I won't explain myself.

This is a totally self indulgent piece of fanfiction that came to

being after paying through KOTOR while being damn hungover.

Harry has his mind warped during childhood. By Star Wars.

Disclaimer. I don't own neither Star Wars nor Harry Potter. which is a damn shame.

Red Codex

Chapter 1

"Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate."

-Jedi Master Yoda

"Hate leads to the Dark Side."

- anonymous Sith Lord

"To fall is such a quiet thing."

- Darth Traya

"Face it. Empire wins. End of story."

"For you, maybe!"

"Ask anyone, and the'y tell you the same! Power and resources win any day!"

"Fine! Hey, Pottter, what do you think - if the Empire was serious, who wins, Empire or
the Rebellion?"

Harry blinked. He had been following the odd conversation without meaning to, but the
two kids were too loud to focus on his book.

Robert Pierson, three years older than Harry, along with his younger sister Amanda, who
was harry's classmate.

"Umm... Excuse me?" The bespectacled boy said, puzzled.

"It's simple. In a fight between Empire and Rebellion, if Empire goes all out fromt he
beginning - who wins?" Robert looked at him, his blue eyes intense. The siblings looked
very alike - Amanda was female and younger version of her sandy haired, tall brother.

"I dont' think I follow...?" Harry looked at Amanada, who had a scowl on her pretty face.

"That blockhead thinks that just because the Empire had bigger ships, they should win the
war." She snorted.

"It's not about bigger ships, you brat." Robert rolled his eyes. "I tried to explain it but...
Ah whatever. So, whaddaya think?" He riased an eyebrow.

"Uh... Roman Empire?" Harry said hesitatnly.

"Not THAT empire. THE Empire. You know, Darth Vader, Palpatine, the Force...?"
Robert prodded.

Harry blinked, his face blank.

Robert and Amanda looked at each other, blinking owlishly.

"You... You don't KNOW Star Wars?" Robert said incredously.

"Umm... not really..." Harry blushed with embarrasment. What was this 'Star Wars'
anyway?

"You poor boy..." Amanda whispered with feeling, patting the black haired classmate on
the back gently.

"Hey... That might not be so bad." Robert muttered thoughtfully. "No... Hey... Potter, is
it?" He smiled. "Do you have some time after school? You could come by, watch the
movies..."

Harry frowned.

Aunt Marge was coming, so Aunt Petunia wanted him out until evening.

He planned to go to the park. Maybe to the library to work on his homework without
Dudley stealing his notebooks.

"I..." He started.
"Mom is gonna make a cheescake." Robert said and Harry swallowed.

A cake was a delicacy. About the only time he ate one was when school gave a small
portion to the students every year for the holidays. To eat some now...

Harry nodded.

"All right!" Robert punched the air.

It wa sideal. If Potter had no idea abotu Star wars, as shocking as it was, he'd be a perfect
judge.

He'd be able to see Empire's might without... how did dad call it...? Bias...?

Peace is a lie.

Harry stared on the screen hypnotised, the cake long forgotten. The TV was better than
anything Dursleys had, with odd large screen and sound system that was just amazing.

And as the Imperial March played, the entire room reverberated with a whine of Tie
Fighter engines and and the majestic might of the Imperial Star Destroyer as it slowly
glieded in the screen.

Harry Potter, like thousands of people before him, encountered the magic of Star Wars.

And like many before and after him, fell head first.

"What is thy bidding my master?" The deep voice reverberated.

And Harry Potter kept on devouring the movie, burning it into his memory frame by
frame.

With consequences far more reaching than anybody could ever suspect.

*
There is only Passion.

"Where were you?" Petunia's shrill voice almost made harry cringe.
"I.."

"Do you know how much needs to be done?! Do you?" She screeched. "Marge was here,
there are plates that need cleaning, the stove needs to be wiped, the floors... You
ungrateful boy! Running from work?!"

"But...!" Harry protested.

"And backtalking to me?"Petunia narrowed her eyes. "You are growing up to be worse
with each passing day. Just like your freakish parents!"

"Aun-"

"Silence, I will..." Petunia frowned, noticing a small bulge under Harry's armpit. "What is
it?"

Harry blinked.

"Dont' play with me, you little brat!" Hissed petunia, grabbing the boy roughly and
shoving her handm before withdrawing it, holding a book.

"You... You..." She hissed. "You little... Stealing now? You bring nothing but trouble to
thins house!"

Harry reached for the books desperately.

Robert lent him one of the Extended Universe books, from what he called the Thrawn
Trilogy.

"Can you imagine what would happen if the nighbours..." Petunia's face reddened.
"You...!" She grabbed the book hastly threw it to the fireplace.

"NO...!" Harry lunged.

"Stop screaming!" Petunia hissed, grabing the boy by the collar. "Crime doesn't pay, you
little thief! You will learn that if it kills you! I will beat that out of you, you see! With
good, honest and hard w-"

Harry twisted out og his anut's grip, desperatly trying to lunge for the book.

The metal bitt it Petunia's hand painfully, drawing some blood.

The thin woman paled, before slapping the boy.

Petunia was by no means a strong person. But hse was an adult, while Harry was a small,
malnoutrished child.
The slap was more than enough to send the boy to the ground with a broken lip.

"To the kitchen!" Petunia screeched. "NOW!"

Harry stared up at his aunt dazedly, blood spilling from the small cut left by one of
Petunia's rings.

"And stoop bleeding on the carpet, you useless trash!" Petunia snapped, grabbing the boy
bu his shirt and throwing him out of the room. "Go to the kitchen! NOW! Or I wil tell
Vernon of your thieving habits!"

Harry just stared at the fire place, the boko little more than aburning pile of paper by now,
blackened and broken.

He bit his lips, feeling tears welling in his eyes, only to hiss as his teeth bit into open
wound.

The spike of pain was rapid and surprising.

Oddly enough, it chased away the tears with it's suddeness.

"Well?" Growled Petunia. "Get to it!"

She turned her back to her nephew and the fire place.

Which was unfortunate.

Because otherwise she might have seen the raw hurt and pain flickering into pure hatred
as the fire place quivered and shook almost unnoticeably for a briefest of moments.

But Petunia was oblivious and the fireplace was a solid construction.

The odd teremor passed.

But the hatred in the jade eyes just started it's burn.

Through Passion I gain strength.

"What do you mean 'left'?" Said Harry with disbelief.

"Their father apparently got a promotion and was transfered. To America, I beleive." The
woman shrugged, before frowning. "Wait... are you Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded absently.

Robert and Amanda were gone?

But...

they were in surrey only three months! How could they get away so fast..?

And... Who was goig to lend him Star Wars books now? He wont' even be able to watche
the movies now! And they were supposed to play this 'RPG' thing Robert was all excited
about.

"Here." harry blinked, grabbing a small package. "The son left it for you."

"Oh." Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem." the woman smiled.

Harry said goodbye and walked away slowly, looking at the pakcage thoughtfully, before
he finally opened it.

Inside was something that was obviously a book, thought packed in paper in a way that
prevented from looking at the title and a gray envelope with 'Read me FIRST!' on it in
Robert's scrawl.

'Hey, Harry.

I'm sorry I can't say goodby in person, but dad dropped the bomb on us this morning, so
I'm not even going to school. Me an' Amanda are moving to America, but I'm not sure
where, so I can't give you an adress. And since I don't even know where you live... Well,
sorry it had to be that way. I'm the one writing the letter becasue Am is bawling her eyes
out, but it's from both of us. And we left you something to rememebr us by. At first I
wanted to give you the Core Book, but I decided otherwise. I know Darth Vader is your
personal hero and you were always the 'pro Sith guy' (Not that there is anything wrong
with that, I'm the Empire guy myself) So we decided to give you this (even if Am was
dead set on getting you the Power of the Jedi). Who knows, maybe we'll get a chance to
play again, eh? Keep yourself alive, and may the Force be with you always.

Robert and Amanda'

Harry swallowed the odd bile that rose in his throat, re-reading the letter several times,
until his curiosity got better of him.

He slowly took off the paper from the book and his eyes widened.
"Star Wars roleplaying game... the Dark Side Sourcebook." He breathed, his fingers
tracing Darth Vader's outline on the book.

Through strength I gain power.

Harry jumped over the obstacle, weaving the course expertly.

It was far form the first time he had been chased by Dudley and his fellow bulies.

The boys were slow, far slower than Harry. But then it wasn't the first time they chased
him as well.

Harry grimaced. He was slowly riunning out of option on what he dubbed his private
'Death Star trench run'.

Sooner or later, they WERE going to catch him.

'Plan, plan... I need a plan... A PLAN!'

Getting beaten up would suck, but that was a minor concern.

But he made a mistake and took the Soiurcebook to the school with him. And Dudley saw
it.

His cousin loved to torment him - especially isnce his parents encuraged him so much.

One of Dudley's favorite past times wasn't beating Harry, oh no. That had gotten old fast,
since as fat as he was, Dudley WAS far stronger than Harry, even without Piers Polkiss
and the rest of the entourage to kick Harry down.

