Categories > Books > Harry Potter

The Forgotten One

by kronos793 13 reviews

Your classic ‘Wrong BWL’ story with a twist. Ryan Michael Potter is hailed as the BWL. His older brother Harry is neglected for a year before he is left at a brutal orphanage. Roughly a year af...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Drama,Fantasy - Characters: Harry - Warnings: [V] [?] - Published: 2008-10-29 - Updated: 2008-10-30 - 5120 words


A/N: I own nothing except the plot and original characters.

The Forgotten One

The cloudy, stormy unforgiving sky roared with a clap of thunder, streaks of white lightning rocketing towards the round below. Fat thick blobs of frigid rain slammed down from the sky relentlessly, pounding the stone of the mighty towers of Hogwarts. An eerie cold spread around the area, emitted from the floating figures of sorrow, their wretched wails of agony the only sound being made besides the downpour and claps of thunder. Their bony hands curled with long pointed nails extended and prepared to shred as they hung listlessly in the air above a venerable army of black clad figures with masks of pure ivory covering their faces. This army held sticks of varying sizes in their hands, aimed straight ahead, tips glowing with an eerie green light, a sickly green light. Hidden partially by darkness and shadow stood massive bulks of flesh and muscle, their forms towering above all those before. Large, thick clubs of solid wood with orbed heads were clutched in their hands as the drool from their open mouths dripped down to the ground below. At their heels crouched beasts of nightmare and savagery, wolfs of the moon whose instincts were to hunt, maim and slaughter. Their amber eyes glinted in excitement, their snarls low and menacing whilst they bared their whites fangs of enamel to the prey that quivered before them.

At the head of it all stood a balding figure with pale skin, his bony fingers clasped a pure white stick carved with elegance and grace, an oxymoron if there ever was one for this figure radiated anger, hate and darkness. It was pure evil. Its robes, like its soul, were black as night and its eyes glowed crimson red with fury and power. It was a demon from hell, a being bent solely of wreaking havoc and chaos. His name is never spoken, for to do so is a curse upon one’s soul. He is feared by all, yet opposed by few. He is one who seeks to bring the world to its knees in service of him, forcing those inferior to him to bow and kiss his feet whilst he slaughters those he sees as unworthy. He is the purist evil in existence. He is Terror. He is Darkness. He is Lord Voldemort.

Before the darkness stands those who oppose him, the Light. Men and women and even children who resist his will. They stand united, their only goal to eradicate the evil from their world. Yet for all their bravery and courage, they still shake at the mass of evil before them. Their numbers and inferior, their skills paling in comparison to the enemy they fight. They know this. They know that tonight, the last beckon of light shall fall, unless the one destined to destroy the darkness can succeed. They rest their hopes and dreams on the shoulders of a man no older than seventeen, a man who from birth has been expected to defeat the Evil One. He is the hope of their world, their messiah, their savior, yet he too shakes. He is afraid, he is unsure, but most of all, he knows he will not win. He lacks the skill and courage to win and his foe knows this as he does.

He shakes because all hope is gone. At least, it was until about 3 minutes ago. 3 minutes ago someone else arrived, someone who reeks of power and wisdom, someone who commands power and authority unknown to most mortals. His hazel eyes like all those around him are fixated on the figure in front of them. They stand mesmerized and in awe.

In front of the Light stands one figure, one man with the courage to face the might of Darkness, alone. This being stands at 5’ 11”, his skin is lightly tanned and his muscles sculpted and toned, making his lithe form appear hard as stone. Across his back hands a katana, its handle made of the purest steel. It is lined with gold that shimmers in the waning light of the moon, runic symbols glittering brightly. His torso is cover by elegant body armor, white gold in color with line of crimson trailing across it outlining the griffin that adorns his breastplate above his heart. Greaves of similar white gold adorn his forearms and shins, while his lower region down to his knees is covered by a royal blue sash. His black messy hair stuck up at odd angles, making it look naturally windswept. With hands clenched tightly at his sides and his feet shoulder width apart, the figure’s glowing emerald orbs focused on the incarnation of evil before him.

