight off her latest migraine caused by this exact topic of conversation.

“I am well aware of Mr Potter’s latest behaviour, Miss Granger, but I assure you, there is nothing untoward going on at home.”

“But, Professor, surely you see that Harry-“

“Should not be your main priority, Miss Granger. If you spend too much time worrying about your friend, your grades will drop too, and that, I’m sure, is not something I think you want, or am I wrong?”

“Of course not, Professor, but-“

“If that is everything, Miss Granger, then I must ask you to leave. I have work to be getting on with.”

“But-“ McGonagall looked sharply at Hermione who in turn turned her head to the ground. “Yes, thank you professor.”

Hermione left the room and completely forgot why she was there in the first place.

Harry missed the breakfast the next morning in which the Headmaster unveiled the Goblet of Fire; he was sleeping off his latest adventure.

He was moving onto more powerful spells, ones that took more energy out of him than he thought they would. He knew he would get better with practice. Stamina, he told himself, I need to build up my stamina so I can have the feeling for longer. I can be free.

Harry rolled out of bed about ten minutes before his first lesson. He’d met a banshee in the forest last night. She’d been about to scream when he’d thrown some dark magic around. It seemed that, in sensing a creature of her own roots, her scream had halted in her throat. She had nodded to Harry and contorted her face into some grotesque version of a smile. Harry had never been happier. The banshee had bowed to him before leaving.

He moved around the room slowly, picking up the things he would need for the day, but missing most of them. His uniform was put on haphazardly. His tie was crooked and his shirt was half tucked in and half out. His hair was a matted mess and he wore odd socks.

He stumbled his way down to potions just before he had to be there. He was the last to arrive, but he wasn’t late. But that’s not what you would’ve thought if you’d been there to see Snape’s face when he arrived.

The Professor’s usual scowl was even worse. He snarled as the students passed him and into the classroom. He stuck his hand out just as Harry was about to enter. Harry ran into the hand before he noticed that it was there. He turned his head upwards to face his professor.

Snape was not a pleasant man at the best of times, he would freely admit that, the events of his life had hardened him and it was a rare occasion when the man would be truly happy and content. This was not one such time.

The night before, Snape had been marking his fourth years’ essays on proper conduction in a potions lab. He had gotten almost three quarters of the way through before he came to Potter’s. What he read made him growl under his breath and almost rip of the parchment onto which it was written.

When in a potions lab, Potter had started with his usual chicken scrawl, one should completely ignore the greasy haired bat of the dungeon. He is a bad tempered, ill-mannered git who should keep his abnormally large nose out of his arse and-

Snape had stopped reading then. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to storm up to Gryffindor tower there and then and reprimand the boy within an inch of his life.  Instead, he had settled with burning the parchment- after making a copy for future reference, if it was ever needed- not quite as satisfying, but it would do.

Then he had been called by Albus about the boy he was imagining killing in many creative ways. Minerva was worried, Albus said.

Miss Granger has expressed concern about Harry’s behaviour, he told Snape.

It is obvious that detentions are having no effect on the boy, Albus had continued.

I fear there is something else at play.

The words rang in Severus’s mind as he looked down at the boy who was rather small for his age.

I wondered if you could talk to him, Severus. Snape had snorted. He could try but he was sure that the boy wouldn’t listen to him, not at all. But Severus owed the headmaster a debt, and he had made a promise to Lily. He had also already decided that the Potter brat needed dealing with, but he wasn’t going to tell the meddling old coot that. He’d been trying to get Severus and the boy to get along for three long years. It had yet to work.

Harry tried to look his professor in the eye, but Severus was avoiding those eyes. Lily’s eyes.

I’ll talk to the boy, Severus had drawled, but I fail to see what good it will do. Dumbledore had merely smiled and offered the man a lemon drop. He had declined, of course, like he always did, and bade the Headmaster good night.

“You will stay after class, Mister Potter.” Snape said curtly. “I need to discuss your latest essay with you.”

If Snape was not mistaken, the boy rolled his eyes before he walked into the room. He was tempted to say something about it, deduct house points really, but he let it slide for now.

Harry didn’t answer the professor’s request, more like a command if Harry really thought about it, but strode into the classroom to his seat. He didn’t pay attention to the lesson.

After meeting the banshee the night before, Harry had started thinking more and more about the dark creatures hidden in the Forbidden Forest. Would they all sense his magic? Bow to him like the banshee had? Even the thought sent a shiver of excitement through him. He could have all that power. Not only his own, but he could control the dark creatures too.

Was controlling dark creatures even possible?

Harry didn’t know, but he was willing to find out. If it meant more power, more of that amazing feeing he got when he was his magic for dark purposes, he was definitely going to look into it. He needed to head to the library.

He’d been practicing his imperio on spiders and other animals he could get his hands on. He had even tried it on Crookshanks and Hedwig. The bigger the animal, the harder he had found it. He had wondered, briefly, about whether or not the Ministry could tack the spells his wand was casting. He’d found a simple way around that.

The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was destroyed, he knew that. But during school hours, before curfew, he had needed to find a place he could practice and not risk being seen.

He had found another way into the Chamber. Or something like it.

Down in the dungeons, a portrait hung in a seldom tread corridor. A woman with a large snake was depicted in it, holding a staff, with long black hair and sharp emerald eyes. Her face was elegant, regal looking, even. She held herself like a queen and she certainly looked like she could be one. She was painted in a dark green dress, one that touched the floor and had a necklace to match. She did not move like most portraits did, but she had an aura of power emanating from every stroke of the brush it took to create her. Inscribed on the frame was a short sentence

She, who holds the power, opens the door.

