Chapter Text
1999, 2nd August
Grey clouds covered the sky. The rain had been pouring since early morning. While not quite abnormal, the weather was still quite cool. Life in Britain had its ups and downs.
Harry wasn’t very bothered by the weather. It would've probably been worse if it had been sunny.
When he gazed through the windows of Grimmauld Place, he caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection.
It was really quite grotesque. The sunken in eyes, purplesque complexion, the skeletal body. He looked more like a corpse than someone who had just celebrated his 20th birthday. It wasn't for nothing that all the mirrors had been covered or removed - every time he saw himself he was reminded that he should've died, that he doesn't belong amongst the living.
Two days after his birthday, he was still feeling the effects of drinking as heavily as he had done. In his defense, interactions had become harder ever since the war. He felt this incredible coldness inside. This indescribable hole. Talking felt like a chore.
Drinking helped. It warmed the body and loosened his tongue. It was still strenuous, but it was getting less so with every sip.
And the Weasleys had thrown quite the party for "the saviour". They had really gone all out. Harry had been quite overwhelmed by the number of strangers, politicians, and "cousins" in attendance.
He really had no choice.
His life had become a vicious cycle of drinking, eating with the Weasley family (in the new and improved Burrow), drinking, fighting for the Slytherins in Wizengamort, and drinking. If it wasn't for Kreacher, he probably would've probably died of alcohol poisoning.
Everything felt so empty. So incredibly empty. And so so cold.
The world that had started to lose colour when he was twelve was now grey. Harry preferred the bleak British weather because when the world is shrouded in ashen shadow, he doesn't have to pretend to see colour.
Before the bottle, he sought refuge in Ginny. He felt drawn to her, felt fuller when he was near her. But that only lasted for so long.
She demanded so much. Harry, let's go to this event, Harry, buy me this, Harry, take me there!
The fullness he felt wasn't worth the exhaustion. And so he began to avoid her.
What had once been a fairy tale dream - the helpless damsel and her saviour was now long behind them.
But Ginny wasn't the type of person to give up easily. That was one of her best traits really. Even though it made him uncomfortable, Harry admired that about her.
Even though he rigorously avoided her, she still did her best when he saw her. She batted her eyelashes, pressed herself against him, and flirted with him extensively. And when he didn't see her, she sent letters, if not by owls, then through Ron or Hermione.
Each time they had attended the same event, she endeavoured to get him to a point in his intoxication where he could no longer say "no". Fortunately, his marathon drinking quickly built up his tolerance.
No matter what she did or how hard she tried, there was nothing. The spark that had flickered between them when they were still in Hogwarts had long since been extinguished.
And though Harry often pondered if maybe he should just give in. Smile, kiss her. Not that he didn't try, but each time he was so overcome with such a bone deep fatigue that after a few attempts, he ruled it as fruitless.
He didn't blame her, not really. Harry thought her desperation as a defense mechanism or trauma left over from the war. But as a result, he had begun to avoid the Weasley family.
He felt quite guilty about it. They had practically adopted him, fed him, clothed him.
He should confront Ginny, ask her to stop. And apologize to the rest of the family members. For the dodging, the always being inebriated, the way he was the first to leave his own birthday party, that they had tried so hard to organize.
They had forgiven him for the deaths of their sons. Surely, they'd forgive him for this.
This only left the question of how? Maybe he should come over and help Molly with dinner? Buy some expensive gifts?
Harry was frankly shit when it came to gifts. And shutting himself off from society certainly didn’t help. Not feeling like embarrassing himself, he decided to leave it at cooking a delicious meal. After all, it was one of the only things he was good at (Aunt Petunia had HIGH standards).
He rummaged through his kitchen, collecting ingredients for a Sunday roast. He ran to one of the indoor greenhouses to grab some herbs.
Harry took his invisibility cloak with him (he rarely left home without it, because every time he did, he was swarmed by reporters and their various questions: who will he defend next? Will he become an auror? Will he attend the next session of the Wizengemort?). These days he was more often than not under it.
