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Chapter Text

Fifteen year old Harry Potter was finished.

Wasn't it enough to have lost his parents before he had even known them? Wasn't it enough to have been left in a household in which he's been treated as a servant? Wasn't it enough that every single year he faced near-death situations for a war he never had a choice in which to fight? He hadn't asked for this life. He hadn't done anything to deserve the praise or the trials. But he still tried his damndest to work through them and take life as it came at him.

But now... this was truly the icing on the cake. Sirius was dead. Finally an adult who had looked at him like a real person, someone important and to be cherished for more than his defeat of Voldemort. Sirius had had his flaws, of course, but he had been the first person Harry had ever had that he could look up to without getting hatred or unwarranted regard in return.

At first he had blamed himself for Sirius's death. Sometimes he still did. He could have tried harder at Occlumency or thought a little bit more before he acted. But he was a Gryffindor, and that was his way. He was brave before he was wise, but it had always worked out for the best. He knew he was not without blame in the matter.

For all he had blame, though, there was a flaw that gave him strength to foist the guilt off his shoulders. How could he have known? He was fifteen years old and hardly schooled, how in Merlin's name did they expect him to know reality from a trap? No one had thought to tell him that such things could be engineered, instead sticking him in a room with the Greasy Git and expecting him to listen to the old bat when he snarked out orders. How was he to know how much Voldemort could really do with a thoroughfare into his mind? His ignorance had cost him dearly, no matter whose fault it was. Was that their grand plan, perhaps, to leave him so alone and full of pain that he would simply slay their enemy and then die with a smile?

Dumbledore was a good man at heart, Harry knew. It wasn't intentional that he treated Harry as a weapon in his multi-decade war… he was just an old man trying to do what he thought was best. He had the best intentions of the entire world mapped out in his mind. But, good intentions or no, Harry had no qualms against taking himself out of the plans laid for him. It was his life after all, damnit, and he could choose his own path. Dumbledore could find someone else to play the savior. Harry didn't want that anymore for himself. And what did he have to lose anymore? So he would escape those plans Dumbledore and the Wizarding world had laid on his shoulders.

Starting today.

He collected the last of his belongings from the dingy bedroom that had been 'his' for the last four summers, stuffing everything into his pockets that would fit. He was thankful that his most important belongings were not kept in the trunk that he doubted he would ever see again, locked downstairs in the cupboard as it was. He supposed he could break into it and retrieve the trunk, but it would only slow him down. He wanted to be gone, and he didn't want to risk being caught before he was well away from Surrey. Harry was pleased to find that Vernon had forgotten to lock the deadbolts this morning, and he whistled jauntily as he took the stairs two at a time. He was ready - so ready - to be gone and on his way out of the life he had been forced into.

Without a word to his family, he was out the door, down the street, and away from Privet Drive forever. He wouldn't come back unless they had him bound and gagged, he promised himself that.

He made it nearly a block down Wisteria Walk before a figure stepped out of the shadows, a tall man with waist length black hair and a charming smile. The smile managed to be wholly pleasent while still retaining a sharp danger to it, the easy way he cocked his head making Harry think of a predator. Golden eyes focused on him and Harry was halted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Harry Potter…" the man said in an unidentifiable accent. His smile only grew. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you."

Chapter Text

Twenty-five year old Harry Potter groaned as he was unceremoniously pinned to the ground, a forearm digging into his throat hard enough to create little bursts of light behind his eyelids.

"I give, damnit!" he rasped out, gasping for air as the arm was finally removed. He glared up at the feline blue eyes that hovered over him, the shine to them the only thing that gave away the owner's amusement. Harry blew a chunk of his sparring partner's golden hair from his face and planted his foot in the blond's abdomen, throwing him several feet away. "Damnit," he cursed again.

The blond stood gracefully, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. "I apologize, Mylläkkä, but you will never defeat me."

"Whatever." Harry snorted. "Considering I have a decimal point of your experience, I think I do well enough." Harry snatched up his daggers from where they had been lost in the fight, strapping them into their customary places on his person - one on the thigh in plain sight and one held with a spell at the top of his back, his long hair covering its existence. Harry couldn't help another groan as he stood, wincing when several joints popped.

Dante Pierce might have had the reputation as the most trained fighter in Sceaduwe Citadel, but he was also the most ruthless. He had trained around the world for almost a millenium picking up fighting styles of the ages, but his teaching style mostly consisted of beating the utter crap out of his student until they picked up enough to fight back. He had taken only two pupils in the last hundred years despite his highly sought-after status, and Harry knew to be grateful for the opportunity afforded to him. Nonetheless, any training session he had with Dante left him bruised, beaten, and sore for days in muscles he had forgotten he had.

"If you would simply acquiesce to a full Change, Mylläkkä, you would have much less difficulty in battle. It is your need to breathe which I am always able to use against you."

Harry glared again at the perfectly unruffled blond who was picking at his nails, looking for all the world as if he had not just kicked Harry into the ground. He cursed to himself, damning vampires and ignoring the fact that he was technically one as well.

He was not a vampire in the traditional sense, as his sparring partner had kindly pointed out. Normal vampires had no need for air and most certainly did not feel like they had been run over by a muggle lorry after an hour-long spar. Harry had imbibed the blood of the Citadel's lord, which graced him with many vampiric qualities.

He required blood, but with that came the famed capabilities for vampiric speed and strength, something he had concentrated on honing in the last years. He had been disappointed to find that such abilities were not natural with vampirism, though he had taken pride in training in the last years. Even with the changes to him, though, he managed to remain mostly living in the most literal sense. His healing was barely more than that of a human's and his need to breath did hamper his efforts to surpass his instructor, but he was rather fond of the daylight and had not wished to give it up, which all vampires had to for the first several hundred years after their Turning.

His partial Changing had been the only way he could come to Sceaduwe. Only those of Immortal blood could enter the shadowed realm that the citadel resided in, and it had been a compromise on Valerian's part for him to remain only as something of a halfbreed. Valerian had wanted to Change him on the same day he'd met him, but Harry had been very disgruntled with the idea of staying in his malnourished fifteen year old body for eternity.

Harry shook his head. "No, I am happy with how I am. This will be enough for what I have to do."

Dante let out a small sound that would have vaguely resembled a snort had Dante had the ability to do something so plebeian. "Whatever you say."

"I have to get out of here though, Valerian is waiting for me in the solarium. I leave tomorrow."

The blond cut his eyes away. "You will return?"

"Perhaps," Harry said, drawing out the word as he shifted his weight. He honestly did not know if returning would even be an option when all was said and done, let alone if he would be given the choice. He loved living in Sceaduwe, but no one could predict what would befall him in the mortal realm. Harry liked to think he would survive the coming conflict, but could be guarantee it? No. Maybe it was his stunted childhood talking, but he'd never put much stock in fairy tales. "But I will keep in touch once I catch up with this time… definitely."

As Harry exchanged one last look with Dante and left the room, he let out a quiet laugh. How had he come so far? He could hardly remember his former life anymore, and here he was about to be thrown headfirst back into it. Harry skirted around a group of dwarves, nodding to one of them with a ready smirk. His life was so monumentally different now. He would never regret his choice to follow a man he had never met off of the streets of Surrey, even if that man could have had his death in mind for all Harry had known.

Merlin, was he so glad he had.

Fifteen year old Harry Potter followed the tall man, the Marquis Valerian was what he went by, through the complicated labyrinth of hallways. Sceaduwe Citadel was nothing so impressive as Hogwarts, but it had a magic flowing through it like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. It was ominous, almost; it hung thick and heavy in the air. He wondered if it was his newly enhanced senses that made it seem so, or if it was the new reality he found himself in for the last week. He was hardly used to it.

"Come, pet, we must harvest the ingredients for the potion if you ever intend to return to the mortal realm."

"Harvest?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Valerian turned back with a smirk that showed a fang. "Oh nothing, pet."

A warning chill ran up Harry's spine.

"Ah, here we are. Pet, meet Dougal Fraiser," he said imperiously, waving his hand at a tall redhead. "He is our resident Potions Master and will be harvesting the needed ingredients to be sure you can return to your life when your training here is done."

Harry eyed the man warily. Being fifteen and five foot four was hard enough as it was, but looking at the hulking man that towered over him at what Harry supposed to be nearly seven feet, he felt positively tiny. "Um, nice to meet you?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head. "You do not say 'um' like the hoi polloi! Again!"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said again through gritted teeth. This had already become common in the last weeks, and he had already learned that it was useless to argue with the elder vampire. He knew he would lose if only be the sheer stubbornness of Valerian.

"Good, pet."

Harry hated the nickname; it made him feel like a child. Glaring, he turned to say just that when he caught the wicked glint in Valerian's eyes. He backed away a step. "Um, wh-why are you looking at me like that?"

Valerian's grin widened and he held up his hand, showing the small ceremonial blade he held in it.

Harry's eyes went round. He didn't know what the 'ingredients' were, but he's be damned if he didn't know it was going to hurt.

"'Harry' is bland."

Harry had been in Sceaduwe Citadel for nearly six months now, and after being continuously referred to as 'pet' or not at all, he had finally asked why. The sixteen year old scowled. "It was the name my parents gave me."

Valerian rolled his eyes. "I do not care. Perhaps amongst the mortals it is fitting, but here it is as dull and lifeless as a corpse. You need a new name, and I shall be the one to give it to you!"

Harry swore that he twitched.

The pompous vampire paced the space in front of his desk, finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What language to choose from, though, hmm? Perhaps French? It is the land of my birth, after all."

Harry had visions of being called Chouchou for the rest of his life and shuddered. "No thank you."

"Italian, then, perhaps? I spent a few decades in the last century there, it is a lovely place."

Harry tilted his head. "Like what?"

Valerian flapped his hand at him. "Shush, you. No, Italian does not fit you." He circled Harry like a bird of prey, narrowed eyes scrutinizing. "You remind me of my lover from the late fifteenth century. A proud man, but caring of those he deemed worthy. And he was a revolutionist, oh goddesses was he. His wish was to change his country, to free his people…" Valerian sighed wistfully. "Such a man."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nearly looked away. "Um, what does this have to do with naming me?"

Valerian snapped out of his reverie, grinning sheepishly. "I apologize, pet. I was reminiscing. As I was saying, you remind me much of him. And he was called Mylläkkä, Bringer of Chaos. It fits you as well, as I am sure chaos will be what you will bring upon your Wizarding world. Finland is such a beautiful place, really, I spent the longest there that I have ever spent in a country: three hundred years. I consider it my home, truly."

Harry's eyebrows rose, he hadn't expected such a dignified name from the flighty man. A slow smile spread across his face. "Mylläkkä. I like it."

"Hello Mister Peirce, Valerian said you agreed to teach me physical fighting?"

Valerian had told him that the man in front of him was known as one of the best fighters alive, having trained famous victorious fighters over the centuries. He was excited to learn the more physical fighting styles; dueling was all well and good, but he had always thought wizards were too lazy. Dante was not as tall as some, perhaps an even six feet tall, but his poise made him seem bigger somehow. Golden hair fell to his shoulder blades and brilliant blue eyes held slitted pupils. The compelling eyes were currently examining him like an especially disgusting bug. "Hn."

Harry shifted. "Well, would you like to work out a schedule?"

The blond blinked.

"Or perhaps we could start right away? I would like to learn."

Dante picked at his fingers, ignoring him now.

"Can you even speak?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you? Valerian said you had agreed, but if you'd rather me leave…"

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to answer me or not?!"

"Hn."

"Arg! You are infuriating!"

"You will be in this room at four o'clock in the morning. Every morning."

Harry paused in his frustrated growling, paling slightly at the cold command in the blond's voice. "Oh. Alright then."

"Sir."