Harry had loved that. Power opens doors. So, so many doors. He had hissed the words back at the portrait, reading the parseltounge out loud. The portrait had swung open and into a potions laboratory. It immediately snapped shut behind him.

He had explored for a long time, missed lunch and his next lesson, but it had been worth it.

He had seen books on al walls, their pages delicate and yellowed with age, all painstakingly handwritten by Salazar himself. This was his private study, Harry realised. He looked to the open book on the desk. Dust had collected around and on top of it; it seemed that Tom Riddle had not found this place when he had found the Chamber.

The page was not dated, but it had surely been the last thing that Salazar had written.

I have warded my private study, Godric cannot find me here. Nor can he trace my magic. The fool has been warning me for years that he will find a way to take revenge for what I did. I have merely laughed at him in the past; he could not trace my magic. He had no way of knowing the spells I had performed.

He does now.

I am endeavouring to create my own spell, one that will hide my activities from him. I think I have created one that works. If it does not, I will write more in this journal until it does. If it has worked, then this is goodbye, and I hope whoever is reading this in years to come, will take my knowledge and use it, but keep it hidden. It is to be kept strictly within the family.

Then the journal stopped. The cloaking spell had worked. Harry had desperately thumbed through the pages of the book, trying to find this spell. His eyes settled on a parseltoungue inscription on the front cover. He smiled to himself. That was it. That was the spell he needed.

He cast it on his wand, as the instructions stated. Touching the tip of the wand with his right forefinger and making sure his eyes never moved from the wand. His eyes had flashed the same emerald green as the woman’s in the portrait, but he didn’t see it. He lifted the wand once he was done and inspected it.

Nothing had changed. The wand appeared the same.

He cast a spell. The wand acted the same. He had no choice but to trust the magic had worked.

He had run his fingers over the bookshelves and was surprised to find that he could sense pure, raw power seeping from the pages as he touched them. The value these word hold must be astounding. His eyes had settled on a book simply labelled 1, and he had taken it out to begin reading.

The school is thriving. The first line had read. The pureboods are excelling in every way; my house will surely win the end of year cup. Harry’s eyes widened at the realisation of what he was reading. Most historians would kill to get their hands on a book pertaining to Hogwarts’s early days, even one that was going to be biased. But harry was the only one with access. He felt the same shiver run through him he had felt so many times before. It was yet more power, not necessarily dark magic power, but power none the less, and that was what had Harry hooked.

Helga’s lot aren’t so bad, the journal continued, Rowena’s, the insufferable know-it-all lot, are a cause of constant headaches, but it is Godric’s lot that make me grind my teeth at night. There is a fine line between bravery and recklessness, and this lot really know how to cross it. They think it brave to stand on the edge of the school’s highest tower, just to prove that they can. One of those imbeciles could quite easily fall to their deaths. Of course, some losses in such a way would not be as bad as others.

Harry had stopped reading there. Even he realised that he was really crossing a line in missing a lesson. He slid the book into his bag, intent on reading more whenever he got the chance. He crossed the thresh hold and his bag flew off his shoulder.

He had frowned and walked back in to get it. He left again and the same thing happened, only this time the journal slipped out.

The place is warded, Harry had thought, I can’t take any of the books out. With that in mind, Harry placed the book on the desk, open at the page he left it, and hurried away to his next lesson.

The lesson ended without Harry’s knowledge and he stayed seated as the rest of the students filed out.

“Mister Potter.” Snape spoke from behind him. Harry almost jumped. “Was the lesson not interesting enough for you? Or do you believe yourself of such an incredible intelligence that you do not need to make notes?”

Harry stood and glared at the Professor.

“You wanted to talk to me about my last essay.” Harry stated. “Was there something wrong with it?” He asked innocently.

“You know very well what was wrong with it.” Snape drawled at the boy. “But that is not all I wish to discuss.”

“Then with all due respect, Professor,” Harry’s tone was one of sarcasm. “If I already know what was wrong with my essay, why am I here? And if you want to discuss something else with me, I suggest you schedule an appointment. I’m a very busy man, so many detentions to miss, but I’ll try to squeeze you in, Professor. You’re very special to me.” Harry had been moving away as he spoke. He stood at the door and placed a hand on his heart in a mocking gesture. He gave a half-hearted wave as he left the room.

Harry barely made it to dinner that night. He had been caught up in the next entry of Salazar’s journal. It spoke of an incident in one of his potions lessons. A Ravenclaw student, thinking they knew more than the professor, decided to change the order in which he added his ingredients to ‘increase the function of the potion’, in the boy’s words.

Needless to say, it did not work as intended. Instead, the potion had blown up in the boy’s face and he’s spent the next two weeks in the hospital wing.

Harry was reminded of Neville when he read that.

Harry arrived just about as late as he could, without ever actually being late, as was the norm with him recently. Hermione had saved him a seat but he chose to side onto the end of the bench instead. Hermione pretended that she wasn’t looking at him when he did o. She pretended that she wasn’t hurt too.

Ron nudged her to face him and muttered something that Harry couldn’t hear from so far away. Hermione seemed to nod in acceptance and turned to face the front of the room.

“Not long ago, you were told of the TriWizard tournament, how you may enter, and what it entails.” Dumbledore’s voice rolled over the students in the hall. A whisper of excitement passed over the hall at the statement. A short wave from the elderly headmaster gained silence again. “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the champion selection!” He finished with a flourish of his hand.

