Chapter 1

The air sang as a blade of wind tore through it, and a man's head hit the floor with a dull thump. A moment later, his body followed.

A boy stared upon the scene with a blank face, yet shaky hands and green eyes glistening with tears betrayed his true emotions. No manner of training, even from them, had prepared him for the horror of taking a life in cold blood for the first time, even if his target was already condemned to die.

He had practised the technique a thousand times. Shaping the power that laid dormant within him became easier every day, yet to see it lash into flesh instead of stone, to hear it end a man's life, to feel blood – so warm – spray against his face...there were no words to describe it.

A hand found his shoulder in a way that the blond man to which it belonged must have thought reassuring, but it was anything but. As he glanced up, the boy could see straight through the well-practised smile that didn't quite reach the man's icy blue eyes. He could sense the cold calculation that laid behind a demeanour that was just a little too friendly.

"Excellent job, Harry," the man said. "I predict that by the time you turn nine, you will be a fine operative indeed. And by the time you reach adulthood, you will be ready to lead the world into a new era."

Harry only nodded, still too stunned by what he had just done to listen. It was a few seconds later when he remembered what was expected of him. "Hail Hydra," he said softly, and the man, his handler, repeated after him without missing a beat.

Harry heard footsteps trail from the room, and stood to follow, sparing a single glance back at the decapitated corpse behind him, its crimson blood a sharp contrast to the white floor. Hydra's motto reverberated through his head: cut off one head, and two more shall take its place. Apparently, that didn't apply to traitors.

Panic. A child's cry of pain. A face flushing red, its lips twisting up into a furious snarl. A bellowing voice, the anger held within practically tangible. A fist, barreling towards him.

Pain, quick and burning hot. Something foreign rising within his gut. Icy coolness spreading through his body. A scream of rage, effort and agony ripping its way from his throat.

And then there was blood. So much blood. Harry stared into glassy eyes, and then was suddenly jerked from the scene.

For a moment, he panicked, finding himself suddenly surrounded by blackness. He then came to the realisation of where he was and sat up in his bed, drawing in a shaky breath.

It always ended there, with him staring down upon his uncle's still-warm body. He wasn't quite sure if it qualified as a nightmare. Sure, it had been terrifying, but it also marked the moment when he had finally stood up for himself, when he had finally had the power to take revenge on the relatives that had tormented him.

It had been the first time he had tasted the almost addictive exhilaration that the power that dwelled within him brought each time he called upon it. On the other hand, it had been the first time he had taken a life, even if it had been in self-defence, and it had been a traumatising experience indeed.

Nonetheless, the sin he had committed today would make a far more appropriate nightmare. Killing in cold blood with cool efficiency was far different from accidentally ending a man he hated in a storm of pain and rage.

At a stretch, the events of the day might also be classified as self-defence. He had disobeyed Hydra before, and their wrath had not been a pleasant thing. The thin scars that lined his back were testaments to that.

Perhaps killing Vernon had been a nightmare, for it had been that event that had landed him in Hydra's clutches. If he had not killed him, he would still be in his cupboard. It was a sad and horrible existence, but still preferable to his current one - or maybe not.

Horrid might Hydra be, but if they were good at anything, it was ruthlessly training their agents. As Agent Smith, his handler, had said, by the time he was nine, in less than a year's time, he would be a fine operative – a fine assassin. Whilst he didn't care for Hydra's talk of him being the one to lead them, he knew he would have the potential to, and therefore the potential to do almost anything he wanted.

Hydra would to teach him to fight, to shoot, to plan, to lead, and help him learn how to wield the power within him. They would forge him into a weapon, but unfortunately for them, a weapon would strike down its creator as quickly as it would an enemy.

That said, Harry didn't particularly want to be a weapon, and especially if it involved training as horrid as his, so if the chance to escape arose, he would take it in the blink of an eye. Hydra had taught him how to hide from SHIELD, the organization who opposed them, and he didn't doubt that the tactics would also work on them.

But for now, there was nothing he could do but go back to sleep. So sleep he did.

Harry awoke at exactly 5:30am without the aid of an alarm clock. After spending time with Hydra, he had long since learned the consequences for not doing so, and they were anything but nice.

With a flex of his mind, he directed a force towards where his light switch was. Immediately, a light, annoyingly bright, turned on. By this point, Harry was fairly sure that he could carry out his routine in the dark without the aid of his powers, but it was impossible to tell at what point Hydra would see it prudent to spring a test upon him, so to be careful was to be safe.