But Dudley loved to find things that Harry liked, then took them form him. And broke
them with glee.

Harry quickly learned not to like anything.

'No attachment.' He qouted cynically as he ducked behind the the tool shed.

As secretive as Harry was, Dudley finally managed to find out. And now Harry had the
Sourcebook with him, ironically, to protect it from Dudley's grubby fingers.

"Hey, guys! Here he is!" Polkiss screamed.

harry's eyes widened and he turned to run only to meet Dudley's meaty fist.

Dazedly, he went down.

Dudley grabbed his bag and unceremoniously emptied it's contents on the ground, his
beady eyes going through the notebooks and course manulas until they lit up finding the
obviously out of place burgundy cover.

"NO!" Harry lunged forward, only to fall down as Pierce and another boy tackled him.

"Huh.. so that's it... Hey guys, the freak has a book!" dudley laughed, leafing through it.
"And waht is it... the things on the covers... they ain't even cool looking! Just some guys
with red sticks..." He muttered.

"Dude... That's Darth Vader!" One of the bullies said, wide eyed.

"Hey, you like things that freak likes?" Pierce drawled

"Uh.. No-no! I mean.. I just saw it. On TV!" The boy said quickly.

'Coward.' thought Harry darkly, but his eyes didn't waver from the book in Dudley's hand.

"Hey, Dud. What are we going to do with it?" One of the boys asked. "Flush it down the
toilet?"

Dudley smirked.

"No. I've got a better idea." He rummaged through his pockets for a few moments before
he withdrew a battered lighter.

Harry knoew Dudley tried his hands at smokig recently, in secret from his parents. He
also knew Dudley puked his guts out each time he so much as took a drag. But still he
carried the lighter and had smokes hidden. Dudley the tough guy.

His eyes widned as the lighter flared.

"DUD-!"

"Shut up, freak." Dudley said gleefuly, liting the cover.

"NO!" Harry started to writhe liek mad, tryingpot escape the two boys, to no avail. He
tried punching, tried kicking... Even bitting. Only to get a punch to his gut that left him
breathless.
"n..no..." He wheezed desperately, reaching for the book.

Dudley smirked, dangling the slowly burning book inn front of Harry as the rest of the
boys laughed uprariously.

"...n-no...!" Harry reached out desperately.

"Oh look.. Freak's gonna cry!" Dudley said mockingly. "Whatcha gonna do, freak?
Whatcha gonna do?" Dudley waved the burning book.

The paper started to burn even quicker, enflunging the book.

"no..." Harry whispered brokenly.

"...no..."

"...NO!"

Dudley screamed as the book lurched in his hands as if on it's own, the flames licking the
boy's sleeve.

The panickeed boy threw the book down, screaming as he ran around.
Harry Potter didn't see it, however, as he fianted fomr the sudden wave of exhaustion that
hit him.

It had happened once.

Then it had happened again.

It was not something he could control.

Not exactly anyway.

But each time he ewas angry... Each time he felt that emotion surging through him, each
time he was close to the brekaing point... IT was there.

It felt powerful for a briefest of seconds as it came, but it took it's price. The exhaustion
was terrible.

At first he didn't know.

The fire incident could have been an accident. Though the tiredness was strange.

But then Pierce taunted him. Hit him a couple of times. And... reminded him of that day.
When Dudley burned the book.

Suddenly, Harry was just so furious as he saw Polkiss walking away with that stupid
laughter of his.

Harry didn't notice his nails bitting in his palms, leaving bloody gouges.

He did notice that the book case, as sturdy as ever, simply fell on Polkis.

Just like that.

And Harry fainted again.

Polkiss was lucky - the book case was empty. But he still ended up with concussion and a
few broken bones.

But he was far from the last of Dudley's group to suffer an accident.

Though that was later.

Harry sat in his cupboard, staring at the wall dumbly.

'What was that?'

They called it an accident. A freak accident that could happen to anybody.

But Harry wasn't stpid.

The bolts holding the upper part of the bookcase were quite solid - they looked like
somebody just ripped them in half.

Somebody... or something.

And the case fell directly down on Polkiss. Which was weird, since it'd have to almost
move sidieways first, and THEN down to fall on the bully.

As if... as if somebody moved it.

And Harry could SWEAR.... that he felt the extertion of moving something big and heavy
for a briefest of seconds there.

'I... did I...?'

He looked at his palms thoughtfully.

He tried to do it agian, but nothing helped. He even tried the 'Yoda thing'. Nothing.

The small match he brought with him to the cupboard didn't even budge.

"Why don't you move?" He muttered angirly, biting his lip as his fists clenched.
"MOVE!" He snarled, only to blink as the match broke into pieces.

He shook his head as the brief wave of diziness and sudden extertion caught up with him.

'What the...?' His eyes widened. 'Anger... ANGER is the key!'

He frowned, biting his lip as he rememebred dudley's sneer, Polkiss' laugh... and the
Dursleys. Each and every humiliation, every yell every...

The pieces of wood floated for the split second more, before falling down on Harry
Potter's smiling face.

Through power, I gain victory.

Harry stretched himself out luxuriously.

The school roof wasn't the easiest place to get to... But he had an ally now.

A great, if invisible ally.

Not one easily tamed, but powerful.

Lazily, Harry threw one of the chips he had stolen out of Dudley's bag into his mouth as
he looked down.

Yes, the roof wasn't easy to get to.

But it offered such a good observation spot.

The best, really.

Harry munched on his chips with relish, almost missing The entrance of Denis and
Malcom.
"Oh my. Two of you. Hmm..." Harry smiled, looking at the chip, or rather two chips in
his hand before he bit into it. "I guess it's two for the price of one."

As the two boys, laughing and pushing around students as ever, walked tot he gate, Harry
crushed his chips in his mouth, the loud sound coinciding with along, mourful whine of
falling metal.

Harry calmly reached for another handful of chips, disregarding the brief light
headedness that he felt, instead concentrating on the sight of the two boys screming in
pain and panick under the large doors that fel on them.

Or rather Denis screaming, sicne Malcolm lost cosciousness right away.

Finishing the last of hs chips, Harry let the empty bag fall and dusted off his palms of the
chip crumbs.

'Now, time to go and hunt myself a killer whale.' He thought with a faint smile.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

It wasn't easy. Far from it.

It took three years of diligent, exhausting practice.

Harry got used to falling unconscious on hourly basis.

The failures were many.

But the spoils... Oh the spoils.

"Excuse me Maggie, may I have another?" He asked the serving girl politely.

"Sure thing, Harry!" The brown haried teenager smiled.

Harry smiled back, relishing the aroma of fresh muffins and truly outstanding coffee.

"You're a saint, Maggie." Harry sighed. "If I was older, I'd marry you in a heartbeat."

The teenager laughed, ruffling Harry's head.

"You little charmer." She smiled. "If you grow to be as handsome as I think, I just might
take you on that." She said mischeviously.

"Always, Maggie!" Harry said with mock sincerity and the young woman laughed.

They exchanged pleasentries and Harry relaxed, lazily munching on his breakfast.

He had to leave Dursleys a year before.

Although he had planned on it, he didn't think he would have to do it so early.

But when the expected promotion didn't come through for Vernon, the man drank a little
too much.

And vented.

Contrary to how it looked, Dursleys rarely hit him.

Oh it happened, but they were cautious. As if... afraid.

Of what, Harry had no idea.

It couldn't be his power - it was sometihng they didn't know.

But as abusive as they were verbally and mentally, they rarely hit him.

Vernon crossed that line that day.

And as Harry was dazed, pain from older man's fist blooming on his jaw... his power
lashed out.

It was when he watched the paramedics slowly taking the unconscious Vernon away and
hearing their commentaries as they cautiously pulled him from under the old, solid
cupboard that Harry made fall on the older man, dishes included, that the boy understood.

He couldn't stay.

If he did, he'd end up killing them one day soon.

It was that simple.

Anger and hatred were his power, his Force. His Dark Side.

And they ran deep and strong.

But he'd pay any price for freedom. ANY price.

But he was not quite ready to kill.

He just wanted to live.

So he left.

It was the best decission he had ever made in his life.

"Hey, lad."

He blinked, looking up, to see the policeman's form.

"Shouldn't you be at school?"

Harry sighed, looking into the man's eyes.

He had found that the gesture was helpful, but the eye contact all the more so.

"Oh no mister, I don't need to. I'm home schooled. There is nothing bad about it, is
there?" He said smoothly.

The policeman's eyes glazed over slightly.

"You are home schooled. There is nothing bad about it." The man said in a slightly vacant
voice.

"I can go about my business, then?" Harry smiled thinly.

"You can go about your business." The policeman nodded, leaving the table.

Harry sneered inwardly.

'Lucas was right. Weak minded fools!'

He had no idea what the power he wielded was.

It couldn't be the Force. He was a fan, but he wasn't stupid.

