I woke up in the darkness, just like every morning for the past year. Slowly, I opened my eyes and stretched. I was in my cave somewhere in the wilds of Wales. All around me, bones lay scattered across the ground – a mixture of animal and human remains.
Nearby was a pool, but if anyone expected cold mountain water, they would be bitterly mistaken. The beast within me preferred the blood of its victims, and it took us a long time to fill this pool to the brim. I stood up and headed toward the surface. The bones cracked under my weight like dry branches. With a splash, I submerged myself in the thick, red liquid. The demon's blood was soothing. It was our shared ritual.
After that hellish year, where my only company was a demon and corpses, this blood bath was the only moment of peace.
The demon wasn't just a parasite. In the beginning, it was unimaginable – on the very first night after its awakening, it slaughtered almost everyone I loved. But over time and with an iron will, I forced it into symbiosis. It forced us to kill constantly, it craved pain, but it no longer murdered the innocent. No more destroyed villages, no more dead families. It became my tool. From my once gaunt and shattered body, it created the perfect predator. I was superhumanly strong, fast, and my senses were sharper than a wolf's. Glasses were a thing of the distant past, as were illnesses. My new body could digest raw meat and bones without the slightest trouble.
We had abilities that wizards never even dreamed of. The demon could smell the scent of a soul – it could distinguish good from true evil, allowing us to focus only on those who deserved death. During every hunt, I felt something tracking us, some distant magic. But the demon's presence blocked any clairvoyance or divination. We were invisible. We always vanished before they could lock onto us.
We learned to move through shadows like smoke and summon green hellfire – a power that knew no resistance and, in a single second, burned everything in its path to nothingness. It left no ash, no bones, not even smoke; only emptiness. We could burrow into the minds of others and rip out memories like chunks of raw meat. Yet, the beast did not think for itself. It was merely an uncontrollable storm of animal instincts and unquenchable hunger, a force that could not be destroyed, only directed with every ounce of my strength. I was the consciousness, it was the unrestrained destructive force – I was the one who chose the target, it was the one who tore it to pieces.
A bounty had long been placed on my head. Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix and the corrupt Ministry were searching for me, while from the other side, through my scar, I felt only Voldemort's slimy, dark amusement. To ordinary wizards, I was just Harry Potter – the boy who went mad under the weight of fame. Instead of the Ministry focusing all its strength on the real threat, they hunted me. It was a sad testament to the rotten world we live in.
Did I deserve this? My entire bloodline was slaughtered, my parents fell victim to a madman, and I ended up cursed with a demon that wouldn't even let me die. All I ever wanted from life was to have a home. I wanted a family of my own and one day, many decades later, to die in peace, surrounded by those I love.
But thanks to the incompetence of this nation, Voldemort's obsession, and that fucking prophecy, I was left with nothing. Only blood under my fingernails and the silent scream of the Beast in my head.
But the time for self-pity has expired. I have cried all the tears I had left in me. Now it is time for something else. It is time for revenge.
***
The night was dark and freezing – the perfect time for a hunt. Thanks to the blood bond in my scar, we felt the Death Eaters like rotting stains on a map of the world. Their dark presence beckoned us, pulsing in our temples and calling us to the feast.
With the demon, we had reached a rare consensus. He craved any life, but I uncompromisingly directed his hunger toward the Dark Lord's servants. I will slaughter them one by one. I will strip Voldemort of every Death Eater, every wand, until he is alone. And then, his turn will come.
We tracked the nearest scent of rot until it led us to a half-collapsed, damp castle near Feldcroft. I felt him there. He was hiding in the bowels of the stone like a rat in a hole. A thick web of protective spells rippled around the castle, but we passed through them as if they didn't exist. The ancient barriers didn't even shiver; to the magic of this world, we were invisible, a phantom without a name or essence.
Calmly, without haste, I reached out my hand toward the massive door. Green hellfire erupted from my fingertips. The handle vanished in silence, not even liquid metal remained, only an empty hole. The door creaked open slightly.
