Chapter Text
LETS GET THIS STARTED BITCHES
Allow me to introduce you to Harry James Potter. Messy black shoulder-length hair. Killing curse green eyes. Thin, athletic body riddled with scars forged from starvation and saving his own life way to many times for a sixteen year old boy. Lightning bolt scar running down from the top of his head, among the few white wisps of white hair stark among his jet black, branching above and through his left eye.
Death watched his chosen in disapproval, noting how he hid his scars, the result of extra training with Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore under baggy, loose fitting clothing. Death tutted as Harry left his owl with a half filled bowl of water and wrapped his snake familiar discreetly around his neck. Death fumed as Mr. Big Fat Walrus (otherwise known as Vernon Dursley) stomped up the stairs and banged on Harry's door.
- BOY COME DOWN, THE GARDEN NEEDS WEEDING
Harry's neck snapped toward the door. Weeding was one of the most annoying chores to do at the Dursley's. Having the sun beat down on his back and ripped out weeds for hours at a time without water, while listening to the joy of carefree children playing, not worrying about saving the Wizarding World made him jealous.
Ever since he was 6 he dreamed of running away from the Dursleys, ever since killing Quirrel (accident or not, you tell him) he dreamed of emancipation. Ever since finding a sort of kinship with Fleur during the Triwizard Tournament he dreamed of freedom. He still kept in touch with her, even going out with her cousin Mark a few times, he taught him things about the Wizarding World that no one else deemed necessary to tell him to his chagrin.
He opened the door and walked slyly down the stairs, careful to make as little sound as possible. At least when he pulled out weeds the pain of losing his dog father, Sirius Black, hurt a tiny bit less. It distracted him from the urge to ouch the wall until his knuckles bled. As long as the Dursleys stayed inside he could focus on the images of the pages of his Defense Against the Dark Arts book inside his head. One of the few books that he managed to stash under a loose floorboard. Suddenly, a discontented hissing sound sounded from around his shoulders.
- I sstill don't understand why you don't run away, you can fly .Those fat muggless couldn't catch you even if they used their fast metal box.
- I really doubt that they'd bother to try, however I can't use magic to fight until I'm 17 or emancipated so if Death Eaters caught me I wouldn't be able to fight without risking Fudge's wrath and a possible trip to Azkaban.
Harry replied in Parseltongue. He quietly noted how much more fluent he got ever since finding the serpent in the Forbidden Forest. It was after Padfoot died, after he demolished Dumbledore's office that he ran into the Forbidden Forest hoping to stretch his wings and tear something apart with his claws that he found a horned snake sunbathing on a rock.
Death tapped his chin in thought. Perhaps it was time. What was the worst thing that could happen? His master contained immense power. He could handle anything. If something absolutely terrible happened, then he wouldn't have anything against using a guiding hand to protect his Harry...
Harry pulled out the last of the weeds just as the sun was setting, turning the sky into a beautiful red and yellow ombre. He turned to go back into the house, his stomach rumbling at the smell of the meat frying for supper, already planning on how to acquire some leftovers later in the night.
Dudley was literally drooling at the dining table when he got in, his fat arse coincidentally seemed to forget about his special big boy diet every time food was offered. Of course he still got praised and rewarded with chocolate and ice-cream for his brave (forced) pursuit to lose weight. Perhaps Harry could slip him some rat poison? Nah, too risky. If anything happened to Duddykins all fingers would be pointed at him, even if he lived in Antarctica his oh so loving relatives would somehow manage to wringe out the last of their creative juices to find a way and try to turn in his skinny arse to the muggle police.
- Freak, stop tracking mud into the house. Those floors are freshly cleaned!
Harry silently berated himself for not noticing the stench of over-powering synthetic lemon when he came into the house.
- Sorry Aunt Petunia.
- Oh never mind that, you'll get what's coming to you later, boy. We've got some important guests coming over soon, as you well know.
