“Crucio!”

The snake writhed in pain, lashing around, on the cold, hard wooden floor and its unseeing eyes turned black.

Harry flicked his wand and the snake lay there—unmoving but not dead. If he had wanted to kill it, he could have simply used the death curse. But he preferred Crucio every time. The suffering and the pain. It gave him satisfaction.

Unforgivable Curse, he huffed and walked up to the window, at the far end of the room. Pulling apart the curtains, slightly, he peeked into his backyard.

He could hear Ginny humming some song to herself as she watered the plants, lined up in her personal garden. She could have easily used magic, but for some weird reason, she preferred gardening the Muggle way.

The sunlight reflected off her bright red hair, making them appear orange, as she continued singing to herself, still oblivious to how terrible a mistake she had made by marrying Harry.

A smile playing on his lips, Harry made his way back to the rocking chair. Closing his eyes and entwining his fingers, he hoped that he’d find a moment of solace here, in his bedroom.

The scar never hurt him, now. The scar of vengeance, he had called it.

It had been 19 long years, anyway. Albus and James were at Hogwarts and Lily had big plans about what she’d do when she got into Gryffindor. All that she kept talking about was how she would be the seeker for the Quidditch team.

Seeker, Harry thought to himself. A seeker for revenge.

Harry wondered how the Sorting Hat couldn’t see through the desires of his kids.

The desires of being sorted into Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart.

He was sure that the Sorting Hat had sensed the presence of something ominous when it sorted James into Gryffindor.

It had sensed it for the third time after it had sorted Harry, 27 years ago and Voldemort about 80 years ago.

Harry’s lips curved upward at the thought of how everyone could be fooled so easily.

All this while the wizarding world thought that Voldemort was the one “who must not be named.”

Little did they know, what had actually happened that night at Godric’s Hollow.

Harry carefully put his wand aside and poured himself some water from the jug placed on the nightstand. As the cool liquid quenched his thirst, he sprinkled a few drops on the snake.

“Nagini,” he called out to the snake that was coiled up on the floor, “don’t act so weak. I’ve named you after one of the bravest snakes I’ve ever known!” He laughed a mirthless laugh as the snake twitched a little, a sign that it was still alive.

Harry Potter—the saviour of the wizarding world, everyone’s hero, every child knew his name!

The fame, the respect, the love—all for something that he was born to achieve.

But no one knew what it felt like to be him. To have lived your entire life, with just one mission—destroy everyone.

A soft knock on the door brought Harry back to reality as Ginny’s voice spoke to him. “Ron and Hermione wanted to talk to you about … something, Harry. They’re coming to visit us, this evening. They seem to be very worried.” She paused and knocked on the door slowly. “Harry? Are you in there?”

Harry took in a deep breath and answered, “I am right here. I’ll meet them in the evening, Ginny.”

“Harry,” her voice came again and this time, it was laced with concern, “is everything all right?”

Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his wand, twirling it in his fingers. “Yes, honey. Everything is fine.” He aimed his wand at Nagini and continued, “Just want some time to be by myself, dear. Terrible memories clouding my head, you know.”

“Avada Kedavra,” he muttered under his breath and the snake jumped into the air before its lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud. He didn’t need the snake anymore; it had served its purpose already.

“Okay, honey.” Ginny said, calmly, though the tension in her voice was apparent. “Breakfast in sometime.” Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she descended the staircase.

Ron and Hermione.

He’d known that there was something more to them, the first day that he’d met them on the train to Hogwarts. It wasn’t a coincidence that they’d become friends. Harry had meant for that to happen, and so it did.

And he was right, wasn’t he? The two of them had helped him get what he had wanted and they had promised to stay by his side forever.

A Promise, Harry mused.

Long gone was the friendship and love that he had to showcase, to gain their trust.

The trust that would last a lifetime, they’d thought.

Harry snorted. He had always found it hard to hide his true self from Hermione. He’d thought that he’d have to finish her off someday soon if she found out the truth.

But he didn’t get the opportunity to do what he’d find very amusing because she had always trusted him, a little too much for her own good.

And who would have known that this trust of hers would one day earn him the trust of the entire wizarding world?

Harry laughed as he thought of her, not too fondly. How could she have been so stupid to not be able to see through the veil that he’d created around himself? So stupid that she didn’t realise what he intended to do?

Even after all this time, she was too blinded by her love for him that she couldn’t see how this friendship of theirs would turn out to be her worst nightmare.

Naïve girl, Harry chuckled to himself.

As for Ron Weasley, he never had to worry about him. A boy who could have been so dumb to have lived with an Animagus his entire life and not realised it would certainly not be able to see Harry’s dark side.

Dumb King Weasley, Harry had named him.

Then, there came along the two bravest men Harry had ever known. He grimaced even at the thought of them and his knuckles whitened as he clutched his chair tightly, pure hatred reflecting in his eyes.

But he had to give it to the old white-bearded fool for having entrusted him with the responsibility of killing Voldemort. Harry had known about the horcruxes all along, but without Dumbledore, there would have been no way that he’d be able to destroy all of them.

But that old man had raised him like a pig for slaughter. Maybe he had sensed something wrong and had thought it was better for Voldemort and Harry to die to save the wizarding world.