The flames changed from blue to red as the first champion was about to be announced. Harry looked on and wondered if he could create fire like that and use it to burn down the Dursley’s home once he’s left. He smiled to himself and decided that he would have to do more reading on the subject, maybe there would be something in Salazar’s study.

The Goblet spat out a piece of paper which the headmaster caught deftly in one hand. His eyes scanned over the paper and then looked up.

“The Durmstrang Champion,” He announced, “Is Viktor Krum!” Cheers rose from the area the Durmstrang students had situated themselves. A tall, broad shouldered boy rose from the see of students and made his way down to where Dumbledore waited to shake his hand.

Harry wondered idly if Krum knew any dark magic, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Igor Karkaroff was known to be an ex death eater, he surely would have passed some knowledge onto his students. Maybe he would pass some on to Harry if he asked.

Harry was itching with anticipation to read the next part of Salazar’s journal, he was just getting onto his own magical theories, when the next Champion was called; Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons.

A skinny girl with long, blonde hair stood from the table that has housing the girls from Beauxbatons. Her fellow classmates were clapping politely and smiling at her as she walked past.

Cedric Diggory was called up as the Hogwarts Champion. A roar ran through the Great Hall and Harry stood to leave. He was not a part of the tournament and, therefore, he didn’t care about it. But if he were… think of the power that could give him, being the first TriWizard Champion in so many years… and so young. The thought had Harry almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was sure there would be some books down in the study that he could use to help him defeat the other students, he just knew it. And to have that power over them as well, and no one would be any the wiser. His wand was cloaked and most of Salazar’s spells had either never been published or were long forgotten, no one would even realise that the magic he was performing was even dark.

Oh yes, Harry thought, that would be amazing.

Harry was about a foot away from the door when he heard his name called. His mouth dried up, had he just done that? Wanted to be a Champion so badly that his magic had made him one? No, he shook his head, impossible. His magic wasn’t that powerful yet and he knew it. This hadn’t been him.

He suddenly felt every eye in the room on his back. He shuddered. This was power, yes, holding everyone’s attention, but it was not his power. Not the power he wanted.

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore shouted. Harry spun slowly on his heel and cocked his head at the Headmaster. Dumbledore waved him forward and Harry’s thoughts were a whirring mess.

Power, glory, fame, dark magic, they’ll see, power, they’ll lock me up, power, they’ll call me the next Dark Lord, power, fear, dark and powerful, power, power, POWER!

The last raging thought jarred him back to reality. This was his addiction, the dark, the power, this was what he knew. This was all he knew.

Dumbledore ushered him through a door in the back of the hall. Harry let himself be led and, in a daze, stumbled through the door. He had never seen such vicious looks of hatred in his life. Krum looked as if he was about ready to rip Harry’s head from his shoulders, Fleur’s face was pinched in anger and her fists clenched at her sides. Cedric just looked confused.

Harry vaguely recalled the first time he had upset his Uncle Vernon. The first time he could remember, anyway. He never thought someone’s face could be scarier than Vernon’s had been then.

He was wrong.

He couldn’t quite remember what he had done, but he thought it had something to do with cooking. He was about the right age for his aunt to have been teaching him to cook and he was likely to have been making mistakes around that time.

It had been Aunt Petunia’s birthday. She had decided that she didn’t want to cook and Vernon was useless as a chef and cheap to boot. She wasn’t going to be going out for a meal. So it had been left to Harry to figure out.

He had been halfway through making a cake when it happened. A bird had flown through the open window and startled the young boy beating cake batter into dropping the bowl. I had fallen to the floor and smashed, the batter pooling on the floor and creating a sticky mess. Vernon had rushed in at the sound, his face already an alarming shade of red. Harry had frozen in terror. Vernon moved forwards, he’d had Harry pinned against the kitchen countertop before the boy had even realised that he had moved. Harry had jolted when he felt his back touch the edge and stared up wide eyed at his uncle.

“I-I-I’m s-s-so-orr-orry, u-un-cle Ver-Vernon.” He had stuttered out.

“Sorry?” Vernon had almost screeched. “You’re sorry, boy? After all we’ve done for you, you’re just ‘sorry’?” Harry saw Vernon reach for whatever blunt object it was that had been within his reach.

Harry launched himself out of the memory; he didn’t want to go any further. He noticed Dumbledore walk calmly into the room, only to be greeted with angry shouts. Harry moved himself into a corner. He could shut them all up, he knew he could. He could shut them all up, permanently. He knew the right cure to cut out their tongues; he wouldn’t find it particularly strenuous in any way. He’d already tried it on one of the school owls, he’d cut its beak right off with the spell. He didn’t know what had happened to the poor owl after that, but nor did he care enough to find out. 

“Harry,” he heard the Headmaster say to him, “did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“No, sir.” Harry answered.

“Of course he didn’t, you fools.” Snape said suddenly. “The boy wasn’t in the Great Hall for the announcement; I doubt he even has a clue as to what you had to do to enter.” He sounded bored as he inwardly cursed himself for feeling sentiment toward the boy stood in front of him.

Snape had kept a particular eye out for Potter at breakfast that morning, as he had every morning since he’d noted the boy’s unusual absence and behaviour. He knew that the boy was already underweight, or close to it, at any rate. But Severus had always put it down to his small size. His hatred for the boy’s father and his love for Lily had prevented him from suspecting anything might be amiss at home, even with what he knew about Petunia and her petty jealousy.

Karkaroff faced Snape.