I stepped inside. I walked soundlessly, guided by the rhythm of his pulsing, corrupted soul. I felt my mouth watering – that reflex wasn't mine, it belonged to the Beast, which could no longer wait for the feast. Every one of my senses was heightened to the maximum.
I walked slowly through the corridors until I stopped before massive mahogany doors. Without hesitation, I opened them. The sound of the hinges must have resonated in that silence, because the figure inside didn't even turn, only growled irritably, "What is it, Ribo? What do you want now? If it's another piece of nonsense, I'll cut off your other ear too!"
He was sitting in a deep armchair, his back to the door, holding a thick book. I didn't answer. Instead, I began to stalk toward him, my movements fluid and predatory.
The air in the room froze in a fraction of a second. I saw the hair on the back of his neck stand up in pure, primal fear. He turned sharply, the book hitting the ground with a thud, and with his wand drawn, he roared, "Imperio!"
The yellow beam hit me directly in the chest. But instead of succumbing to a foreign will, the spell merely dissolved harmlessly against my skin. The demon swallowed that pathetic attempt at control with an almost audible, mocking belch in my mind.
I released the grip of my will and gave the Beast space. Since we were in perfect alignment, the transformation was instantaneous. Instead of a man, there suddenly stood a great demon with black, unnaturally taut skin and protruding spikes, from whose throat came a satisfied, raspy laugh.
"Avada Kedavra!" the Death Eater screamed in the mortal agony of fear. A green flash illuminated the room, but it ended just like the previous one – the demon simply absorbed it.
We stopped right beside him and looked him directly in the eyes. In his dilated pupils, I saw the reflection of the monster I had become. The Beast calmly stepped toward him and grabbed the hand in which he desperately clutched his wand. It snapped his fingers as if they were dry twigs and tossed the wand aside.
Then, it slowly placed his hand into its mouth. It enjoyed every note of his helpless scream. It bit deep into the flesh with gusto, and a stream of hot blood immediately poured from the open wound.
However, over that year, I had taught the demon discipline. It knew that if it let him bleed out now, the fun would end too soon.
With a wave of our hand, we summoned a flame that cauterized the wound in a second. The room filled with the foul stench of burnt human flesh, mixing with his unceasing roar. Now he was ours. And the night was still long.
The Beast savored his agony with loathsome pleasure. It slowly tore the fingers from his other hand and chewed them in front of him with relish while staring into his eyes. His screams shook the room, the air heavy with the smell of ammonia and excrement, but the Beast only laughed gutturally. I watched the spectacle with chilling indifference. I felt that he deserved every second of that suffering.
But we needed information.
I nudged the demon mentally. The laughter stopped instantly. Half of my face returned to its human form, while the other remained the black mask of a monster. Without warning, I broke into his mind.
His name was Augustus Rookwood. He once worked as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. His mind was armored with oaths intended to prevent him from revealing secrets under the penalty of death. But to the demon's hunger for magic, that was nothing. We devoured those oaths like sweet nectar and penetrated to the core of his consciousness.
From what I saw, my stomach churned. Rookwood was a sadist who, under the protection of the Ministry, performed the most depraved experiments on people, children, orphans, and animals. Hundreds of lives were extinguished at his hands in the name of "research" that the Ministry kept silent about.
Over the last year, Voldemort had almost completely taken over political structures. Dumbledore was on the defensive, abandoned by most of his supporters. While the old Headmaster desperately searched for me to "help" me, the Ministry put a bounty on my head with orders to kill on sight. To the rest of the continent, I was just crazy Harry Potter, a mass murderer, while Voldemort was almost forgotten in the shadow of fear.
"Revenge will be mine," I thought with a hatred that burned hotter than hellfire. The Beast growled in agreement. It didn't understand politics, but it felt my hunger for vengeance. And in that, we were in perfect harmony.
