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The Master of Assassins	By : fantasyra Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 10267 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I dont own anything Harry Potter, just the story idea and plot.

Chapter List
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Ye Old Disclaimer: Harry
Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K.
Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for
enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended. J.K. Rowling owns it all. I am
just playing with the Story.No profit is being made by me, its all J.K's.

I LOVE BETA�S!

Special thanks to Balakafalata who beta�ed this chapter for
me and did such a fantastic job. I look forward to working with you on the rest
of the story. Thanks again.

This story will contain a Dark, but not evil Harry. It will
Feature lemons from time to time, torture, blood, gore, and other nasty deeds.
Like I said, Dark Harry but not evil; definitely twisted though.

Prologue

�� In the semi
darkness of the prison cell, an emaciated figure lay upon a tattered blanket,
its only protection against the insanely cold stone floor below. The sounds of
the storm-tossed sea sound endlessly through the dreary halls around, but the
figure does not hear it. All it hears are the screams of a woman begging for
her son�s life. Begging endlessly for his life to be spared only to be denied
by the cold laughter of her murderer. No one else hears those sounds; only him
since it�s all in his head, courtesy of the Dementors that surround his cell.
The same ones that have been there for the last 90 days, not that the figure
knows what day it is or how long he has been here. He only knows the screams of
the woman, the vision of his best female friend being felled by a dark spell,
and the broken voice of a male friend telling him: there was no pulse.

�� Other
times, he sees other people fall: his Godfather falling though a dark curtain,
a young man bathed in green light next to him, an endless stream of beatings
and abuse. His ears ring with pain-filled screams of loss and hurt. Most times,
the voices belong to someone else; some times, they are his own.

�� He had
received quite the education on Dementors since he came to this place. He
learned that they not only feed on good emotion and make you relive your worst
experiences, but over enough time they learned how to dig them out and how to
parade them across the victims mind. The longer the same Dementors feed from a
person, the better they got at it. They learned what hurt you the most and
brought that to the fore.

He knew a way to fight them, but
guards never left him alone long enough for it to do any more good than hold on
to just a small shred of his old sanity. Then again, he knows he might have
lost even that some time ago. Like his Godfather he was an animagus, but it did
him no good in this place. No one knew of his ability, but they kept him far
too weak to be able to transform. Not that he could feel enough of his magic to
be able to do anything anyways.

�� Aside from
the mental battleground he was forced to fight every moment he was in this
place, he had to deal with the physical too. His enemies owned the prison; of
course, no on but him knew it. Most of the guards belonged to Voldemort�s camp
and they took great pleasure in coming to his cell to show him how much
Voldemort thought of him. Daily, they strung him up and beat him, shredding his
skin and abusing weakened muscles and bone only to heal him up to leave no
evidence so they can do it again the next day.

�� This was
his new life and it had been since the Wizengamot sentenced him to three months
in the prison for use of an Unforgivable Curse, destruction of Ministry
Property, and the breaking and entering of said Ministry. Did it matter that he
was trying to rescue someone? Not to them. Did it matter he brought proof of Voldemort�s
return? Not in the slightest. All that mattered was that he was guilty of those
crimes. They called his sentence justice, he called it hell.

�� Every day
here felt like years and years to him. The Dementors sometimes showed him
things that he never lived through. He found himself plagued many times by
memories of Ginny torturing him, being tortured by many different people,
Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix, being betrayed by his best friend Ron. In
all these things he was older than he is now, but he lived through them again
and again. Once, they showed him Dumbledore being killed by Snape, but he never
saw that one again because he enjoyed it too much. Dumbledore was the main
force that put him in here; he would love nothing more than to do the deed
himself.

�� Years of
near starvation thanks to his only blood relatives and the old man himself gave
his body the understanding it needed to survive the meager rations they called
food in this place. His body was no stranger to light meals, and though they
made sure to give him just enough to live, it was a pitiful amount. Still, he
was a survivor, and he was still here, no matter how much he wished for the end
to come.