“The boy did not have to be in the room to have been able to find out how he could enter himself.” Igor spat.

“Well, ‘Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two Champions. It is not in the rules. I demand a second Champion.” Madame Maxine said in heavily accented English.

Harry zoned out as the adults in the room spoke. He’d felt the magic coming out of that thing, there would be no way for him to get out of the tournament. He didn’t mind. He thought he’d actually quite enjoy being involved. He could try out some of his new spells, and when he was asked about them he could claim it was instinct, like accidental magic, he was just desperate to protect himself. They might want to check his wand, but they wouldn’t find anything, all his dark magic was cloaked and hidden, nothing could find it. It was just another show of the power he had. Even the thought of it now brought on cravings to use it again. He wanted the power, he needed the power, and he was going to use the power just as soon as he got away from these imbeciles.

Harry filed out after the other three Champions. He kept his head down and stayed at the back of the pack as they spoke about the upcoming competition. Krum was loud and obnoxious, making bod statements about how he was going to win and bring glory to his school. Fleur held her head high and seemed to look down at the other competitors. She didn’t think they had a chance, she had the finest education in Europe, in her opinion, and these boys weren’t going to show her up. Cedric was quietly confident, he knew these other Champions had different schooling and may know things that he didn’t, but he wasn’t going to let that get him down. He would try his best to try to win and his was almost 100% sure that he could.

“Mister Potter.” Harry ignored his drawled name from the Potions Master and kept walking, right into the back of Cedric Diggory. Harry took a few steps back, instinctively getting out of striking range, and turned to face the Professor.

Snape’s face was half lit by a small candle in the corridor; it made him look more intimidating than usual. Harry suppressed a nervous gulp, his mood changing from blissful to terrified in a matter of seconds.

Snape inclined his head at the boy. He was pale and sweating. He didn’t think Potter knew about how he looked because the boy was acting perfectly healthy. He hadn’t stumbled down the corridor; he hadn’t swayed or clutched at something as if he was in pain. Snape frowned.

“I need a word.” He said. Harry looked slightly panicked for a second. No! He thought. I need to get away; I need to use my magic! I want to use my magic! Leave me alone!

“Professor, it’s nearly curfew I-“

“Can come with a teacher.” Snape glared down at the boy, he wasn’t going to allow him to get out of it. Harry hung his head and shifted from foot to foot.

“But I was awake early today, Professor, I’m really tired. I-“

“Missed breakfast.” Snape finished. “So how is it you were up so early,” he drawled, “and yet you missed the most important meal of the day?” Harry stayed silent. “Come with me, Mister Potter.”

As Snape led the way to his office, Harry noticed the corridor that would have led him to Salazar’s private office. If he could sprint fast enough and get down there, maybe he could get in before Snape saw him and lose him. Then he could practice his magic and stay in there all night, because surely Snape would wait all night for him to come out of a hiding place. The moment passed and they moved closer to Snape’s office.

Snape hadn’t missed the way that Harry’s eyes had lingered on the entrance to a corridor for longer than was normal.  He wondered why the boy would be so interested in that corridor, it only led to a dead end, and what the boy could possibly have been doing in the dungeons to even know that corridor at all. Most students just pass it without ever noticing it was there. Snape had come to assume that there was some sort of notice-me-not charm placed on the entrance. Snape filed it away to ask the boy about later.

Harry had become paler on their walk. He was bouncing with pent up energy that he needed to use. He was desperately clawing his control over his magic back and he was slowly losing the battle. Thoughts of dark magic overwhelmed his mind. The power and the freedom were begging to be realised once again. He didn’t know how long he could keep this control up. He hadn’t gone this long without using it for nearly a week now, and it was showing much more than he would have thought.

He knew about muggle drugs, bout how people get addicted to them, but this wasn’t the same thing, he assured himself. I’m not addicted to dark magic, I just like it. He thought.

“Sit, Mister Potter.” Snape inclined his head to the hair in front of his desk, indicating that should be the one Harry sat in. Harry sat and squirmed under the glare of the potions professor. The urge to cast bubbled up inside him. Silence hung in the room as Snape moved behind the desk but remained standing.

“You are aware, Mister Potter,” he loomed over the small boy, “of the… atrocity that is your current school work, am I correct?”

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort. Maybe of he let Snape say his piece, yell at him, whatever he wanted to do, he would let Harry go sooner. He lowered his head in an attempt to show submission, anything to make Snape let him go sooner.

“Do you think you are exempt from your studies? The great and powerful Harry Potter.” Snape’s voice was laced with sarcasm and contempt. “Are you too good for homework, Mister Potter, is that it? Are you so incredibly talented that you do not need an education?” Snape raised an eyebrow but Harry kept his head down. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!” He almost yelled. “What thought is running through that imbecilic head of yours that you put your name in the Goblet of Fire? Do you have a death wish?” Harry shuffled his feet under the table. He wasn’t going to bother arguing that he hadn’t done it, that he didn’t know it existed until a few minutes ago. Snape had already said it, though it didn’t seem that he had thought it was the truth when he had.

Harry pondered the thought that he had a death wish for a minute. It was entirely possible, he thought, that he had a subconscious desire to die. He’d gone after Quirrel alone in first year, faced a basilisk alone, again, in second year, and tried to free a possible mass murderer only to find the real murderer in third. So really, he shouldn’t be surprised he’d ended up a Hogwarts Champion, it seemed to fit with his track record. And home, if you could call it that, was not the happiest of places for Harry. He wasn’t thinking that he’d ever try it purposefully, but he had to admit, he might not jump out of the way if a car came hurtling at him.