Harry gulped, taking in the utterly emotionless face of the man- no, vampire. He had met a lot of people who were able to conceal their emotions, but never to this extent. He was used to seeing a sneer in place of a laugh or a scowl instead of raving in annoyance, but this was ridiculous. The man looked like he was made of stone, for Merlin's sake! While with many he would have made a snide comment, with this man he felt lost as to how proceed. He couldn't read him at all.

He gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."

Though the blond's face didn't twitch, Harry got the distinct impression that he was smirking.

Valerian growled at the young vampire that challenged him. Harry was breathless as he watched Valerian angry for the first time, seeing the palpable swirls of color that danced around him. Tanned skin glowed bronze, golden eyes blazed. The young vampire was obviously a fool, Harry mused, as he stood cockily through the display without cowering. Even the shorn reddish-brown strands swaying in the force of Valerian's power didn't seem to deter the young upstart.

"You've lost your touch in your advanced years, old man. Obviously new blood is needed. You're too soft, letting the werewolves into Sceaduwe and letting that human concubine of yours roam around like he rules us. Sceaduwe is for Immortals, not pale imitations!"

Valerian smirked, a menacing twist of his lips that made Harry freeze in place. "Come at me then, Childe."

Harry watched in awe as Valerian merely ducked the attack aimed at him, putting no visible effort into the move. He slid fluidly like water around, dancing around the younger. It was so unlike the usual irreverent Valerian that Harry could hardly breathe. He was the picture of what the textbooks at Hogwarts had described Vampires as, menacing and all tightly controlled power. This was what Harry wanted for himself, this command of himself. He could see now why the other Immortals in the citadel deferred to Valerian so easily. It explained the way people would stare resentfully towards Harry but never raise a complaint against his presence.

Valerian flipped back away from the relentless attacks of his infuriated challenger, startling Harry out of his reverie. The tightness around his eyes was pronounced as he pulled a knife from his belt and slashed it across his palm, jaw tense. Even the challenger halted his movement with wide eyes as a drop of Valerian's blood fell to the ground. The hand was slammed his palm-down on the ground, bolts of pure magic shooting up from the tips of Valerian's fingers. A spectrum of color coalesced at Valerian's side as he straightened.

A pure black fox stood by Valerian's side with its back level with Valerian's waist, teeth bared and eyes a bloody red. Harry's mind saw Voldemort's slitted eyes mirrored in the feral fox. With a flick of Valerian's wrist, the fox leapt at the challenging vampire, sinking its teeth intohis neck with a sickening squelching sound before he could even move. Harry's stomach rolled. At seventeen years old, he had seen death before… but this was the most violent by far. There was a profound difference between the clean deaths he had seen until this point and the bloodbath Valerian had just incited.

Nonetheless, Harry couldn't help being amazed at Valerian's abilities. This was what he could become?

He was still waxing poetic on Valerian's finer points when the elder vampire dragged him into the shadows and instantly transported them back to their rooms. Valerian had put off his questions with a shake of his head and pointed Harry toward the bathroom, insisting he shower for dinner.

Food was served slowly, and Harry fairly vibrated in his seat as he waited for it to be polite to talk. Quail tonight, Harry noted with a faint frown. Too extravegant. At least the company was good, though. He and Valerian had dined together every night for the last year, and Harry was constantly amazed by how well they got along. He had never been much for socializing, but Valerian was stubborn enough to wrench him out of his shell by force. Most days, Harry was thankful for that.

Finally the servants ducked from the room, leaving Harry leaning over his plate with a grin. "Good Merlin, that was brilliant today, Val! How did you do it? Can I learn that now? You fight like a genius! You didn't even need a wand, how did you manage that?"

Valerian chuckled lightly. "It is Vampire magic, pet, Blood magic. Considered Dark and rightfully so. No, you cannot do it right now, it took me over a century to manage a summon. You will have quite some time left until then, and I was a prodigy. Expect atleast two hundred years. No, I will not teach you to fight, your body needs at least several decades of training to be able to harness the strength, speed, and agility I possess. Though you now have a much higher threshold for such things, a vampire does not automatically gain inhuman ability. They must work for it. And so you shall. However, I am glad you were impressed; I was showing off for you." He winked and picked up a knife from the table, balancing it in his hand as he picked a fork.

Harry scowled and ignored the faint heat he could feel creeping up his neck. "So... err... no cool animals?"

"No," Valerian said with an amused scoff.

"No cool shadow-movement?"

"No, pet. You've got many years to go."

Harry pouted. "Well, fuck."

Valerian leered around a laugh, cutting himself a bite. "Offering, are you pet?" He only grinned wider as Harry promptly flushed.

"Val!" a twenty year old Harry screeched, stomping through the halls. He passed a contingent of elves in the narrow hallway and ignored them as they jumped back out of the way. He had been in the citadel for five years, and by now everyone knew to avoid him when he was angry if only to avoid offending him and angering the Marquis. As a close friend and the rumored lover of the Lord of the realm, he was able to literally get away with murder. He was slowly gaining respect of his own amongst the groups, but he was still considered little more than a hanger-on to Valerian. Not that he cared much usually. But this...

Green eyes blazed, a palpable aura of fury dancing around him. Harry stormed to Valerian's office and threw the doors open. "Val!"

Valerian blinked rapidly at his charge, tilting his head and setting down his quill. "What is it, pet?"

"Hurly-burly. It bloody well means hurly-burly!"

"What are you talking about, my dear?"

Harry scowled darkly. "I met with the European werewolf delegation like you asked me to. I was introduced as Mylläkkä and they laughed at me! You said it meant chaos!"

"It does," he paused for a long moment, eyes clouding over. "Well, it did in the fifteenth century. Why, what is wrong?"

Harry let his head fall onto the desk before lifting it and letting it fall again. "Now I look like an idiot, running around with a name that translates to 'a minor disruption'. I want a new name!"

Valerian cuffed him. "No. Mylläkkä is who you are!"

"Mylläkkä is now wimpy! I don't want to run around to people snickering at my name! I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into going by anything else!"

"It is a strong name, was known as a strong name in the past, and so long as your adversaries do not speak Finnish, it will continue being a strong name! Now stop whining, you silly boy."

Harry let his head hit the table again.

"I want to cut my hair," Harry said as he pushed the lengthening strands over his shoulder, cursing as they fell back towards his plate.

Valerian glared at him over his goblet. "No."

"Come on Val! It's totally impractical to have hair this long when fighting. It gets in the way no matter what I'm doing and I look like a bloody girl half the time."

Valerian ignored him with practiced ease, brushing his fingers through his fringe and rolling his shoulders. "Don't call me that, pet. The length of your hair is indicative of your status here, and you will grow it out to at least the small of your back. I will not have my heir running around with the shaggy mess you came here with."

"I don't want it that short again, I just want it shorter than this! Can't I just keep it at the length Dante does? It's heavy like this and gets in my face."

"I will teach you a spell to keep it out of your face, but you will learn to deal with it. I have had mine this length for five hundred years, so I know you can manage with it. Dante is not a noble and is already respected for his prowess in fighting as well as his dignity. You are a rageful childe who is cozy with several powerful figures. It would do you well to make that known that you are more than that, and not just someone who coasts along on your connections."

Harry propped his head on his hand. "You're so difficult, Val."

"And you are impudent, pet."

"Ah, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

A dramatic sigh. "But how could I not, Mylläkkä my pet?"

Harry smiled. Though he supposed they were not in love with one another, they each held much affection and a healthy dose of lust between them. He knew their arrangement was temporary, but he truly cared for Valerian. He was unlike anyone Harry had ever met… to manage a mix between playful, arrogant, and totally madcap was extraordinary. At twenty two, what more could he ask for?

"So I can't cut it off?"

A glare was his only response.

By twenty three, Harry thought that he had perhaps found happiness for the first time in his life, and he wouldn't give it up for anything short of the world. And now, at twenty five, he would be expected to follow through on that. The world was exactly what was expected of him, wasn't it? Harry shook himself from his reverie, speeding up his steps. No matter how sentimental he became at the last moment, he would be returning to 1995 in only a few hours. It had been the plan from the beginning, and if he backed out now his pride would cease to exist. He couldn't let his attachments hold him back.

When Harry entered the room, Valerian grinned in greeting with shining eyes, causing a small smile to curve on Harry's lips unwillingly. Valerian flipped his hair over his shoulder and began standing. "Ah, Mylläkkä, my pet. I was worried you had forgotten me."

"You know better. Dante decided I had been slacking in my training… and proceeded to kick my arse in consequence."

Valerian threw him a rakish grin as he made his way towards him, circling Harry with unconcealed amusement. "I see nothing wrong with you. No bleeding wounds, no obvious deformities… much better than even a year ago, pet."

Harry gave him a genuine smile. "I just hope it will be enough."

Golden eyes closed off and Valerian sighed, motioning to the couch and taking a seat himself. After procuring some brandy for both himself and his protégé, Valerian stared into his glass and swirled it. "You will leave, then?"

"You know I have to."

A bitter laugh, unfamiliar and out of character. "Ah, yes. Savior of the Wizarding world and all that, no?"

"Ah, so I am." Harry sipped his drink, throat constricting from the strength of the aged alcohol. "But just who will I be saving?"

Harry knew he was no longer the Light scion he had been tempered to be, and he was completely prepared to take the Wizarding world by storm. A vampire by choice with an affinity for obscure Dark spells and a lust for a challenge, Harry was far from the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' he had once been. He was no longer blinded by the optimism of his youth, nor was he afraid of what anyone would think of him; the world could go fuck itself so far as he was concerned. The only reason he was even bothering to return to the mortal realm was because of a damned prophecy and his doubly-damned pride. And beyond that, he knew without a doubt that Dumbledore had to be stopped.

Oh, he still couldn't really see the old man as evil, per se. He was morally good and righteous and had wonderful plans for wizards and witches everywhere… but that was the problem. They were his plans and his dictation of right and wrong, and no one else was allowed to have their own definitions. A different opinion meant you were Dark, which in the minds of Dumbledore and his party was equated with evil immediately.

His plans, doubtlessly well-intentioned, took no consideration to what they might inflict upon others in the end. Why had Sirius been allowed to be imprisoned without a trial? Dumbledore had been on the Wizengamut for decades, surely he could have demanded a truth spell of some kind be placed on the man? Veritaserum had not yet been invented at the time and even so was easily subverted, but there were still plenty of ways to ascertain if a person was lying. There was no need to get the story from him and check the truth of it, only to ask yes or no questions. Easy. Yet it had not been done.

Voldemort was a madman, that much was true. He was quick tempered and easily antagonized, megalomaniacal and cruel. Even ignoring all that, Harry was more than wary to join forces with his parents' murderer. What would they think of him now? A vampire, setting out to destroy the man they had followed, about to join forces with their murderer. But Harry knew he stood no chance alone. He was a no one in the Wizarding world as he was now, and beyond that he would be feared as a vampire and shunned as the former child hero of the Light who had 'abandoned' them. He needed support and the only place to get that was through Voldemort, no matter the consequences.

Beyond all that, though, there was the simple fact that he agreed with Voldemort's philosophies more than Dumbledore's. There was a lot there that needed work, but wizards and witches did need to stop procreating with muggles; it would end up leading to the death of magic. It was like allowing a prized purebred dog to run around with mutts... in a few generations, the pure blood would be gone, and with enough of that the race would die out. However, Voldemort's logic was flawed in his supposition that this had to mean the eradication of muggleborns. That was foolish and only stamped all the new blood from their race. But he digressed.

Dumbledore's path would end up ruining the Wizarding World… and Harry intended to be sure that wouldn't happen. It seemed his oft-mentioned hero complex and Gryffindor loyalty was unable to be smothered.

He sighed and met golden eyes. "You still won't come with me, then?"

"You know better," Valerian said softly. "I must watch things here. You are my successor; it is not as if I could leave this place in your hands if I was following you. And if I leave for any period of time, the upstarts will mob together and attempt to take over. We cannot have that, the safety of too many rests on us."