But it responded to anger. To hatred. To desire.

It clouded the minds of unwary, it manipulated... and it could harm.

The similarities were staggering. Enough to help him learn and use the ideas.

For Harry that was enough.

'More than enough.' He smirked.

The Mind Trick was among the most advanced tricks, but hardly a lone one.

Telekinesis was hard and tired him out, but he could to it. After three years, he didn't even
faint anymore.

'Well, unless I try to move trucks.' He thought sullenly.

One thing he had found - size DID matter.

The bigger, the havier - the harder to move.

He tried to lift a semi once.

It didn't do more than budge slightly, but Harry himself spent the rest of the week with a
fever in his new flat.

Money, as he had found, was no problem.

A little telekinetic push, a little pull, some enchanced speed...

And suddenly a man on the street found himself several pounds lighter.

A vending machine lost it's coins.

A cashier with a clouded mind gave him change that was greater than what he paid.

Nothing too obvious, but enough.

He kept to himself. He was cautious, he stayed out of sight.

He could trick the mind of one policeman, but several?

He wasn't willing to risk it.

For now he kept his head down. Explored.

And still lived far better than he ever did.

The freedom was almost as intoxicating as the power he wielded.

The Sith Code, even if fictious, was truer than it's creator could ever supected. If living
by it meant freedom, Harry would.
Even if he had to become a Sith himself.

The power was worth it. The freedom was worth it.

The world had given him nothing. And it din't look like it would in the future.

Okay.

Then he'd take what he needed and wanted.

All he had, he took with his own hands, ever since he was a child.

He wanted more than just scraps, was that so bad? By hook or by a crook. He didn't care.

He wanted to live.

And his year of freedom, of true food, fitting clothes, comfortable, if small, apartament
only served to wheat this apetite.

The Force, for that's what he decided to call it, was a great tool, useful for more than just
dropping heravy things on idiots.

He discovered the Mind Trick by accident, trying to persuade a stubborn landlord. He had
honed it later, until it became what it was now.

It didn't work on everybody with the same potency. People who were naturally aware and
focused were far harder to influence, as he found out.

But it was okay. He just kept getting better.

And he could influence more than just other people. If he focused, if he reached into the
anger, reading was easier, faster, memory clearer.
So he used it and spent a lot of his time reading, learning and researching.

He went so far as to enroll in the local dojo. Nothing fancy, just some rudimentary martial
arts, but it was good. His body was stronger and the Power flowed easier. Meditation was
a godsend as well.

And the empathy he discovered while sorrounded by many people was also a boon.

Fiction it might have been, but for al intents and puroses, he - Harry Potter - was now the
sole living Sith.

And he kept on getting stronger the longer he explored his limits. As it should be.

He raised his coffee in a toast.

'Thank you, mister Lucas.'

He took a sip, biting into his muffin with relish right after.

'Freedom,' He decided, closng his eyes as he savored the taste. 'Is a wonderful thing.'

The Force shall free me.

- The Sith Code

TBC...

Sith Lord Harry, using magic as the Force.

Yes.

And he WILL have a light saber equivalent.

Also... Sith tentens anyone?

He tasted power, he tasted freedom, is somwhwat warped by the Star Wars with 'Dark
Side' concept as a tool. And don't try to tell me Harry Potter is too nice to take revenge on
people who tormented him given the chance, like he did here.

Of course, he is far more of a bastard, thinking in Dark Side terms.

He styles himself a true, living Sith lord. Even if he rationally knows it is fiction and all,
he still thinks like that. His power behaves like the Force and responds to emotion
(accidental magic - only totally mastered ayone?) Because he doesn't use the wand, he
made magic 'his own' - it bows to his mental image. And he has a mental image of the
person with ultimate control over his destiny - the Sith Lord. One who takes what he
wants because he CAN. And now Harry can. Instead of others having power over him, he
has power over others. Plenty of it. A Sith Lord in the Wizarding world - a fox in the
henhouse. Harry's hero is Darth Vader, role models are Revan, Exar Kun and Palpatine
and he wants to be like them.

Voldemort won't know what hit him. Seriously.

And Dark Side Sourcebook is real. My personal favorite among the Star Wars RPG
books, it is one of the best for explaining hows and whys of the Dark Side users. Good
stuff.

Comments?

--------------------
It is a revamp of chapter 2 - some things have been changed, some cleaned up, even if not
completely. It is still raw, but much beter than the previous one, I think.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. Or Harry Potter. Which is a damn shame, too. I could
use the cash.

Red Codex

Chapter 2 v2.0

"Struggle is what makes us grow."

- Darth Traya

Harry rubbed his hands for warmth. The weather was cold and as great as his power was,
he had yet to find a way to warm himself.

'In time.' He thought, befor concentrating.

The street was crowded despite the weather, people mulling about, shopping or just
walking by. His practiced eyes shifted form silhouette to silhouette.

'No, no.. Not this one either. Too poor looking. No. No... Ah. Him.' His eyes narrowed.

A tall, powerfully built man, but that was a minor concern. His clothes, on the other hand,
weren't.

Well pressed suit, expensive wool coat...

'I think you are going to donate to 'keep Harry Potter fed' fund, my friend.' Harry thought
with a smirk, camly getting out of shadows.
He didn't know how to conceal his presence. Yet.

But there WERE altenatives, ones that needed to supernatural powers.

Dress well. Look clean. Fashionable enough to seem like a child of a well-to-do family...
Voila. Nobody expected the child like that to be a thief.

Unhurriedly, Harry started to follow the man through the crowd, waiting patiently for his
chance. He frowned when the suited man stiffened slightly and his gait became hurried.

'Does he...? No. Ridiculous.' His frown deepened. 'He can't see me. Maybe he is in a
hurry?'

Harry forced hi breath to be steady as he obeserved the man.

'Coat and suit... Inner pockets, I would bet. Though...' He eyed the slight bulge on one of
the bigger outside pockets. 'No. He can't be THAT stupid!'

Exerting his power a bit, he tripped one of the ladies on the side, making her stumble into
the man.

'For his frame, he certianly moves fast.' Harry's eyes narrowed as the man shoved the
woman away roughly, only to stop for amoment and check the pocket.

'So. He IS that stupid.' Harry smirked. 'I think I'll leave Maggie a big tip tonight.' He
thought gleefuly as he moved in.

Harry Potter, self declared Sith Lord, cursed.

Loudly.

The 'bulge' was worth stealing, all right. There had been at least a thousand pounds in the
large notes there.That was not the problem.

The slim, but deceptively heavy package full of white powder, on the other hand, was.

'Harry. You're an idiot, my friend.' He thought looking at the plastic bag. 'I tihnk it is too
much to hope it is flour?' He thought sarcastically.
Drugs. He just robbed a man carrying, by a rough estimate, at least a kilo of drugs.

Was it heroin, amphetamine? Harry didn't care. Drugs, especially drugs in such large
quantites, meant trouble. Selling them to anybody, even if he knew anyone who'd buy
(them which he didn't) was beyond stupid.

He growled, throwing the pakcage to the old bucket, liting it up.

The warehouse was abandoned, so nobody would come and look for the smoke's source,
but he still took precuations.

'Stupid, stupid STUPID!' He thought gritting his teeth 'At least nobody saw me.'

He grimaced, going out of the warehouse.

At least the money would be useful.

'Still, better to lay low.' He thought reluctantly.

"Hello Harry!" Maggie smilled warmly. "Just a coffee or something to go with it?"

"A dinner, if you'd be so kind. Maybe a steak?" Harry wondered, before nodding. "Yeah.
A steak. With eggs sunny side up and some salad."

"Ceasar's?"

"Always." Harry smiled.

"Right-o." She jotted down the order. "Anything to drink?"

"Do you sitll have that fresh juice from the morning or are you out?"

"I can always make you some." She offered.

"Ah, I wouldn'twant to be tr-"

"Nonesense!" She said cheerfuly. "You're a regular, Harry! It's the least I can do!"

"Then yes, some juice would be good." He nodded with gratitude.

Maggie walekd away quickly, straight for the kitchen.

Harry smiled faintly.

Power and authority was good, but there was something to be said for social niceties.
Though one was better off with a kind word and a gun, a kind word was far less
troublesome at times.
He had laid low for the past week, almost never leaving his flat and not pulling any 'jobs'
as he called them. But his room, even one filled with books, got old after a while. Even
practicing the Power had it's limits. He needed some air, some relaxation and a good
meal. Not that instant crap. Sunwell Caffee was ideal for that.

"Here. Enjoy your meal." Maggie put the order in front of him.

"Oh." Harry blinked. "That was fast."

"Eh. The guy whined and was an ass and he ordered about the same you did." She
pointed her finger at the dark haired man in his late thirties who sat by the window. "So I
just changed the orders and gave you his." She smield mischeviously. "Just don't say
mum."

"My lips are sealed, Maggie." Harry chuckled and attacked his meal.