No Harry didn't "well know", he didn't know that at all. But the Dursleys hardly ever told him anything, except to berate him or call him names while wacking him upside the head. He turned to go to his room, any hope of getting a scrap of food was ruined.
- And where do you think you're going?
- To my room, 'out of sight out of mind' I believe that's the saying.
Petunia's eyes narrowed into slits.
- Oh no you don't. Last time you made so much noise, you can't ever be stop ruining our dinners can you? Well not anymore.
A sliver of hope kindled in Harry's chest.
- Well, I'll go outside, then.
- I don't think so, they'll be here soon. What if they see you leave the house? What if they start asking questions? No, off to the attic with you.
- The attic?
- Do I need to repeat myself?
- No, Aunt Petunia.
Well that was that then. Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World was going to spend probably most of the night in the musty attic. Joy.
He trudged up the squeaky stairs, unfurled the ladder leading further up and blinked twice to adjust his eyes to the overwhelming dark. Thankfully, during his solitude he had a lot of time to practice wandless spells, with a muttered Lumos a small ball of light floated above his palm.
Death smirked.
Harry noticed a yellowed piece of paper sticking out from one of the many boxes filled with Dudley's old, broken toys that were dutifully stacked by Harry in the small space that was the Dursley's attic. Well if he was up there he might as well snoop and explore things that weakly caught his interest. His heart thudded as he picked up the delicate piece of paper, careful not to imprint his fingernails onto the page.
My beloved Harry,
If you are reading this I am most likely dead, I hope that Sirius and Remus are taking good care of you, I'll kill them in the Afterlife if they even think about pulling off one of their stupid stunts with you.
There is something that I need you to know. When I fell pregnant I immediately knew that you were the product of a one night stand with one of the smartest men I knew. I am not talking about James, I am talking about Anthony Edward Stark, your biological father, a muggle with whom I had a very brief relationship after your dad found out he was infertile.
Despite this, your dad loves you immensely, even while you were still in the womb Jamie claimed you were -without a doubt- his little Prongslet. After the birth he fed you a paternal potion to make sure you were partly genetically as well as officially his. The only other people who know about this are Padfoot and Moony. They love you. He loves you. I love you. Don't you dare forget that.
- All my love, mum
Harry's eyes stang with unshed tears, hands shaking as he stared at one of the few things he had that used to belong to his parents. At the same time, a plan began to form in his head. Emancipation. Freedom. Survival. He was nearly sorted into Slytherin after all. He would meet his so-called biological father, get his signature by all means necessary, and then he could fly free without anyone from the Wizarding World to have the 'legal right' to hunt hiim down (not before defeating Voldemort, getting revenge and avenging his parent's deaths, but that plan could be worked on later). Yes. This could definitely work in his favour.
- Crowley, looks like we're finally getting out of here.
The snakes tongue flicked out to meet the stuffy air, as if huffing with annoyance.
- It'sss about time.
The next day, after waking up not so bright but very early from the make-shift nest he made from flattened cardboard boxes, Lily's letter safely tucked in his back pocket, he finally deemed it safe to make his way down the ladder. That was Mistake One. He ignored the muffled shouting from downstairs and returned to his room, bee-lining to write a letter to Hermione, she was the only person who could find out where he could currently find Anthony Stark.
He carefully penned a letter, making sure to leave out the part that this man is apparently his biological father. A signature, one bloody signature is all he needed, nothing else...
He made sure to tie a small bag of galleons to Hedwig's other leg, so that Hermione could exchange it for some muggle currency as he scratched Hedwig's beak.
- Alright girl, I kind of need the answers to this letter as soon as possible, could you do that for me, please?
Hedwig hooted, eyeing the baby snake that slivered around Harry's right arm with a slightly hungry gleam in her eye. Crowley hissed, raising his upper body and Hedwig tilted her head before unfurling her snowy wings and taking off through the open window, just as a car sped off from the driveway. That was Mistake Two.