"You're right, I know you are. But..." Harry sighed, shifting his eyes to the floor. "There are so many unknowns in this. As far as I know, I could be dead long before I get back to this time-"

Valerian scowled. "Do you think I would allow you to go back and do this mission of yours if you were dead in this time? No."

"I know, I know. You know all, you are omnipotent, woo..." Harry wiggled his fingers and gave Valerian a sarcastic grin.

He was surprised to see Valerian's face stay in its scowl, brows drawn tightly together. "I am far from omnipotent, pet, and I thought I had taught you that by now. In many ways, you have far more power than I do. I am bound by the laws of my position. The Fates only grant me such overbearing power so long as I abide their law, so my hands remain tied when I most wish to move them. They will not allow me to share what I know of the outside world, nor can I use my power to save any they deem should die. I cannot meddle with the affairs of mortals if it would alter their weave. I am still under heavy watch for having taken you away, as you know. They were angered with me for my interference. I fear another such instance would cause me to be stripped of my position, and I cannot fathom the turmoil that would cause. Do you not understand, Harry?"

Valerian never called him Harry, and that he had now sent a chill down Harry's spine. He turned his eyes up to the garden window, artificial sunlight soaking into him as his cocky smile melted away. "I know that Val, really I do. But still, we can't know how things will turn out..."

"That we cannot. Even I could not hope to. But even though discussion of Mortal happenings is forbidden here, I am well aware of everything that happens outside, in the mortal realm as well as others. I would not send you to die, Fates be damned."

Harry kept his eyes on the window and put his hand over Valerian's, linking their fingers. "Even you can't know the future, Val. The past perhaps, the present of course, but the future is anyone's game."

"It is good, then, that you plan to travel to the past, isn't it?" Valerian stood and met Harry's eyes, smirk twisting his lips as he fell into a familiar stance of overbearing annoyance. "Come, let's be off to dinner. I must give you a wonderful last meal to remember us all by."

"Alright, sounds good." Harry stood with a smile overtaking him despite his brooding. "Thanks, Val."

Valerian paused, turning back and raising his eyebrow. "First you really must shower; you smell like a dead animal."

Harry promptly flipped him off.

Harry's hands tightened in black hair, a gasp escaping his throat. He would miss this, this strange connection the two of them shared. Every brush of lips ignited fires under his skin, every sure stroke of scarred hands sent chills.

Golden eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, their golden luster highlighted with different angles. Harry arched languidly against the familiar touch, rising up to let his teeth scrape against the bare shoulder before him. This was their last night together after seven years in their strange relationship; somewhere, deep inside of him, Harry knew that he would not be returning. And with every brush of skin against his, every whispered endearment in a dozen languages, Harry knew that Valerian knew it too. Someday he would try to come back, but that would likely be many, many years in the future.

Valerian and he had never had a normal relationship, from their unconventional beginning through to the present. They were complements to one another in many ways, able to fulfill parts of the other left untouched prior. They had an intimacy between them for as long as Harry could remember, from the very moment they met. It had been strange to the other inhabitants of the fortress, as Valerian was not known to take close companions. Lovers, yes, friends even… but no one had ever been allowed so constantly near as Harry.

Beginning with Valerian deciding to liberate of him of his virginity sometime after his seventeenth birthday and continuing whenever the mood struck one of them, their relationship had not been one of love. The sparks between them were an inferno, burning through them harshly before leaving them in a quiet contentment found between the closest of friends. If they were to try to make it into more than it was it would consume them, burn them to a crisp.

Chilled in the night air, goosebumps rose across Harry's skin behind lightly trailing fingertips. His breath came in gasps as he was filled to breaking, muscles clenching as he sought to push himself closer yet to Valerian. He'd often wondered why neither of them could bring themselves to call what they had a relationship, why they didn't seem to ever fall in love. Why it never deepened to something more. He wondered if years in the future he would come back, finally agree to a full Change and stay beside the regal man in this strange distortion of a relationship they had. He would be happy, he thought. Happy enough.

But he wanted so much more in his life. Harry knew there was more out there. Something like a fire that never faded to embers, never burned so intensely that it left the participants turned to ash.

Climax came swiftly, pouncing on Harry without warning. His hands yanked his lover down against him, fingernails raking across his shoulders. He could feel Valerian shuddering against him, and Harry's tightly clenched ankles loosened around his waist.

Harry didn't know what the future held, but it didn't matter. He had that moment to live in, staring into golden eyes.

If there was one thing that had become clear to Harry in his decade-long tenure in the Sceaduwe Citadel, it was that there was a huge difference between living and surviving.

Survival was simply existence. It was the state of one's body not ceasing to function, of their mind being clear. It was managing to live through another sunset and nothing more.

Living, on the other hand… Harry longed to truly live. The last ten years had been the closest to the meaning of 'living' that he had ever experienced, and he craved more of it. The prospect of actually enjoying existence was an ideal Harry coveted, and something he knew he had yet to fully experience. He nearly pitied himself for having to go back in time again.

He sighed and put a hand into his pocket, fingering the vials within it. The potions Valerian commissioned from Dougal Fraiser laid in small unbreakable vials containing the finished product created all those years ago when he'd arrived at Sceaduwe. Once they'd taken a rather disturbing amount of his blood and a section of flesh, they had explained how the potion would work. With only a drop on his tongue of the murky black potion, aptly named 'Regression', he could appear as the age he was when the ingredients had been harvested. A second potion, fluorescent orange and named simply 'Reversion', would put him back to his natural state. The catch was that the Regression potion only lasted a week at a time, and he had to keep track of when he used it. He had enough for perhaps hundred transformations each way, and hoped he would not be forced to use it that often. He'd done a test of it already, and the transformations hurt.

Now he stood in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, hood drawn to hide his features as he awaited any known Death Eater to cross his path. He needed an easy ticket to Voldemort, and this had seemed the best course of action. Harry was not worried about being recognized in this form; no one expected Harry Potter to be a five foot ten adult with nearly waist length hair and inhumanly bright eyes. Even someone who knew him would be hard pressed to recognize him like this, and the Wizarding public at large only ever recognized his scar, which had faded without aggravation and was covered by the long fringe he had flattened to obscure half his face.

He was, instead, weary of anyone recognizing him for what he was, which was sure to cause him problems no matter what Alley he was in. Vampires generally kept to themselves and wizards harbored an innate fear of them, born from a denial of not being at the top of the food chain. Simple human nature.

He had twenty four hours until the moment his younger self had left Privet Drive, and it was beginning to look like he would need every moment of it. He had already been reclining against he same decrepit wall for nearly an hour, no luck yet in finding a Death Eater. Had they all gone into hiding after the Department of Mysteries? He bloody well hoped not! With a sigh Harry made himself comfortable; this might take a while.

Lucius Malfoy was Not Happy, capitalized. His brush with Azkaban had left him shaken, his reputation in tatters, and his assets frozen. How dare that Potter brat out him like that? If it weren't for his connections in the ministry, he would still be in some Merlin forsaken cell wallowing in his own filth! It was inhumane and absolutely disgusting, and of the many things Malfoys did not do, disgusting was one of the first on the list.

He walked regally beside his son as they wandered Diagon Alley, his head held high despite the obvious stares and whispers. He was shunned from high society now but damn if he would show it. These people were but bugs beneath his boots, and he would not give them the satisfaction of showing his fall from grace. Let them talk; when the Dark Lord ruled them they would cower at his feet.

He left Draco at Madam Malkin's to get measured for his new set of robes, intent on visiting Borgin in the interim. The rotund shop owner was looking after his Darker objects for the coming months, keeping them from the Ministry's prying eyes. There was a particular tome he needed from his own collection for a task set by his master, and no matter how Not Happy Lucius was at the moment, he preferred it to be himself than the Dark Lord.

When Voldemort was Not Happy, the world felt his wrath.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak as he entered the dark walkway connecting Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, still keeping his inner monologue and ignoring the rest of the world. He never felt the eyes that followed his every move, didn't feel the instincts of prey under the eye of a predator. In fact, Lucius had no time to react at all when he was pinned to a wall, his wrists above his head and a shorter body pressed against him. The face of his assailant was hidden as he purred in Lucius's ear, a laugh suffusing his voice. "Well hello, Lucius. Forgive me my terrible manners, but you came along and I need an audience with your master. Now."

Lucius sneered in the general direction of the person that held him, coming up with his face pressed into long black hair. "As if I would obey your command simply because you assaulted me? Unhand me, you filthy cretin."

A low chuckle was his response, the hot breath ticking his ear and making it very difficult not to shiver. "Ah, but Lucius… you wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little heir, now would you? I think it is in your best interests to take me to the Dark Lord, and quickly… before I lose my patience with your posturing."

Lucius did shiver this time, but it was not from any form of pleasure. To threaten him was something he could worm his way out of… but his son was the future of the Malfoy name, and he could not have anything unpleasant befall him. And even more than that, Draco was his son, and he would be damned if he'd let anything happen to him. Though self-preservation was foremost on any Slytherin's mind, as a father his son always came first. Despite that, though, the Dark Lord would surely have his head. His sneer became a black glower. "I will see you dead for this."

"Ah," the mysterious man said in a low voice, pulling slightly away and locking unnaturally bright green eyes with mercurial silver. "We shall see about that, hmm?"

Lucius set his jaw and Apparated them both to Riddle Manor.

Harry was pleased. Not only had he finally found a Death Eater to take him to Voldemort, but said Death Eater had been Lucius Malfoy. Harry pushed back his curiosity over how Lucius had managed to evade Azkaban, amused with making Lucius squirm. He really couldn't stand the prat - he thought far too highly of himself and his ideals were warped into obscurity - but damn if he wasn't pretty. And Harry always thoroughly enjoyed toying with pretty things.

But now he had business to deal with, so Harry shot a silent Petrificus Totalus at the pretty Lucius to keep him in place before yanking up his cloak's hood and moving into the Manor proper. He knew better than to believe the blond would not have retaliated against his rather unbecoming tactics to gain entry to the Dark Lord's base of operations, but he hadn't had any other choice in the matter. Killing his Death Eaters probably wasn't a good way into Voldemort's good graces, so this would have to do.

Harry rubbed at his forehead before he realized what what he was doing, responding to the tingling itch that had started up. Being a vampire had seemed to negate the connection, sealing him away from any visions or pain, but it seemed that they were still linked however faintly. He let the sensation lead him, down one dark hallway and then another, past a room teeming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Some rushed papers from one hall to another, others stood in groups and chatted as if it were some social event, being at the Dark Lord's place of events. Just what was the cumulative intelligence quotient of this group? Harry sighed to himself, skirting along the edge of the room towards the previous bane of existence. Here he was just another black robed figure, and he never even got a second glance.

He wasn't sure how he was going to do this, really. On one hand, he could reveal himself for who he was. He had all sorts of bad premonitions about that, seeing Voldemort cackling as he pushed Harry forward like a trophy. His only other choice was to offer himself as a powerful vampire seeking an alliance. However, as much as he was loathe to be treated as a prize, he knew no one short of Harry Potter himself would would have a chance at an equal partnership. Harry would be damned if he would ever kneel to anyone. Even as he approached the ornate oaken doors, he still had no real decision in mind. He was very bad at planning and preferred action to it, anyway.

It was a Gryffindor thing.

Voldemort's study was spacious and light, the sun streaming in the wide windows that spanned one side of the room. It was much different than the dank little hole Harry had expected. What better for a snake, after all? But this wasn't what he would have expected, nice though it was. It was very much a surprise.

