Harry Potter and His Shadows (ADOPTED STORY ON HIATUS)

chapter 2

Harry had been here before. He knew pain and darkness before he knew his own name. Perhaps this is why his 'abilities' had manifested so quickly. When one stares into the shadows so long, they start to look back. Harry had long grown used to the dark figures following him, whispering secrets in his ear. His shadows had kept him safe, comforted him since childhood, and he had never feared them because of this. That made him different. Most shadow mages hear the shadows when their magic appears, like his mother had. The fear of these strange images and voices often drove the wielder mad. Not Harry though; all he'd wanted was a friend. So he listened to the shadows, spoke to them and they whispered secrets in turn. About his parents and their deaths. The light, and their persecution of the Shadow Mages. How Harry had to keep quiet about his dark strange friends, for fear of being taken away.

So of course, Harry knew that he could have left the Muggles any time. He could have the shadows kill them, or simply transport him away. Merlin knows why he hadn't. If he had, he wouldn't be in this damn cupboard, dying. He was desperate to leave now, but he had no where to go, and not enough strength to summon his shadows. He would die here. For the first time since Harry was five years old, he cried. Not a harsh sobbing, or shaking shoulders. A single tear fell down his cheek, hitting the floor, unseen in the shadows. Just as his eyes started to close, and his life started to fade, movement could be seen in the very depths of the darkness around him. Perhaps his shadows would stay loyal to their master, to save him even from death.

Voldemort reclined on he throne, caressing the head of his sweet Nagini. He was getting bored of their pathetic grovelling and stutters. It had taken Nott at least half an hour to tell him how a raid had gone. Ever since his resurrection, his new look had terrified his followers to the point of illiteracy. Whilst he was rather fond of snakes, he would perhaps need to find an alternative that wouldn't kill his followers from fear. He did need them, to win this war. Just as Voldemort was ready to torture Nott to shut up, a dark energy filled the air. Even Wormtail stopped his whimpering at the feel of this. It was dark, and old. Darker than even he, the dark lord. He stood, confused, as his followers drew their wands.

The light from the torches seemed to fade, as their flames flickered and the shadows of three men unseen, creeped out along the floor in the moonlight. Dark, oily smoke rose from where they joined, and a dark figure could be seen in its centre. As soo as it started, it was gone, and the hall returned to its previous state. "Shadow magic." Voldemort breathed out. Their hadn't been a shadow mage in centuries, one on their side would win this war. "Bellatrix, it would seem we have a guest. Who is it?" His ever loyal servant creeped forward and then gasped stepping back, as a look of horror crossed her face. "Harry Potter." At first he couldn't quite understand the look on her face. Their enemy was right there, why hadn't she killed him. Walking forwards to see the boy, it occured to him that this was Harry Potter. As in Harry Potter had used Shadow magic to come to a death eater meeting. Harry Potter was dark. And most surprising of all. Harry Potter was already dying.