Lord Voldemort’s blood red eyes scanned the figure before him in apprehension and fury. ‘Who dares stand against me,’ he seethed silently. He raised his white stick of yew at the figure before him and spoke in a cold tone,

“Who are you who dares stand against Lord Voldemort!?”

The figures’ face remains emotionless, though those behind him cannot see it. “I am the one who will banish you to the realm which you truly belong. I am the one who shall rip your soul from your body and destroy your mind,” he responded calmly but clearly.

Voldemort’s frighteningly hollow laugh echoed through the air, “Fool, the only one who could kill me is dead! The fools who raised him left him to rot and perish as they protected the one they believed destined to destroy me!”

The side of Light’s jaws dropped at this proclamation. It was impossible, Ryan bore the scars! Two gashes of dual lightning bolts marred his otherwise flawless cheek, scars that refused to heal over. Even Dumbledore said he was the child of the prophecy! James and Lily Potter looked to each other stunned, ‘Ryan isn’t the Boy-Who-Lived? But how is that possible!? They found him in his crib crying loudly while his brother was passed out! His brother only bore one lightning shaped scar while Ryan had two! That must mean he is the BWL, he has to be!’ they frantically thought.

Ryan Michael Potter’s jaw became unhinged and his eyes clouded with terror. It was impossible! HE was the Boy-Who-Lived. HE killed Voldemort, not his brother! It can’t be true, it mustn’t be true! “You LIE!!” he screamed.

Voldemort’s hollow chuckled reached their ears and made them shiver, “No boy, I do not. Your DEAD brother was the one to defeat me, NOT you! You are pathetic and useless, lacking any real power. Your only hope for victory is gone, and now you will die with the knowledge that YOU abandoned your savior, your own flesh and blood to DIE!”

The side of light shook in terror as the gravity of their mistakes began to dawn on them. The small boy they had forsaken and left in an orphanage to fend for himself was their only hope. Now he was surely gone, most likely murdered by Death Eaters while they fawned over Ryan. It was over, there was nothing left to do. Their savior, their son was dead and the world along with him.

“You assume too much Riddle,” the figure in front of the Light stated calmly. His posture remained unchanged and his features set in stone.

Voldemort whirled on the man furiously, his wand tip glowing red, “Never speak that name! Crucio!” he yelled in fury. The red spell of unimaginable pain slammed into the man before him, yet he did not fall to his knees nor did he scream. For 2 entire minutes the figure did not move; his face remaining set in stone. Voldemort released the curse in shock and slight fear, an emotion foreign to the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. Voldemort began to take a closer look at the man before him, regarding him closely. The messy hair was not that astounding, but those eyes. They held knowledge, strength and most of all confidence. He recognized those eyes, for he had only seen them once before. It was those eyes! His eyes opened wide in shock,

“POTTER!” he hissed in rage.

The man still had yet to make any kind of move as he spoke, “Took you long enough Snake Face.”

Voldemort recoiled in horror, “You’re dead! Surely my Death Eaters killed you! You were but an abused runt! There is no way you could have defended yourself!”

“Wrong,” was the suddenly cold reply, “I am not a runt, I was never a runt. I am a weapon with a purpose, to eliminate you.”

The unfamiliar emotion of fear was becoming a regular feeling for the Dark Lord. It was not possible. This boy radiated shear power, enough to make his pale in comparison. There must be a way to sway him, to turn against those fools of the Light. He would be a powerful servant, the best and if he could turn him he could rule with an iron fist and absolute will. He must turn him!

“Why help those who neglected and abandoned you? Why help the ones who never showed you love or affection? You are so powerful Harry; you could do many great things. Join me and I could show you the wonders of using your power properly and asserting your will on those unworthy of you! Make those fools of the light regret all they have done to you! Make them suffer! Make them pay!” Voldemort offered.

