Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Proditio	By : ochiteirutenshi Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11224 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-First
- 2-Second
- 3-Third
- 4-Fourth
- 5-Fifth
- 6-Sixth
- 7-Seventh
- 8-Eighth
- 9-Ninth
- 10-Tenth
- 11-Eleventh
- 12-Author Note
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Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own the rights to Harry Potter. That undoubtable honor goes to the mother of that wonderful creation, JK Rowling. She is a goddess of the literary arts and should be acknowledged. So, please, for the love of all that is holy, please do not sue me! After all, plagiarism is one of the most sincere forms of flattery. *bows and runs off stage*

Warnings: This is a very OOC fic, especially with Harry and Dumbledore, and is pro-Dark Lord. This fic contains slash! If you don't like male/male relationships, here's a hint: DON'T READ IT! The flames will keep me nice and toasty warm, because, after all, I live in Alaska. We need all the heat we can get.

Thanks be to my beta, Emmy! This chapter has changed a tiny bit.

Proditio

Chapter One

It was yet another stifling hot day at Number Four, Privet Drive, the sun over head mercilessly beating down on those unfortunate enough to be working outside. Unfortunates much like the painfully skinny sixteen year old currently working tirelessly on a bed of petunias, messy black hair beaded with sweat, glasses tossed to the side.

And yet Harry Potteavioavior of the Wizarding World and Boy-Who-Lived, could not possibly feel any colder than he did at the moment. It was as if ice had coated his insides, especially about his heart.

So mechanically he toiled, refusing to think, but unable to stop the memories from coming. Behind intense, yet strangely flat, emerald green eyes, flowed visions of screaming victims of Voldemort, Harry's bitter foe, who toyed with his archenemy by sending him images of the atrocities he played upon the wizarding world, while Harry Potter stay safe and helpless on Privet Drive. Ever since the Department of Mysteries --

No.

Shaking his head and feeling another rush of ice coating his heart, Harry stood and brushed his hands off on his threadbare slacks which were at least five sizes to big for the teen's slender build. Picking up the battered watering can, he gave the flowers a miserly soaking and with a blank expression, headed back into the house, careful to walk only on the newspaper Aunt Petunia had put down this morning in preparation for this evening's guests.

Ever since the Order's intimidation tactics at King's Cross, the Dursley's had tried their hardest to ignore Harry, setting him a couple chores in the morning - unlike the workloads he used to shoulder - not talking to him, or giving any sign at all that he even existed. For all Harry knew it wasn't him who died down in that stone amphitheater, but it was himself, cursed to drift aimlessly as a spirit. He felt like a ghost in the Dursley household, mocking like in general.

Nice thoughts, Potter. Especially on your birthday.

Chuckling without mirth, Harry drifted up the steps and into the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, collapsing on the bed, scowling out the window as he curled himself into a ball.

It had no right to be sunny today in Harry's mind, now that he couldn't enjoy it. And how dare people actually be happy day had come, when night had been drenched in the blood of Voldemort's newest victims.

Frowning, Harry pondered that. Voldemort's victims. At first he had been sickened and disturbed to watch the violence that stole every moment of his sleep, and most of his waking moments as well. He had witnessed rape and torture, played impartial audience to Dark Revels, and had sat his way through so many Death Eater meetings that he had lost count.

Now he just found himself jaded to the nightly events, much to Voldemort's chagrin. The images the Dark Lord sent nightly became more and more gruesome as the days went on, yet Harry could not even spare a flinch. Voldemort was, of course, upset that he wasn't making Harry's life a living hell.

He found that he didn't really care much anymore whether or not Voldemort took over the world and 'cleansed' the world of Mudbloods and Muggles. At least he was honest about his intent, unlike Dumbledore, who manipulated, lied, and withheld information to carve Harry into the perfect tool.

And that is all I am to him. A tool with which to beat off his opponents. Well, fuck
that.

But under all his bitterness, Harry felt a certain horror creeping in under his ice filled interior, a few poisonous thoughts he could not rid himself of. He felt it creeping into the depths of his mind and soul, soaking into the cracks in the ice that was his heart, thoughts that thrilled and disgusted him at the same time.

Through all the violence and the pain, he understood Voldemort's anger, and delighted in the thrill of feeling the reflected satisfaction of a perfectly executed kill, the lust that flowed through his body at seeing a woman arc in pain under crucio. He finally understood.

And he wanted it for himself.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"

Harry gave Mr. Ollivander a blank stare for a second, making the old wand maker shiver slightly at the cold feeling it placed in his bones. It was rare that anyone unsettled the old man, as that was his duty, but young Harry Potter did it quite well.

Turning away finally, Harry glance around the store silently for a minute before finally answering.

"Do you, Mr. Ollivander, create custom wands that perfectly fit the user?" He said, his tone calm and even, unruffled by the look of shock that played over the old wand maker's face at the request.

Attempting to cover his shock, Mr. Ollivander drew himself up and said in a low tone, "Mr. Potter, the wand you purchased five years ago should work perfectly for you. After all, the wand - "

" - chooses the wizard. Yes, I have been told that before, Mr. Ollivander. But is it not true that these - " Harry then stretched out a hand and gestured at all the long thin boxes that lined the walls, "premade wands, though powerful enough in their own right, and a close fit to most, will never be the perfect wand for their chosen witch or wizard?"

Mr. Ollivander gaped for a second or two his jaw loose and his cold blue eyes fixed on the young man before him. What Harry had said was perfectly true, but the startling fact was that Harry even knew that fact. It was a secret of the trade that was passed from father to son, never spoken about with the public in general, and never written down. A wand maker never made more than three custom wands a generation, and most of those wands were never spoken of, even by their owners.

"How - "

"Nevermind how, Mr. Ollivander. Can you make custom wands?" Harry said his flat green eyes boring straight into the old man's eyes, his tone forceful and cold.

Wordlessly nodding, the old man, slowly beaconed Harry back to his private workroom and up to a large steel door that looked much like one of the doors from a high security vault at Gringotts. There the old man regained his composure, and turned to face Harry, giving him a searching look.

"I'm not sure how you found out about the custom wands but I must tell you that once you enter the Inner Sanctum, whatever happens in there will never leave this store. It is of absolute importance that the secret of the custom wands must remain just that. I never speak of them, anu wou would do well to do the same. If anyone asks, you were never here. I wouldn't normally do this, had not my father said that anyone who asks for a custom wand must be made one."

And with that, the old wizard twirled around and with a stroke of one gnarled finger to a groove in the door, the door swung open and the two wizards hurried inside, Mr. Ollivander peeking behind him as he slowly shut the door.

A/N: Well this is my first Potter fic, so please be nice. I'm trying. Next chapter we find out about the custom wand Harry received. Yay.
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