“Are you listening to me?” Snape hissed. Harry wondered if the man had been talking while he was thinking. He assumed that yes he had, if the look on his face was anything to go by. “I have half a mind to have you expelled; Merlin knows you’ve done enough to deserve it.” Harry jolted then. No, no, no, you can’t expel me! He shouted at Snape mentally. “I fear that, if you were in my house, I would have expelled you years ago for that dreadful flying car incident.” Harry fought against the physical reaction that as trying to break through the surface. He hadn’t used magic and now his body was restless, it needed to do something, even if that something was punching the teacher who could, and would, expel him given half the chance. If Snape ever found out he was using dark magic… he could shudder at the thought. If Snape ever found out, there would be no more magic at all for him. That couldn’t happen.

“I am listening, Professor. You’re right, I have a death wish. I’m arrogant and selfish, can I go now?” Harry said monotonously.

Snape stared at the boy. He was still as pale as he had been on the way down, but he seemed to have stopped sweating. Snape pondered the implications. It could be an addiction; he’d seen it in students before. Pale, sweating, not doing their homework- they were all tell-tale signs that something was wrong. But, he thought, where would Potter, of all people, be getting the drugs? There was a strict control on substances in the school. Anyone even remotely suspected of selling anything illegal immediately had their belongings searched and were expelled should anything be found.  So even if someone has been slipping under the radar, Potter’s status as ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’, ‘Golden Boy’, and knowing he was close to Dumbledore, would easily have warded anyone off offering him anything. He spent all his time in the Wizarding World in the castle and trips into Hogsmead were heavily regulated and Potter had never gone anywhere during those trips without Miss Granger or Mister Weasley by his side. He doubted either of them would let the boy throw his life away with drugs. That only let muggle drugs. It was the only other explanation Severus could come up with at that point. Harry must have got his hands on some during the summer, used his ungodly amount of money to buy a stash, and brought it to Hogwarts with him. With that conclusion firmly set in mind, he spoke to the boy again.

“No, Mister Potter, you may not. You are to remain here while I fetch the Headmaster and a potion for you to take. You will not move from that exact spot. Do I make myself clear?”

“Professor, I have classes in the morning-“

“You will be excused.” Snape informed him.

“I have homework-” Harry tried to start before Snape cut him off again.

“That hasn’t been a concern for a while now. I’m sure you won’t mind missing another piece.” His gaze lowered until Harry felt it burning holes through his skull. He shifted under the gaze, uncomfortable with the amount of scrutiny the potions master was putting him under.

“Why do you need a potion, sir?” Harry asked as he watched the man walk towards the fireplace in the office, presumably to fire call Dumbledore. Snape ignored the question and called for the Headmaster.

Harry sat in the silence of the room. What could Snape possibly need a potion for? Was it for Harry? But what kind of potion would he need? He hadn’t been injured or sick. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing that the potions master should know about at any rate. The man hated his guts and Harry was hardly about to let the man find out about what happened when he left for the summer. No, he decided, if Snape had something solid he wouldn’t need a potion or the Headmaster, he could go straight to the Ministry and have me removed from their care and… Harry forced the thought to end. Who was he kidding? Snape would probably think that the Dursley’s were right. He was a brat, and an ungrateful freak one at that. Snape would have absolutely no reason to even attempt to do something about the situation. But that possibility, now it had been put in his mind, was stuck there. He wanted out. Screw waiting until he was old enough for revenge. He wanted out and he wanted out right now.

“Before the Headmaster arrives, is there something you wish to say? Something to explain your behaviour?”

“No, sir.” Harry wasn’t going to give the man anything. He was going to keep his mouth shut until he knew exactly what Snape thought he knew, and he would take it from there.

Snape murmured something that sounded suspiciously like ‘damn Gryffindor brats’ and moved to his supply room. He pulled a phial from a shelf. It was filled with a dark green liquid with a consistency similar to washing up liquid. Harry recoiled at the sight. He’d swallowed washing up liquid before and it hadn’t been a nice occasion. Albus came through the fire place.

The Headmaster looked older than Harry had ever seen him. His wrinkles seemed more pronounced and his eyes lacked their usual sparkle. He looked tired. He looked between his student and his teacher. He caught sight of the small glass bottle in Severus’s hand and shook his head in disbelief.

“Severus, my boy, you can’t honestly be thinking that Harry would…” Dumbledore trailed off, seemingly reluctant to say the world lest it turn out to be true.

“That is exactly what I’m thinking.” Snape confirmed with a sharp nod of his head.

“But the precautions, the spells, it would be next to impossible without our knowledge.” Dumbledore tried to press. He couldn’t have Severus doing this and being right. It would mess everything up. If Severus did this, he doubted that even his hatred of James Potter would get in the way of him caring about the boy, especially if he delved deeper into the situation and looked into Harry’s home life… It couldn’t happen. Dumbledore couldn’t allow it, but by the time is mouth caught up with his brain, Snape had already given the potion to the short, fourth year Gryffindor boy.

Harry was holding it by his fingertips, as far away from his body as he could. He didn’t know what the potion did. Could it be to reveal someone who had been using dark magic? Or was it something else? And if it did reveal dark magic, how new was it? Was it possible that Salazar’s charm wouldn’t be enough to hide his magic? If it was new and something Salazar hadn’t factored into his protective spells then it was a possibility that they could find out.