Dumbledore and the Potters visibly paled. What had they done? They had left their child in hell and it could possibly be their end! If Harry joined Voldemort it would be over, there would be no way to stop Voldemort. Yet, despite all of this, only shame ran through the minds of Lily and James Potter. They were horrid parents, abandoning one son for the other. How could they have given up Harry so easily, make him feel so unloved and worthless? How could let him become so… cold? Was it true? Did he not know what love was? Did he not have a proper childhood where he played with children his own age? Dumbledore’s mind pondered how he had been mistaken one again and what effect it would have on the world, while Ryan could only wonder what it was like for his brother. He couldn’t imagine growing up alone, without love or support. How had Harry managed? Ryan was beginning to see his long lost older brother in a new light, sadness and regret making their way into his mind. All these years he had called his brother unwanted, useless and worthless. How wrong he was. Ryan swore to himself that if they survived this, he would do all he could to make it up to his brother. He would help show him was love was, he would redeem himself in his brother’s eyes.

Their reverie was collectively broken by Harry’s ever calm reply, “You assume I care about these foolish notions called love, revenge and power. There is only purpose and duty, and I will use my last breath to make sure mine is fulfilled. I am a weapon and a warrior, and I do not require love or acceptance. Enough talking Snake Face, prepare to meet your end.”

Harry calmly reached back and withdrew his katana, its regal diamond blade glinting slightly in the waning moonlight. He brought the weapon forward, clasping it in both of his hands and raising it above his head, blade pointed back.

“Your move,” he calmly taunted…

The cold knifes of pounding water continued to pummel all below it. Neither the rain nor the storm has lost any of its intensity or power; instead, both elements seemed to drive those beneath the heavens to fight harder and more ferociously. The mighty stone fortress that is Hogwarts stands definitely against the unforgiving downpour that threatens to ravish its ancient and hallowed walls. Under the eerie moonlight of the waning moon its shadow loomed over a truly gruesome sight. Over the grounds of Hogwarts a river of crimson flowed, leaking from deep gashes from mangled dead corpses. Some wore deep black, others wore red or blue yet all were unmistakably dead, their cold lifeless eyes gazing into nothingness. Bright flashes of light illuminated the gloomy sky above briefly as a fierce battle raged on, Good and Evil warring for supremacy.

The scattered warriors of Virtue were spread thin, struggling to keep the creeping darkness from advancing while trying to go on the offensive. Yet, ahead of them one lone raged warrior and tore into the cloud of evil before him, leaving a path of pain and utter massacre in his wake. His armor glinted in the light of the hexes, curses and jinxes being hurled towards him. He moved like a god, using an inhuman speed and clarity to slay all before him. His menacing diamond bladed weapon of death was tinted red with the thick blood of the fallen, staining the soft green grass below him. With a mighty outward slash the head of a black clad figure was lopped off, blood rushing fast and freely from the severed arteries and veins. As the last body from the latest charge fell, the man, demon of demise and blood thirsty warrior known as Harry James Potter squared his shoulders triumphantly and defiantly. He whipped his blade out and towards the ground swift, the thick crimson liquid coating the blade flying off to land on the ground and add to the already massive puddles of blood. His hard emerald green orbs of fire focused on the still large force before him, regarding them like a predator picking which of his prey would fall next. His once perfectly silver armor and face were now marred by the bright red blood of the fallen, making him appear even more menacing and ferocious.

Meanwhile, the forces of the Light struggled to regain their positions. This latest wave of attackers was repelled, but the fight was far from over. Albus Dumbledore, professed Leader of the Light was roaming over his forces, taking stock of injures and doing all he could to provide battlefield care to those in dire need. James and Lily stood panting back to back, wands still gripped firmly in their hands and jaws set in determination. Ryan Potter was clutching his bleeding forearm tightly, attempting to stop the wound from letting more of his live giving liquid escape his body while his ever faithful girlfriend Hermione Granger did her best to close the wound. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody were clearing the corpses of the defeated Death Eaters away whilst tending to their own wounds.

Despite all of this, the attention of those on the sides of Good and Evil were focused on the venerable demon before them, awed by his power, scared by his ruthlessness and nervous of the way he killed indifferently and his seeming heartlessness. It was known that he killed without reserve, coldly slaughtering all who stood in the way of his target. The bodies of those foolish Aurors who tried to attack him for being “a dark wizard” were proof of that. He killed them without remorse and with chilling efficiency. Yet there he stood, defiantly challenging all before him to attack and test their mettle against his.