Not a surprise, however, was the sickly pale, reptilian Voldemort who sat behind his desk, irritably hacking away at papers with his quill. Harry shivered just a little, his face in a moue of distaste. Nearly flat nose and waxen skin, pale skin deeply contrasted by his black robes. He made a frightening picture, hunched and snarling, the object of so many nightmares of Harry's life. And he was icky. However, Harry was not the child he had been, and he confident that he could at least hold off the powerful Dark Lord. A decade of intensive training by some of the best fighters and dualists in the Immortal realms had seen to that.

Hood still drawn, Harry was hardly a step into the room when he had thirteen and a half inches of yew trained on him, fiery crimson eyes boring into him. It almost provoked another shiver. "You impudent fool, how dare you enter without knocking?"

"Now, now, Tom, no need to be so rude," Harry said easily, slipping into his usual demeanor and pushing back his childish thoughts.

Voldemort bristled, his sneer transforming into a snarl. "Who are you?"

Harry drew down his hood and grinned at the glaring Dark Lord, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling the man's anger gave his scar. "Why not call me Mylläkkä for now, Mister Riddle?"

"Crucio!"

Harry stepped out of the spells range just before it hit him. "Now that was rude. Where are your manners? Do you treat all your prospective allies as such?"

Voldemort glowered, fingers tight around his wand. "Just what do you want here?"

"An alliance," Harry said with a purr, walking toward Voldemort's desk. "You want to rule the Wizarding world, right? I can help you achieve that. You just need to get your priorities in order, is all."

"My priorities are fine, you impudent little wretch."

"Are they?" Harry fell back into a high-backed chair across from the desk, kicking his legs over the arm and propping up his head on a hand. "Since your resurrection, your plans have included little other than to defeat one Harry Potter. You are obsessed with the boy, with his defeat. You let it blind you to all other goals."

"You're a fool to come in here thinking to-"

Harry cut off Voldemort's retort as he continued, green eyes meeting crimson with a smirk. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

Voldemort was furious now, Harry knew. Crimson eyes were ignited with rage, and Harry wondered for a minuscule moment if looks really could kill. But this was important, he couldn't be inane. This was the crux of what he brought to the table, and Voldemort was damned well going to hear him out. He stood from his chair, wand out and inches from Harry's face. "How do you know the prophecy?!"

Harry swallowed whatever fear he hadn't been able to train himself not to feel, continuing without breaking eye contact. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies."

Voldemort had stopped trying to retort, wand arm dropping and eyes narrowing. He looked toward the back wall for long minutes, and Harry could only assume he was processing the contents of the prophecy. He could understand the shock; he remembered his own. Harry stayed silent, amusing himself by watching the play of emotions over Voldemort's face. It was strange to see such relatively normal expressions on his face, thoughtful and contemplative. Voldemore sat back again with the air of someone very tired, running a thin-fingered hand over his face."Mylläkkä you said your name was? Only the old man knows the prophecy, how did you get it?"

Harry hummed in the back of his throat. "I'll get to that. Curiosity begs me to asks something, though. Assuming the prophecy I just told you is the truth, what will you do with your new information?"

"Kill the boy, of course. Did you think that informing me that the boy is the only one who could kill me would keep me from plotting to kill the brat?" Voldemort was sneering again, a much more familiar expression.

Harry feigned nonchalance. "Well, at least you are thinking more deeply into its meaning than I thought you would. I thought you might be like Dumbledore and immediately see it as one of you had to die."

Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "No, the wording is tricky but leaves plenty of loop holes. The use of 'survive' and 'live' is telling. I just must kill the boy before I can find a true semblance of life."

Harry nearly gave a true smile at that, swinging his legs around to sit up. "You're far less insane than I was led to believe you were. You are almost correct."

A dangerous glower was his immediate response. "What exactly do you think you mean by 'almost'?"

Harry leaned forward, sitting up in his seat now. "As you have assumed, living and surviving are very different things. But just because the boy has the power to defeat you, why kill him off? Would it not be smarter for your reign to have him as your equal and work together to learn to 'live'? If he is powerful enough to defeat you, surely he would be an asset."

"The brat would never see past Dumbledore's machinations. He is far too enamored by the Light."

Harry smirked, "Are you so sure, Tom? Say that he had wizened up…"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed now, and Harry was pleased to feel the figurative light bulb appear, "Just who are you?"

"I knew the genius Tom Marvolo Riddle would put the pieces together," Harry said with a genuine smile, "It's surprisingly good to see you again, Tom. It's been a while… for me at least."

Chapter Text

Harry glowered at Voldemort as he finally stopped shooting off curses at him, Harry's own secondary wand still pointing towards him. Upon putting the pieces of Harry's identity together, Harry had reassessed his previous thoughts of Voldemort being somewhat reasonable when he had immediately began firing several very nasty Dark curses at him in succession. Initially, Harry had just dodged and put up shields, but after ten minutes of being fired at like he had a bullseye painted on his forehead (which, all technicalities taken into consideration, he supposed he did… but that was beside the point), he had finally gotten fed up.

That had actually been what had stopped the impromptu duel, surprisingly.

He had retaliated with one of his favorite hexes, an obscure spell that would painfully turn a person's skin inside-out without actually killing them, reattaching said skin on, just with the nerves and capillaries exposed. It left the person looking really quite gruesome.

"Where did you learn that spell? The only documented record of it is in one of Le Fey's diaries…"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the expression on Voldemort's face. It was eager and almost excited, and Harry couldn't help but feel an answering excitement. Finally, someone who could appreciate the obscurities of some of his favorite spellworks. Most immortals had no use for Wizard magic, so he hadn't had a single person beyond Dante to discuss such things with. "Yes, yes, it's in the Fata Morgana, page four hundred…"

"And seventeen, yes!" Voldemort, despite the deformities of his form, looked somehow young with a childish smile on his face, clearly fascinated that someone else had read the rare tome. "Did you see the entrail-rearranging spell on six hundred and seventy two?"

Harry nodded emphatically, lowering his wand and returning the grin. "It's a bit risky to use, though, since the slightest mispronunciation could wind up castrating you. Not a chance I'm willing to take, thank you. Have you read Horrible, Hostile Hexes by Merwyn the Malicious?"

"There is still a copy of that? Weren't most of his works lost after his death?"

"I was gifted one of the last remaining copies for my twentieth birthday… you could borrow it if you'd like."

At the same moment, both wizards seem to realize how terribly out of character they had been acting and settled down, taking their original seats on either side of Voldemort's desk, disarray of the office notwithstanding. Harry kicked away a large piece of an end table from the arm of his chair, settling comfortably across it once more. Voldemort sighed and ran his hand over his bald head, eyeing Harry critically. "I must say, your knowledge of the Dark arts lends your story credence."

"It's been ten years for me, Tom. I've been trained in combat, dueling, and magics forgotten by humans. I finally woke up after the Department of Mysteries fiasco and saw how little control I had over my own life. I made a change. I finally feel ready to confront my destiny… and I believe that can be best accomplished if you and I work together." Harry tucked a stay wisp of black hair behind his ear before throwing Voldemort a grin. "And I'll let you borrow the book."

Voldemort pursed his lipless mouth, crimson eyes searching the man in front of him for long moments in silence before he bowed his head just the barest bit. "It shall be done, Potter. I daresay you've grown acceptably Slytherin in your time away."

Harry merely grinned, "Ah, but Tom… I've always had it in me."

Crimson eyes rolled and Voldemort steepled his fingers. "Why do you insist on referring to me by that plebian name? I despise it, you know."

"Because regardless of your wishes, it is your name. If you really insist, I will call you Voldemort, but I would prefer Tom."

"It doesn't matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "A name is just a name. However, if you call me that in front of my Death Eaters, I will Crucio you out of existence. Now, what are these grand plans of yours? It must be something magnificent to have brought you all the way here."

"Hogwarts," Harry stated simply. "No offense meant of course, but you've not been very enterprising in the years since your rebirth. The ministry and Hogwarts are the two most important institutions in the British magical world, and if we can get them… we can have Britain."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "I admit my priorities may have seemed rather single-minded, but being left without a body for over a decade can leave quite a grudge," he said dryly, lacing his fingers and propping his chin on them. "However, I have been slowly placing my men and women within the ministry, seeding my people into the infrastructure. It did stunt my plans, however, when you managed to out Lucius last month."

Harry smirked before laughing suddenly. "Oh my, Lucius isn't going to be happy… I left him petrified at the entrance."

"You… petrified Lucius?"

"Well, I needed to get here today, so I couldn't wait and find a simple way to get to you. So, I accosted our pretty Mr. Malfoy in Knockturn Alley and asked him as nicely as I am capable for him to bring me here… needless to say, he wasn't happy with me, and I had to petrify him before he retaliated."

Voldemort raised one brow. "I would rather you not attack my followers, Potter."

"You can call me Harry, you know," he retorted, the corner of his lip twitching. "And I am not going to run around assaulting your Death Eaters now that we have an agreement. You are aware that I will not wear your mark or bow to you, aren't you?"

The brow lowered and Voldemort's jaw set. "I thought as much… you and your Gryffindor stupidity. While I must admit that this displeases me greatly, I think forcing you or killing you would only work against me in the end. Am I correct, Little Gryffindor?"

"Ah, but this is my Slytherin pride talking, not my admittedly vast Gryffindor side. I refuse to submit to anyone."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in a wicked smirk. "That was rather suggestive. Proving you wrong would be entertaining."

"Ah, now that is a different story all together," Harry said with a small chuckle. "But, no offense meant Tom, but you're not really my type. Scaly isn't attractive."

Voldemort didn't seem to take offense, merely waving his hand and his grin fading. "How do you plan to take Hogwarts?"

"From the inside, of course."

Voldemort waited for elaboration with a pointed look.

Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on Voldemort's desk. "I will return to my relatives' home right after I left it and return to Hogwarts for my sixth year with the help of the Reversion and Regression potions. I will play the part of Dumbledore's Golden Boy and plan my assault from the interior, and I will take Dumbledore down by the end of the year."

"When will you be missed? "

"I need to return to my relative's house by noon tomorrow."

"That's bothersome. You will need to be introduced to my Death Eaters, and we still have much planning to do. I would like to hear your ideas for the future."

"That is something we really must discuss, Tom. Your pointless killings will only pull the fight in the Light's favor. While I agree that a magical being with a muggle dilutes our bloodlines and increases the existence of squibs, why do you hold such animosity towards muggleborns? You should know I can't condone that."

Crimson eyes narrowed. "What do you think the muggles would do if they found out about us? We would become targets for them, because we are different and a threat. We cannot risk exposure."

"And making yourself known with suspicious deaths across the English countryside is staying hidden?" said Harry. "Yes, the muggles would persecute us, that is a given. Their thoughts have changed little since the days of the Salem Witch Trials, and I don't doubt how they would react to learning magic was real. But Tom, you should know better than most the power of muggle denial. They would not accept its existence without proof… and how will they get that proof?"

"It is not the absence or presence of proof that is the problem. It is the fools in the Light who think that muggles can be their friends that are the problem! With idiots like that running around, we'll be exposed within a few years and have to fight a war that the muggles know they are participating in. I prefer extermination," Voldemort said, voice tight.

"We have advanced since the seventeenth century, and they cannot find us if we do not wish to be found. We have muggle repelling charms that require special spells to circumvent that only certain people know… they cannot find us, Tom. Even if every muggleborn suddenly decided to reveal our existence, they would not be able to find us. They would have to drop a bomb on their own city to rid themselves of us."

Voldemort tipped his head in concession. "Be that as it may, muggleborns dilute the bloodlines as much as muggles do. It will mean the end of the Wizarding world."

"How do they dilute it? A wizard is a wizard, Tom. What is better, two magical people bearing children, or purebloods continuing only to breed amongst themselves and interbreeding so badly that children begin to have deformities? Or worse yet, the ostracized purebloods like the Weasleys dipping into the muggle gene pool and weakening magic to nonexistence?"