“What…” Harry swallowed, his nerves creeping up his spine and affecting his ability to speak. “What is it?” Snape loomed over Harry.

“It is a potion, and it will tell us whether or not you are… introducing substances into your body that you shouldn’t.”

Harry replayed the words in his head a few times before he realised what Snape was insinuating. He could have laughed with relief, if it wouldn’t have made him look suspicious.

“You think I’m taking drugs?” He spluttered. Snape just stared at him silently and Dumbledore turned away. “No way!” Harry looked between the two. “Seriously?”

“Take the potion, Mister Potter.” Harry shrugged and swallowed it. It did, in fact, remind him of the time he swallowed washing up liquid, only this didn’t have quite as bitter a taste to it. Actually, it was quite sweet. He swallowed again to try get rid of the feeling of it being stuck in his throat. The faster he got this over with and proved them wrong, the faster he could go to Salazar’s study and read some more, practice some more, and finally, finally, get rid of this restless desperation that was building inside of him.

Minutes passed.

Snape frowned. Nothing was happening. Each potion was linked to a specific piece of parchment in his desk drawer, and the one linked to this potion remained blank. He had been so sure; he’d wanted it to be true, if he was honest. At least if it was, he could have done something about it, could have saved Lily’s son from himself, could have made sure that the last living piece of her didn’t come to unnecessary harm. Now he had nothing. No ideas, no way of finding out what the boy was doing, and with the TriWizard tournament added into the mix, Snape already had a lot of things on his plate to protect the boy from, he did not need an invisible enemy such as the one he was facing.

Dumbledore smiled to himself. He was relieved nothing had come of the test, but it concerned him that Severus was so desperate to help the boy. That would not do. He knew exactly what the boy was doing and he had been the one to push him towards it. If the child was ever going to defeat Voldemort again, as the prophecy said he would, Dumbledore needed him to be as powerful as possible.

“I have said before, Severus, Harry has not changed. He is just acting as he should. I’m surprised it didn’t come sooner, really, finding out that you’re a wizard and about his parents would be a shock to even the best of people. He is merely exploring his new found world, figuring out what it means, what he can and can’t do. We should leave him to it.”

Snape nearly growled at the Headmaster. He did not trust the man’s words or intentions towards Harry. He was training the boy up to being a weapon, Severus was almost sure of it.

“You may leave now, Harry, I’m sure you need to catch up on your sleep after such an exciting day. I hear your house mates have stayed up waiting for you.” Harry nodded and almost ran from the room, down his corridor and through the portrait. He didn’t read that night, he just practiced and cast and blew things up and let his rage take over.

He’d been angrier than usual, he hadn’t noticed, but the people around him had. They’d steered clear of him, mostly, because it seemed as if Harry always had a thunderstorm brewing around him and it was just waiting for the right target to rain down on.

That target just so happened to be Ronald Wealsey.

After trying to perform a particularly tiring spell for the first time, harry had called it a night and gone back to the common room earlier than he had intended. Half the dorm was waiting up for him.

“I don’t know whether you’re insane, or just that desperate for attention that you’d do it.” Ron had said when Harry walked into the room.

“Ron!” Hermione had hissed at him and slapped his shoulder.

“I didn’t put my name in the Goblet, Ron.” Harry had tried to push his way past the crowd in the common room. They weren’t budging. Harry growled under his breath. He was tired. He just wanted sleep, and now he knew Snape was on his ass looking for some sort of addiction, he had to be careful.

“Oh yeah? Then how did it get in there?” Ron challenged. Harry snapped around on his heel and stormed over to Ron until he was as close as he could get and growled low and threateningly in his ear.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t me, and if I were you, I’d be really careful what you say to me.” Ron had the audacity to laugh at him. Harry made a move towards the stairs.

“Yeah, mate, I really believe you.” Ron had said. “And I’m Merlin’s one true heir.” He spat out. “What, exactly, are you planning to do to me if I’m not ‘careful’ what I say to you? You think being a Champion makes you something special? Well it doesn’t. You’re.” Ron took a step forward. “Nothing.” And another. He was closing the gap between himself and Harry that the latter had just created. “Special.”

Harry had felt the hot breath on the top of his head. He hated being so small. Ron towered over him in what he must have thought was an intimidating position to the younger boy. Before either boy knew what was happening, Harry threw a punch at Ron’s face. It hit and Ron went tumbling to the ground.

Looking in from the outside of the room, Hermione didn’t know which boy to help, which one deserved her loyalty, or if neither of them did. They were both acting like complete idiots at the moment. Ron shouldn’t have tried to confront Harry, it had been quite obvious that there was something going on, everyone had noticed and stayed clear; even Draco. But Harry shouldn’t be keeping secrets from his best friends. He should let them try to help. All Hermione had wanted to do was help but Harry had push her away.

Ron spat blood from his position on the floor but Harry didn’t look like he was going to back down any time soon. Fred and George had stepped in to hold Harry back from hitting their brother again. The git deserved it, they’d willingly admit it, but if their mum found out Ron had been hurt and they had done nothing to stop it… It would not end well for them.

“You’re a nutter.” Ron had said from the floor.

“Just stay away from me!” Harry threw himself out of the twins’ grasp and up to his room. He threw what little belongings he had out into his trunk and shrunk it, slipping it neatly into his pocket before heading back down.

He had heard the whispers as he walked down the corridor. They ceased as soon as he entered.

