Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
~ Prologue ~
Harry clutched the thin, threadbare blanket tighter, willing it to bring warmth that would never come. His tears soaked into the rough fabric, but he made no sound. Sounds led to punishment. He had been sent back to his cupboard without food again, because Dudley thought it might be funny to spill water on his uncle's chicken parmesan and then blame Harry for it.
Vernon didn't need to be told twice. If someone said something was Harry's fault, then it was Harry's fault.
The beating that followed was nothing different than what he was used to. He had been here for 4 months now and not a day went by where he wasn't treated worse than dirt by these people.
He missed his parents. He missed Vera. He missed Rose. He missed Padfoot. He missed Moony. He missed grandma Dorea. He missed his grandpa Charlus. He missed old man Dumbledore. He even missed that git, Adam.
He missed his family.
He never understood their decision to leave them here. No doubt, more of that 'It is necessary for Adam' crap.
These people were not his family. And day after day, it became clearer to him.
THUD!
A deafening thud shattered the silence, sending a jolt of anxiety through Harry. The dingy cupboard he was forced to sleep in barely fit his bed, but at least it left enough space for him to move.
Harry placed each step with care, his bare feet ghosting over the wooden floorboards. He had long since learned which planks creaked under pressure. The grill acted as a substitute for a window, and Harry was glad it did because he needed to see what was happening outside.
A purple face, blazing with rage was soon in front of his eyes, followed by a loud bang on his cupboard door.
'Boy! Open the door! Get out here now!' bellowed Vernon, his words slurred. The stench of alcohol penetrated his nose, making him feel nauseous.
There was no chance in hell, Harry would go out there. He knew what was coming. He had heard stories about people hitting others when they had drowned themselves in alcohol. He did not fancy getting beaten again.
He shrunk himself into a corner, hoping the man would go away. But it was all for naught.
The door burst open, the hinges now dangling by the side, as Vernon's furious form came into view.
He grabbed Harry by his hair, making the poor boy cry out in pain. He dragged Harry out into the kitchen, twisting his hair as he trudged through the house with heavy steps.
"What is all that noise?" Petunia Dursley said as she hurried down. She went to her husband and tried to get an answer, but the look in his eyes made her stay her ground, her eyes darting between Vernon and her nephew, confusion and hesitation clear.
"I am done with the freak, 'tunia. I am going to end his freakishness right here, right now!" Vernon barked out, slamming Harry against the kitchen counter. His frail body crumpled due to the hit, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
He raised his head, his eyes closing due to the pain. His back took the brunt of the impact, likely to have bruised due to the force. He saw a knife in Vernon's hand, Petunia holding onto it as she tried to make him see reason.
However, Harry's mind had already been consumed by fear.
'Is this it?' the six-year-old thought. He couldn't die here, killed by the hands of a drunk idiot. No, he did not want to die. In that moment, he remembered every moment of his life. From the birthdays to the functions; but one memory rose the front. The day it had all changed for him. The day the bad wizard had attacked and the day he lost his grandparents.
They had not sacrificed their life for him to die at the hands of a drunk man with a knife.
The longing he felt for his family merely a few moments back turned into unimaginable hatred. Their behaviour towards him had worsened since that Halloween night, and then they had sent him away. Where he was going to die.
'This is their fault!' Harry thought. And thought kept getting louder as Vernon and Petunia continued to scream at each other, not noticing the fact that Dudley had also walked into the room, his eyes wide with fear as he looked at the scene in front of him.
This is their fault.
This is their fault.
THIS IS THEIR FAULT!
Harry's magic reacted to his thoughts in that moment. Its host was in danger.
Mother Magic was a mystery to everyone. No one could understand her intricacies, or why she blessed others while some were cursed by her.
But Mother Magic always protected the ones who called out to her. And right now, she answered the call of a six-year-old boy who was in immense pain and needed her help.
What happened next, no one knows. Because no witnesses were left as the Dursley's House blew up, consumed by a cloud of black and red energy.
The entire property was razed to the ground, the bodies of the three charred to ash.
However, one remained. The wizard at the centre of it all.
His body huddled in the centre of the massacre, unconscious and surrounded by a cocoon of black and red energy.
Moments later, footsteps echoed as a man walked onto the scene. His eyes shining in the night, surveying the chaos the boy had unleashed.
His eyes soon found the boy, encased in a protective shell created by his own magic. The wizard sighed. He knew what that aggressive cocoon was and why the boy's magic had chosen to create that.
"I am sorry for what you have gone through, young wizard. The ones who are blessed the most, are also cursed with the suffering that precedes it. I'll make sure, you become the man you are destined to be, Harry Potter," the man spoke softly, as he spoke to parasite shielding the child. ensuring it that he wouldn't harm the boy.
The magic reacted to the emotions of the man, as if it heard everything that was said clearly, and receded back into the boy's body. He crouched low, and gazed at him with determination in his eyes. The child would become the man he had foreseen he would. His tutelage would make sure of it.