His voice, hard as the strongest steel rang out across the bloody battlefield for all to hear, “When will you learn that my word is law? None Shall Pass.”

The dry, hate filled voice of Voldemort echoed from behind the front lines of his army, “You think you can beat my army?! I have more experienced wizards and witches waiting to strike you down for your impudence! You will not survive this night! You are nothing but a petulant child!”

A maniacal laugh reverberated across the ground as Harry’s mask of indifference cracked for the slightest of moments, using the display to mock the so called Dark Lord. His laugh sent shivers down the spines of all present, though some were better at hiding it than others. It was a truly chilling sound. Harry brought his blade forward, its tip, still dripping with blood pointed through the thick army of black wizards to aim at the Dark Lord himself,

“Then why do you run from me?” he replied mockingly.

Voldemort howled in rage at the insult and swept his wand in a wide arc, a loud bang cracking across the air. A great collective thumping was heard and moments later an entire pack of werewolves leapt forward ahead of the Death Eaters, breaking into a gallop to attack the lone warrior before them. Their pearly white fangs were bared, saliva falling from their open mouths as they growled dangerously. The Army of Light shook in fear, but still tried to ready themselves for the oncoming onslaught and carnage. Their concentration was broken by another chilling laugh from the Warrior Harry Potter.

“You’re too much of a coward to face me, so you send your mutts instead. How pathetic!” he intoned disgustedly.

Harry raised his blade high into the air and spoke clearly, “Cito Lupatus Abies” He then plunged his blade into the ground while he bent his knees, bowed his head slightly and crouched. The ground below began to tremble and shake violently, jarring all those attempting to remain standing and sending them falling to the ground below. The earth started to crack and open up, the rumbling below and growing in strength. The werewolves, with their minds clouded with blood lust simply continued to charge, tongues hanging out of their mouths and amber eyes shining in the light. Over 3 dozen holes of varying sizes emerged from the battered earth, spewing forth spike like objects from the ground that shined in the failing moonlight. Their tips were pointed and they rose into the air, surrounding Harry’s still slightly bowed form whilst aiming towards the oncoming pack of savage beasts. Harry’s head raised and his eyes flared dangerously, enveloping his irises in an ethereal emerald fire. He jerked his sword free from the ground and performed a sweeping motion with it towards the oncoming werewolves.

A wave of raw magic burst forth and slammed into the spikes, propelling them forward with alarming speed. The wolves were so caught in their blood lust that they didn’t notice the barrage of spikes until it was too late. Mere seconds after Harry launched his attack 14 of the 24 attacking werewolves were impaled by the spikes, some through the chest and others on their arms and legs. What made this fatal was the fact that the spikes were made of silver, one of the only know poisons effective against werewolves. The 14 hit died painfully from the onslaught. Another 5 of the pack were taken down as they attempted to dodge the remaining spikes, several catching the deadly projectiles in their mouth, the pointed ends exploding through the backs of their heads through copious amount of blood into the air. The remaining 5 beasts growl angrily at the loss of their pack mates and charged even faster at Harry. As they neared him, the leader leapt into the air in a feral pounce, teeth and claws bared dangerously.

The lead wolf drew dangerously close and still Harry didn’t move. When his head finally raised it had a malicious sneer imprinted on his face. Crouching slightly lower, Harry let lose like a coiled spring and leapt up and over the attacking wolf. Gripping his sword tightly, he thrust the blade downward harshly, stabbing into the flesh of the creature’s back viciously and dragging the weapon along its spinal column as he completely the maneuver. Once he reached the end of the wolf’s back he ripped his blade free, filling the air with a metallic smell of free flowing blood. The werewolf slammed into the ground, whimpering as its bleeding back spewed its lifeblood onto the grass below while the cold rain pounded its body relentlessly.