�� Voldemort
had not been idle either. He sent him many visions of the things he was doing
back in the world: Rape, torture, murder, he showed him everything he did. His
mental defenses had been shredded in this place and it only furthered to crush
his meager grip on his sanity. As he opened a blood-encrusted eye he thought to
himself, he was still here. He was still alive. His eye, fogged in pain looked
over to the Dementor that stood watch in front of his cell. He wondered again
for the thousandth time if he could somehow convince it to just kill him. He
hadn�t yet but there was always hope if he could ever figure out how
communicate with it.

�� That was
pretty much how his days went. There was no day or night here to mark the
passage of time. Just pitch black dark and gray dark. When it was gray dark the
guards came in, stung him up and beat him with knotted, coarse ropes soaked in
rancid water or urine. Sometimes, just to change it up, they used rods of
bamboo. Those though, they broke his skin which only led to shredding his back
and making more work for the healers. Then when they grew tired or he was too
close to breaking, he was healed and they posted two Dementors outside his cell
to torment his mind. Voldemort would break into his ravaged mind on occasion,
which broke the cycle nicely.

�� Through the
fog of his mind, he could never understand what the Healers got out of this.
They did not look like the typical Voldemort supporters, but they never said
anything about what was happening to him. It was just another day of work for
them. It was a small consolidation that there might have been others being
tortured like him.

�� Suddenly,
he felt the presence of the Dementors leave and withdraw from his mind. He
blinked several times at the sudden feeling of their absence and wondered if he
had somehow gotten his wish and they killed him. It was such a heady feeling to
be free of them for the moment and a small smile, the first since his time
here, graced his face. It disappeared when he noticed the new figure standing
at his cell door. Dressed in eye watering bright blue robes, decked out with
little stars and planets, was the one person he never wanted to see.

�� Hello
Harry,� His gentle, grandfatherly voice grated on his every nerve. That mad
twinkle in his eye brought a rage to his barely beating heart.

�� Dumbledore.�
His own voice was ragged and rough. It was the first word he remembered saying
that was not ripped from his throat during endless hours of torture.

�� Harry
Potter continued to lie in his filthy tattered robes sending all his hatred
through his eye to the old man before him. They were the same robes he was
wearing that day at the Ministry three months ago. �Your sentence is served. It
is time to go.� Harry watched as the cell door opened and the old man stepped
in. He struggled to rise from his blanket, hissing with the pain that spiked
though his joints and muscles all the while.

�� He was
never able to figure out how the Healers did it, but they removed all physical
traces of what was done to him, yet they managed to leave behind the pain of
the experience. As he wobbled to his feet, clutching the wall he wondered if it
was phantom pain from remembering what they did to him, or if it was real.
Either way, he was hurting but fought to rise. Dumbledore made to steady him,
but when he felt the old mans touch on his arm, he jerked away, falling roughly
to the ground again.

�� Don�t
touch me! I don�t need your fucking help.� Harry noted that Dumbledore pulled
back allowing him to get up on his own with only a sigh at his language and
attitude. Once again he was back on legs that refused to support his meager
weight and leaning against the wall to catch his breath, keeping his eyes on
the man in front of him.

�� It seemed
to take them hours to traverse the multiple layers of the old prison, due to
his weakened condition and refusal of aid. He had to stop many times to catch
his breath or to relieve the aching discomfort of his bones and muscles. By the
time they boarded the boat, he was exhausted beyond any he ever remembered. On
the same token, his first taste of air, which was not filtered by the dank
corridors of Azkaban, seemed to lend him new strength. As he curled up into a
loose ball at the front of the boat, he wondered if he was going to wake up
anytime soon. His freedom could only come as a dream after his time as an
inmate. He would never understand how Sirius had lived in that hell for all the
years he did.

xxxxxx

�� Now
remember, we only get one shot at this so it�s got to go smooth,� Stated the
young man in the back of the van. He was tall; just about six foot and built like
a brick house. He watched as the others nodded, not that he expected less, he
was the leader of their gang. They always did what he told them.