Harry tugged at his hair in frustration and with clenched teeth, grasped the jug of water and threw it on to the floor. The jug shattered, spraying its shards in all directions.

Fortunately, Ginny hadn’t heard the noise of glass shattering, for she didn’t come to check up on him. He didn’t know what plausible explanation he could give to her, this time.

He tried to steady his breathing, and looked down at his hands. The hands that once shone full of life, now had a weird dullness to them.

A dullness, such that it reminded Harry of the black-haired man who always seemed to detest him and that was one of the reasons why he always had to be alert whenever Snape was around.

At least he had a happy ending—dying in the arms of the son of the woman he

loved the most, Harry guffawed at the thought.

Brave Severus. Brave Albus. Very Brave. He found himself smiling evilly.

His so-called Godfather hadn’t been of much use to him, either. Harry had thought it would have been better if he was a Death Eater instead of being a loyalist to his parents.

The way Sirius would tell Harry that he looked like his father would only remind Harry of his father’s death and in turn, his mission. But Sirius didn’t prove to be a problem because he’d died a little too soon, not that Harry had a problem with that.

The only person that Harry thought would be a problem was—Draco Malfoy. For Draco might have sensed Harry’s dark presence on the first day at Hogwarts itself and that was why he was intrigued by Harry.

Though Draco was unaware of it, Harry had known all along that he would prove to be Voldemort’s greatest weapon against him. And he did.

Except for the fact that Draco turned out to be not so brave and left it to Snape to finish off his dirty job.

And then, there came unsuspecting and innocent Neville Longbottom, who was the last person that Harry would have thought would be of any use in the battle and that’s why he never paid any attention to him.

But, by killing Nagini, he proved to be the most important warrior at the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort was absolutely incapacitated with his horcruxes destroyed and his comrades killed.

All that Harry could think about, while fighting the Battle of Hogwarts, was the night that Voldemort had come to destroy him, when he was a baby.

Stupid move, Tom Riddle, he had thought to himself.

Because Voldemort had the false belief that Harry was born to save the wizarding world and destroy every piece of his flesh. He was oblivious that the boy who lived, was born not just to destroy him, but to destroy the wizarding world itself.

He had the misconception that this was a battle between him and the boy with the lightning scar.

But it proved to be the battle between the destruction and the salvation of the wizarding world and as funny as it may sound, Voldemort was unknowingly fighting for its salvation.

The world would have been a better and safer place if Voldemort had won, Harry smiled slyly. The Battle of Hogwarts was nothing compared to the Battle that was about to commence.

No one knew what had happened on the night of 31 October 1981 when James and Lily Potter had been killed at Godric’s Hollow.

No one knew that they hadn’t been killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Because they had been brutally murdered by their own son—Harry Potter.

Harry had been just a baby, but his powers had killed his parents whom he felt absolutely no affection for. The powers that he was granted for his mission, a mission that would take his entire life to accomplish.

But time wasn’t a constraint.

He was born to hate wizards, to hate everything magical. In the same way that his mother’s love had saved him, his hatred for his parents had killed them.

Because he wasn’t a son of the Potters, though he was born to them. He was truly the son of Azatan, the devil who wanted to rule the world.

Azatan was confident that he’d be able to defeat Muggles easily but with wizards guarding the planet, there was no way he’d be able to fulfill his dreams. So, Azatan devised a plan.

He sent his warrior with the name of Tom Riddle to the wizarding world, to execute his master plan, but that boy became a little too ambitious and abandoned Azatan’s plan as he had his own dreams of world domination.

So, after the failure of his first plan, and the bitter betrayal by Tom, Azatan played his ace by sending in his warrior, as a son of the beloved Potters.

Harry was born to destroy the backstabber—Tom, and then gain the trust of the wizards and end it by killing them all off.

Harry hadn’t realised that the voices in his head didn’t only belong to Voldemort. They were Azatan’s as well, who guided him right from the beginning.

And here he was! The beloved Potter boy, whom the entire world blindly trusted!

But, of course, he had an accomplice. A very close one, too. Someone that he’d go to whenever he felt like taking a drastic step and his accomplice would calmly tell him how his actions could ruin their plans.

Muggles always seemed to make his accomplice curious, because all that Arthur Weasley pictured, was sitting alongside Azatan and Harry, ruling over them.

All the Muggle-like ways of communication and travel would be the only thing left for them after Azatan won the battle against the wizards. He needed to learn all the Muggle ways before the battle began, which could be any time soon.

So, when everyone celebrated the survival of The Boy who lived, they were unaware of the fact that The Boy who lived would soon prove to become The Boy who killed.

For he had no friends, no family, no one he loved. His only love was his mission. And for its accomplishment, he was willing to stake everything.

Because this was his dark side. The side that no one knew about. The side that presented itself only when he was alone. The side that planned the destruction of all the wizards and witches alive.

This dark side was the part of him that kept him sane even after living with the people he hated the most, for 37 years, because he had a goal to achieve.

Because this wasn’t the part of Voldemort that was still alive in him.

This, was the part of Harry Potter—that never died.