He placed a hand on the child's back and whispered a spell, lifting up the notice-me-not charm he had placed on the area. His heterochromatic eyes shined as he whispered another spell, whisking the boy away, never to be seen.
Harry Potter was a soul that burned with a raging fire, a soul that could potentially set the world aflame. The only question was, would he?
The wizarding world would not see Harry Potter again. At least, not until he was forced to return.
~ Present Day ~
With a sudden start, Harry awakened. His body and bedsheets had been completely drenched in sweat. He looked down at the slightly wet and musty Egyptian silk sheets that adorned his bed and grimaced. He would have to clean that up again. Why did everything in this place have to be magically resistant?
"Because you kept damaging everything in your initial stages of learning milord," a voice answered, his tone firm and factual, but it carried an edge of humour as well.
"Yes, I remember very well Wrath, thank you," Harry spoke as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before getting up, a hulking shadow that took the form of a man dressed as a knight stood at the entrance of his bedroom. The shadow was approximately 8 feet tall, with a heavily armoured body, that seemed to have been created from the very same energy that had saved Harry all those years ago.
As they walked out of his bedroom, Wrath connected to his shadow, Harry tilted his head back up and said, "You know it is your fault we had to get magically resistant furniture. If you hadn't been so untameable, I wouldn't have struggled for as long as I did."
"Ah, a young lord blaming his servant for his own follies. How original," Wrath replied with a dry tone that left Harry chuckling as they made it downstairs.
"Your tardiness is still something we have to work on," a stern, gruff voice stated as the two entered the kitchen.
'Right on cue,' the lord and his shadow thought as they both stood up straight at the sound of the man who called them out first thing in the early hours of the morning.
"And you have not showered once again. I can see the sweat stains on your clothes and the need for sleep clearly around your eyes. Go wash your face before eating anything," the man ordered, not taking his eyes away from the newspaper in his hand. The title displaying 'The Daily Prophet', proudly.
Harry sighed but acknowledged what the man said and nodded in acceptance. "As you say, Professor Grindelwald."
With that he turned around and went off to take a shower. If he was going to splash water on his face, he might as well shower and get it over with.
Wrath however, stayed back. The man, now identified as Gellert Grindelwald, the infamous figurehead of the Wizarding War that shook the very foundations of Europe and resulted in the eruption of World War 2, was now simply sitting on his oakwood seat and sipping a cup of tea as he read about the happenings of the British Wizarding World.
"Was it the nightmares again?" he questioned, his eyes turning upwards to the figure of the knight that stood towards his left.
"Yes, milord. The frequency has lessened, but they are no less stressful than before," Wrath admitted, expression unchanged as he addressed the young lord's situation to his mentor.
Grindelwald grunted in response, a grim look decorating his face. The situation he had found the boy in was something he wouldn't wish on any magical child. A situation that had become less common since the days where muggles organized witch hunts, but still carried the same chances of being fatal to the child.
The abuse Harry had suffered from and the near-death experience the poor lad had been put through moments before he had found him, had led to his magic going into overdrive and lashing out at the world.
Harry Potter was an Obscurial.
An Obscurial was a young wizard or witch who had developed a dark parasitical magical force, known as an Obscurus, as a result of their magic being suppressed through psychological or physical abuse. An Obscurus was ordinarily a destructive force of nature, invisible to the naked eye, only influencing their Obscurial to wreak havoc on the physical world.
There was nothing ordinary about Harry Potter, however.
His Obscurial had manifested into the physical: coalescing into a mass of black and red energy. An energy that had taken years for the young and extremely gifted wizard to control.
Grindelwald mused—Newt Scamander had been right after all.
An Obscurial could learn to harness then parasitic nature of an Obscurus with enough training by a mentor who understood magical theory, would care for them and if things went south, control the situation without their protégé losing his or her life.
It took a little over a decade of Grindelwald putting Harry through rigorous training regime to get the boy where he is today. His student had learned to control his Obscurus. Not just that, the little bastard had done one better.
He had given his Obscurus a true physical form in their plane of existence. The form of a knight that would protect him and aid Harry every step of the way so he never feels helpless ever again.
"So, what were the two of you discussing," Harry's voice cut through Grindelwald's thoughts as he joined the two again, his mind refreshed from the shower and messy locks still wet.
Snapping his fingers, Grindelwald dried the boy's hair off, getting a 'thank you' in reply as Harry served himself with a rather large breakfast.
"Are we training today or do you want Wrath and I to spar again?" Harry asked as he treated himself to a traditional English breakfast, alongside a plate of pancakes that he was stuffing in his mouth.
"Neither. We have a job to do," Grindelwald answered, folding his paper back as he turned towards his student, informing him about their agenda for the day.
"A job? Didn't we get through the last one barely a month back? Why are we going on another one so soon?" Harry questioned; his curiosity piqued. His mentor was extremely particular when it came to their schedules. Naturally, the sudden change would interest Harry.
"Yes. The assignment is simple. The French Minister of Magic was recently attacked in his office. Jean Delacour was unharmed as the French Aurors did well in repelling the attack but like any sane man, he has been looking for more protection for his family," Grindelwald answered.