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and hummed thoughtfully, taking a long time to formulate his answer. Harry let him, watching the expressions cross the reptilian face. The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and Harry was quite amazed at how easily he was relaxing around what had once been his greatest enemy. He didn't have the time to contemplate it much, though, as Voldemort shrugged. "I suppose I can concede that point, but you know the Death Eaters will not be happy."

"Am I supposed to care? They are your subordinates, no? They will obey or you can throw around your Cruciatus until they do as you say. Popular opinion has rarely influenced you."

"I suppose you are correct," Voldemort said with an amused smile. "How will we meet once you are in Hogwarts? Surely your absence would be noted."

"It would normally, but so long as I do not often disappear at night, I can manage to get away."

"Severus could help with that."

"No," Harry said quickly, perhaps a bit too much.

"And why not? He is my only marked Death Eater within Hogwarts, surely you could use the assistance."

"I…" Harry paused, annoyed at himself. Despite his dislike for the snarky git, he didn't want to get him killed. After all, there was no real proof that the Potions Master was on Dumbledore's side. He could be playing the Light just as easily as he could be playing the Dark. "I am not in the habit of trusting double agents. He spies for you against the Light, he spies for Dumbledore against the Dark. It is difficult to know what he truly believes. I don't want him knowing my identity."

Voldemort looked skeptical but nodded anyway. "Fine. But when you are certain of his leanings you will either take him out or let him in, yes?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. If he was a liability I would not hesitate to make him a meal," Harry said with a smirk that barely exposed one fang.

Spider-like fingers tapped a tattoo on the desk. "This brings up another question. How are you going to hide your Vampirism within Hogwarts? Even with both the Regression and Reversion potions, your fangs and blood cravings will not be affected."

Harry nodded. "I will make do. Since my godfather's death was only a month ago as far as anyone near to me is concerned, it will not seem suspicious that I do not smile widely enough to reveal my teeth or if I take long walks alone."

Voldemort tipped his head. "His death was unfortunate; it was not intended. Bellatrix would have used Avada Kedavra had she wished him dead. I did not wish to give you any reason to be more daring in your vendetta."

"I refuse to forgive her for her mistake, but I do not blame anyone for it. I have had many years to grieve, and though I miss him… I do not think he would accept me as I am now. It is… for the best." Harry shook his head and quirked a forced smile. "So, world conquest?"

"Don't be daft." Voldemort's eyes rolled skyward.

"Well, I really don't understand what it is you're going for. I understand taking out your opposition and overtaking the ministry… but what in the hell is your ultimate goal?"

"To be unopposed. To be known for my strength and to be regarded as the icon I should be…"

"Your ego is smothering me, Tom."

The snake-like man glared before sitting back in his chair, eyes up towards the ceiling. "The structure of Britain is disturbing. It is corrupt and out of control."

"So, instead, you will build it in your vision?"

"Precisely. I will make sure the muggles never have the chance to stand against us, make sure that wizards will never die out. Our blood will stay strong and thus we shall prevail in the end, a stronger race. Under my guidance, Wizards will become great once more…"

"Your head is swelling again, Tom."

"Potter, I will spell you into oblivion if you don't shut the hell up."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "I'm only taking the piss out of you, Tom. So, then… let's talk war. Because you know that is what it will be?"

"Just because you're a buffoon doesn't mean I am. I will call in my Death Eaters in an hour. Until then, we plan."

Harry pulled the hood of his cloak forward to shadow his face once more as he stood behind Voldemort; the man was waiting on Wormtail to arrive so he could call the rest of his Death Eaters. They had managed to make a lot of plans with compromises on both their parts, and Harry was shocked to find that he actually worked well with Tom Riddle. Like the older man had said all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets: they really were a lot alike. They had much in common now that Harry was not blind to the world around him, and their personalities meshed together pleasantly. For the first time in years Harry found someone other than Valerian that he enjoyed talking and joking with, feeling strangely at ease in the company of his parents' killer. No, he wouldn't be hugging the man and declaring his love for him anytime soon, but he had found real intelligent common ground with Voldemort.

As Pettigrew slunk into the long hall, Harry couldn't hold back a feral growl from escaping his throat. Voldemort raised an eyebrow toward him and Harry hissed quietly, not letting Pettigrew hear as he approached. // I want this one dead, Tom. I can concede Bellatrix, but I will kill this one. //

Voldemort cut crimson eyes toward barely exposed green. // Fine. But can it wait until after you have fulfilled your plans? He is useful to me. //

Harry only nodded and bowed his head again, purposely not looking in the rat's direction to quell the violent urges he evoked in him. Voldemort's voice once again took on it's hissing, raspy quality as he ordered Pettigrew to his knees so he could activate the Dark Mark, making Harry smirk maliciously as whimpers left the traitor's throat.

The results were nearly instantaneous. Robed and masked figures began appearing in the hall, immediately kneeling in supplication. Voldemort's eyes flickered indolently across his followers, cowing them as they peeked curiously at the figure to Voldemort's left. Harry stood still but watched Voldemort through his lashes as the Dark Lord looked over those who arrived. It was nearly fifteen minutes before Voldemort looked satisfied with the turnout, glancing around at three dozen faceless Death Eaters.

"We have gained a new ally," he hissed loudly enough for them to hear, his hand waving toward where Harry stood. Harry resisted the urge to titter at the overly drawn out hisses that were heard even in a sentence without any S's. "He is powerful and is to be treated with the same respect you give me. I will not stop him from killing you if you have such a limited mental capacity as to challenge him. He goes by Mylläkkä, and with him, we shall turn the tides of this war! Soon we shall take both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic away from the simpering fools of the Light."

Harry stepped forward and pushed his hood back from his face, revealing himself to the assembled minions. He very nearly grinned as he saw one form stiffen painfully, a few wisps of white-blond hair giving away its owner's identity. Lucius was obviously displeased, and Harry looked forward to rubbing his snooty, patrician nose in it.

Harry inclined his head to the group and stepped back again, not needing to say anything to the group. Voldemort listened to reports from his members and gave new tasks, and Harry just watched silently over the proceedings. It was interesting, the difference between the man he had spent the afternoon bargaining with and the man who now was purposely making his followers shrink away in fear of him. It was nearly comical. He ignored the periodic dark looks that Lucius Malfoy was sending him along with the rageful ones from Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was not pleased with someone being closer to her Lord in favor than she. It didn't bother Harry, so long as the foolish witch didn't try to stand against him.

Harry pulled himself back to attention as Voldemort's voice called out to Snape, beginning a plan they had decided on to discover the man's true allegiance. "Severus, come here. The rest of you may go."

As the loud cracks of apparition filled the room, Harry lowered himself to sit on the edge of the dais, sprawling back with his arms holding him up. He sent an amused look to Voldemort, who snorted at Harry's lack of dignity. The younger man shrugged and grinned, flicking his eyes towards Snape as he cautiously approached the platform and knelt.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"This year we will be setting our sights on Hogwarts. You will eventually play an intricate role in this, but for now I will just remind you to get as much information as possible. And tell the old man nothing of our plans."

"Yes, my lord," Severus said, bowing until his mask nearly touched the ground.

"You may go."

As Severus stood, Harry couldn't help a small chuckle from escaping him. "Tom, you're too good at the cowing-into-submission thing. Do you give lessons? Because I would really have fun with that talent."

Voldemort scowled. "What did I tell you about calling me that infernal name in front of others, brat?"

"Ah, it's just Snape. No harm, really."

Crimson eyes rolled, and Harry was pleased to see a lack of any real anger in Voldemort's eyes. "I should really hex you."

"Yes, you probably should. But then I would be angry, and I would not let you borrow my book."

"Must you hang that over my head?"

"Yes, it's ever-so entertaining."

Severus's eyes flicked back and forth in morbid fascination of this man who dared to… banter? Bantering with the Dark Lord! Either this Mylläkkä was terribly insane or just very lucky to be alive. And was Voldemort amused by him? Severus had a ominous premonition of doom in that moment, and wondered over what was to come for the Wizarding world.

Harry grinned when Severus finally Apparated away, stretching his back and standing to join Voldemort as the latter exited the hall. "Well, that was fun."

Voldemort didn't bother looking at him. "Potter, I swear you are going to be the death of my sanity."

"Ah, but Tom…" Harry began as he sashayed past the Dark Lord, throwing a wicked smirk over his shoulder, "the fun has only just begun."

Chapter Text

Harry closed his eyes as he drank from the unconscious man he had accosted, his grip on the muscled forearm tight as the pulled blood from the man's wrist. It had been a while since he had had the time for a human meal, and he always managed to forget just how much more pleasant a warm person was than an animal or a substitution drink. He reveled in the steady staccato beat of the man's heart in his ears, filling his mind at the same time as the blood slowly coursed down his throat.

Harry was careful to pull away as he felt the heavy beating of his victim's heart began to slow, ensuring the man would live through dawn. So long as Harry managed to feed nightly, he had no need to kill to gain his meals. Despite all the changes Harry had undergone physically and mentally, he still refused to take life pointlessly. It was a given for his species and in the path he now walked that he would kill, and that hardly bothered Harry anymore. However, if he did not need to kill, what was the point?

He snatched the man's wallet, removing the money and tossing it into the dirt next to his head. Now when the man awoke he would assume he had been mugged, have a story to tell his coworkers, and hardly ever think of it again. Harry didn't need the money, but he found it more intelligent not to give the muggles any reason for paranoia. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips to assure himself they were free of blood and walked quickly from the alley, slipping into the shadows and avoiding any more contact with early-rising Muggles. The darkness sheltered him from naïve eyes as he slipped to a side street, preparing to Apparate so he could return 'home'.

His teeth gritted at the thought, a reflexive reaction to any thought of the Dursleys. He had no wish to return to the Dursleys' home, but he had already conceded that he had no choice. So far as anyone in this year was concerned, it was still a week to his sixteenth birthday. As far as they knew, he was nothing but an angst-ridden, though famous, teenage boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had to remain in the 'care' of his relatives for a few more weeks, until Dumbledore finally saw fit to allow him to go to Grimmauld Place. Not that that was something Harry looked forward to… but somehow, after all these years, he thought it might be nice to be near to Sirius, even if only in spirit.

Glancing around to make sure he would remain unseen, Harry concentrated on the park a block from 4 Privet Drive, disappearing with a loud crack. When he opened his eyes, he wrinkled his nose at the place of many of his least fond memories and pulled himself behind a tree and grimacing.

Casting out his senses and finding himself utterly alone and unwatched, Harry closed his eyes as he put one drop of the disgusting looking black potion under his tongue, his fingers fumbling on the bark of the tree for purchase as the changes began. Regressing hurt through every fiber of his body, a wave of searing heat tearing through him. He could feel his skin shrinking even as his bones ground together, his muscles realigning themselves on a smaller workspace. His body would lose a lot of its strength and muscle mass in the transformation, but he should be better off than he had been before - he was a vampire now.

Harry gasped as the pain finally ebbed, pain-induced tears filling his eyes as he fought to catch his breath. The transformation had brought him to his knees and Harry sighed heavily, his now short and unruly bangs lifting with the force. He popped his joints as he stood, feeling out of place several inches lower to the ground and much scrawnier than he had been in years. He flexed his arms with a scowl, annoyed at his younger self for being so utterly weak.

Already doubt was washing over him, fear surfacing as he wondered whether or not he could pull off this deception. Voldemort had asked him the same thing, but Harry had been much more sure of himself the night before. He had changed over the years into a secure young man who hated being looked down upon; Hogwarts would be bad enough between his vapid admirers, jealous classmates, and ignorant Slytherins, but how could he put up with the Dursleys without hexing them into oblivion?