Sunwell was a nice place. A family-ran caffe, neither small, nor big, on the side, so you
might miss it if you weren't careful. But it had plenty of customers, most were regulars
who came almost every day, like Harry did.

He came here by accident once, and kept on comming. The coffee was great, muffins to
die for, steaks just the way he liked them and prices reasonable. Dinah, the wonderful
woman and Maggie's mother, ran the place well, with a smile for everyone, treating
regulars like long-lost family.

Sunwell was a symbol in a way - symbol of everything he missed with the Dursleys.

He frowned, feeling the rage rearing it's head and forced his mind to calm. Thinking
about Dursleys brought a bad taste to his mouth.

'I really should have killed them.' He thought with disgust.

Those... people robbed him of childhood. He knew he wasn't treated well, but only after
seeing people with their children, people on the street... Even strangers...

'How sad it is to be treated by trash by your own blood relatives?' He thought acidly,
before swallowing the bile and banishing the thoughts.

It wouldn't do to spoil Dinah's steak.

He swallowed the meat with relish.

Steaks were ven more of a deilcacy that cake was - they were for Dudley, not the 'useless
freak'. Now he gorged himself on them each chance he had.With moderation, of course.
He had no wish to end up as that fat waste of flesh his 'cousin' was. But the clasess at the
dojo took care of that.

Harry knew he needed more than just Power. After all, there was something to be said for
punching lights out with just your fist. He voved that no fat sack of flesh would lay a
hand on him ever again without him breaking it in several places.

He signed up for an intensive course, took classess every day. The man, Sensei Dalton,
was puzzled, but pleased. Harry was eager and just kept on going. It didn't matter that he
was smaller tham his fellow students, weaker and small in general, even for his age.

Dalton, a former solider or something like that - Harry couldn't quite remember, admired
the guts. He had warned Harry that if he wanted to come every day, that was his problem.
Dalton wasn't going to go easy on him.

He didn't.

Harry didn't mind. Every blow, every failure, only spurred him to get better. And with
anger at his own weakness burning like acidic sludge in his heart, he did. Gritting teeth,
counting the bruises, he did.

Dalton had no pity for him but taught him well. The older man suspected tha Harry had
troubles with bullies and once outright came out and asked him if he learned because he
wanted to, or if he simply wanted to kick someone's ass.

Harry said both. The man just laughed and increased the workload.
It was no charity, of course. He paid the former soldier pretty penny for every lesson, like
anybody else at the dojo. But it was as Dalton said.

"Listen. You want to learn how to prance around and show off to your girlfriends with
fancy acrobatics, go to other dojo. I'm not saying you won't learn how to fight anywhere
else, but stuff you'll learn here - it is for practical use and it's hard. You will work your
assess off. Most of you WILL quit. So those who came because they wanted to show off,
there's the door. Those who came to learn something - this is your first lesson."

It wasn't anything fancy, like what he saw on the badly dubbed kung fu movies Dudley
loved so much.

No flying kicks, no extraordinary feats.

Short, burtal, to the point.

Just like Dalton's instruction.

Harry loved it.

And each time he got better, Dalton just pressed him more. That was what Harry was
paying the man for, after all.

Harry was no extraordinary talent, Dalton said so himself. But with enough tenacaity, will
and dilligent work, the self proclaimed Sith Lord was gettign better. Stronger. Faster.
That's what it was all about.

Power.

Hary sipped his juice, trying to relax.

He frowned.

The steak was great, the salad fabulous and the juice fresh and as enjoyable as always.

So why was he still tense?

He tapped his table thoughtfully, shifting slightly.

'Why am I so tense?' He wondered with annoyance. 'Cabin fever?'

He finished the meal, a strange feeling on uneasiness tingling faintly at the edge of his
consciousness.

'So annoying.' He thought with a brief scowl, before he paid for the meal, leaving a
sizeable tip for Maggie. The girl was friendly, liked him and more than deserved the tip.

'Kind word and a gun.' Harry smiled faintly.

Truer words were never spoken.

'And who says children don't read anymore?' he thought with amusement.

He did.

He didn't remember where or when he had heard the 'knowledge is power' adage, nor did
he care. It was the truth.

Before Power, he often escaped dudley and his goons simply because he was smarter than
them. He was still a child, he knew that. In body and in mind. Body he could do nothing
about. Mind, however...

Public libraries, in Harry's opinion were the greatest thing since sliced bread. Almost as
great as Star Wars.

Almost.
He pulled on his jacket, snatching a toothpick, and walked out of the caffe with a wave to
Maggie.

He didn't notice the dark haired man following him.

The increased uneasiness, however, he did notice. Which didn't help him when the red
stunner hit him in the back of the neck.

Harry grasped at the awarness, pulling himself form it like a drowning man from water.

He tried to shift the unconfortable position, only to stiffen slightly.

He was tied. With ropes.

Both legs AND wrists.

He evend out his breathing, killing the brief stab of panic that quickly turned to anger.

Somebody BOUND him?!

"...I have found the culprit. Yes. No. No. it's just a brat. No, he didn't have it with him. I'll
ask but... Really, Mister Jones, I don't believe... Yes. I will. Yes. Yes sir. Understood."

There was a faint 'click' and the man, for it was a male voice, cursed.

"Stupid muggle! But a rich one..."

'Muggle?'

"Now, for the brat." he heard footsteps closing in and he tensed slightly. "En-"

There was a loud sound, that Harry realized was a cellphone ringtone.

"What NOW?!" the man growled. "Willams here, what is... Ah! Good morning, miss
Zharov! Yes. I can assure you I..." there was a pause. "Miss Zharov... Please. Mister Jones
is a... hard man to approach. We both know that. I SAID I can do the job and I will. I just
need a little more t-." Anther pause. "Yes. Yes, I understand. I will be there."

There was another faint cick and the man laughed.

"Stupid russian bitch. That's gonna cost ya, you idiot muggle!" He said gleefuly.

There was a brief pause.

"This is Williams. Yes. I just had a phone for our mutual friend. Yes, the russian bitch
suspects nothing. She thinks I'm all hers. Yes. Just as you planned, mister Jones. In three
days. Yes, we just need to make sure everything is- Mister Jones. Please. Have I ever
failed? Just be sure to have my money ready." There was a pause. "Oh now that... is going
to be a little more difficult. Mister Jones I'm an assassin not... Ah. Now that... yes.
Another fifty will do nicely. I will even put a ribbon on her for your pleasure, mister
Jones. She is quite a looker. I hope you'll have plenty of fun with her before you hang her
by her own entrails. Yes. In three days. Everything's set up. Yes. She STILL thinks I'll kill
you, can you imagine? Stupid bint. Yes. Understood. Pleasure doing business with you,
mister Jones."

Harry's blood ran cold. He didn't need to think too much WHY. Question was, HOW did
they find him?

"Ennervate!"

Harry gritted his teeth as a raw jolt force him to move. He opened his eyes, staring at the
man, only to scowl.

It was the dark haired man from the caffe.

'So it was more than just an uneasy feeling.' Harry growle dinwardly. 'Note for the future,
ALWAYS trust your feelings.'

"Awake, brat?" The man twirled an odd stick around his gfingers as he put the cellphone
on the nearest crate. From what Harry could se it was an old warehouse in the docks.

'How cliche.' He thought absently.

"Slept well?"

The boy just glared.

"Oooh. Scary, scary." the man cooed, before grabbing the stick and pointing it at Harry.
"Crucio." He said calmly.

Harry's eyes widened as his whole body flared with agoney.

The pain was unilke anything he had ever experienced. Raw, burning, twisting agony
through his whole body.

He screamed.

Then the pain was gone.

"Now that, brarat, was the Cruciatus curse. One of the Three Unforgivables." The man
said pleasantly. "I used it just to show you that I can make this really easy, or really hard."
he twirled the stick. "You prolly wonder just HOW I did it right?" He smiled, leaning
consiprationally. "I'll tell you a secret. I'm a wizard!" Willams leaned back, smiling
cheerfuly. "Ain't it neat?"

Harry grit his teeth, reaching deep into his anger, trying to deaden the leftoever pains
from the... spell?

"Now let me tell you how is it going to be." The man said calmly, litting a cigarette. "I'm
gonna ask you questions. You're gonna answer them. Or you'll feel Crucio again. Got it?"

Harry nodded slwoly.

"Good. Nice to see youth ain't all stupid these days." The man patted Harry's head with a
smile. "Now, over a week ago, you have stolen almost two thousand pounds and over a
kilogram of pure heroin form my Boss' employee. Where is it?"

"I don't kn- ahahhh!" Harry writhed in pain again, gritting his teeth.

This time he was ready.

As the pain struck, he focused on fear, on pain, on anger. He let it boil inside. It wasn't
much, but it helped.

Still, that 'spell' hurt!

"Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?" Williams exhaled the smoke calmly. "Don't lie to
me, little brat. See this?" He pointed at the stick. "This is my wand. With it, I can do
things a pathetic little muggle like you can't even begin to imagine. That little envolope
had one of my spells on it, just in case. Cullen's stupid, you see. So I'm asking, where. Is.
The. Merchandise?"

"Burned... it..." Harry gritted out.

The man froze.

"You... BURNT over a kilo of 100% pure fucking HEROIN?! CRUCIO!" The man
roared.

Harry screamed. The spell was stronger this time. The pain was beyond anything he
could have imagined - it made previous 'crucio' look like a tickle.

"You FUCKING stupid BRAT!" Willaims hissed, grabbing Harry's hair. "I will...!" He
paused, leaning to look at his forehead, for his eyes to widen. "Oh FUCK me..." He
whispered. "Oh fuck me fucking sideways..." He looked at harry incredously. "I can't
fucking believe it... You're no fucking muggle! You're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived!"

'Who?' Thought Harry, trying to concentrate beyond the pain.

"Merlin's fucking bones and Morgana's sweet ass... Fuck..." the man said, smiling slowly.
"Here they go through every bloody nook an' cranny of the usual haunts... and you are in
the mugggle world...! No _wonder_ no one could find you, you blighter! Bloody boy who
fucking lived, the hope of the world - living like some ruddy muggle! Oh damn... this is
rich!" He threw his head back, laughing. "Wait, no! I'M fucking RICH!"

Harry stared at the man, hatred in his eyes.

Williams patted him cheerfuly.

"Brat... Have you got ANY idea what the Dolohovs or Malfoys will pay for you? Or ANY
Death Eater, for that matter? Oh my FUCKING gods of piss... You've just made me rich
beyond your fucking imagination, you little fucker!"

He cackled and Harry stared incredously.

'Boy-who-lived? Death Eaters? Dolohovs? Malfoys? What the hell does that mean?' He
wondered, regaining his breath after the curse.

"Afraid, tosser?" Williams grinned with glee. "I don't blame ya. Fuck... I don't care for
that Voldemort dick, but his lapdogs alone will fucking roast you alive. Theyll be
scraping you from across the whole fukcing Diagon Alley. So Really, don't blame ya for
the fear." The wizard shook his head. "Man... to think tht muggle hired me... Hell, I'll
make thousand times more thanks to him and no one to share it with!"

Harry felt the anger.

It was unfortunate for him, but Willams had no idea just how much he had helped the
boy.

The Crucio was single most powerful pain Harry had ever experienced.But it was good.
He hated Dursleys. He was angry at them. But never like that.

He was afraid of Crucio. He was afraid for his life. The fear was like an acidic, blazing
sludge giving way to pain, to anger, to rage... To Power.

A hoarse, pained chuckle welled in Harry's throat.

"Fear... Fear is my ally..." The boy chocked out, lowering his head.

Williams stopped his chukle, blinking.

"Huh?"

"Fear leads to anger..."

"What was that, brat?"

"...anger leads to hate..."

"...The hell you-" The man frowned, only to see the boy rising his head, an insane glint in
the strangly off-yellow eyes.

'...but they were green before...'

"HATE leads to POWER!" The boy snarled and Williams was sent flying as an invisible
hammer struck his chest, throwing his wand across the concrete as he hit the wall good
five meters away.

Harry got up, sneering.

The ropes snapped as the wave of telekinetic power burst from his body, yet agian taking
hold of William's body and slamming him agianst the wall before he had a chance to so
much as move.

Anger.

Harry was so angry he could barely focus or think straight. The fear of criuciatus, the pai
it brought, the humilation, the anger at his own stupidy and helplesness...

Hate.

He snarled as he watched Willimas craw dazedly, trying to get his bearings, blood
flowing from the older man's mouth and ears.

Rage.

The boy narrowed his eyes as Williams started to pat around, trying to locate his 'wand'.
Sneering, Harry lashed out with another telekinetic wave, crushing the man into stones.

Williams screamed as he hit the wall again, feeling his shoulder snap.
He grabbed it, tears in his eyes.

It hurt like a bitch, but that was a minor concern. The biggest one was the ten year old
who started to walk towards him, yellow eyes alight with fury, mouth twisted in a snarl
that would look comical if not for the fact it scared the shit out of him.

'Calm down! Calm DOWN you stupid fucker!' He cried mentally. 'It is just one kid, you
are a fully trained wizard and a fucking assassin! Just off the brat!'

The assassin looked around desperately and his eyes glinted as he saw his wand, not a
meter from him on the floor. He reached for it, only to scream as his entire arm... twisted.
He felt the liagments snapping, the bones shattering, the tendons tearing.

"Oh Merlin...! My HAND! Oh Merlin my fucking HAND!" He screamed watching his

limb twisted like a dishrag. "What the FUCK ARE YOU?!" He screamed at the yellow
eyed devil.

"I am Power." Harry growled, the builsh streaks dancing at his fingertips, licking the
palms like gleeful dogs, eager to please their master. "Unlimited POWER!" He snarled,
letting the lightning loose.

Rick Williams died howling with pain as the raw power of enraged Sith hit him square
on, roasting him alive.

Harry heaved, looking at the still spasming, smoking corpse on the ground.

He knew that Force Lightning was possible. He even made a bolt or two once. But this
was a veritable torrent of power Palpatine himself would envy.

Harry wasn't even winded.

There was a slight light-headed feeling... But it was different. It was like a cool wave
through his bones, lifting him up. A crackling spark right in his brain that almost purred
as the sparks danced still on his palms. He closed his eyes, feeling the Power warm and
cool his body from the inside out at the same time.

'I just killed a man.' Part of his mind, the one that wasn't riding high on the strange
euphoria noted dazedly. 'I just killed a man. I...'

Then the smell hit him and Harry paled, looking at the body.

All the epuhoria forgotten, Harry Potter puked his guts out.

Thinking abotu killing and actually doing it...

Harry shivered, feeling the nausea hit again.

'Oh... GOD...' He thought, heaving. 'I... I killed... a person...'

He sometimes dreamed of killing the Dursleys. Dreamed of burning their house, with
them inside. Dreamed of punching Dudley time and time again until there was nothing
left but bloody smear.

He threw up again.

It was everything. The smell. The body. The fact he had killed - KILLED for God's sake!

Killed another man. Another living, breathing human being...

And it felt GOOD.

At least until it hit him.

'Oh... god...' He curled, trying to calm his stomach. 'Oh God oh God oh God...!

He stared at his hands, feeling the raw fear. And the sparks lit up, invited by emotion. By
fear.

Power.

HIS power.

Power that killed.

Power that just ended a life.

Harry Potter puked again.

He didn't know how he returned home. He rememebred scrubbing his hands almost down
to blood and standing under shower for hours.

Sleep didn't come. Each time he closed his eyes... the smell was there. The sickly sweet
smell of burned human flesh. Williams' screams echoed in his head. Each time he closed
his eyes, he saw Willaims' face. Butned, terrified beyond beleif.

Again. And again. And again and again again and again...

If not for exhausiton, he'd never fall asleep. Nightmares were his companions now.
He clenched his fists, staring at them listlessly.

"No such thing as free lunch... isn't it...?" he whisprered.

He wanted to cry. To scream.

But... he couldn't.

Harry pulled the covers around himself tightly, trying to get some semblance of warmth.
His clothes weren't enough, his blankets weren't enough. He turned up the heating to the
maximum and it still wasn't enough.

He had killed a man. Another brething, living person. That he was scum, that he wanted
to kill him didn't matter. It was a human. A man. Like him.

Harry swallowed heavily, only to gag at the bile in his throat.

Shakingly he stretched his hand out, to the nightstand where a bottle of mineral water
rested.

"I am a murderer..."

He stared at his palms numbly.

There was a feeling of odd emptiness, right under the regret. A feeling of cold, indifferent
numbness to it all.

'...Indifference...'

Had he been older, had he more expereince, he might have known what shock was like.
But Harry Potter was interested in his own survival first and foremost - such things never
interested him. In some ways he matured quickly, while in others he was still very much a
child.

All he felt now, all he knew was that he should be crying and swearing it off. Only under
the recrimination and regret... there was numbness. Numbness and a cold, assured clarity
that it was him or them, whoever 'they' were. He was alone, more alone than he ever had
been in his life, and yet somone still tried to force him, tried to... to kill him.

Williams would have. People he wanted to... sell him to? Also. They would do it.

"...Kill... me...?" He mouthed, eyes distracted and empty as his sight stopped mattering.
His fingers traced the scar.

'Lighting bolt... isn't it? It is so...' Harry blinked, hearing an odd, half strangled sound,
between a cough and a sob. It was only a moment later that he realized that it was his
own throat that let it out. Then another. Then another. Harry Potter, tears streaming down
his face, laughed, the hollow sound resounding the nearly empty room in a grating
cadence that cut abruptly.

Harry Potter fell on his bed, exhaustion catching up with him at last. His dreams were
filled with crackle of lightning.