�� A wiry, rat
faced teen behind the wheel turned in his seat to look at him. �I still don�t
know about this, Big D. The neighborhood�s one thing, but this puts us in the
big time. You sure that club guy�s got our back?�

�� Dudley
Dursley nodded his thick neck. �Don�t sweat the details; all you got to do is
drive, Pierce. Me and John got the rest.� John was built like Dudley,
massively. He gave Pierce an easy grin while thumping the cricket bat in his
hand. The only other person in the van that was a part of his crew was Jacob.
He sat shotgun, keeping a pistol lowered but ready. �As far as The Boss goes, I
told you already, he�s got our back. We do this job and we�ve done him a solid.
Now, shut up and do what I told you.�

�� The last
person was a woman none of them had ever seen before, and only Dudley had seen
her face out of his crew. She was the reason they where here in the first
place. Her face was hooded and a great gray cloak concealed her body. The
others thought it was weird, but after Dudley told them about what he termed
�The Underground� they backed off.

�� Just
remember, I get first shot at the freak. I got a score to settle with the
prick.� The others nodded and he and John climbed out of the van.

�� They walked
up to the area between houses eleven and thirteen, looking about when John
turned to him. �You really believe this crap about Magic don�t you?�

�� Dudley
nodded. �Just take him by surprise and you won�t have to worry about it. I�ve
done some reading on them; we don�t want him able to fight back. If what she
told us is true, he should appear here. Do your thing and I got the rest.�

�� John
smirked at him. �Cheers then.� He handed the bat to Dudley and walked over to a
light pole to wait. Dudley hid himself behind a row of bushes that were big
enough to hide his bulk.

�� It was a
huge surprise when the woman had come to him yesterday, demanding his help today.
Once she had outlined everything for him what he had to do and what he was
likely to face, he knew there was only one person to go to: The Boss at Club
Three. He was the most connected guy he knew, not that he knew many, and the
only one he that believed him about the Magical world. He had supplied the van
and arms for the job today, as well as outlining the plan for how things were
to go. All things considered he wanted to send a message of his own to the
freaks and saw this as two people doing each other a favor, though he assured
Dudley that if he succeeded today he would actually owe him. Free drinks and
VIP treatment at his place were just a few of the perks. He also offered money.
Lots of money. Dudley needed that to convince his crew to go along with him on
this. They liked money.

�� The woman
was just plain strange. He had never seen her before, nor did he ever read or
hear about her from any of Potters things when he used to snoop. Right after
Dudley had come back from school, he noted that his parents were in great moods
and they were practically celebrating something. It was not until the woman
showed up that he began to understand what had happened. All of that led him to
the here, now.

�� The night
passed by for some time as he sat and waited. This was the hard part, the
waiting. He did not like to wait, but he knew that this time he needed to.
There was no telling when the freak would show. Minutes turned into hours, as
the night passed quietly in this little corner of London, until finally he
heard a �pop�. His eyes had grown droopy, but he came wide-awake as he took in
the sight before him.

��

�� Two figures
had just appeared out of thin air in front of him. The first was an old man
dressed in outlandish freak clothes. The other looked like a bum. The old man
was holding the arm of the bum, but let go when the bum jerked his arm from the
old man�s grasp. He fell hard on the ground, seeming unable to stop himself.
Dudley could feel his heart began to pound with excitement, it was time. He
looked over at John, and noticed he was walking over to the two and he nodded
his head.

�� The old man
had bent to help the bum get up when he heard his signal from John. �Hey old
man, you got a smoke?� Dudley rushed forward from his hiding spot just as he
heard the van down the street start up.

�� It was over
quick. The old man stood up quick and pulled a stick from his robes, half
turning at Dudley�s running foot steps. He never got a look at him, though, as
before he could complete his turn, Dudley had swung the Cricket bat right in
his face, taking him clean off his feet. He had no sooner than laid out the
old-timer when he tossed the bat to John, who took a couple of swings into the
torso of the guy. He pulled the 9mm from his back just as the van screeched to
a halt beside them and the door opened.