He had seriously considered the Imperius before remembering the Blood Wards. Not that they did any good when Voldemort had used his blood in the resurrection process, of course, but it seemed Dumbledore had been counting on faith and love and whatever other twaddle he had dreamed up to keep his precious Golden Boy safe. It was annoying to know he was being forced to stay somewhere so vile when all the reasons he had to be there were now null and void. Unfortunately, the wards did monitor all magic done within a radius of the home, and casting Imperio on his bumbling Muggle relatives was likely to be noticed.

Threats however… Harry smirked. Vernon would never allow anyone in that house to contact anyone in the Wizarding world, so they would have no one to tell if he subtly made it clear that he would not take the crap they had been giving him for the last fifteen years. This thought brought new vigor to Harry as he crossed over the manicured lawn in front of the house, sadistic thoughts rolling through his mind as he heard the loud sounds of his Uncle getting ready for work. So what if he would have to go a few weeks without so much as a levitation charm? He was not some weak pureblood noble who couldn't exist without magic.

He opened the door without bothering to be quiet; smirking sinisterly as Vernon rounded on him, fat face already darkening in rage to see his nephew looking so… unintimidated.

"Boy!" Vernon bellowed, eyes narrowed. "Where have you been in the middle of the night?!"

Harry chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. "Out."

The beefy man advanced on him with a fierce look, but Harry didn't bother stepping away as Vernon stopped inches from him, face now purple and spittle flying from his mouth as his anger built. "You see here, boy! Just because you have those freaks on your side doesn't mean I will put up with any of your… your attitude!"

Harry calmly took a step back, letting his grin widen as the man sputtered, his fangs clearly exposed and making the vast amounts of blood that had gathered at the fat man's face drain away. "Now, Vernon… you don't really want to make me angry, do you? Believe me…" Harry's expression became malicious as he leaned near to the now cowering man. "I don't need magic to make you and your family wish you'd never been born."

Vernon sputtered. "W-Why you…!"

Harry flicked a wave at the man and left back out the front door, his job done. He had thought long and hard about why Vernon would have left this door unlocked that fateful morning, since he hadn't forgotten in years to do so. He'd decided in the end that he had probably had a hand in it. Now Vernon wouldn't bother, since as far as he was concerned, Harry was no longer in the house.

Harry smirked and leapt up to the roof of the 'perfect' little suburban home, pulling his invisibility cloak from his pocket and wrapping it around himself. It wouldn't do for one of the Order guards to actually see him up there, after all. He would rest until afternoon when his younger self left.

Voldemort signed the form in front of him with a flourish, his hands moving automatically across the parchment. He was on autopilot lately, having had little to do since the Department of Mysteries fiasco but sign forms and read reports. There was nothing important enough to require his presence, and torturing his Death Eaters was getting blasé. He had indulged himself with casting a Cruciatus for every infraction, relishing in having corporeal form and having access once again to his magic, but the novelty had quickly worn off.

Just as life had gotten seemingly too boring to bear, in had popped Harry bloody Potter of all people. The Boy Wonder had appeared out of nowhere aged ten years, the malnourished child suddenly a breathtaking man with a mean streak to rival his own. They had planned for hours on strategy for overtaking the Wizarding world systematically, chipping away at the ministry slowly while taking out their biggest opposition in one fell swoop; without Albus Dumbledore the Order of the Phoenix would be shattered. And before they would have any chance to regroup, Harry Potter would be revealed as the partner to the Dark Lord, sealing the Wizarding world's fate.

He wasn't sure how he felt about no longer killing off the muggleborns; it had, after all, been his ambition for years. But he could see where Potter was coming from in his beliefs, somehow. As half-bloods, the two of them were magically superior to many of the purebloods out there, and there were many purebloods who were little better than squibs. Perhaps new blood was needed to enrich the pure lines… but it had to be magical blood. No matter who was pitching the idea, he would never stoop to allowing muggles mixing with wizards.

Voldemort ran his fingers slowly over the slightly scaly skin of his wrist, watching the nearly translucent skin darken under his touch, a small beauty mark appearing only to begin to fade immediately. He let a wry smile cross his mouth as the pigment faded completely. There was something about the Potter boy, something that resonated with his very being. He didn't know why he suddenly felt a kinship with the boy; was it this bond they had? Was the scar he had left upon the boy's brow the connection he felt to him? Was it deeper than that? Something instinctive between people, a common link between like souls?

He had no belief in silly things like soul mates, but he surely understood that some people matched better with others. He had found few people in his life he connected to, few who understood his background and motivations. Potter understood, though. They were so alike, almost to a frightening degree. But Potter, for years, had buried that part of himself behind the image of a bumbling Gryffindor fool.

Voldemort loved a challenge, and Potter was the most interesting thing to come along in over a decade. Though he was no longer trying to kill the boy, he had a sinking feeling that Potter was going to continue consuming his life, one way or another.

Harry was bored. He wandered the back garden aimlessly, discreetly ruining Aunt Petunia's tulips. Harry knew he had to be bored when the only thought running through his mind was that he wished Petunia had petunias for him to ruin. His mind often wandered to the most inane subjects when he had nothing better to do.

It had been weeks since he had returned to his relatives' home, and he was sick of having absolutely nothing to do. He spent the early morning hours going through katas and sparring against the air, hoping to hone the sub-par body he was stuck in. In the evenings he read the single book he had managed to bring in its original form, an interesting book on the life of Grindewald that he had yet to read.

Dudley was the only one who was stupid enough to ever bother him, and even he was wary after the first few threats. Having all several hundred pounds of oneself flipped over your scrawny cousin was enough to strike fear into even the most brainless. Aunt Petunia ignored him when she wasn't sending him wrathful gazes, Vernon simply blanched in his presence and lumbered away. They didn't question him when he left to have his daily meal nor did they seem to even notice that he never needed to eat proper food. This was not to say that he didn't, he just never really felt the need to eat the diet food his aunt prepared.

Harry had received a letter from Dumbledore the week prior saying that because of Sirius's death, he would not be brought to Grimmauld Place that summer. Harry couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. On one hand, he was glad not to have to dive into his role so quickly, but on the other he had hoped to get the hell out of the hole he was stuck in. It was now only four days until he would need to go to King's Cross, and time seemed to have slowed to a standstill. Harry sighed and lay down in the shadowed grass of the yard; no one was home to say anything, anyway.

Harry worried about his return to Hogwarts. He had missed his friends terribly over the years… but would they accept him if they knew who he had become? He loved his friends sincerely and knew - despite the nagging or jealousy - that they loved him too. He also knew, though, that they were just as brainwashed as most of the Wizarding populace when it came to 'good' and 'evil'.

Ron would be scared to death. Harry was a vampire, after all, so Ron's ingrained fear would override any common sense the boy possessed. Even once the shock wore off, Harry knew Ron would scorn him for his strength. He wouldn't even need to hear the bit about Harry's ties to the Dark Lord to utterly loathe him. Hermione would take the revelations in stride, but she would reason that he had been rash and was obviously just not listening to the ever-wise Dumbledore. She would look up every available book on Vampires, research everything about him, and then nod with her bushy curls bouncing and drag him off to the Headmaster to be fixed. He hated to admit that they had grown apart, but doubted that they could ever accept him for what and who he had become. He would just have to treasure the time he would have with them before the truth came to light.

He had been drifting nearly on the verge of sleep when he felt his visitor arrive. Harry raised an eyebrow towards a rotted hole at the bottom of the fence, not bothering to rise as an amused smirk overtook his face. A too-large head poked its way through the opening, body trying to follow but quickly realizing the hole was far too small.

// Did Tom miss me so much that he had to send you, or has something gone wrong? //

Her voice was vaguely feminine somehow, highly annoyed though it was. // I would answer you if you weren't just sitting like the impertinent brat you are! Master was so right about you. Help me, dolt! //

Harry chucked at the large serpent before obliging, knocking away some of the rotting wood and widening the opening. // Is that better, your Highness? //

Nagini huffed as well as a snake could, which came out in an agitated, wordless hiss. Slithering the rest of the way through the fence, she curled up in the shadows, as aware as Harry of the Order guard in the front garden. She tasted the air lightly and hunkered into her coils. // Master wished to request a meeting tonight before the school year begins. //

// Can't, // Harry said with a frown, eyes skating towards the house. // The Order guards have been actually doing their job this year, and I can't risk being noticed leaving. I can hardly sneak away for a quick meal. //

Nagini was quiet for several moments. // Master says he wishes to meet with you the night after your first classes, then. //

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. // You can talk to him? ///

// He can see and hear what I do if he chooses, and can command me from any distance. //

Harry nodded thoughtfully, thinking it was a handy trick to have up one's sleeve. He leaned back against the fence in quiet contemplation, the snake by his side. Harry sighed out a whoosh of air and frowned. He knew he would need to meet with Voldemort as often as he could manage without suspicion if the two were to continue working well together, and honestly looked forward to the meetings. But he was also wary to risk his secrets being found out too soon. He wished he had an inkling of Snape's true alliance, because having a teacher to cover for him would prove to be an unequaled advantage in the months to come. He would need to make finding out a priority.

// Tell Tom that I'll find a way to get to him on the night he wants. It will be complicated, but I think I can manage. // Nagini hissed happily before a loud crashing like breaking glass from the front of the house put both of them on alert, Harry stiffening and narrowing his eyes. // You need to go. //

Without waiting for a response, Harry crept away along the fence, his eyes narrowed toward where he knew the Order guard would be stationed. Did they not hear the ruckus? No one would be home for at least another two hours, so there should be no one to make any noise, especially not to that degree.

Reaching the edge of the house, Harry carefully cast out his senses, feeling a solitary figure only feet away from him around the corner. He narrowed his eyes and stepped out with his shoulders tensed… only to stop and laugh.

He had forgotten all about Nymphadora Tonks. The woman laid haphazardly over the bush in front of the living room window, a trashcan lid in her hand. It was this window that had been broken, and though Harry knew this would cause trouble, he couldn't help but give in to his mirth at the scene the young woman made sprawled out as she was. She looked up with a weak grin, currently orange hair hanging over her eyes. "Wotcher, Harry."

His mirth died down and he helped her up; she moved immediately towards the window to set it back to rights. Harry glanced around to make sure no Muggles were watching, a bit discomfited by her lack of secrecy. With a simple incantation the window was back to normal, and Harry gave the girl a small smile, remembering that he was not supposed to be in good spirits this 'soon' after Sirius's death. "Thanks for the laugh, Tonks, I needed it."

Orange hair dimmed and the young woman just nodded. "Sorry about that, really, but something tripped me…"

Harry glances around, seeing the garden hose curled up. "That should have been picked up anyway, so don't worry about it."

She gave him another smile that was much more genuine than the first. "Well, I'd better go back to where I'm supposed to be. Kingsley will be here in an hour to take over and he'll have a wobbler if I'm not hidden."

Harry rolled his eyes. "They act like I'm not supposed to know I have guards on me."

"It's not so much you as the Muggles, you know. Summer been good, Harry?" she said before cringing, hair dimming down another shade.

Harry managed a small smile to her, ignoring the pain that still lanced through him when he thought of his Godfather. "No worries, Tonks. I've just been bored; I wish I could have gone to Headquarters."

"Yeah, but only a few more days until school starts, huh? Are you excited?"

"I'm a bit cross that I couldn't go to Diagon Alley myself this year, but yeah, I'm excited."

The young woman shifted, locking eyes with him and sighing. "I've got to get out of sight now… but I'll talk to you later, alright Harry?"

"Wait… Tonks…" he said quickly, stopping the girl from walking away. "How's Moony?"

Hair faded entirely to mousy brown now, he saw her shoulders slump. "I don't know. He left at the start of summer for Order business and only writes Dumbledore."

Harry's heart clenched, knowing he should write to the werewolf. It was only right after all that had happened. "Alright, then. Talk to you later, Tonks."