The days dragged on, flowed by like tar - as thick as they were slow in passing. Harry
simply stayed in his flat, day after day, trying to scrub his hands clean.

The Power was absent. The one time he dared to touch it, the one, single time, the teacup
shattered and Harry spent next two days desperately avoiding the kitchen, the spilled tea
and pieces of china long since dried into brownish orange stain of surreal quality.

'Well, how is fear your ally now?' Part of his mind supplied acidly.

Harry shook his head, moving away from the stain, breath caught in his lungs.

"...god." he muttered, trying not to look.

He had thrown the meat away days before. He couldn't look at it, not anymore. When he
tried roasting a steak he spent half a day feeling his gut churn at the smell of raw flesh...
until his stomach rumbled out of hunger. He just laughed hysterically, as if being told the
greatest joke ever. He couldn't stop.

Then the phone started ringing.

He didn't remember taking it - not that he remembered the events after... that very clearly.
The first time it rang, Harry just froze, staring at his jacket.

It rang for a time, then fell silent. Cautiously, Harry pulled it from his pocket. It was some
new, fancy Nokia model - not something he would buy, even now. But he knew it well
enough from various commercials. His first impulse was to throw it away, forget about it
and erase it from his memory but...

Then it rang again.

Harry simply kept staring at the phone as it rang agin and again, not stopping for minutes.

Thoughts raced through his head, a messy torrent that left him no wiser than before,
simply staring at black plastic contraption numbly. That is until the voice mail activated
on its own and Harry felt the blood freeze in his veins.
The voice was smooth and almost... frienedly. Harry never felt so afraid in his life.

"My employer is not a patient man, mister Williams. You have obligations, you have
made deals and yet you fail to take care of the matters you were hired for. It is in your
best interests to take care of the problem at once, mister Williams, or it will be taken care
for you. After which my employer will have to let you go on a quite permanent basis. Do
you understand? Mister Jones has a very long reach and you are not as... unique as you
might think, mister Williams. Do as you are told, or you will not like the consequences.
This is your last warning."

Harry sat, frozen as the line went silent with a soft clickng sound.

"Oh."

Somehow, that didn't come out all right. Not right at all.

One thing Surselys taught him, ironically enough, was responsibility.

Each time he chipped a plate, he paid for his mistake. Each time he fialed to do his chore,
he paid for his mistake. More chores. Locking him in the cupboard without dinner. Or
without meals for a whole day. additional chore, and more. Each time.

"Take what you want... and pay." Harry muttered, falling on the bed. "Dammit!"

He stared at the ceeling for a long while, before finally turning to the things he took with
him from the warehouse, trying to come up with something, anything at all that would
give him some sort of idea how to deal with that mess.

'I need to focus... I need to focus... I need to FOCUS... Or all until now will be for
nothing.' He thought, pacing form siede to side nervously.

He didn't know what scared him more - the fact that he could still feel some semblance of
cold, detached calm in that kind of situation, or the fact that he was right.

He tried nto to think about it - he was scared enoguh as it was.

Harry stood up picking up the strange wooden contraption.

"Wizard..." He looked at the wand, tryng to focus ont he matter at hand without
rememebring the man that wielded the device, pushing him and his corpse from his
memory as best as he could. 'Is it possible? Or did he just have power like mine and
called it magic? Or is the other way around? Is there more of others like him? He said
Malfoys and Dolohovs... Are they like him? Boy-who-lived... He didn't recognize ME in
particular, just that damned scar.' His mind ran a mile a minute, desperately trying to keep
busy.

The scar was just too damn distinctive. He needed a way to hide it. A dye job and
contacts wouldn't be a bad idea too.

'Later. Focus. The names... The names mean something. Let's leave the Dolohovs and
Malfoys and all that weirdness for now. Let's go closer to 'home' as it were. Zharov.
Jones. Drugs. Mafia? Russian mob, maybe. That guy wanted to kill that Zharov woman...
And that 'Jones' was the one that lost the drugs...' Harry's eyes jumped between the wand
and the phone rapidly, finally resting on the cellphone

"Okay... Let's see" He muttered grabbing the cellphone. "Now, the last two numbers..."

He nodded slowly as the memory showed the numbers to one E. Zharov and M.Jones.

The boy looked at the names for a long time, not moving, just looking, his eyes
unfocused.

He could run. There was a chance they wouldn't find him if he vanished into the
woodwork. He wanted to run. For more than one reason, really, but...

But there was also a chance Jones had more of those 'wizards' on his beck and call. He
had on idea what this 'long reach' meant, but he really didn't want to find out. If Williams
had found him so easily...

No.

He was in danger as long as the man lived. Talking wouldn't help. If this man was willing
to kill over the lost drugs....

The boy swallowed, feeling a cold bile in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to, he
didn't want to think about it but there was only one solution here.

Mister Jones had to die. Fast, before he learned Wiliams was dead.

Harry felt an acidic taste in his mouth.

It was a 'him or me' kind of situation, the man probably killed, or ordered to kill people
himself, but still... He killed Williams, true. But he wasn't exactly thinking stright, and the
man WOULD have killed him. Or worse, from what he said.

Harry gritted his teeth.

He started it, and he would finish it. It was him or them.

No matter what Harry Potter was, he was a survivor.

He coughed, letting it reverberate through the device.

The 'scrambler' was irnonic, in a way. It was a toy, one sold at the local mall for a few
pounds. It was a toy.

It was a Darth Vader's helmet.

'Sound like Darth Vader! Just for 9.99!'

When Harry saw it, he just stared. Then he started to laugh hysterically.

It was a toy. An ironic toy. A useful tool. It didn't make him sound like Darth Vader at all,
but it definetely scrambled his voice more than enough to sound 'adult' on the phone.

Taking a deep breath, Harry picked the number.

After three tones, there was a pleasant, if a little sharp voice with slight accent that he
guessed must have been russian.

"Ekaterina Zharov here. What is it?"

'Ekaterina? Strange name...' He though absently. 'Russian?

"Good moning, miss Ekaterina." He said, trying to remain calm. He reharsed that a
thousand times in his mind - he went so far as to mumble it out loud to get the feel of it.
His voice didn't even break - he would have been proud if he could feel anything over the
rapid pounding of his heart. "I think you just might have a problem. Your man Williams
not only failed, but I don't think he was your man at all."

There was a brief pause and the sharpness and accent were more pronounced now. There
was also an odd coldness to it that Harry felt even through the phone. It almost made him
drop the phone right there and then.

Whoever this woman was, she was dangerous. He could feel it in his bones. He dismissed
the cold shudder that ran down his back.

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"My name is not important. What is important is what I can do for you, miss Zharov."

"I'm listening."
Harry took a breath and calmly, carefully explained the heard conversation.

"And how do you know this? How can I trust you?"

"You can't." Harry said gritting his teeth and praying to any god that could listen for the
whole thing to work. Watching gangster and spy movies certainly didn't make one ready
for _this_. And they didn't explain that odd tightness in his chest or the cold sweat on his
brow. He felt like vomiting again. "But as for how do I know this... Mister Williams
crossed a wrong man one time too many."

"Ah. What do you want then? I assume you do want something, or you wouldn't have
called me."

"I don't want much. Just Mister Jones gone." Harry said simply.

"Ah." The tone changed slightly. "So... we have a common enemy, then? I see." The
woman chuckled. "Still... taht is unexpectly generoius of you, my friend."

Harry said nothing.

"Oh well, it seems I woill just have to trust you, yes?" Ekaterina laughed lightly and
Harry almost hung up in that very moment. No happy laughter should sound so cold.

"There is... more." Harry forced hismelf, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Oh?"

"I have a collection of telephone numbers that used to belong to Williams. Would you
like a copy?"

A brief silence in the phone was all the answer he needed, and despite the numbing fear
he couldnt' help but smile. He could almsot hear the gears spinning in Ekaterina's head.

"I would be interested, yes." The russina mobster said calmly. "And the price of such a
wonderful bit of information would be...?"

"No price at all, miss Ekaterina." Harry gripped the phone tighter. Getting the woman the
information would be hard enough - he had little means of recoveringt any money if they
were watching,even if he could use some. "A gift from one friend to another."

"Ah." The mobster breathed. "As long as your information is geniune, I'd be happy to
drink vodka with you, mister...?"

Harry's eyes widened. THIS was _not_ in the plan!

His eyes darted around for a seemingly undeniding moment, before stopping at his table.
Or, more importantly, on the cerela box.

"Frost, miss Zharov." He forced his tone to remain calm. "Call me Frost."

The following week was among the most nerve wracking for young Harry in his life until
now. It wasn't the far or the anexiety, but the ismple fact that he couldn't _do_ anything
about it, and had to stay put and pray the russian made good on her promises.

When the local news made an annoucnement of drowning of eon M. Jones in his pool, he
simply slumped into his chair in abonoeless heap for the enxt hour.

Despite doing nothing, this was probably most harrowing,exhausting experience of his
young life.

donning the Darth Vader scrambler and phoning the russina mob boss was almsot a doozy
in comparison.