Pulling back the thin grey sheets, he rolled from his bed. The stone floor was cool under his feet, and at one time, he might've shivered. That time, however, had long since passed, and the cold of the underground facility no longer bothered him.

He moved over to the cupboard and opened it. A set of impeccably tailored uniforms faced him. Most were black but for a patch over the heart, bearing Hydra's symbol: a red skull with eight tentacles protruding from it. At the end was a dress uniform, also black, but in the style of a suit rather than the combat-orientated design of the others, and with Hydra's logo upon an armband on the left arm, rather than on the breast.

Harry picked out one of the ordinary ones and stripped from his bed wear, putting on a new uniform. Once dressed, he moved over to the mirror, glancing over himself. The difference between him now, and him from before he had joined Hydra was subtle, but still noticeable. For one, his hair was now straight, rather than the bird's nest it had once been. He was more muscled, but that would have been hard to see with his clothes on. What wasn't hard to see, however, was the new way in which he held himself.

When he had been with the Dursleys, his relatives, he had been meek and submissive. At Hydra, while he was expected to follow orders, that was not acceptable. If he was not confident in himself, he was already condemned to failure, and failure would be punished.

He had been forced to gain confidence, and it was now imbued in his very being. He knew he was better than most. Even before he had discovered his ability, he had been smarter than almost everyone he had ever met. With his power, however, he wasn't only more intelligent, he was stronger. Some might have called him arrogant, but if arrogance was essential to his survival, then so be it.

With a mock salute, he turned and walked from the room, ready as he ever would be to begin his morning training.

"Faster!" the man shouted. Harry didn't know his name. It was part of Hydra's "Good Cop, Bad Cop" routine. They wanted him to trust Agent Smith, so he could not be the one to force him beyond his limits. He couldn't be the one to brutally punish him whenever he failed.

"Faster!" came the man's voice again, and Harry slightly accelerated his pace, gasping for breath through aching lungs. Pain rose racked his chest, but he didn't stop - he couldn't stop. If he did, the pain would be far worse, and it most certainly wouldn't be from exertion.

It was during moments like this he contemplated escape. Why should he have to suffer under the command of these men when he had powers far beyond them? Why did he allow them to even lay a hand upon him when he had the ability to rob them of their head with a few seconds of concentration? These questions only ever lasted a moment, for the answer was already clear: he wanted to survive.

He might've been strong enough to kill one or two, perhaps five if they were unarmed, but they weren't, and there were many more than five of them. Cut off one head, and another shall take its place. No matter how many he defeated, there would always be more, and a bullet through the head would end him as readily as it would an ordinary human.

A jolt of white hot electricity shooting through his body from the instrument upon his chest startled him from his thoughts, and he clenched his eyes in pain. The urge to give up weighed heavily upon his mind, but he cast it away. The fate that awaited him if he gave in to the urge would be ten times as bad as this.

It seemed like an eternity before he was given permission to stop, and even then the unnamed Hydra agent sneered and marched off, abandoning him to work with his shooting instructor.

He had began to fire when he heard Agent Smith's voice call his name. Clicking the safety onto his pistol, he turned, repeating Smith's greeting of "Hail Hydra."

"Harry," Smith said with false warmth. "Your first mission has been assigned."

Harry glanced around. The shooting instructor wasn't listening in, and there wasn't anyone else within hearing range; the ever-present guards were undoubtedly stationed nearby though. He wasn't exactly sure as to why he cared whether or not they were listening.

"Sir?" he asked, prompting Smith to continue.

"An assassination - nothing too difficult. It's just a test of your abilities. The higher-ups just want to see that you're capable of doing what's necessary."

Harry looked down at the pistol still held in his right hand. All Hydra personnel wore body armour, but at this range, it would be easy for him to get a headshot. Hell, he could get a bullet in each of Smith's eyes before he hit the ground. From there it would be simple to put a bullet in the shooting instructor and flee. But what of the guards? There were dozens of them, each carrying fully-automatic assault rifles. He wouldn't stand a chance, and that wasn't even taking into account the snipers that were undoubtedly dotted around.

No, he could not attack now, even with bile rising in his throat at the thought of killing whoever Hydra told him to. He would have to bide his time.

Perhaps this mission was a blessing in disguise, for it was an opportunity to leave the base for the first time he had gotten to it. It was an opportunity to escape, and he would not waste it.

A/N: So, here's a new fic. Tell me what you thought!