A New Path

The streets of London blurred past the window as the Dursleys' car made its way toward **King's Cross Station**. Harry sat in the back seat, his trunk and owl cage beside him, staring out of the window but feeling nothing. The clamor of the city was distant, muffled by the oppressive silence inside the car.

Uncle Vernon drove with his usual grunts of displeasure, Aunt Petunia sat stiffly in the front seat, her lips pursed in a perpetual frown, and Dudley snored quietly, oblivious to the tension swirling around them all. The Dursleys were afraid of Harry now. Ever since the incident with **Dobby** and the few subtle uses of his Sharingan, they had been unnaturally quiet and compliant.

"Get out, boy," Vernon grunted when they finally pulled into the station, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't expect us to come back for you. We'll be glad to be rid of you for another year."

Harry didn't bother to reply. He stepped out of the car without a backward glance, dragging his trunk onto the platform. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn't care. The Dursleys were irrelevant, just as they had always been.

As he approached **Platform 9¾**, Harry's eyes swept the bustling station. Wizards and witches moved among the Muggles, slipping through the barrier with barely a thought. A family passed by—parents hurriedly shepherding their children toward the platform—and the sight of them stirred something cold and distant in Harry. He had once envied families like that, wishing he had one. Now, those thoughts seemed pointless. His desire for connection was replaced by a hunger for power.

Reaching the barrier, Harry passed through, the bustling energy of **Diagon Alley** falling behind as the Hogwarts Express came into view. Students were already boarding, excitement buzzing in the air. Parents waved goodbye, students shouted and laughed with each other, and Harry, unnoticed, moved quietly among them.

**Ron** and **Hermione** would be looking for him, he knew. They would want to talk, would demand explanations. But Harry was in no mood to deal with them. He could sense the growing tension between them, the way they had distanced themselves. He wasn't the same person they had known in their first year. They were already becoming relics of his past.

Harry climbed aboard the train, his eyes scanning the compartments for an empty one. He found a quiet corner at the back of the train and settled into a seat by the window. He barely had time to pull out one of his textbooks before the door to the compartment slid open.

"Harry!"

The sharp voice cut through the noise, and Harry's grip tightened on the book. He didn't need to look up to know who it was. **Ron Weasley**, with Hermione **and Neville** in tow, stood in the doorway, their faces painted with a mixture of concern, anger, and disbelief.

"Harry, mate, what's going on with you?" Ron demanded, stepping into the compartment without waiting for an invitation. "You've been ignoring us all summer!"

Harry slowly raised his head, his expression unreadable. His green eyes, now edged with the faintest glow of the **Sharingan**, flicked between Ron, Hermione, and Neville. They had always been easy to read—Ron's impulsiveness, Hermione's need to understand, Neville's nervous loyalty. But now, their faces were like open books to him, their emotions laid bare. They had come looking for answers, but Harry had none to give them.

"You've gone dark, haven't you?" Hermione's voice was soft, but filled with urgency. She stepped closer, her eyes searching Harry's face for any sign of the boy she once knew. "Harry, whatever's happened, we can help you. Please, just tell us what's going on."

Harry remained silent, his gaze sliding past Hermione's desperate expression to the scenery outside the window. The world seemed distant and irrelevant, just like their words. It was as if they hadn't noticed how much he had changed—how much stronger he had become.

Ron's frustration boiled over, his face reddening with anger as he stepped closer, looming over Harry. "You think you're better than us now, is that it? You've been ignoring us, acting like we don't matter anymore! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry turned his head slowly, his cold green eyes locking onto Ron's. "I don't need to explain myself to you," he said, his voice low and calm, devoid of the warmth it once carried.

Hermione flinched at the coldness in his tone. "But we're your friends, Harry. We've always been there for you. Why are you shutting us out?"

Harry's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "Friends?" he repeated, his voice laced with quiet disdain. "You think this is about friendship? I've seen what power is, what it means to be strong. My old self was weak. You'd only hold me back."

Neville, who had remained silent, stepped forward hesitantly. "We're not trying to hold you back, Harry. We just... we just want to help you."

But Harry's gaze shifted toward Neville, and the red flicker of the Sharingan briefly surfaced in his eyes. "Help me?" he echoed, his voice sharp with amusement. "You don't even understand what's happening, Neville. None of you do."

Ron's anger flared, his fists clenched at his sides. "This isn't you, Harry! You're going dark, just like You-Know-Who! We're not going to let you!"

Harry's expression didn't change, but something dark and dangerous stirred beneath the surface. "You'll try," he said, his voice dripping with quiet amusement.

Before anyone could respond, the door to the compartment slid open again, and this time, **Draco Malfoy** entered, flanked by **Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott,** and **Daphne Greengrass**.

"Well, well, well," Draco drawled, his pale eyes gleaming with amusement as he took in the tense scene. "Look what we have here. Potter, keeping company with the Gryffindor rabble again?"

Harry's lips twitched, but he didn't respond. His eyes flicked toward Draco, and the Slytherins exchanged glances, reading the unspoken message in his gaze.

Pansy smirked, her dark eyes gleaming with cruelty as she glanced over Ron, Hermione, and Neville. "What's the matter, Potter? Finally tired of hanging out with the weakest students in the school?"

Ron's face flushed with anger, but Blaise cut him off with a lazy smile. "It's no surprise, really. Potter's been keeping the wrong company for too long. But it seems he's finally woken up."

"Weak," Theodore added, his voice calm but laced with disdain. "That's all you Gryffindors are. Weak and predictable."

