Ruthless

THREE

It turns out the reason they had been so desperate to find him was not, in fact, because he was the Boy-Who-Lived and a national icon. At least, not this time.

There was a Death Eater, a murderer, out for his blood.

Sirius Black.

Harry glanced at the newspaper article Nott had sent him, alongside the long letter of listed facts about the man.

One of his parents close friends. His godfather. Rumored to be the one who betrayed them to the Dark Lord.

Harry considered if his rule of protecting his own also applied to parents long dead, and decided it did.

Revenge was timeless, after all.

-O-O-

Dudley was different that summer. The boy was losing his fat, though his frame remained large. Instead the muscle was showing through in veined lengths of bulging skin, and his face was getting a hard edge to it that made him think of seasoned criminals.

But they were only thirteen, and instead Dudley looked like an athlete on steroids. Perhaps he was on them. A bad choice, but none of Harry's business.

The second day Harry was in his muggle relatives house, the boy approached him and asked for a spell.

"No."

Dudley crossed his arms, but his eyes remained on the floor.

"Please."

Harry looked up at that. Dudley flushed.

"I'll owe you one."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You already do. Several."

Dudley grimaced.

"Well, I'll owe you more. I'll be your slave forever. Please."

Harry sighed. He decided truth would get rid of the boy faster.

"I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school."

His cousin slammed his fist against the side of the door, making the frame quiver and creak. Then he vanished down the stairs. Harry called after him.

"Until I'm seventeen."

He heard an answering thump, and looked back down at his book.

No use burning bridges.

-O-O-

Harry studied over the summer before his third year with a fervency lacking the year before. He looked for arcane magics, the obscure facts, the things others did not seek because it was hard to do so.

When contemplating the murder of an adult wizard, one practiced in battle, one needed every advantage.

Harry had no illusions regarding himself. He was young, in magic and in knowledge. Beyond his peers, yes; perhaps beyond Hogwarts itself, if not its library. But he was not a ex-auror who had killed Death Eaters.

He was not a murderer, either. Not yet.

His books told him killing was a difficult choice, and never the right one. But Harry could see that sometimes it was a good one to make. Some people deserved death for their crimes; some deserved death for the crimes they might commit.

It was a good choice to do away with the escaped convict; But perhaps a bad one for Harry to be the one to do it alone.

He told Nott by letter of his plans; Granger he told on the train, and allowed her to rant on deaf ears as Nott rolled his dark eyes.