He apparated in the front yard of the Burrow. As the rain was quite strong, the cloak stayed on. The young man trekked through the muddy path right up to the front door. Opting to clean his shoes on the porch.
Not bothering to knock, he let himself in. The house had quite strong wards implemented (to which he was keyed in), so the main door was rarely locked.
He took off his shoes, heading straight for the kitchen.
"He really hasn't been coming round these days. I'm starting to get worried."
Well, it wasn’t hard to tell who Hermione was talking about. Bloody hell, he needs to get a grip. Had it gotten that bad that it required discussing?
"Ginny, what are you doing? Are you even trying? I feel like I haven't seen you near him in months. And! On his birthday, he looked like he would rather be anywhere, but near you.”
Ah. She was also there.
"Well if it’s so easy you try to seduce him. I swear he's either made of stone or his dick doesn’t work.
God, he won't even touch me. If we didn't have a history together, I'd think the wanker a fag"
"Slip him a love potion then, it really doesn’t seem that hard, Ginny "
"You think I haven't tried? All the ones I've been feeding him have been rather weak as I didn’t want to cause suspicion. Make it gradual or whatever. I guess that plan goes down the drain. He and his ability to throw off mind control is so annoying."
"Ginny, you need him to knock you up. Better yet, marry you. Otherwise, we'll never get access to his vaults. And you know best that the twat is the least deserving of the fortune laying there.”
Everything went static. So much for friends and family.
They might not be that bright because they could’ve at least thrown up some weak silencing spells, but then again Harry was completely unaware of their schemes this whole time, so fair enough.
He stepped back and quietly put on his shoes - for the first time, he thanked the Dursleys for teaching him how to hardly make any noise. It’s almost funny how much his horrific childhood was prevalent that day.
Harry was probably cursed to never find a family. This was the third after all.
He stepped back into the August rain. Empty.
He wandered through the mud without rhyme or reason. His eyes saw nothing, his ears heard nothing. He just walked, more corpse than man. It was like his own version of The Red Shoes got put on him.
When he awoke from his daze, his feet had brought him into a wheat field.
There he stood for what felt like months. Unfeeling. Surrounded by dull gold, ready for harvest.
It made sense, didn’t it. All they saw him as was a cash bag. It made so much sense.
All of the jealous looks from Ron. Strange behaviour from Ginny. The controlling from Hermione.
At the time it seemed ordinary. Just their quirks as people. The truth made so much more sense, didn’t it.
He was grown to be a pig for slaughter, so it is only logical that when Voldemort failed to slaughter him, he became a cash cow. Livestock will always be livestock.
Look at what he had become. Harry Potter, the saviour, the slave, the Boy-Who-Lived, the martyr, and now a piggybank. Never just Harry. To no one. Ever.
Well, if he was only a thing, things can be replaced.
He apparated to Grimmauld place where he was greeted by Kreacher. The elf examined him with a suspicious gaze. Harry was dripping all over the floor. His cloak open, barely hanging off him. Harry was very periocular about dirtying the house and such behaviour was highly unusual.
He also seemed too slow, hollow. His magic a little too erratic.
"Master, what’s wrong? Did the dirty blood traitors do something?"
Not being able to quite respond, Harry cocked his head at Kreacher. Then threw his cloak at him. Quickly running up the stairs into the potions laboratory.
Harry rummaged all through the various drawers searching for a Health Status potion. He knew there was one somewhere there, as when a few months back when he had unsealed the room Kreacher had done inventory. Between a lot of spoiled potions, few had been kept under a very strong statis charm and were still okay to use. And though at the time the Health Status potion had seemed completely irrelevant, now he had to make sure he wasn’t under the influence of any potions.
After finding the potion, he poured it out on a parchment and thoughtlessly slit his palm with a nearby knife.