�� John
grabbed the bum up, and jumped inside but Dudley was not finished quite yet.
�Pay back�s a bitch, ain�t it Freak?� As quick as he could he pulled the
trigger several times putting three rounds into his right arm like he was told
to. Just before he jumped in the van himself, he snatched up the freak�s stick.
�Go, go, go, go, go!� he shouted, as he pulled the door shut, hearing the
squeal of the tires. He looked out the back window and didn�t see anyone run outside
before they made the corner and were lost from sight. He let out a bellow of
victory that his crew echoed before he looked at the prize of the night.

�� His cousin,
Harry Potter, was currently in the arms of the woman in the van. He could hear
her crying while she clutched him possessively. Harry was looking around,
confused while being held and leaning up against her. Dudley would have
smirked, but this Harry Potter was a different man than the one he saw last
year.

�� He had no
idea what the Freaks had done to him, but he was all messed up. �Dud�Dudley?�
at the tone of his voice, Dudley could not hold back the smirk and let it grace
his face.

�� Hey Harry,
you look like shite you know that?�

�� Harry
blinked several times, looking around at Dudley�s gang. He was not surprised,
they tormented him for years, and they were not exactly friends. Finally, after
several moments he turned to look at Dudley, his confusion not lessened at all.
�What the Fuck is going on?�

�� Rescue
o�course. She told us you were gunna be here tonight and so I called in the
cavalry to pull you out.� Harry looked at him blankly not seeming to understand
what was said to him.

�� Rescue?
Why in the nine hells would you come to rescue me? We hated each other since
forever!�

�� Dudley nodded
looking at him seriously. �Yeah, and you saved my arse last year anyways. I
treated you like trash, Mum and Dad treated you like shite, yet you saved my
life. I�d been thinking all year that I was gunna make it up to you but then
your �people� went and locked you up. Mum and Dad thought it was a great laugh,
me though, I didn�t think it was funny.� He looked up at the woman who was
still crying and holding his cousin for a moment before he looked back at
Harry. �She started showing me �your� paper. I didn�t understand a lot of it,
but I understood the fact they where throwing you in jail for a couple of
months over something stupid.

�� So, she
comes to me yesterday and tells me that old freak was gunna pull you from the
slam they through you in. Gunna bring you to a safe house and lock you up here
until you do what they tell you to do. She asked me to help spring you for her.
I owe you big time so I go see this guy I know at Club Three. He�s connected if
you know what I mean. Anyways, I tell him I got a problem. He tells me he�s got
a solution. Knew who you where and seemed down right pissed about what was
going on. He set it all up and I pulled in the Surrey Crew.�

xxxxxx

�� Harry lay
there listening to his cousin telling him all this unbelievingly. DUDLEY
rescued him from Dumbledore? What sick, twisted parallel world did he wake up
in where a Dursley saved him from Dumbledore? Wasn�t it supposed to be the
other way? He blinked a few times after his cousin stopped talking. The
Greatest �Light� Wizard of the age had his arse handed to him by his muggle
cousin. He couldn�t get his head around that concept. His time in Azkaban must
have unhinged him. He was mad, that was it. He lost his mind; no other
explanation seemed to fit. He looked about the dark van, trying to assimilate
everything. If he was mad, it was still better than what he was expecting.
Maybe madness was not so bad after all. Maybe sanity was just as overrated as
Sirius had always claimed. It sure beat Azkaban. He wondered for a bit if
Sirius went through something similar when he made his escape.

�� Who is
this �she� you keep talking about?� He asked his cousin.

