The Darkening of Your Soul

Chapter 3

When Harry woke up the next morning without anyone banging on his door demanding he make breakfast, he let out a sigh of relief. It seemed his relatives were keeping their end of the bargain. Harry spent a little time just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He really was back in the past, had really been given a second chance. The sharp sting of betrayal he felt all over again at the thought of what his former friends had done was soon followed by a burst of energetic warmth at the thought of doing everything better this time. And he couldn’t help the utter sense of glee knowing he was so much more than people were expecting him to be.

People were expecting an ignorant muggle-raised eleven-year-old with average intelligence and mediocre ambitions. What they got was a battle-hardened eighteen-year-old Master of Death who had faced dragons and a basilisk, and a Dark Lord many times, and who had been betrayed by those closest to him and who had no intention of being anyone’s sacrificial lamb ever again. And who had died. Twice.

People really had no idea who they were dealing with, Harry thought while he snickered into his pillow. This was going to be so much fun.

The sounds around the house, Vernon leaving for work, Dudley screaming one demand or another, indicated it was probably time to get up lest he incur his aunt’s wrath, bargain or not.

“There’s breakfast,” his aunt snapped when he walked into the kitchen. She pointed at a plate holding two fried eggs, a slice of bacon and a slice of toast, with a mug of tea on the side. The bread wasn’t even burned all that much. “It’s probably cold.”

“Thank you, Aunt Petunia. That looks great,” Harry said with a polite smile as he sat at the kitchen table and started eating. Thankfully, the food was still lukewarm and tasted fine. Harry’s strategy for the Dursleys was to avoid whenever possible and otherwise to be unfailingly polite. He wanted to give them absolutely no reasons to go back on their bargain.

“I’ll be visiting an old family friend this morning,” Harry told his aunt as he washed his plate and mug. “And I thought I could mow the lawn this afternoon. It looks like it could do with a trim.”

Petunia’s face contorted in a few very entertaining ways as she considered Harry’s words, probably looking for ways to deny him these things without breaking their deal. “Fine,” she finally said and turned on her heel and rushed out of the kitchen.

Harry smiled all the way to the bathroom, where it quickly turned into a frown as he looked down while peeing.

Had his cock always been that small when he was ten going on eleven? Harry sighed, not looking forward to puberty all over again. Though perhaps this time he could put some effort into actually having sex once his body had matured. Harry was deeply disappointed in himself that he’d died a virgin. Twice.

As he stood under the shower and washed his hair his thoughts turned to his upcoming adventure. Talking Kreacher into becoming his friend. And thinking about that house-elf led to thoughts about his godfather.

Harry was terribly conflicted about what to do about Sirius Black.

He loved Sirius. Or perhaps it could better be described as loving the idea of Sirius, because in truth Harry had barely known the man. Even when Harry had spent a few weeks at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had isolated himself more often than not. On top of that, Sirius was damaged. Exposure to dementors for over a decade ravaged the mind and most of that damage was permanent. Even if Harry got Sirius released that very day, the poor man would never be mentally healthy or stable again, not even with the best magical treatments in the world. Harry was certain this was why Sirius had, at times, such difficulty distinguishing between Harry and James.