True Dark Lord

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of Tolkien's works.

Not much had changed at Privet Drive in the past four years; on the surface at least. While the Dursley family had maintained their reputation as being 'normal', they were now known as 'that' family: The Unlucky Family. Those people that were prone to accidents and misfortune. The looks they received were more of mixed sympathy and amusement than the scandalous looks they worried that their nephew would curse upon their home.

Beyond their severe string of bad luck, and a few steep medical bills, there was only one thing different around the household: Harry.

Petunia and Vernon weren't sure how, but they were convinced that the boy was somehow the cause of this. While Vernon's initial reaction was to punish him for his freakishness, an accident always happened that prevented such actions, and some of them had been very...ominously close to becoming fatal incidents: Slipping on the kitchen floor and knives just missing his head, or his privates, when he tried to strike Harry, the oven food catching fire and nearly exploding in Petunia's face after she locked him in the cupboard for the day or a rabid dog chasing after Dudley like a very meaty meal when he was about to go Harry Hunting. It was like a Guardian Demon or something. Not that they would ever voice such absurd notions out loud.

Still, as a test of whatever was happening to them, they left the boy alone. The accidents still happened, but they were less frequent, more petty and inconvenient than outright menacing. The only one still getting the bulk of the punishment was Dudley as he kept trying to bully Harry around when his parents weren't looking. Needless to say, the chubby boy now had a healthy phobia of dark places and was prone to bed wetting.

Morgoth, on his end, wasn't letting up on the mortals just because they were behaving. No, truth was that he had other things he'd rather focus on. Like his boundaries. At first, he hadn't been able to leave the area of the Blood Wards, unless Harry did. He could sense things well beyond that though, but he couldn't bring his influence beyond that area. And that influence didn't even allow the boy to see him at first. That, however, was four years ago. A lot can change in four years.

It took him over a full year before Harry could see and hear him outside of dreams. No one else could, which was Morgoth's desire anyway; hence why the young boy could often be found talking to an 'imaginary friend'. And despite the opinions of the Dursleys, that was a completely normal thing for children. This was also why an eight year old Harry could now be found sitting on the back lawn, talking to seemingly nothing.

But where others saw nothing, Harry saw a large, humanoid mass of darkness sitting on the grass in front of him. Where others heard nothing, Harry heard that ancient voice of power and knowledge, of one that had been at the dawn of creation and helped sung it into being. Of course, Harry didn't know that just yet, but he still thought his friend was, in a word, awesome. He was a smart boy, contrary to what his family thought, and knew that imaginary friends couldn't do or know stuff like Morgoth Bauglir could. Besides, he wasn't choosy with his friends. Even if this one came from the hellish places he loved to dream of.

"Ud a duosaakk krad rekrk, Morgoth?" Harry asked curiously up to his, well, only friend in this world.

"Close, young Lomear," Morgoth instructed patiently. "The correct way is "Ud a duoaakk krad rakrk?" Ra-kr-k. No E. And duoaakk does not possess an 'S' in it," He corrected.

"I will never understand how people can learn more than one language," Harry said with a sigh.

"The same way you learn the first: practice, exposure, and context," Morgoth countered with a somewhat amused tone. "I take it your Atani studies are going well?"

"Mostly. Dudley still finds a way to ruin or swap my homework at times," Harry answered nonchalantly. not really caring as his grades could afford take a few hits…unlike Dudley's.

"Is there something genuinely ill with that child's mind? I have never heard of a young one with such an inability to learn," Morgoth asked in annoyance.

Harry shrugged, not really having an answer for that, "So, why am I learning this language anyway?" He asked curiously.

"I may not have the power to locate and speak to the dark races yet, but I can still sense them and see them in the minds of the Firimar-Istari. And my old student put great power into this language when he crafted it. When they hear you speak it, they will be unable to ignore you, Lomear," Morgoth explained.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Harry muttered in thought.

"Speak your mind, but do not mutter when you do. It conveys too many signals of weakness," Morgoth advised sternly.

"Right. You said that the true Wizards of the past were the Istari; a group of Maiar, essentially lesser Valar, in the guise of mortal men? So does that mean all wizards are Maiar?" Harry asked curiously.

"That is something I am still deducing, but it is correct in a form. These mortal wizards are like a lesser race of Maiar, further limited by their mortal forms. How such a thing happened is a mystery: Perhaps some of the Istari bred with the Atani before they returned to the Undying Lands or maybe a group of magicians settled down in the same area, causing the talent and potential for magic became more and more engrained in bloodlines," Morgoth theorized, quite curious as to how the Second People gained such magical talent in so many of their kind. "Regardless, it's of no concern for the time being. There will be time to figure out the mysteries of history in later moons," He advised as he absently rubbed the black marble, unseen by Harry, that was a piece of a soul and a tiny piece at that.