Hermione's eyes flashed with indignation, and she stepped forward, her voice trembling with anger. "You've poisoned Harry's mind, all of you! He's not like you!"

Draco's laughter cut through the compartment, sharp and mocking. "Oh, Granger, don't flatter yourself. Potter's more like us than you'd care to admit."

Harry watched the exchange with cold detachment. His old friends, his former allies, were nothing more than relics of the past—symbols of the weakness he had left behind. The Slytherins, for all their arrogance, had at least recognized his potential. They saw power, and they were drawn to it.

"We're not going to let you go dark, Harry," Ron growled, stepping closer to him. "We'll stop you if we have to."

Harry's eyes narrowed, the red flicker of the Sharingan briefly surfacing again. "You can try," he said, his voice a cold whisper.

The tension in the compartment thickened, the air practically crackling with the unspoken threat. Ron's fists clenched tighter, and for a moment, it seemed like the situation would spiral out of control.

But Harry's gaze shifted, and without another word, he stood, brushing past Ron, Hermione, and Neville as if they were nothing. The Slytherins followed him, their smirks widening as they left the Gryffindors standing in stunned silence.

As they moved down the corridor, Draco fell into step beside Harry, his smirk faltering slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at him. "So, Potter," he drawled, his voice filled with curiosity. "What's this power you keep talking about? You've been hinting at something for weeks now."

Pansy, walking on Harry's other side, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you've got us all intrigued. What exactly have you been hiding?"

Harry didn't respond immediately. He led them to an empty compartment near the back of the train, closing the door behind them. As he turned to face them, his expression remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous.

"You want power," Harry said, his voice low but commanding. "I can give it to you."

Draco raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the window. "And what makes you think we need you, Potter? You may be good, but we've done just fine on our own."

Harry's eyes glinted with amusement, and in a smooth motion, he activated his **Sharingan**.

The red glow filled the compartment, casting an eerie light over the faces of the Slytherins. Their smirks faltered, their eyes widening in shock as they took in the spinning tomoe of Harry's Sharingan. Pansy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Draco's usually confident expression wavered.

"What... what is that?" Blaise asked, his voice tinged with awe.

Harry smiled, a cold and calculated smile. "This is the Sharingan. With it, I can see everything—your movements, your magic, even your thoughts. Nothing escapes me."

Draco stepped closer, his gaze locked on Harry's glowing eyes. "That's... incredible. But how did you get something like that?"

Harry's expression didn't change. "That's not important. What matters is that with me, you'll become stronger than you've ever imagined. But you'll have to follow me."

The compartment was silent for a moment as the Slytherins exchanged glances, the weight of Harry's words sinking in. They had always craved power, always sought ways to gain the upper hand. And now, standing before them was someone who could give them exactly what they wanted.

Pansy was the first to speak, her voice low but determined. "We're with you, Harry. Whatever it takes."

Draco nodded slowly, his smirk returning as he held out a hand. "Alright, Potter. We're in. But don't think for a second we'll follow you blindly."

Harry's smile widened slightly as he shook Draco's hand. "Good. I don't need blind followers. I need allies who are willing to do whatever it takes."

The pact was made, unspoken but understood. They would follow Harry, not out of loyalty, but out of ambition. He had proven himself worthy of their allegiance, and with the power of the Sharingan at his disposal, he was a force to be reckoned with.

The **Hogwarts Express** rumbled into the station, its scarlet engine gleaming in the fading light of the late afternoon. The familiar sight of **Hogwarts** loomed in the distance, its towering spires casting long shadows over the grounds. But for Harry, the castle felt different now. He wasn't returning as the same boy who had left at the end of his first year.

As they stepped off the train, the air was thick with the excitement of students returning to school. Laughter and chatter filled the platform, but Harry remained silent, his eyes scanning the crowd with quiet intensity.

He could feel eyes on him, watching him, and he didn't need to look to know who it was. **Dumbledore** stood near the carriages, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Harry with a mixture of concern and suspicion.

The old man was no fool. Harry could sense Dumbledore's unease, the way his gaze lingered on him, searching for something. Dumbledore knew something had changed, but he wasn't ready to act. Not yet.

The prophecy still bound Dumbledore, still held him back from seeing Harry as anything other than the "Chosen One." Harry's lips twitched in a faint smirk as he passed the headmaster, barely sparing him a glance.

Let him watch. Let him wonder. Dumbledore would never truly understand what Harry had become.

The **Great Hall** buzzed with energy as students filled the long tables, eagerly catching up on their summer adventures. But when Harry entered, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Whispers spread through the room, and curious glances were cast in his direction.

Harry ignored them. He made his way to the **Gryffindor table** and took his usual seat, his expression blank and unreadable. His mind was elsewhere, calculating his next moves, evaluating who could be of use to him and who would need to be eliminated.

Across the hall, **Ron, Hermione,** and **Neville** sat together, their faces etched with worry. They had once been his closest friends, the so-called "Golden Trio." But now, they were strangers to him, relics of a past he had no intention of returning to.

Ron's eyes burned with anger, Hermione's with sadness, and Neville's with confusion. They didn't understand. They never would.

At the staff table, **Snape** watched Harry with quiet interest. His sharp black eyes followed the boy's every movement, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

Snape had always hated Harry, believing him to be an arrogant, reckless boy like his father. But now, as he observed the cold, calculated way Harry carried himself, Snape realized something that brought him dark satisfaction.

Harry was nothing like **James Potter**. And in that, Snape found a certain irony.