Tonks slipped away, leaving Harry staring at the ground. He had thought it would be easier to break his ties to the Light, but actually being in the position was harder than he had thought. He had made many friends over the few years he had been a part of the Wizarding world, and he would hate to be against these people. Remus… was confusing for him. He loved him for who he had been to his parents, for the friendship he'd held with Sirius. But he wasn't sure where he, himself, stood with the man. They hardly knew one another, after all, and he couldn't even call what they had a friendship. Nonetheless, he would attempt to keep that bond, no matter how fragile and barely-formed it was.

With a sigh, Harry retreated into the house and to his dusty, muggy room, intent on writing a letter to the last of the true Marauders.

Dear Remus,

Hello Moony. I know it hasn't been very long since we talked last, but I hope you don't mind that I'm writing? I guess I can't really ask you about the beginning of your summer, but I still hope you are as well as you can be.

I considered writing this letter like nothing was wrong, but I suppose it would be wrong to. We're both very aware of the things that have happened in the last months, and sugar-coating them would make no difference. I miss Sirius. Yes, I am willing to say his name, as the Ministry can lick my balls as far as I'm concerned. What will they do, prosecute me for conspiring with a known criminal posthumously? I doubt it. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him. Of that bitch Bellatrix. Of Dumbledore's manipulations. Of my own stupidity. Of Snape's childishness. Of Sirius's rashness. Often I have wondered the lengths I would go through to get him back… but then I stop and know that it would probably not be best. I don't know how Sirius would take my decisions of late.

The decisions we make in life are what make us us, aren't they? If that is the case… perhaps I am not a good person anymore. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered if the major choices you've made were mistakes? If you will be paying for them for eternity? What those close to you would think of you if they knew your truths?

I also wonder how leaders of war handle the choices they must make. How do they know their choices are the right ones? Do they even feel guilt when their choices result in the loss of their own? Or do they just automatically run the tired 'all for the best' line through their heads?

I often wonder all those things.

But perhaps this is because I am human…

Well, I will stop my rambling there. Where are you? Are you happy where you are? I must say that despite being miles away from where I expected to be… I think I am in the right place. Do you feel that way about yourself? Because if you ever doubt… where I am is open to you.

Love and Regards,

Harry James Potter

Chapter Text

"Bollocks!"

Harry dodged through the crowd of muggles, struggling to remain at a human speed and not mow anyone down with his trunk. King's Cross was crowded, and Harry needed to get to the barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾. It had taken longer than he had thought it would to find a person to serve as a meal in the early morning rush; there were just so many people running around muggle London. More people meant less hiding places, which had ended up delaying Harry to the point where the train would soon be leaving.

He didn't bother slowing as the pillar for the barrier came into view, running headlong through the deceptive stone. His eyes brightened as he took in the sight of the train, smoke billowing from it as it prepared to depart. Harry had made it with only two minutes to spare.

He lifted his trunk rather easily onto the train, pulling it along behind him down the carriage with a barely suppressed grin. In his years in Sceaduwe Citadel, he had found it easiest to not think about the friends and places he had left behind. The first year had been more than difficult, closing his eyes and wondering how Ron or Hermione or any of this other friends were doing or what they were up to. But he had grown past it, locking his memories of his loved ones away so he could concentrate on his goals.

Now, though… now he was back. This was the Hogwart's Express, the red steam engine that had taken him straight into his fairytale land all those years ago. He was going to the one place he had counted as home in his young life. Nothing could ruin his mood now.

But of course, fate could try.

"Well, well, Potter. All alone, I see? Did your friends finally get sick of your stench, or did you just get bored of watching the Weasel and the Mudblood fornicate with their eyes?" came a familiar drawl as the train pulled away from King's Cross.

Harry had an urge to laugh. The statement, despite how rude to his friends it was, was almost amusing; Draco's wit had always been rather blasé in his memory. But mostly, it was amusing that the first person Harry ran into, of all the students on the train, was this one. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about how his pretty father was doing, but Harry decided that was a bit too forward.

He smirked rather than the blowup that was expected of him, causing the Malfoy heir's eyebrows to rise. "You are not worth my time right now, Draco," Harry purred, accentuating the blond's name. "So why don't you run off to your cronies or your little pet pug? With the way you walk around with your nose up in the air, they can spend the train ride entertaining themselves by counting your nostril hairs."

Pale skin darkened in indignant anger and Draco was already fumbling for his wand. "How dare you?!"

"'How dare I' what? Insinuate you had nose hair? I hardly insulted you directly at all compared to what you said," he pointed out, trying to remember he had to act like the Golden Boy and not let his snark be so obvious. He schooled his face into a scowl. "Now get out of my way so I can find my friends."

Draco didn't budge. Silver eyes scanned over Harry, confusion obvious on the boy's face. Harry didn't dare show his amusement with the inspection. In front of Malfoy, he supposed it wouldn't be so bad if he seemed strange. After all, the worst thing Draco could do would be to tell his father. But he had to be careful if Ron or Hermione were around. It wouldn't do, after all, to have someone run to Dumbledore so early in the game.

But Harry simply didn't want the younger Malfoy to know. It would take all the fun out of his game.

"I said move, Malfoy." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Why should I, Potty?" Draco retorted, quickly collecting himself into the pompous ass Harry remembered. "Just what do you think you'll do if I don't?"

He stifled his annoyance. "Nothing you could stop," he said dryly, eyeing the wiry frame of the blond. At six feet tall, Malfoy was actually had a few inches on Harry's twenty-five year old body, though Harry was broader across the shoulders and more defined. Though the blond had tone from Quidditch, he would never lower himself to do something as plebeian as martial arts or weight training, so even without revealing himself Harry knew he could take him on one handed and blindfolded. "Where are your cronies, anyway, Malfoy? No one to follow your every whim this year?"

The darkening of silvery eyes told Harry he had hit a nerve. His smirk widened.

"Ah, does it have anything to do with Daddy Dearest's stay in Azkaban? The snakes are wary to follow the son of a convict, aren't they?"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed, face reddening. He whipped out his wand and held it hard against Harry's throat, and Harry tried to pretend to be afraid. "It's your fault! You destroyed my family!"

"Have you ever considered that it was your dad's fault for being there? I only pointed him out."

"Shut up!" Draco screeched. "If it wasn't for your big mouth, it never would have happened! Saint Potter, poor little Gryffindor orphan boy. Just because your stupid, brainless parents got themselves killed doesn't mean you have to ruin everyone else's family!"

With one blink of green eyes, Harry was in motion, knocking away the rigid arm that held Draco's wand at his throat and twisting it around his childhood rival's back. A cold anger stole over Harry's features as he pushed Draco against the wall, his body holding him in place. "Listen to me, Malfoy, you naïve little child. Actions dictate consequences, and your father was stupid enough to get caught. You're lucky he is alive and at home and not soulless on some filth covered floor in Azkaban rotting."

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to get actually angry. He thought it must have been just before he'd left this time period and he'd destroyed Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death, because nothing but family could bring this kind of rage out in him. His temper had cooled exponentially in his years away, but there would always be some part of him that held his Gryffindor temperament. He continued the hissed litany into Malfoy's ear, whose eyes were now wide and panicked. "I would suggest you stay the hell out of my way, and if you ever insult my parents again, I will make you regret it."

He released the shaking blond, sneering down at him and thanking his stars that no other students had come this far down the train. The fight had taken no more than five minutes, but it could have ended badly if Harry had let his temper reign. Without another word he spun on his heel and grabbed his trunk, hoisting it over Draco and continuing to the next train car, to the compartment he and his friends usually used.

He didn't bother turning around, but if he had, he would have seen the calculating glint that entered Draco's eyes and the contemplative look that didn't fade as the blond stood and went in the opposite direction.

Veelas, a magical race, were beautiful women with pale hair and perfect skin, able to entrance men into weakness. They had volatile tempers that transformed them into intimidating, winged beasts when provoked. They had mates which they would protect at the cost of their own life, and could control fire. That is what textbooks told students in Hogwarts.

The books, however, did not mention that males could carry Veela blood just as well as a female.

Being a Veela male was nothing special, really. Males did not have mates or scary alter-egos to deal with, though their tempers were still something to cower away from. There was no thrall or elemental command, no matter how much one might wish for them. However, holding the blood of a Veela in your veins did have certain perks, ones that Draco Malfoy was glad for. As with any magical creature, Draco's senses were much more in tune than a human's. He was only half Veela, as both of his parents were, but that hardly diluted the innate abilities the blood held. For Veela, sight was the most poignant of the senses, though scent came a close second.

There was something absolutely wrong with Harry Potter. Draco stayed lost in thought as he trekked back to his own compartment. There was just something off about the Golden Boy, and Draco was determined to find out what it was and find a way to use it against him. Being young and relatively sheltered as he was, Draco didn't understand the strange… feel of the Gryffindor, having nothing in his life experience to compare it to; however, Draco was an intelligent young man, and when he set his mind to something, he achieved it.

He would figure out what was different with Potter.

"Ronald Weasley, if you think you can just quit Potions and be done with it, you have another thing coming!"

"Aww, come on, Hermione…you sound like my mom…"

"And I suppose that's terrible since you don't listen to your mother anyway! I can't believe that you actually purposely did badly on your OWL-"

"But I didn't! It's not my fault that I don't understand it, I mean, Snape doesn't even try to teach it right!"

"Excuses! I know you better than that, Ronald, and you had better believe that I will be petitioning Professor McGonagall to see that both you and Harry end up in NEWTS Potions! Honestly! Harry especially needs this knowledge, I can't see them just letting Professor Snape keep all but two or three students out of the class…"

"Oi! Harry!" Ron interrupted quickly, grinning at his friend who he had finally noticed at the door.

"Now don't change the subject Ron," Hermione continued. "Potions is a vital class, and what about wanting to be an Auror? You can't be one without having passed your Potions NEWT! It will be my personal…" Warm brown eyes locked on Harry's smiling form in the doorway to the compartment, and Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, Harry!" she cried, leaping over to engulf her long-time friend in a hug. Harry was disgusted with himself when he felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he returned the embrace, taking in the familiar scent of one of his closest friends as he struggled to maintain his passively happy mask.

"Did ya have a good summer, mate?" Ron blurted, before his face screwed up in consternation, obviously regretting the question. Hermione clenched her hands at her side as she stepped back from Harry, meeting his eyes hesitantly.

Harry didn't begrudge them their wariness; from what he remembered of his fifth year, he had been a total prat. So it was a surprise to them both when Harry smiled shakily, suddenly thankful for the conflicting emotions that were still running through him as he prepared to act for those who had known him best at this age. "It's alright, guys. You… don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know."

Hermione's sharp gaze was flicking over him intently, making Harry more nervous than he had been since Valerian had decided to test him in a duel. Hermione was the one who would expose him in the end, he knew. No one else was as quick as her, and she would eventually put the pieces together. It was his ability to keep it from her that would determine if his mission would be successful. He knew it would seem rather our of character for him to appear 'alright'… but honestly, he couldn't bear to try and be the same angst-ridden, tantrum-throwing boy he had been in his fifth year. He wanted to relish the time he would have left with his friends, not squander it by pushing them away. He knew it would only cause it to hurt worse in the end… but he couldn't help it.

He had already thought it over. Death often had a profound effect of the people close to the deceased. He could just as easily blame his new disinterested and 'studious' nature on coming to terms with the loss of Sirius, saying that he needed time to recover. This would allow him to be happy with Ron and Hermione, but hopefully cast suspicion off when he got into the moods he often fell into. It would also help excuse the unexplained absences and time alone, which Harry thought was a good thing. If Hermione was too worried about his wellbeing, she would watch his every move… but if he seemed to be coping, he would have a lot more time to himself.

Hermione seemed pleased with whatever she had found, because she pulled him into another tight hug. Harry mentally sighed in relief and grinned at the two before Hermione started on her rant once more, now tugging Harry into it. A long-suffering look from Ron was all it took for Harry to burst into genuine laugher.