“Oh don’t mind me.” He had snapped bitterly. “I’m just leaving.” He all but ran through the portrait hole and sprinted towards the dungeons. He could stay in Salazar’s private study. His home, as he was coming to think of it, while dark and foreboding to some, was comfortable and safe to him. He hadn’t explored further than the main room yet, he’d seen the door running off to the other sides, he’d just been too busy enthralled in what was in the study area. He wouldn’t have to sneak out of Gryffindor tower anymore and he wouldn’t have to continuously look over his shoulder when he did so to make sure he was alone. As long as he was in there before curfew every night, he didn’t have to leave. He could remain in there for the foreseeable future. No one would know where to find him, he was the only person in the school who could pronounce the password, and there was nothing suspicious about there even being a secret room behind that painting. He’d read Hogwarts: A History and it never mentioned anything about the Founders having private studies or rooms. No. He suspected this was something only Salazar had.

Unbeknownst to the Gryffindor boy, Snape had put a spell on him to track his movements. There was something going on, and if it wasn’t drugs, then Severus was determined to find out exactly what it was. Even if it meant breaking his, admittedly rather flimsy, moral code, even if it meant spying on the boy.

The spell alerted him when Harry had entered his common room, and again when he’d gone up to bed, and again when he left both of those areas. But it had also alerted him to something else. He had watched Harry's footsteps after he’d left the office, and they had taken a turn down that same corridor he had seen Potter look down earlier. Then the footsteps had simply vanished. It wasn’t possible, Snape knew that, but it had happened. There was nothing down that corridor, he knew it, he’d looked down there enough to know that there wasn’t anything. He didn’t really know the purpose of building a corridor that didn’t lead to any classrooms, other than to house the portrait that sat at the end of it. That was another thing Snape didn’t understand. That portrait. It didn’t move and it wasn’t anyone he recognised from any history texts he’d read, and it surely was someone from a long time ago, and when he went searching for her he came up with nothing other than ‘a woman in green was often seen with the Founder, Salazar Slytherin, but her identity has never been confirmed’ the book had continued on without a second thought to the woman.

That night, Snape ventured down that corridor again to see if maybe there was something he’d missed. He wouldn’t accept that his spell hadn’t worked. His magical ability was almost flawless. He wouldn’t accept it until there was irrefutable evidence that it was true, and that meant following the boy down the corridor the next time the spell alerted him to movement.

He watched as Harry looked over his shoulder every so often to check that there was no one following him. Snape melted into the shadows and watched as Harry went down the corridor. He didn’t follow immediately, from what he had seen, the Gryffindor would be looking over his shoulder any second now, and it would not do for him to see Snape behind him or he’d never find out what it was that was down this corridor that had Harry acting so differently.

The corridor was fairly short so Snape could hear what was going on at the end of it. He heard hissing. He froze. Something about hissing always set him on edge, it was an ability the Dark Lord had, and Salazar Slytherin before that. It was viewed as a dark ability. Of course, everyone knew that Harry was a Parselmouth, but from what little Snape had gathered, the boy didn’t make a habit of using that particular ability.

Knowing that his focus was mostly likely solely on whatever it was he was talking to, Snape ventured further around the corner and down the hallway. He watched as the portrait swung open and allowed Harry to enter. He looked down at the parchment in his hand. The footsteps had disappeared. So whatever this room was, it was cloaked. Snape took a step closer and the portrait snapped shut. He would confront the boy about it when he left, Snape decided. Harry would have to leave at some point to return to his common room to get a change of clothes and his school books and it would have to be before his first lesson tomorrow.

Snape spent the night in his quarters with his thoughts whirring in his head about what it could possibly be in that corridor that had Harry so interested. It had to be something related to Slytherin, Snape had decided. There were no other notable Parselmouths who would have been able to insert such a room into Hogwarts without it being known. But it wasn’t Salazar’s chamber, which had already been found, by the same child who had found this, two years earlier. Private rooms, perhaps? Snape thought. But why would they be hidden and concealed in such a way, tucked away from history books and most likely the knowledge of the Headmaster? Unless it was something much more sinister. A dungeon, perhaps? A real dungeon? But what need would Salazar have had for a dungeon? Possibly a lot, Snape realised. They knew so little about the Founders except what they had chosen to reveal about themselves, it was possible, no, probable, that each of the Founders had things they had hidden. Deep dark secrets that remained in the family and only in the family.

Snape got very little sleep that night, and harry didn’t leave the corridor until he had to be at his first lesson so Snape hadn’t been able to corner the boy and interrogate him. But he would, that was certain, and when he did, he vowed to himself that he was going to get real answers. He wasn’t going to get pushed off by the Headmaster, he wasn’t even going to include the man in all of this. He didn’t trust Albus’s intentions.

With the promise of answers set firmly in his mind, he went about his day of teaching without once thinking about that damn portrait.

Harry had woken that morning on the most comfortable bed he had ever slept on. After close investigation of the study, he had discovered a bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and training room, fully equipped with blasting dummies and targets.

Harry had smiled for what felt like the first time. A truly, inexplicably happy smile that had him almost bouncing off the walls with glee. This was home. This was safe. He didn’t have to leave the rooms at all anymore, he realised. He had everything he needed. Except his classes. He needed to leave for those, but in all honesty, he was seriously contemplating just holing up in here for the rest of his life and letting his magic roam free. No one would find him, he’d never have to go back to the Dursley’s, and he wouldn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. Snape couldn’t spy on him, Dumbledore couldn’t try to control him, and Hermione wouldn’t be able to meddle in matters that were not hers to meddle in. In short, it was a safe haven for Harry now, and he didn’t want to leave.