If anything, the other wolves seemed to become even more enraged and tried to run faster towards the prepared form of Harry Potter. The wolves farthest to the left and right respectively ran out and to Harry’s flanks, crouching and leaping at him. The two wolves ahead of him continued their charge, but slowed slightly so as not to interfere with their pack mate’s attacks. Harry’s smirk was positively predatory as the wolves leapt simultaneously from his flanks. When the wolves got close enough, he tucked low and rolled forward, thrusting his sword backwards towards the spot he just vacated. The beasts collided in howls of pain, their speed and weight making it as if they had hit a brick wall. The razor sharp edge of the sword pierced the shoulders of the entangled wolves, coercing a roar of pain from deep within their throats. As Harry violently ripped the blade free the wolves cried again before collapsing against each other. Harry rolled forward to dodge another leaping strike from one of the advancing werewolves, but the remaining one caught on too quickly.

When Harry emerged from his roll the wolf leapt at him and smashed into his chest, sending him tumbling with the wolf on top of him with his sword laying a few feet away. Teeth bared and growling the beast lurched forward to snap at Harry’s head only to be stopped by the warriors hand as it deadly gripped the creature’s throat. The wolf snarled and snapped, trying to bite Harry while giving its pack mate enough time to recover from its missed attack and strike again. Time it seemed was not on the beast’s side as Harry let out a mighty roar and used his inhumanly strong grip to snap the neck of the wolf on top of him. The creature’s body went limp and its weight settled over Harry. Looking over his shoulder Harry saw the other foul beast let out a growl of rage and run at him with increasing speed. Seeing no other choice, Harry gripped the dead body above him with both hands and rocked back slightly, giving himself some momentum. Using a great deal of strength, he threw the body of the dead beast behind him, towards the charging wolf. As soon as the weight was off his hand shot out in the direction of his fallen sword, his magic pulling it into his hand effortlessly.

As hoped, the flying dead body was enough to make the charging wolf dodge out of the way and cut its speed, giving Harry enough time to bring his sword forward into a striking pose. Bending his knees, Harry leapt into the air, sword tip aimed at the ground as cold rain and thick blood dripped off of it. The wolf responded in kind, claws extended in front of it and white fangs gleamed viciously. The two met with a colossal smash, Harry’s wrist flicking outwards sending his blade out in a upwards diagonal strike across the wolf’s chest as the beast’s claws slashed down on Harry’s torso. Both landed some feet away from each other, though the wolf collapsed to the rain soaked ground with a thump as blood flowed freely from the massive gash across its chest. Harry brought a hand up to examine his once flawless armor, now marred with 3 pairs of deep claws marks. He snarled in annoyance and turned to face the fallen wolf. He strolled up the whimpering creature and looked into its hurt amber eyes with cold fury. Harry lifted his blade high above his head; the tip pointed to the raging heavens above and unceremoniously brought it down in a quick slash, severing the beast’s head from its body causing spurts of thick crimson blood to pool on the soggy soil.

To say that the forces of light and dark were stunned into inaction would be an understatement. Here was this boy; no man who had singlehandedly killed an entire pack of werewolves. He even showed no mercy as he beheaded the last surviving creature for damaging his armor! Harry Potter was practically oozing power and radiating viciousness. He murdered in cold blood and moved on like it was nothing. Not only that, but he snapped a werewolf’s neck with his bare hand! Harry Potter was definitely, 100 without a doubt, terrifying. Now more than ever he seemed like a demon from hell, death incarnate released to eradicate all he wished to. Ryan Potter and Hermione Granger stared disbelievingly at the cold blooded killer before them both wondering if Harry James Potter, biological son of James and Lily Potter was standing before them. Surely he couldn’t have become this malicious, this cold, and this heartless! The expressions of James and Lily Potter mirrored that of their son’s, a mix of awe, fear and disbelief. ‘My god, what has happened to him? What in Merlin’s name could have changed him so?’ they both silently wondered. 'Well, we’re just going to have to fix that; we’ll show him how to feel. We’ll heal him, we’ll make it up to him,’ they both resolved.

“My patience thins Riddle! Come forth now and face me or suffer the consequences!” Harry threatened.