"I must say, your informations were spot on." The woman chuckled. "Our dear, if
unlamented, mister Jones didn't evne know what hit him."

"I am happy you foudn my gift useful, mis Zharov." Harry felt the words flowing from
his mouth withotu any conscious effort. And they damn better, cosnidering he spent last
week reharsing them and going through every spy or ganster movie or book he could
think of to sound credible enough. It left him with deep appreciation for Al Pacino, and
insatible need to read more of tom Clancy's, but that was beside the point.

"Katya." The woman interrputed. "Please call me Katya. we are, after all, friends."

"Katya, then." Harry nodded automiatically. "As you can see, my word is more than
enough."

"Of course, of course." The russian mobster chuckled. "You ahve proven your good will
to me, Frost. Indeed, I have vodka cooling in the fridge that has our names on it, if you
feel liek dropping by. After all, good and capable friends are hard to come by in these
troubled times, especially ones who could be trusted."

Harry blinked.

That... wasn't in his reharsals. She was supposed to thank him, pay and go the hell away
and elave him alone. Was there somethring wrong? Was she suspicious? Was she-

"I wonder... would you be willing to take another job of similar nature?"
He froze.

Now that... he didn't expect.

The russian woman misinterpeted the silence.

"I assure you, I can more than make it worth your while, believe me. There are many
possibilities for a thrustworthy and capable friend of mine, Frost." Her tone was both
enticing and serious. "After all, one needs to keep friends close, yes?"

Harry's mind raced hundred miles a minute.

He askeed around a little, using the Mind Trick to get the answers. The men he asked
were thugs, street trash -somewaht like him, even if the comparision did make him sick,
but they knew things if you 'asked' right.

Ekaterina Zharov, or Katya as she apparently wanted to be called was up and coming, if
still fairly small-time arrival from Russia. She dealt mostly in guns, or at least that's what
the word on the street said. Another 'word' said she had her eyes on the entire London
underground. Prefereably under her heel.

If he helped her...

'No, there was enough killing. I...'

"I'll think about it."

"Hello Harry..." Maggie peered at the child customer. "You don't look so well."

"...just nightmares." The boy muttered, rubbing his temples. "Sorry, Maggie."

"Oh don't worry." She smiled. "Want some ice cream? They always helped me, to cheer
up."

"Ice cream, huh?" He smield fiantly. "Okay."

"Sure thing!" The woman bounded up tot he kitchen. "Any particular flavor?" She
shouted.

Harry shrugged.

"Okay, strawberry and chocolate it is!" Maggie said gleefuly.

A few moments later Harry just stared at the pile of frozen deicacy i front of him.

"...uh... Am I supposed to... eat all that?" He said hesitantly.

"Yup!" Maggie nodded cheerfuly. "That's what I do when I feel down!"

"Oh." He said weakly.

"Well... banzai, I guess..." He muttered, reaching for the spoon.

'Pain.' He thought trying not to breathe too much.

Icecream was great.

Pain in his forehead... Less so.

'Note to self - never, EVER, do that again.' He winced, feeling the pai stab him again.

He was SO glad that he finally decided on that bandana he had been thiking of.

It made his forehead warmer. Somewhat.

The pain... It was almost as bad as cruciatus.

Well, no. It wasn't. But it still was painful like hell.

He whimpered

He should have stayed at the Sunwell. Maybe not moving would help? Harry blinked as
he saw something fly straight at him and frowned, picking up a thin, somewhat ornate
stick. It was a little bit dfferent, but the genral shape was disturbingly familiar.

'Is it...?'

"GANGWAY!"

Hary snapped his head up, only to fall down as something bigger than him, faster and
rather female hit him.

"Owie... Owie... Oh... DAMN...!" Harry shook his head dazedly, looking at the...
milticolored blur? "Sorry! Sorry! I'm SO SORRY!... You in one piece...?"

He blinked. Then he shook his head again. The blur vanished, replaced by a face of a
woman in her late teens. The multicolor stayed.

'Now that's... one WEIRD dye job.' The boy thought dumbly.

The hair were... odd. To say they were rainbow hed would be an understatemement.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" The young woman picekd him up, dusting him ofdf rfrantically,
aslso cheking his arms and head. "Damn... Nothing broken, kid?"

Harry cocked his head.

"Not unless you count this, no." He said thoughtfully, showing her her wand. Wand that,
somehow, ended up split in two.

"Oh... bugger..." The woman paled. Then she simply sat on the street, looking at the
wand. "I'm a dead, dead Tonks." She sighed.

Harry's eyes bugged as he saw her hair becoming mousy grey and her face... becoming
utterly PALE?!

'...huh?'

He stared at the woman who looked at her want morosely, her hair slowly shifting from
mousy grey to black and back again, while her face retained the deathly pale visage that
he was sure wasn't there a second before.

'I shouldn't, I shouldn't I should't I REALLY shouldn't...'

"Umm... Maybe I can help?"

'...and I'm gonna do this anyway...'

'Keep your mouth shut, keep your head down and learn.'

Not a very... Sithly philosophy, but one of the things he learned with the Dursleys, maye
they die in agony. He kept his mouth shut when Tonks' hair became sunny gold, her eyes
crystalline and large and she started to hug him. A lot.

He kept his mouth shit when said Tonks all but dragged him to some kind of bar full of...
rather strangely dressed people.

He kept his mouth shut when she babbled.

"...and I mean, quidditch, who doesn't like quidditch, right? But the bugger says "No!"
can you IMAGINE that? That Snape is SUCH a bastard...!"

More or less like that.

Who the hell was Snape and what was this... quidditch anyway? Some kind of a meal?
Who in their right mind names school 'Hogwarts' of all things?

But he kept his mouth shut. About the only time he spoke was when she tried to weasel
out. Well, spoke was too much. He just showed her Williams' wand that he kept with him.
He experimented with it, but it didn't work. He kept it. Curiosity, memento, spoils of war?
Some kind of sick reminder?

He didn't know. He kept it anyway.

So now he tried to look knowledgable, nodde din the right places (or he HOPED they
were right places) and tagged along.

And tried not to gape at the 'Diagon Alley'. Tried to.

It was... It was...

It was completely, utterly archaic. It made his eyes hurt.

Robes. Birds. Rickety buildings that wouldn't be out of place two hundred years before. It
was like the time has stopped here. For good.

Still, it was interesting.

"Awfully big of you, to lend me some cash. I mean, it's not like I'm poor, but... well, you
know how it is. Mum would KILL me. Besides..." Tonks leaned in conspirationally. "I'm
not supposed to be out. School day, you know?"

Harry nodded.

"I'm afraid I don't have any galleons, though." Harry tried not to show the oddnes he felt
saying the word. None the less Tonks looked at him strangely.

"No galleons? But... Ah!" She nodded. "Muggleborn, huh?"

'What in the Force is a 'muggleborn'?'

No asking. Keep your head down. Harry did. Fortunately, it seemed it was a good answer.

"Okay. Gringgots, then."

Tonks nodded grabbing his hand again.

'...huh?'

Again with the confusion.

Seriously, he needed to buy himself some sort of a guide to this place and its
termninology.

'The Sourcebook of the wizarding world.' He smirked.

Harry sighed as Tonks all but dragged him. He had a strange feeling it wasn't the last
time.

On both counts

'Goblins.'

Harry felt he owed Dursleys now. Really. No matter how distasteful it was, they taught
him to keep the stiff upper lip. Witohut it, he'd proably gape like a tourist.

The creatures were odd, not terribly pleasant and a sneer seemed to be their default
expression. At least for dealing with those with little money. The... wizard (and thast was
still so odd) on the side, who seemd to be rather well off, judging by his expensive
looking robes, got a 'service with a smile'. If a rather toothy one. He really hoped this
'Gringgots' wasn't the only 'wizarding bank' around.

"So. Here we are. Ollivanders!" Tonks said gleefuly. "Just be careful. Mr Ollivander is... a
little od." She said sheepisly.

Harry blinked.

"Oh." He nodded, simply folllowing Tonks.

'I wonder if this is what 'shellshock' feels like.' He thought idly.

"Ah. Young Nymphadora Tonks. Eleven inches, oak and dragon heart string. Good for
Defense and to a lesser extent, Transfiguration. very solid. And... broken recently." The
strange old man peered over his classess at blushing Tonks. "And mister..." Ollivander
blinked and looked at Harry curiously.

"Excuse me... But just who are you?" He asked, genuinly curious.

"Jim." Harry smiled.

"Ah. Jim... you say." Olllivader's gaze seemed... odd and Harry started to feel a brief
vertigo just looking into the old man's eyes before he clamped on his emotions, focusing.

Ollivander's eyes widened.

"Oh my. A trained occlumens? At that age? How rare... anyway, please, come in, come in,
I'm sure whe will find something for you!"

Harry blinked.

'What an odd man...'

"No, no, no... NO! Try this one!" He gave Tonks yet another wand.