The little fragment had been quite insightful, to be honest. While the memories it possessed were a mess, to be frank, it was little work for the Dark Lord to clean and fix them, giving him information on the world's current nature. There were the Muggles, the regular Atani that were advancing in technology and living in ignorance of their magical cousin, the Mortal Istari. Or Firimar-Istari as Morgoth sometimes thought of them. Of course, the magicals lived in a more willful ignorance of their Atani brethren's advancements and had a superiority complex against all other sapient races, magical or otherwise.

It was interesting, to Morgoth, in a weird way. It was like the magical portion of the Second People had inherited the haughty disposition of the First People, or Elves as the Atani called them. What these 'house elves' he occasionally heard whispers of in memories were, was another project he planned to investigate. It would be both pitiful and amusing if the first race had been reduced to mere servants.

"Dudley's coming," Harry pointed out calmly, breaking the comfortable silence between the two.

"Do you require my assistance?" The Ainur asked, sensing the mortal behind him.

"Only if I mess this up," Harry answered as, to his perspective, Dudley marched through Morgoth Bauglir's shadowy form.

"Ello, Freak!" Dudley sneered down at his cousin. "Sorry, am I interrupting a tea party with your 'friend'?"

"Hello, cousin," Harry returned dryly. "And no, you interrupted a study lesson. Something you need more than I do."

"Big talk from a freak with no friends," Dudley countered.

"You don't have friends, Dudley. You have hunting buddies that would just as soon hunt you if you weren't a bully like them," Harry retorted dispassionately.

"Why you lit-" Dudley started to raise his fist, only to trip over his own shoe laces and fall flat on his face, groaning as his nose hit the hard, dry dirt ground.

"If you wanted some time to sleep in the yard, all you had to do was ask," Harry said with an eye roll as he got up and dusted off his pants. "I'm heading inside, you?"

"Shut up, Freak," Dudley mumbled in pain, before wiping the dirt from his face. Hopefully, he didn't have another scar.

"I wasn't talking to you," Harry corrected, looking as Morgoth rematerialized next to him, standing as well and towering over everyone at a relatively conservative seven feet tall.

"I shall be exploring some of the dwellings now within my range of power," Morgoth explained, taking off as a mass of black mist.

"Have fun," Harry called after, waving with a smile.

"You're such a freak," Dudley spat as he struggled to untangle his shoe laces.

Morgoth hummed as he moved from house to house of the three block radius he now had to move around in. If he had to give the Atani one thing, they were more efficient than the Orcs turned out to be, with very streamlined designs to settlements, with some odd quirks here and there. Still, he wasn't out to observe modern Atani aesthetics. No, he knew that there was more looking after Harry than mere wards in Little Whinging. But his powers were still limited. For lack of a better term, he had to 'manually' read the minds of anyone he deigned to. While monotonous, the idea of scanning the mind of everyone passing through the neighborhood was not a task he put off without reason; keeping an eye on Harry had been a very busy job until this year.

Now he could afford to leave Harry to his own devices long enough to do these little searches. Whoever was watching them was either a shapeshifter, invisible, or not around frequently enough to be taken note of. Given what he knew of the modern world's magic, he couldn't rule the first two out. And all of these Muggles were entirely mundane and boring for him to mind read.

Sports, Drinking, Fashion, Gardening, Cats, Dumbledore, Work, Politics-

Morgoth halted instantly as he rushed back to a house, one that he could sense smelled of cabbage and was home to multiple felines. He focused in on the human residing there, one Arabella Figg, and found clarification on a great deal of information he had only partially gleamed from the soul fragment.

A squib. So that was the term for a magicless child born to Istari parents. That could be useful. And this Dumbledore was still alive. Over a hundred years of age? Magic truly benefited these sub-Atani well. Unsurprisingly, this Figg was acting as a watcher for anything that might happen to young Harry Potter-

The Boy Who Lived? What an unflattering title, but if this woman's perceptions were not off, the fame behind it could be of great use to Harry and himself.

He continued to dig, mindful not to damage the woman's mind, lest he alarm this- Headmaster? A teacher? Hm, passing knowledge on to more generations. A moderately commendable profession, if one did not seek power. But by the sounds of it, power sought out this elderly Atani, the one wizard the so called Dark Lord feared.

Or rather, Dark Lords. There had been another, whom Dumbledore defeated? Something to look into another time. For now, he needed essential, basic knowledge of the hidden world of the magicals.

Hmm, hidden realms, just out of sight and behind passages invisible to those without the gift or not shown the way. Dwarven magic had a root in that.

If he had a nose, it would have wrinkled in disgust; The Ministry of Magic. What was with the races of Men and their sudden desire for this democratic leadership? Kings and Lords had always been the way of the Dark AND the Light. Then again, it made it so anyone, even a corrupted servant of a hidden master could be ruler of a domain.