�� In
response, Dudley simply looked above him. Harry leaned his head back and
noticed, for the first time, that someone was holding him. His head was resting
in her ample bosom and he tried to take in her appearance, but was defeated by
the hooded cloak she wore. Just at that moment, they passed a light pole and it
illuminated her features for just a second. He did not recognize her but something
in him told him he should have, as something about her was familiar. Really
familiar. Her hair was long and looked like freshly fallen snow. She was
beautiful, with high cheekbones and amber eyes. He blinked again. She was
crying softly and he realized she was clutching him, like she was afraid he
would disappear if she let go of him. She had a watery smile on her face as she
looked down on him but he could not place what he saw in her eyes. It made his
stomach flutter, though.

�� Master��
her voice was so soft, it struck his ears like a feather�s touch. He felt one
of her hands unclench and begin stroking his matted and filthy hair from his
eyes. He had no idea who she was, but she seemed to know him. He still could
not shake the feeling he should know her from somewhere.

��

�� He brought
his eyes down to Dudley and raised an eyebrow. �You know, this is really
fucking bizarre, even for me.� His cousin just chuckled at him.

�� It took a few hours to arrive at Club Three,
which turned out to be their destination. He looked at Dudley, who was handing
him a cloak. �Put that on and we�ll get you in to talk to The Boss. You might
want this too.� Harry lay there staring at the wand Dudley was offering him.
�Took that from the old guy, figured you might need it since I doubted they
would give you back yours after the prison thing.�

�� Harry
reached for the wand with a shaking hand. �Thanks, they snapped mine after the
trial.�

�� Harry
reached out and took the wand, immediately feeling raw power course through
him. It made him feel light headed and his eyes rolled back in his head from
the feeling. Not since he was locked up, did he feel as good as he did at that
moment. He let out a shuttering breath as the feeling passed. He just managed
to croak out a thank you as the woman helped him to don his cloak. He held the
wand in a death grip once they stepped out of the van.

�� Whoever the
woman was, the second he wobbled on his feet, she took his arm and draped it
over her shoulders to support his weight. �I have you Master.� He felt someone
lower his hood while he was looking at the beautiful woman next to him, trying
to figure out whom she was and why she was calling him Master. His thoughts,
though, were interrupted as he was led into the Club. The bouncer at the door seemed
to be expecting them, as no sooner than they reached the door, he dropped the
rope and let them in, nodding at him respectfully. Harry shook his head, not
understanding what was going on.

�� The Club
was loud and jumping when they entered. He heard and felt the techno beat
blasting throughout the dark area, and caught a look of the dance floor, which
seemed to be on the floor below them. The floor he was on was built like a
balcony that watched over the dance floor and offered a large bar that covered two
whole walls. Looking down he noticed a second bar that covered one wall below.
Several tables were all about, and as he looked up he noticed a floor above
them similar to this one. Neon lights flashed about, reminding him of a movie
he saw once that featured a laser light show. His head was starting to pound
from all the noise and lights before they managed to reach a door and he was
ushered inside.

�� The hallway
he was walking down now was sparsely decorated. By now, he was barely paying
attention to anything, as the woman who was supporting him was practically
dragging him along. The last of his reserves were just about spent. Thankfully,
he did not have to wait much longer to find out what was going on.

�� He was
shown into what looked like an office of some kind. A well dressed man was
seated behind a large desk, reading a ledger, when he noticed them standing
there.

�� Harry
wearily looked at him. He was an average looking guy; the kind of guy that, if
he was not wearing such an expensive looking suit, you would not look at him
twice. His face was clean-shaven, but his dark hair was pulled back into a
ponytail like some of the Purebloods favored.�

�� Mr. Harry
Potter. My name is Robert Logan and I have been looking forward to meeting
you��

Authors
Note:

Here you go; this story is a part of the Eight Shades
Universe and is considered to be the Fourth Shade. Currently, my main focus is
on The Marauders Vanguard, but I will be posting chapters here as often as I
can. Please feel free to read and review as I enjoy the feedback.

Also feel free to send ideas for this story to me via
messages or Email. I could use all the ideas I can get for it and if I use it,
I will acknowledge you accordingly. Betas, if you�re interested, send me a
message, because currently I don�t have any yet for this story.

Thank you all for reading.
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The Master of Assassins

Prologue