He knew he would, though, because if he didn’t do what people were expecting of him, if he didn’t let them see that he was alive, there would be uproar. Saviour of the Wizarding World Kidnapped!

The Boy Who Lived Missing!

Hogwarts: Is it still safe?

He could see the headlines now. If Harry could go missing from the school, so could other students and parents would start withdrawing their children. There would also be a full scale man hunt for him that could involve spells and means that may break into his safe place. And, while he trusted Salazar to have put every ward possible on the place, he wasn’t sure if it would hold up against Merlin knows how many Aurors and teachers and volunteers blasting their magic around the place to find him. He decided it would be best if he just made an appearance in his classes and then retreated to his home.

In his office, a deep frown played on Albus Dumbledore’s face. This was not part of his plan. The boy was veering off course. He needed to be reined in again. But how? He had set him on this path but Harry was not playing his part as he should. He was supposed to come to him and then Dumbledore could teach him, manipulate him, and make it all work out.

But even the best laid plans go awry, and Albus’s was certainly not one of the best.

Albus paced in his office. He had all sorts of backups just in case something went wrong. And this was wrong. Severus was not meant to care for the boy. He’d been confident in the potions master’s hatred for the elder Potter and how it would prevent him from thinking it was anything other than Potter genes causing him to act out.

Albus was not an idiot. He never had been. This was merely an oversight on his part. He hadn’t thought the boy would react so violently so quickly or that Snape would do anything about it even after he insisted that the boy was fine. But this could work very well in his favour. Harry had built up stamina; he could use his magic for a lot longer than others his age without getting tired. If someone helped him, turned him back to the light, and if it was someone with a very high opinion of Albus then the boy would never be a threat.

Turning Harry Dark had been his first intention, making him face his anger about his parents’ death so he would want to kill the Dark Lord without a second thought. He had hoped Harry would have come to him before now, confessing to what he was doing and asked for Albus’s help. He could have kept the boy using dark magic but kept his loyalties to the light. It would have been hard, sure, but Albus was confident that he could have done it. It was for the greater good.

He looked down at a piece of parchment in his desk drawer. It was supposed to show him which new spells Harry had been practicing but lately it had been showing him nothing. Albus had assumed that maybe Harry hadn’t practiced anything new recently, but having seen the boy in Severus’s office, he knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t possible for the boy to have been that badly affected by not casting if he hadn’t moved on to something stronger. This meant that Harry had either found somewhere he could cast without Albus being able to trace his wand, or Harry had found a way to cloak his wand. Neither of which were a comforting thought to the Headmaster. He didn’t know of a spell that could do either, and if Harry had found one, it meant that there was something he didn’t know about inside the castle and that did not sit well with the Headmaster.

Harry left his room for only the minimum amount of time necessary. He no longer went to meals with the rest of the school, turned up for classes at the very last second, and left as soon as they were dismissed- he even sat at the back just to make sure that he could be the first out of the room. He ignored any teacher who asked him to stay after class to the point that they had just stopped asking.

He stepped into the study, his study, a few minutes after his potions lesson at the end of the day. He still wasn’t talking to anyone. It had been nearly two weeks since his name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire, and not one person had tried to show him any kind of support. He had chosen to ignore the appearance of badges proudly proclaiming that ‘Potter stinks’. Let them be that way. He didn’t care. He didn’t need support or friendship or love. He had the power, and that was all Harry held dear to his heart.

He picked up the second volume of Salazar’s journal. He was just getting into the spells Salazar created, most of them not even known to the magical world anymore. And with his spells came his magical theory. Harry liked this one, and he knew he’d read similar before, but this one justified his actions perfectly. And gave him a reason to keep practicing. As long as he never used his magic to harm a good person, Salazar theorised that it couldn’t be dark. And that the only reason it was considered dark was because weaker wizards feared the power he wielded with his wand.

Fear. Such a useless emotion. You can only fear something if you fear death, and since death is inevitable, a part of life that you can’t stop so why fear it? Why fear anything? It’s pointless. That was why Harry thought he was above the other students. Because he had removed his fear. He wasn’t scared of competing in the tournament, he wasn’t scared, even, of Voldemort, unlike the rest of the student body.

Harry hissed the password, checked both ways down the corridor, and stepped inside the study. He was home.

Today had not been the worst day of his life, no, he could count them and they were all away from Hogwarts, but it had also not been great. He slung his bag to the authorised of the room and flopped into the arm chair. The book he had been reading the morning was waiting for his on the table ext the the chair. He smiled and picked it up. Lazily, he waved his hand towards the fire and chuckled when the flames grew from no where. His magic had advanced far beyond the capabilities of even Hermione, even some of the seventh years, probably beyond he would wager. 

He had been reading books upon books upon books ever since his name was drawn. He had enough free time now that he wasn’t going to eat with the rest of the school and he didn’t have friendship commitments to do whatever he waned, whenever he wanted. The freedom was intoxicating. Harry vaguely admitted to himself that it was freedom that had led him down this path. And vaguely acknowledged that he shouldn’t have to reply on the dark magic like a crutch. But it just felt so good that he didn’t care. He wouldn't let it bother him.

He lost track of the number of spells that he practiced that night. Some of them were old, some of them were new But none of them brought the same amount of destruction he caused that day at Privet Drive. In the end, he gave up for the night and went to bed. He never thought he would be comfortable in such a green room, as opposed the the red of the Gryffindor dorms, he thought the connotations of Slytherin would be too much. And maybe it would have been, at one point, but people change.