"I assume this is where we come in?" Harry pressed further.
"You assume correctly, Harry," Grindelwald answered, rolling his eyes at the boy's impatience as he interrupted the old man.
"He has gotten extra protection for his wife and youngest daughter. The problem is his older one is seemingly too headstrong to get escorted by the security they have hired. Which is why the Minister has had the brilliant idea to get her someone closer to her age," Grindelwald said, a smirk directed at the boy who had not connected the dots yet.
"Wait? You want me guard a hormonal, and possibly spoilt, teenage girl? After what happened last time?" Harry said, his entire persona in disbelief as he put his breakfast aside for a second, completely baffled by what his mentor had casually tossed out in the open.
"Ah, yes. We still cannot go to Morocco because you couldn't keep it in your pants. I'll admit I was rather proud but I did not fancy being chased away by the noble's guards," Grindelwald mused, his expression serene as if he was living through the scene in his head. "But still, the wife and both daughters? Did I tell you I was proud of you up until you landed us on the permanently banned list?"
"That's not the point," Harry said, shifting the conversation to the one they were having before this. "Have you already accepted the job?"
"Yes."
And that was the end of it. He knew his teacher wouldn't budge. Mercenary work was important for their finances, especially since Grindelwald couldn't go out in the open and get a normal job due to his rather long list of war crimes. And if he agreed to taking a job once, he wouldn't refuse them. It would worsen their reputation in their line of work.
"Glad to have you on board. Pack your suitcase and come up with a disguise," Grindelwald ordered as he got up and left. "We leave for Paris in an hour."
Turning to look at his leftover breakfast, Harry sighed and got back to eating. Packing could wait.
~ Paris, France ~
Fleur Delacour was fuming.
Her parents had once again decided to treat her like a child and not a 21-year-old wizard who was about to graduate from the most prestigious school for magic in the entirety of France, maybe even Europe. Just because her mother and sister needed bodyguards does not mean she did either.
She was capable of dealing with all of this on her own. But her father had put his foot down and declared that if she did not agree to this, she would not be going to the Triwizard Tournament this year. He had Fleur there. She couldn't say no anymore.
The Triwizard Tournament was her only chance to prove to everyone that had ever looked at her as just a pretty-faced, boyfriend-stealing, manhunter Veela girl.
Obviously, Fleur was none of those things, but people were prejudiced. It didn't matter that France was more liberal than other nations, but prejudice ran deep in the canals of Wizarding Europe.
With those thoughts flowing through her head, Fleur stomped into the living room, her eyes radiating her displeasure at being summoned during the early hours of the morning.
It was summer break for her! Why would she get up at 10 am? When she entered the room, her eyes surveyed the occupants of the room.
The first two she was extremely familiar with were her parents: Appoline and Jean Delacour. The other two, she assumed, were the people assigned to her, her bodyguards.
One of them was an older gentleman, easily in his 80s, with gray hair and blue eyes. His face shined with wisdom and a mature look that screamed that he was a veteran in this field. The other one was a boy closer to her age, with blonde hair and green eyes. He looked good, great, in fact, when compared to other people she knew. Both men were dressed in battle robes. And from the material, it looked like it was expensive.
She turned her eyes back to the boy who caught her staring and turned his eyes towards her. She smirked a little. Her father never said she couldn't have a little fun if she had to go through this.
She blasted the boy with her allure, a trait all Veelas were born with. That was the reason why they were envied by other women. It was not the Veela population's fault that men couldn't keep it in their pants when they saw her. A few strong men could resist them, but they were too few and too far away to be found.
In her entire life, Fleur Delacour had never come across a wizard that could stand her allure. Most of them turned glassy-eyed and stupid at the mere whiff of her allure.
Until now.
The boy merely blinked at being blasted by her allure and then turned towards his mentor, whispering something to him before the older man simply flashed him a smirk that showed that the details of her being a Veela might have slipped his mind.
But the boy didn't react to her allure.
He simply ignored it, shrugging it off as if it was something he dealt with. Fleur Delacour had never been this surprised in her life. She was simultaneously impressed and incensed. Her Veela blood sang to her to test the wizard in front of her.
And she obeyed.
She blasted the boy with her full allure. Momentarily, she saw his eyes wandering, but just as soon as it came, it disappeared, and the boy refocused his gaze to look back in her eyes.
All of a sudden, she felt a hand clamping down on her arm with a lot of force. "Enough, Fleur," her mother's voice said, the tone stern, a false smile decorating her face.
The part Veela heeded her mother's words and withdrew her allure back, the air thick with pheromones now back to normal. But her eyes never left the green-eyed ones of the boy ahead.
Never before had Fleur Delacour been this interested in someone. The boy flashed a charming smile at her, and she blushed like a schoolgirl. Maybe having a bodyguard wouldn't be the worst thing.
She was in trouble, wasn't she?
Author's Note
New fic. I wanted to give a new take on the WBWL genre and decided to go this route. Advanced chapters are available you-know-where.
Stay tuned for more. See Ya.