He put his scheming aside as he focused in on this Diagon Alley- and tried not to get distracted with Knockturn Ally. Four years and he was still not accustomed to having these limitations. Everything Harry needed for this hidden world was right there, but what for money? The Muggles used paper with some coinage, what about the magicals?

Morgoth discorved the answer, and found himself feeling a new emotion. Was this giddy? Was this what Harry felt like when playing with Baby-Fells? He didn't know or care. All he knew was one simple thing.

He had found the Goblins!

And they had...gotten smarter? He was honestly a bit impressed and proud, in his own way. They definitely had changed, physically and mentally, but there remained the same viciousness to them. Strange though, had they crossbred with the Dwarves or Hobbits? Bizarre, but he'd have a better idea if he- or rather, Harry- met one in the flesh.

Deciding not to risk rummaging through the mortal's mind any more, his presence left, with the squib feeling nothing more than a bit dizzy. He had much to share with young Lomear…much to share and much to scheme.

He slowed as he traveled back to Privet Drive, pondering on some more information he had picked up as a side effect of his main inquires. Harry was kept here for numerous reasons. These were his only living relatives, and this "Lord Voldemort" still had followers that had weaseled their way out of the magical world's justice system. And he was famous, meaning that anyone and everyone might use him for their own agenda. The blood wards also factored in.

While these were all logical reasons, Morgoth couldn't help thinking there was another reason. Mainly because this Dumbledore seemed to always know more than he let on, and Morgoth doubted this wizard didn't have an idea about the soul fragment that had been in Harry's scar.

Which meant...

Morgoth growled to himself, realizing that if the magicals found out about him, they might just assume he was Voldemort. Which would be rather insulting, really.

He reappeared in Harry's room, finding the boy reading a book on his bed. "Back already?" Harry asked in surprise, expecting the Ainur to be gone for another hour at least.

"I found some very important infor-What are you reading?" Morgoth asked with a head tilt. He was with Harry almost every hour of the day, so he wasn't sure where he'd picked up this particular book he hadn't seen before.

"A library book, apparently. I think Dudley stole it. It's called The Sword of Shannara," Harry answered with a shrug as he put the book away. "So, what was so important?"

"I have found goblins, and the "Wizarding World" as your kind call it," Morgoth explained bluntly.

"Really! Finally, I was beginning to think the ones in Mordor were all that were left," Harry said with an infectious amount of excitement.

"Do not grow too fond. Along with Istari-Atani having come into being, so have Casari-Orqi, if I am right in what I gleamed," Morgoth informed.

"Casari...the dwarves?" Harry realized in shock, his glasses drooping down his nose. "By Mount Doom, why did you have to give me The Talk when I was seven?" he asked with a pained expression.

"Because I do not understand why speaking of reproduction ever became taboo amongst the mortal races," Morgoth answered in complete honesty. "Regardless, you will need some headwear to conceal your scar, Lomear."

"Umm, why?" Harry asked curiously. "I mean, sure, it's noticeable, but it's not like wizards are going to pay much attention to a kid with a scar on his head, right?"

"Unless, apparently, you happen to be Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived," Morgoth said dryly.

Harry stared at that for a moment. "I'm not going to be happy about why you just called me that, am I?"

"No, no you are not. However, you will be happy to know that I can confirm your birth parents were not simple drunks, addicts, or any other insult your relatives assigned to them," Morgoth offered, seeing those green eyes light up. "I shall tell you what I know tonight after we plan how to get to the...Charred Crossing Road?" Morgoth said, looking up with a contemplative look. "No, my mistake, Charring Cross Road...and stop staring at me like I am somehow comical for getting a name slightly wrong."

Harry looked away innocently, having no desire to tempt his dark friend's ire. Besides, they had much to discuss and plan.

End of Chapter

Well, that was long overdue. Hope you all enjoyed this. While this story isn't exactly a comedy, there is some hilarity to be had with Harry and Morgoth, both fishes out of waters in their own ways...and since sharks could as fish, that analogy works perfectly. But, yeah, both of them are more of less going into the Wizarding World with the barest of ideas, both with entirely different frames of references to compare things too: Harry to the modern muggle world, Morgoth to the ancient world.

In any case, sorry for the long ass wait. Its been a rough couple of years. My grandma, who raised me, got sick last year and died this year. Moved in with my mom while this Coronavirus thing took off. Since than, I've decided to get back to some of my old stuff, including this. To be honest, I never planned this fic out, having just created it because it was an idea in my head. But five years is a lot of time to plan. I'll be getting back to this much more often. This or other HP fics I've been planning.

Well, until next time, hope you all enjoyed this! Stay safe out there!

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