The Shadows Within: A Dark Harry Potter Chronicle

Harry awoke from a fitful dream, taking a few moments to remember where he was. By the time he had picked his glasses off the bedside table, he had recalled it. He was staying at the Malfoy's spacious Manor and had been for most of the summer.

' What was that dream about anyway? I wish I could remember my dreams'

All he kept from this dream was a vague indication of being strong. He didn't know anything else about it, only that he had quite liked the feeling.

' Well, I am feeling awake now. Might as well read a bit'

"Dobby," He said, feeling a bit dumb, talking to an empty room, "Can you help me please?"

An instant later, the Malfoy's house elf appeared.

"Could you light the candle for me, please? Mr's Malfoy said not to use magic unless she or Lucius are watching, and I don't know where I put the matches"

"Of course, Master Harry", the house elf squeaked, rushing forward to do as Harry had asked. "Master Harry is a great wizard, to obey his host's request so graciously".

The house elf stared at Harry for a moment longer before bursting into tears. Harry sighed. This had been happening quite frequently lately, and it had been bad enough in broad daylight in front of Draco, but it was another thing altogether when he had a bawling house elf in his room in the middle of the night.

"Sshhh! I don't want you to wake anyone up" Harry half hissed, half said.

Immediately, the elf punched itself in the nose.

' Well, at least it's stopped crying. God, I hope Lucius was serious when he said he would replace this mad thing'

"Dobby," Harry said over the elf's furious sniffling, "Could you get me a cup of tea, please? No sugar, but lots of milk?"

Dobby nodded ferociously. "Anything for Master Harry, sir", it said, before disappearing.

Harry pulled the thick tome off his bedside table and opened it up. Lucius had advised Harry to read this philosophy book, and Harry wanted to ask the man some questions on it, but first, he wanted to re-read the chapter in question.

Dobby quickly re-appeared, and Harry accepted the cup of tea from the grinning elf, barely looking up from his book. He muttered thanks, and the house-elf disappeared, bursting into tears again.

As I have previously discussed, the purpose of the law is not to serve as some moral high ground, but to lead a society to function well. The law is not handed down from some god or gods, it is decided by men. If men can be flawed, the law will be flawed. As such, it is our duty to not see the law as some shining beacon of righteousness, but as merely a vehicle to allow society to flourish. This being the case, it is an obligation for us to think on this-What makes the law binding upon us?

Nothing at all. Nothing that is, but our acceptance of it. The law is binding upon us a society, but not upon us as individuals, SHOULD THOSE INDIVIDUALS PROVE CAPABLE OF LIVING OUTSIDE THE LAW!

This is an important fact. Any individual, who is worthy of throwing off the yoke of the socially enacted rules and regulations, and who chooses to do so, is not only acting on morally sound ground but is being brutally honest with himself.

The book carried on in such a vein for the next ten pages or so, but Harry was nodding off.

Hundreds of miles away, in his long-ago prepared safe house in Innsmouth, Lord Voldemort was interviewing his latest prisoner.

To be honest, interviewing would not be quite the correct word to use. He had Crucio'd the terrified man a few times, and was now being flooded with images and bits of memory as they flew past him. He pulled at some of them, delving deeply into events and times long past, and caught up on the last eleven years.

Quirrell had been relatively useful in letting him know what he had missed out on as he roamed the world as a spirit, but it was not the same as having lived through it.

He pulled out of the man's mind and watched as his head lolled forwards onto his neck. He had been told that his use of Legilemency was quite-Devastating.

' I wish I could kill this man. This embarrassment to the power he is capable of wielding"

Voldemort had decided against leaving any of his (admittedly unwilling) informants nothing more than cooling corpses. The time for drawing attention was still in the future. For now, his plans were still in the information gathering stage.

He had written to the daily prophet, as Mr. Tomas Tapmaca from Azerbaijan, claiming to be writing a book on the aftermath of the Wizarding War. They would be sending him their issues from his downfall until a year later, along with the transcripts of his followers' trials. He had given a begrudging laugh when he discovered that specific alias was still not connected to him. It was rather fitting, really.

' I need to send this back now. Much longer, and people will notice he is missing. Soon, soon I will take someone simply for my own pleasure. Soon'

"Portus," He said, still relishing in the use of his own magic.

He slapped his informant awake. ' Magic is the greatest, but there is a wonderful charm to using one's own limbs'

"Obliviate". "You were on the way home from work, and you decided to stop for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. You will not remember any of this. Not even in your deepest dreams"

The man's eyes still had the unfocused, blank look of one who had just lost some of their memories. Quickly, Voldemort forced the man to touch the portkey, removing him from the safe house before he contracted a sudden case of being horribly murdered.

He reset the anti portkey wards and settled down to think.

And to plan.