The sneering form of Lord Voldemort Apparated to the head of his army, a furious scowl marking his snake like features, “I will kill you boy, and then I will murder all who stand behind you and against me!” he hissed. He drew his wand and swished it through the air as fast as he could manage. Several arcs of purple light appeared and began to speed towards Harry. Voldemort then disappeared with a pop and reappeared behind Harry, launching several more arcs of purple light towards his opponent. Feeling Voldemort Apparate, Harry slammed the blade of his katana into the ground and opened his palms, closing his eyes and concentrating. Two small red orbs began to grow and shimmer in his hands, magic swirling within them. With a mighty roar, Harry clapped his hands together, forcing the two orbs to meet and react. They collided with each other and were simultaneously absorbed into the other. A booming rumble echoed across the ground, a spherical dome of red light suddenly expanding from Harry’s closed hands. The dome grew and grew, shimmering and pulsing with raw magic until it covered Harry in its 10’ diameter. Voldemort’s cutting curses slammed into the shield, the magic in them fueling the protection surrounding the Warrior. With the attack repelled, Harry spun around to face the shocked expression of Lord Voldemort, his eyes burning with the emerald light of his barely contained rage. He drew himself to his full height, eyes continuing to glint dangerously as the rain from the heavens above rolled off of the walls of his magnificent shield.

“You are the foulest of creatures Riddle, a coward who attacks with opportunity, lacking any honor or real power. You may think you are strong, but I will show you what true power is!” Harry spoke coldly, his voice hard as steel and his emerald orbs of fire shinning with growing fury.

Keeping his eyes locked on Voldemort, Harry bent his knees slightly coiling his body tightly towards his torso. His irises began dim and flicker, his muscles tensed and his veins began to pound and pulse, breaking through to show all across him. The air began to pop and crackle while a soft blue glow started to envelop Harry. His jaw set, Harry closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, drawing his body closer to his core. A mysterious wind picked up, its chilling gust laced with magic and might. As it passed by all those present a shiver travelled down their spines. The gust felt horrid, the strength of it fearful and the intensity extremely unsettling. Yet when the frigid breeze hit Harry’s shield it only made the glow about him grow in luminosity. Harry’s unruly hair floated of its own accord, standing on its edges, its tips coloring to a deep, hypnotic shade of sapphire. His body trembled as magic, strength and power began to rise within him, seeking a release, yearning to be free. All along his body black symbols began to appear and glow, covering his forearms, biceps, chest and shoulder blades. They were a black so deep that it almost seemed like it sucked in all the light around it. The red shield began to shrink and the gust picked up in intensity, a stream of magic flowing into Harry’s pulsing aura and being absorbed by the runic markings marring his body. With a snap and a growl his eyes flew open and his body straightened suddenly.

His once glowing emerald irises vanished, replaced instead by that same chilling, deep and frightful shade of black. The red shield once surrounding him collapsed instantly, seemingly reabsorbed into his body whilst his aura shone even brighter. His muscles seemed to harden even more, taking on the appearance of carved stone. With hands clenched at his sides he parted his lips and smiled, but this smile wasn’t human. No. It was undeniably feral and animalistic, his slightly pointed teeth showing prominently through his grin. His fists unclenched and one hand reached out to grasp the handle of his katana. An effortless pull later and the blade became freed from the soggy earth. Its once pure diamond blade now was one of the purest and shiniest Obsidian. The edges seemed to possess a glint of their own, making them appear unnaturally sharp and dangerous.

“The kiddy gloves are off Thomas, playtime is over,” the deep and primal voice of the creature known as Harry Potter stated. His brought his blade forward with its tip aimed at Voldemort, the rain dripping off the blade smoothly. Blindingly fast Harry sprang forward and charged at Voldemort, his power reeking power as he brought his blade forward and swung towards the stunned figure of the Dark Lord…

A/N: Sorry for the hang off, but I’d rather end on a interesting/good note then try to force my writing and have it come out like crap. As it is, I’m not entirely comfortable with the last 3 paragraphs, so I may be updating and changing them from time to time. As always suggestions and reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Cito Lupatus Abies: I call/summon spikes of silver
Sign up to rate and review this story