Slowly all of the injuries he had suffered over the years started to appear. Everything from broken bones to malnutrition. It also included the status of the injuries today. It was no surprise that almost all of the bones had healed wrong. But no, this was not what Harry was looking for. He wanted to know what magic was done to him.
Finally, his blood mixture began:
Potions/Compulsions
Dragon pox preventive potion
Blood adoption potion (keyed Sirius Black)
Pain relief potion
Core block potion 60% (Albus Dumbledore) – 48% broken
Parseltongue block potion 100% (Albus Dumbledore) – 100% broken
Blood Glamour magic (keyed James Potter)
Loyalty compulsion (keyed Weasleys) – failed
Loyalty compulsion (keyed Dumbledore)
Skelet-grow potion
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) – failed
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Calming draught
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) – failed
Dreamless sleep potion
Calming draught
Dreamless sleep potion
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) – failed
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) – failed
Dreamless sleep potion
Dreamless sleep potion
Love potion (keyed Ginevra Weasley) - failed
Well, at least now he knew that Ginny’s determination only rivaled his addiction to the “Dreamless sleep” potion.
It was all quite funny to Harry all of a sudden. And without much thought, he began to hysterically laugh. The cackling only rivaled that of Bellatrix, while she was still alive. Though who knows in what kinds of ways she was laughing whilst burning in deaths of hell.
"Oh Master, not the Black Madness, not you too" Back in the hallway the house-elf muttered to himself. His worst fear had come true. Nevertheless, he was determined to care for his master. Harry wouldn’t be the first insane Black he took care of.
Kreacher began to walk towards the laboratory. Before he could open the door, the young man dashed outside, still barely able to keep the grin off his face.
Who needs such a broken toy as him?
Harry made his way out the front door. The house elf desperately tried to stop him, but the wizard's magic was too volatile to come near. Kreacher tried to yell after the man, but Harry’s ears were still unhearing.
Harry started to run to the nearest apothecary. He wasn’t about to let the wizarding world that caused all of his suffering to take him out of the world too. They already had so many chances, each seeming to fail. All that was left was the muggle way then.
It took a bit longer than Harry expected to get to the drugstore. When he did get there he was completely soaked – his white shirt now so see-through you could almost make out his scars.
The wizard panted for a while, trying to catch his breath. Once he felt okay enough to act, he started manically grabbing every painkiller he could find. Harry had no idea how many he would need, so just in case for every bottle he grabbed one more.
The store clerk gave a concerned look at Harry’s direction, but the man couldn’t be bothered and just threw up a Notice-Me-Not charm, continuing to rummage.
After assessing that the amount would be good enough, the twenty-year-old made his way back home. This time with a slow pace. Almost enjoying the rain. Enjoying how alive it made his body feel, reveling in the knowledge that soon his body would be as cold as the rain.
Slowly making his way into the Black townhouse, this time practicing all of his normal habits (drying his clothes, cleaning his shoes, cleansing the floor), he took in the black magic pulsing in the walls.
It seemed to lead him upstairs.
Kreacher seeing as his master came back with boxes and bottles of muggle origin, felt immediately more relieved. Maybe Harry would just sleep this off. Whatever the dirty blood-traitors had done to his poor master could surely be fixed. He prayed that whatever the young man was experiencing was only a hysterical break and not the true form of the Black Madness. If it was the latter, he feared what would happen to the wizarding world, as the illness was known to corrupt magic cores. Harry’s core was already grey, but corrupted… Harry could very well become the next Dark Lord.
The young wizard walked into the attic of Grimmauld Place. It was unlike every other room in the house. It was bright and roomy, big windows letting in light on the left side of the roof.
The ancient magic of the Black family led it’s heir to the center of the room, down onto a red decorative carpet.
Hoping that he still could swallow anything, under any conditions, Harry took his first handful.
"At least in death I won’t feel pain" he laughed.
A dark presence sighed and got ready to embrace its master back into its arms.