Harry glanced at his worn out leather watch which he stole from Dudley when his cousin inevitably grew bored of it hardly a few days after getting it for his thirteenth birthday. The Dursleys would want their breakfast soon, best not to draw attention to himself, while they were surely puffing out their chests over last night's dinner. He sighed, turning on his heel, making sure to close the door carefully behind him and walked down the stairs.
Mistake Three.
Just as he was on the last step, a meaty hand grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head against the bannisr. DA instincts failing him at a crucial moment.
- BOY, I LET YOU LIVE IN MY HOUSE, I FEED YOU I CLOTHE YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?
Harry blinked in confusion.
- What?
Vernon's pudgy red face turned an unattractive shade of purple, his broom mustache looked like a very hairy caterpillar crawling on a red head of cabbage. Spittle flew from his mouth onto Harry's face. His words forming a dangerous near whisper.
- You know EXACTLY what you did, you and your freakishness! I never should have let you curse my doorstep with your presence, we were doing just fine, until you came along with your m-m-ma-
- My what? Magic?
- DON'T YOU DARE!
Harry saw stars as Vernon's fist came flying across his face. For an obese man he was surprisingly fast whenever the M word was mentioned. He was harshly turned around on his front by his left arm which let out an all to familiar popping sound as his arm was ripped out of its socket, pain blossoming throughout his shoulder. He let out a yelp as he was forced onto his knees and was kicked in the side with an old leather shoe (Vernon wore his smelly Oxfords inside, much to Petunia's annoyance).
The next moment, a sort of change happened. Maybe it was because of his godfather's death, maybe it was the years of physical and mental abuse, maybe it was the product of all the experiences he had to live through in the last year because of the decisions made by incompetent adults (honestly, who votes for some guy named 'Cornelious Fudge'?), maybe it was because of the fear and fury burning in his chest, but something snapped inside of Harry.
His irises glowed into a toxic green, his hair seemed to defy gravity more than usual, his lightning bolt scar let out a drizzle of blood and a dark cloud to pass over the house. Vernon stumbled back in shock, tripped over his own feet and landed on his butt, his frame jiggling lake an XXL container of jelly. Crowley hissed in pain.
Just as abruptly as it started it ended.
- Get out. Get out! GET OUT. GET OUT! AND DON'T COME BACK!
How it was possible for a grown man to sound so much like a pig, Harry didn't know, perhaps it was a genetic trait passed down the generations of Dursleys? Harry grinned.
- As you wish, Uncle Vernon!
Harry ducked out of the range of his Uncle's glare, dodging a foot that tried to trip him (honestly, the guy had nothing compared to Snape whenever Harry dared step foot in his sacred potions classroom), he winced slightly at the pain in his shoulder, he'd have to fix it properly later, for now he'll just bind it.
It only took a couple minutes to gather his most of this things, it really wasn't hard, seeing as Vernon seemed have passed out at the foot of the stairs (making his way over the body now THAT was a work of art that not all people could have mastered). His snake was with him, Hedwig always knew how to find him. Outside, Harry put his miniaturized trunk in his right pocket just as his left heated up like a swarm of angry bees. It was the special coin that he, Ron and Hermione used to communicate short, vital information that they couldn't risk being intercepted by owl post. On it read:
Avengers Tower. New York. Write back. Good Luck.
He felt a new weight in his pocket. It was a letter and a wallet containing a number of dollars and a ticket. A surge of pride ignited within him. Hermione really was the brightest witch of their age. She managed to perfect a spell that they'd all been working on together. Ron and Harry supplied ideas and ingredients, often being the test subjects. Harry and Hermione studied and reviewed the mirror that allowed the Philosophers Stone to appear in Harry's pocket, first year of Hogwarts. And viola. This was just part of their plan.
Harry glanced at the ticket and raised his wand arm, causing a purple, triple-decker bus to screech to a halt in front of him a few seconds later.
A great distance away, at the center of the universe to be exact, Odin stirred in his Odinsleep.
The feeling of the impending chaos resulting from two powerful forces about to meet sent a shiver that ran down his spine.