***
The last six months have been a time of pure terror. We, who under the leadership of the Dark Lord hunted Muggles and "mudbloods," suddenly found ourselves in the role of prey, trembling in the dark. The list of massacred and devoured Death Eaters grew longer every day. At first, we tried to set traps, but Potter walked into none of them. Instead, he systematically slaughtered our entire bloodlines. After two months, the recruitment of new followers for Voldemort completely ceased – the fear of the mad Potter was stronger than loyalty to the Dark Lord. Now, after half a year, I am one of the last ones left.
I sent my family to America under the protection of MACUSA with a fraction of my wealth. I stuffed the rest of the gold and jewels from the Gringotts vaults into chests. I myself fled to Barcelona. I was no longer afraid of Voldemort – compared to what was hunting us, he seemed almost harmless. Joining him was the greatest mistake of my life; he helped create the monster that was eating us alive.
I knew I couldn't hide. Death would find me. My only hope, as fragile as glass, lay in those chests. I hoped that if I couldn't buy Potter's mercy for myself, perhaps he would take those mountains of gold and jewelry in exchange for the lives of my wife and children.
I sat on the villa's terrace in total darkness, staring at the calm sea, but in the depths of my soul, I felt only the approaching storm. I didn't want to die yet. I was too young to become food for the Beast.
Suddenly, the air on the terrace chilled so sharply that steam began to rise from my breath. The shadows on the white walls of the villa began to stretch and ripple unnaturally, as if they had come to life. I knew death had found me. I didn't need to turn around to know that he was standing right behind me.
"The gold is in those chests, Potter," I whispered in a trembling voice, fixing my eyes on the horizon. "Everything is there. My family's wealth. Take it... and leave my family alone. Please."
"Look at me," he commanded in a cold voice.
I obeyed immediately. I didn't dare reach for my wand; it would have been suicide, and I still believed that my obedience was a ransom for the lives of my wife and children.
When I turned, my breath hitched in my throat. Standing before me was not the boy I knew from the Wizengamot courtroom or Lord Voldemort's ritual chamber. He was a grown man in his prime with an athletic, perfectly sculpted physique. His skin was unnaturally pale, as if the sun had never touched it, and long raven hair reached down to the middle of his back. It was no longer that untidy nest; he had it neatly clipped back with a white pin, which I realized with horror after a moment was carved from human bone. But the most terrifying were his eyes – in the darkness of the terrace, they glowed neon like the green flames of hell itself.
Suddenly, a sharp pain flashed through my head. I felt him penetrating my mind with brute force, but I didn't dare resist. He read my every memory, every sin, every emotion. I breathed raggedly, paralyzed by fear, until my voice returned.
"Please... take the gold. All of it. Just leave my family alone. I beg of you!"
Potter measured me thoughtfully for a moment with those burning eyes, and finally, he gave a curt nod.
"You've bought your family's life, Yaxley. In the end, you weren't one of the worst; at least you knew the meaning of loyalty to your own blood. You may die in peace."
In that moment, a wave of indescribable gratitude washed over me. How twisted was it to feel gratitude toward your own murderer? But I knew that his power was absolute. No one could stop him – not Dumbledore, nor my former Master.
"Thank you... thank you," I whispered with tears in my eyes, bowing deeply to him as tears of relief ran down my face.
In a fraction of a second, Potter's human form dissolved. In his place, there suddenly stood a black, pulsing shadow of a demon. He reached out a hand, and I closed my eyes. Without resistance, without fear, and almost voluntarily, I stepped forward to embrace my own death.
***
Author's note:
So, we've finally made some progress. Harry has mastered a degree of symbiosis with the demon, and as you can see, the hunt has officially begun.
This version of Harry is a far cry from the boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs. He's evolved into something primal, something the wizarding world isn't prepared to face. I wanted to explore the dark consequences of the prophecy and what happens when the "Chosen One" stops being a savior and starts being a predator.
***
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