Malicious Intentions

by Apathetic Lambchoppi (Apathetic_Lambchoppi)

Summary:

Harry Potter, older brother to the supposed BWL, disappeared at the tender age of four. After major abuse at the hands of his new family, Harry escaped them and grew up to be a powerful, psychopathic assassin. With no conscience, an angelic face (not just for no reason, just so you know) and intellect rivaling the two Lord's he's decided to play with, which side will he join? Or will he be on no one's side but his own? Watch as Harry juggles with his own terrifying past, irritating do-gooders, and a hunger for power that may just overshadow Voldemort's own. Will he succeed, or will our Harry face the same fate he's gifted so many others?

So this is abandoned. I might redo this at some point, but good lord the summary even made me cringe. I'm very sorry for anyone who enjoyed this, but its a bit much for me now.

Notes:

This is a story I've had on fanfiction.net for awhile and it's under the same name as on here--Apathetic Lambchoppi. I will slowly but surely update all my chapters on here as well, but not super fast. I have 11, counting this one, so far uploaded, so I suppose if you really like it you can go there and read. Hope you like and please tell me your thoughts. :)

Chapter 1: Prologue

 I may look happy, but honestly dear, the only way I will really smile is if you cut me ear to ear.

- bring me the horizon

---

In the cold, dark streets of London sat the actual Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, no one actually knew this, for his brother was supposedly the Chosen One.

At the moment, he was kneeling on the roof of one of the various clubs in the city, waiting for his prey to show itself.

The bright white moon shone on his sharp features, but for some reason he was still able to remain out of sight. Finally, the mudblood exited the building, his drunkenness obvious from his struggle to walk.

Two girls were hanging onto his arms, drunk as well. Harry smirked darkly to himself. He always preferred it when there were witnesses.

He took out his L115A3 AWM sniper rifle. (He never killed with his wand, just in case the Ministry ever got suspicious and tried to get involved. It took time for magical residue to fade.) It was pure black, with a green barrel. All of his bullets were a matching green, an Avada Kedavra green, which was his signature. He cocked it, and prepared to take his shot.

He had put many charms on his gun, since he wasn't about to rely on completely muggle weapons. That would be idiotic. For example, it was charmed to never run out of bullets, as long as he still had some in his possession, for you can't make things appear completely out of thin air. It took too much time to constantly transfigure items around him into new bullets and never having to manually refill his gun had saved his life many times.

This wizard, supposedly a part of the Wizengamot, was a muggle-lover and very influential. Based on his current...situation, he didn't seem like the most threatening sheep. Yes, Harry thought, anyone who gets so drunk without protection is obviously an idiot. Who knew who could be trailing you?

So, Harry took one shot to his greasy face, cackling in his head on how the two strippers reacted. Their blonde hair stained red like their whore lipstick. Their screams were pure bliss to him. But, like always, he couldn't dawdle, so he took his leave. Not one more thought wasted on how he just murdered a man in cold blood.