The Wrong-Boy-Who-Died (Tom Riddle/Harry Potter)

Chapter 8: Rapt & Reflecting

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Stop looking for someone to blame and fix it

-Unknown

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The switchblade murders kept multiplying. After the second copycat incident, there were dozens of others. All striking at boarding schools. Once again, the culprits had not been caught. The newspapers were filled with theories on how the switchblade murders actually took off. But Harry knew he was one of the few who knew how it really happened. A person from another school murders for you, then you murder for another school, and this leads into an endless chain. Harry had to admit, it did scare him quite a bit, as he didn't expect his actions to have such a huge effect. Yes, he had wanted to murder his teachers, and the plan they had devised was genius, but it was a plan devised for Darkness Academy teachers, whose cruel ways were desperately in need of a reform. While he didn't doubt that there were other teachers out there that were just as bad, he knew not all of them were.

The last few days before September 1st were spent in silence. Harry stayed out of James's way for the most part, and avoided any conflict. He hid away in his room, occasionally coaxed out of his room by Luka for meals. His skin was paler than ever, but he couldn't bring himself to face the sun, so he just shut the curtains tighter.

Until one morning, he woke up to see sun streaming through the window, and James towering over him. He shot up immediately, eyeing his father with obvious disdain.

"We're leaving in an hour, get ready," James sneered, his face more violent looking than usual.

Harry remained quiet, not wanting to rub his father the wrong way, but James took offense with his silence.

"What? Don't have anything smart to say?"

"No, I do have smart things to say, I just doubt that you're intelligent enough to comprehend them." Harry snarked. He just couldn't bloody help it.

Then James's fist flew out and collided painfully with the side of his jaw.

Harry tensed, and forced himself to stand still. He'd bit his tongue on the impact and tasted the metallic blood, but didn't let his pain show as he stared straight into James's eyes.

"You must be desperate if you're turning to muggle tactics. Not even honorable ones either, but underhanded one's," Harry tsked, as much as it hurt his tongue to do so "You might as well turn to dark magic at this rate,"

"You-" James raised his fist once more.

"Dad! What are you doing?" They both snapped their heads toward Luka, who stood at the doorframe.

"Luka, go back to your room."

To Harry's surprise, Luka stood his ground.

"Dad, did you take your medicine?"

James looked away almost shamefully.

"Accio Dad's medicine!"

I stared. Both at the advanced magic Luka had performed without his wand, and at the fact that his father was ill.

Once his father left the room, Luka lingered for a second and said, "I know he has no right to do that to you Harry, but it's not entirely his fault you know. If his head wasn't so messed up and if you would just shut up, maybe...just maybe things would be different."

Those words stayed in Harry's head long after Luka had left.

He turned and stared at the one painting that hung on his dull walls. A portrait of his idol, Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton never stopped speaking his mind, Hamilton overcame his family situation and his name, he had grown past his dark childhood and left a legacy that was so much greater than him.

But maybe Luka was right, maybe he should choose his words more carefully. After all, if Hamilton hadn't talked so much, maybe he wouldn't have gotten shot in the chest. 

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A/N: Hey readers! I know I said Hogwarts would be this chapter, but I haven't quite gotten around to writing it yet, since I've been too busy planning ahead and making sure that what happens now fits together to the plot line. Yeah you probably don't understand a bit of that, but I promise you that it's coming. Thanks for your support, and until tommorow, 

War out!