"I don't get it... Why can't I just get the same combination?" Tonks complained.

"Because, my young Nymphadora, "Tonks growled at the name. "every wand is different.
Unless they were made on the same day, from the same materials and by the same
wandmaker - even two seeminlgy identical wands WILL be different. That one
combination worked for you then it doesn't mean it will again if the materials and time of
the manufacture is different." Ollivander explained, grabbing yet another box. "I'm sorry
to say I don't have the brother wand to yours, so you must look until you wind the right
one."

"Oh." Tonks nodde,d grabbing yet another wand and flicking it, only to have it replazced
by another, then another, and another.

Harry sighed, desperatly wishing to by anywhere but here.

Problem was, he had no idea how to get out of Diagon Alley without a wand. So he
needed Tonks.

'I need to buy some books. I wonder...'

Harry shifted slighlty on the stool, tapping the desk impatiently. He was just so damn
bored...!
Harry sighed again.

His back was starting to hurt.

He amanged to find a stool, but sitting for two hours straight without any place to lean on
was a pain, both figuratevily and not.

'Hmm...' Harry looked at the shelves thoughtfully.

If he shifted jsut a meter to the left...

He threw a glance at Ollivander and Tonks. Both were busy with shocing the wand, so...

Calmly, the boy pushed the stool to the left, picking a rather dusty and mostly empty
corner of the shelves.

'Now, that's...' He bliked when he felt something... crack.

'Uh...oh...'

Harry froze, slowly, ever so slowly, using telekinesis to gently hold the box, praying that
Olllivander didn't ntoice.

He felt his tk grabbing the box and stiffened as he felt something hit him with surprising
force in the back. The boy turned, only to see that the previously closed box was open.
Indeed, the thing that hid him was the old, cracked lid.

Curiously, he peered inside.

The wand was simple, if elegant. The wood was dark with age but with a nice, burgundy
tinge that seemed almost red when Harry brought it up to light. The engraving was so
faint that he had to squint to see it. It was delicate and he had no idea if it was supposed
to look like something in particular, or was it just for show.

'Hmm... Curious....'

Without thinking, he reached into the box, hoping to look at it closer.

"...WAIT!"

Harry turned to Ollivander with a puzzled face, only to blink as the wand made an odd,
lilting note tha sounded disturbingly like a faint laughter and let loose a veritable swarm
of small, dark crimson motes.
Harry looked at the thin, elegant stick with wonder.

It was warm. He could have sworn it was cold as ice before, but now it was warm. The
oddly engraved handle that seemed to be slippery when he touched it, was firmly
clutched in his hand, as if made for his grip alone.

It felt... comfortable. Right.

He now understood why the old wand maker said that it was wand that had to choose the
wizard. William's wand was just a stick.

This one... It felt almost alive.

Ollivander froze, looking at the wand with something between sick fascination and
dawning horror.

"Jim... young man... Please, put that wand down in the box and put it back." The old
wand maker visibly struggled to remain polite as his hand twitched.

Harry frowned.

Even the thought of letting this wonderful little contraption go was oddly uncomfortable.

"Why?" He asked. "You said that the wand chooses the wizard, right?"

He waved the want through the air, producing another laughter-like sound - and he was
SURE it sounded like laughter now. Feminine laighter, at that, and even more red sparks.

"Well, this one seems to have chosen." Tonks said cockig her head curiously, her own
new wand in her hand.

Harry nodded.

Ollivander's eye twitched a little.

"This one... this one is NOT for sale." He said, his hand almost twitching as he visibly
restrained himself from grabbing the wand form the boy's hand. "I will find you another.
This one.... It's no good to you. So... put it back?" He suggested, walking up with a box.

"No. No I don't think so..." Harry said slowly, looking at the wand. "You said that only
one wand will work as good, right? I like this one. I will pay whatever price you want.
But only for this one."

"No. It is..." Ollivander salllowed. "It is NOT for sale." He said forcefully. "Now please."
He put the box almost under Harry's nose. "The wand."
Harry looked at the wand, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the engraving.

"The wand, boy!" Ollivader snapped, rising the hand.

On instinct, Harry raised the wand.

Ollivander's palm and the wand touched.

The old Wandmaker fell to the floor, as if somebody pulled the carpet from under him.

Harry's eyes widened when he noticed that Olllivader's hand was smoking in the places
he had touched his new wand.

Gingerly, he touched it with other hand, but only thing he could feel was warmth as the
wand almost seemed to mold into his hand. He could swear he saw the wood shift almost
unnoticeably as he touched it, though it might have been just a trick of light.

"I see... I see..." the wand maker said, looking at the wand, though his eyes looked to be a
thousand miles away as things flashed through them. Anger. Sadness. Dissapointment.
Longing. And jealousy. "So it is that way..."

Harry looked at the wand thoughtfully.

What was so special about it? Well, it seemd like it was special to _him_, but...

He shook his head. the longer he was in this 'wizarding world' the more confised he got.

The wand maker seemed so very old for a second, before he got a grip and got up from
the floor.

"Young man... I won't sell this wand to you." He said stiffly. "But... You are right. Wand
chooses the wizard. Always. For that reason... and for that reason ALONE, I will allow
you to keep it." He looked at the boy, his face unredeable."You don't have to pay me for
this wand. It... took you. It picked you. You can go out with it." His lips twitched,
between a smirk and a grimace. "But you will soon find out... that nothing in this world is
free. Nothing. Least of it that particular wand." He looked at Harry and his eyes widened.

"Oh... Oh my merciful Merlin..." Ollivander said faintly and Harry had an odd and very
uncomfortable feeling that as he looked at Harry's forheead, Ollivader could see right
through the bandana. He certainly seemed to be looking right at the scar.

For the second time since they entered the shop, Ollivander seemed more ancient that his
shop as his gaze shifted from the hidden scar to Harry's eyes.

"Ten inches.... Cherry tree wood... sucubus blood and hair." Ollivander's voice was oddly
detached as he said it, though Tonk's eyes widened considerably when she heard the last
ingredients. "Just... thought you should know. Now... please leave. Please." The old man
said, oddly subdued.

"Come on, Jim. We're leaving." Tonks muttered, giving odd looks to both Ollivander and
Harry's wand.

Harry nodded, following the girl.

Just as Tonks left, Ollivander's voice stopped him.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry stiffened, turning trapidly.

Ollivander looked at him, a grim expression on his face.

"For your information... If you ever need anything for that wand... A holster, a cleannig
material or anything at all..." He looked straight into Harry's eyes. "Don't come here. I
won't sell them to you. Indeed, if you would, never come to my shop again. Ever." He
said forcefully. "Do we have an understaning, mister Potter?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Good. Now get out and never darken my door again." Ollivander said harshly, turning
away form the young boy.

Harry looked at the old man for a second, before going out.

"What took you?" Tonks asked annoyed.

"Mister Ollivander." He shrugged, before looking at his wand. "What's so special about
it?"

"You don't know?" Tonsk said with surprise. "It's succubus hair and blood! The hair alone
woudl be bad, but... BLOOD as well? I mean... Hell... that's, like... A step away from
totally illegal! No offense, but..." She sighed "Try to avoid telling people just what kind
of core you have."

"You don't seem to be all that bothered." He pointed out.

"Me? Well... I'm kinda different." She laughed sheepisly.

"But seriously. What 's so bad about 'succubus hair and blood'?"

"You... are you SURE you're a wizard?" Tonks looked at the boy suspiciously.
Harry waved the wand.

"Ah. Sorry." Tonks blushed with embarrasmeny. "Anyway... I'll explain it to you just..."
She threw a glance at the Diagon Alley. "Do you know any good ice cream places in
muggle London?"

Harry frowned.

'Muggle. There is that word again.'

"I might." He said simply.

"Okay. Let's go. I'll tell you evertything." With renewed vigor and all smiles now that she
replaced her wand, Nymphadora started to go to the exit from the Alley.

Harry nodded and followed, but not before throwing one last glance at the odd shop.

To his surpise, the door had a 'closed' symbol on them.

'I wonder why...? What an odd man.'

He shook his head, before following Tonks.

Inside the shop, Ollivader sat by the desk, an open Firewhisky bottle next to the empty
box that held one particular wand for so long.

"Wand chooses the wizard..." He said, bitterness in his voice. "But... why this one? Why?
Why him?" His fists clenched and he could feel the old pain hitting his chest. "Why not
me? Why HIM and not ME? Tell me!"

The box remained silent, thought Ollivander could swear he heard a mocking laughter
and a smelled the faint aroma that burned into his memory with such fierce power so long
ago.

"...I was never worthy... was I?" He said bitterly. "You flightly bitch..." He whispered
brokenly, pouring himself a full glass of the alcohol and downing it in one shot. Then he
poured himself another.

"Good luck, boy." He chuckled mirthlessly. "You are going to need it. Far more than you,
or everyone else, thinks. Oh indeed. You are going to need it."
*

--------------------