It was good to be home.

"Well, it wasn't so bad really, because Gran set up a greenhouse for my birthday this year, so I spent most of the summer tending my new Fanged Geraniums. Oh, Harry, you should see my Mimbulus mimbletonia now! It's gotten huge!" Neville exclaimed as he, Ginny, Harry, and Ron walked from the carriages to the school doors. Harry chuckled and smiled as the normally shy boy waxed poetic about his biggest passion.

Hermione had Prefect duties with Professor McGonagall and had gone straight to her when the carriages stopped, leaving Harry with the other Gryffindors. He smiled as he listened to the mundane conversations; Ginny went on about which boys looked more attractive this year, Neville on his plants, Ron on who would be Quidditch captain that year. Though he smiled outwardly, inside he was feeling more and more weight pressed down on his shoulders. He had always felt 'older' than his classmates, what with his childhood and responsibilities, but now the ten-year age difference made it all the more pronounced. His smile turned into grimace as they neared the Entry Hall, though he struggled to maintain his carefree appearance.

"So Harry," Ginny spoke up from his left. "You're going to take back over as Seeker this year, right? I mean, stupid Umbridge's ban won't stay in effect, obviously…"

Harry sighed internally and thought this over. Did he want to continue Quidditch? No, he thought. It would be more of a distraction and hindrance. But he knew very well that he couldn't say that. "Dunno, really. I might, but I think you're doing fine in the position. You're a credit to the team." Harry gave her a small smile, ignoring the slight blush that graced the girl's cheeks. Paying any attention to it would only give Ginny the wrong idea.

They were entering the castle when all of Harry's senses screamed.

Another disadvantage to not having submitted to a full Change was his senses. Though he could 'feel' people, he could not differentiate one person from another. He could feel the difference between a werewolf and a human, but he couldn't tell which werewolf or human they were. It was rather annoying, but in this case he thanked his senses as they alerted him to a powerful vampiric presence nearby.

One of Harry's hands casually thumped against his leg, reaffirming to himself that his dagger was still strapped to his thigh under his robes. A thin sheen of sweat was already appearing on his forehead; a vampire in the school was going to be a disaster, because a vampire in the school meant someone who would know he was one, and that could blow his cover before the school year even began. Harry was tense and on guard now; thankfully his friends were too involved in their conversations to notice his unease.

He entered the Great Hall with trepidation, eyes scanning the room before falling on the High Table. Dumbledore was twinkling merrily in sky blue robes, obviously pleased with the start of a new school year. Severus Snape and McGonagall's empty chair sat on either side of him, the Potion's master sitting with a petulant frown on his face per usual. The other teachers sat chatting happily, from Hagrid at the far right to Sinistra at the far left. Just as Harry nearly gave up, he found his answer.

His eyes widened comically as he stopped in his tracks, spying the one of the last people he had ever thought he would see in Hogwarts.

Dante.

A shoulder colliding with his own reminded Harry that he was blocking traffic, so he quickly maneuvered himself to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the conversations around him. Harry seethed, jaw tight, peeking at the disinterested blond through his fringe. Dante appeared to not even be paying attention, his eyes fixed on the enchanted ceiling as he looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. Then again, as well as Harry knew Dante, he figured the vampire did want to be anywhere but there. He hated children, so why in the world was he there?

Why hadn't Dante ever told him that he had taught at Hogwarts? Wasn't that something that might be mildly important?!

As he watched, feline blue eyes finally left the ceiling and fell directly onto him. Harry sucked up his irritation and met the gaze evenly, giving a small nod to the elder vampire. In return, he got the barest hint of a smile, something you had to really know Dante to see, and Harry's irritation suddenly dwindled to nothing as shock took its place. There was recognition in those eyes. Dante knew him.

Dante must have read his incredulous expression, because one shoulder rose in a shrug. Harry nearly laughed aloud and quickly turned his attention away from the blond, not wanting anyone to notice their attention to one another. This was brilliant, an answer to his every anxiety. He had no idea why Dante was there, but he was glad for it.

Dumbledore stood and gave his usual beginning of the year speech, grinning at the student body. The speech included warnings about Voldemort, about safety and working together to overcome obstacles. He preached to his students in a blinding display of hypocrisy, and Harry had to look down to hide his sneer.

"And finally, one more announcement before I give you leave to tuck in to your wonderful feast. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts position will this year be held by Mister Dante Pierce. Please welcome Professor Pierce."

Applause came then, many of the girls tittering and trying to catch blue eyes as the golden-blond stood and bowed. Harry rolled his eyes and applauded, his suspicions proved to be correct. He wouldn't be alone this year. Thank Merlin. Now, if he could find an excuse to talk to the vampire in private, he could find out why. Damn if he didn't think Valerian had something to do with it.

Dante let his eyes roam over the entering students, only centuries of training keeping his eye from twitching in annoyance. He hated children, he hated ignorance, and he hated teaching those he didn't see as having talent. Naturally, then, it seemed one of the stupidest moves of his life to have forced his way into a position teaching a bunch of untrained little monsters. And in some ways, it really was. He looked to the ceiling in annoyance, rather secretly enamored by the strength of magic it must have taken to replicate the outside sky.

But being immortal had many perks, one of them being patience. Dante had a lot of that. He had once spent nearly a decade in meditation, only waking to feed when he could no longer bear the hunger pangs, to try and find the cause of his dual magic. No other in history had managed to keep Wizarding magic while developing Vampire magic. It was simply unheard of. But he had managed it somehow. The long years of exploring every nuance of his magical systems had given him no further answers, either.

Now here he was, having killed off a potential staff member in order to be sure he would be unopposed for a position. Horace Slughorn had been easy to find and even easier to kill, the fat man whimpering pitifully as he'd died. Dante had had no remorse; such things as regret and guilt were rid from a vampire early on. Honestly, he wasn't sure he had ever felt anything like sorrow towards his victims, even in the very beginning.

His first kill, after all, had been his brother. A traitor. The man who had killed his wife for information of his whereabouts. The turncoat bastard had killed her for a mere handful of gold-

Now was not the time for such things, though, and Dante irritably pushed his hand through his hair, though he knew it to look bored to anyone observing. Centuries of practice had had him nearly unable to show emotion unless he consciously forced himself to, and even then he was so out of practice that it was likely to look false. But when his eyes fell on the young version of his Mylläkkä, he honestly had to stifle a snicker.

The boy was staring drop-jawed at him, all his careful training forgotten, blocking the flow of students entering the hall. It was amusing, really, but Dante was going to do a number on him later for forgetting himself so easily. A decade wasn't all that long, after all, and the boy had so very much to learn.

Finally Harry managed to move, giving a slight nod as he moved to take his seat, which Dante returned with an amused look. The boy again looked flummoxed. Dante gave the boy a shrug and proceeded to ignore the young vampire completely, surely annoying him even more. Hopefully he wouldn't do anything stupid. Dante would talk to him after his last class the next day.

Class. Teaching. Dante groaned inwardly and went back to looking at the ceiling. How annoying.

"It seems like it's been a long time, don't you think?" Neville asked quietly, leaning against the opposite sill from Harry as they both gazed out over the grounds.

"Yeah…" said Harry, his fingers twitching at his side at the unknowing truth of the statement. "Every time I come back here I feel like I've been gone years. This place… it is the only home I've got, really."

Neville nodded in concurrence. The boys had begun really speaking the year before - fifth year, that was - having realized the similarities they bore. Born near the same time, losing their parents to Voldemort, being raised by people not necessarily the best caretakers out there. Neville's grandmother wasn't a cruel woman, of course, but she was strict and had spent years and years lamenting Neville not being more like his parents. Both Harry and Neville were aware that Augusta really did love her grandson, but she just didn't have the best way of showing it; her love and respect for his parents often ended up overshadowing her good sense. It had done horrible things to the boy's self esteem, but Harry thought that being out on his own and finding his niche had done wonders for him.

Harry had tried his best in fifth year to pull that confidence out of Neville, slowly but surely exposing a real person from beneath the overlooked shell. It seemed the Department of Mysteries debacle had furthered his progress, as the boy had an air about him this year that Harry didn't remember him having the last time he'd seen him. It was refreshing.

They had started this ritual in their second year; on their first night back, both would stand at the largest window of their dorm room and stare out over the Hogwarts grounds, relishing simply in being there. While they hadn't talked at first, by fourth year they had stayed up half the night just talking quietly to the background noise of Ron's snores and Seamus's habitual mumbling.

It was for Neville that Harry seriously considered leaving Bellatrix alive. She had stolen Neville's parents in a way somehow much worse than his own parents had been taken. Sirius had been something resembling an accident; though it had been obviously fortuitous to Bellatrix, it had been an accident nonetheless. Neville's parents, though, had been a malicious and purposeful job. It was not mercy that would stay his hand, but a need to make the bitch suffer. He would torture her happily for any defiance, but he would leave her death to Neville. When he got the courage, he would have his revenge, Harry would be sure of it.

"Have I shown you my new wand yet, Harry?" Neville asked after a few minutes more of silence, smiling gently in the moonlight.

It took Harry several moments of thought before deciding he most likely hadn't seen the wand. If Neville had gotten it in the remaining days before classes ended, he didn't know; small memories like that were fuzzy at best. "No, Nev, let's see it."

Confidence and pride bloomed on the sixteen year old's face as he pulled out the cherry wand, presenting it to Harry. This seemed to be a huge source of the air Neville now held. Perhaps it would even improve his magic; Harry was sure having a wand suited to him would really boost his ability to perform. His magic would never be strong, per se, but with confidence he could easily hold his own now.

"Cherry, good wand for you. Cherry wood stands for rebirth and new awakenings, you know."

Neville beamed. "I know, I looked it up. Gran was so proud. I… I just feel…"

"Good?"

"Yeah. Good. I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. Last year you showed me I could be my own person… I don't even think this wand could have helped me without all you did."

Harry smiled softly. "Don't thank me, Neville. I'm your friend, after all. I always knew you had it in you."

Neville beamed again and the two went back to staring out over the glassy surface of the lake, Hogsmeade's lights shining in the darkness. Harry could wait to feed; this was a tradition that bore standing. Even if he was losing everyone around him… at least he could have moments like this to hold him.

Chapter Text

The moon watched over Harry as he crept across the silent lawns of Hogwarts after he had snuck away to feed. Animal blood was nowhere near as satisfying as human, but it beat the disgusting Blood Substitution potions that some vampires swore by. Though Harry kept a cache of it 'just in case', he chose not to use it unless the situation was dire.

The Hogwarts grounds seemed to glow under the ethereal light of the waxing moon, nearly full overhead. Long shadows were cast from the reflected light, lending a surreal look to the landscape. Harry felt like he was dreaming as he stayed to the deepest shadows hoping to remain undetected. He begrudged Valerian his Shadow capabilities; it would be so much easier to simply allow himself to fade in wherever he pleased. But he was not a fool; techniques such as that took a lifetime or two to learn. As much as it would be nice for it to come ingrained in his vampirism, he had to deal with what he got.

The Entry Hall was eerily silent as he slipped up the first staircase, his senses cast out to be sure he remained unwatched. He needed to get a few hours of sleep that night, because he doubted he would get any at all the night after. He had his meeting with Tom to worry about. On silent feet he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower and past the sleeping Fat Lady, ready to turn in.

Ron was snoring loudly and Harry gave a wry grin at the familiarity of it. He, Neville, and Ron had met up with Dean and Seamus after dinner, the latter three commenting boisterously on their summer. It was not strange for Harry to not join in on this, as most people were aware that he did not enjoy his summers with his relatives. But watching the three young men had given Harry pause.

He was no longer like them.

It had been niggling on his mind since the train ride, becoming more obvious through dinner, but the full weight of the revelation seemed to lay heavy on his heart in that moment. He could no longer relate to these people, any of them. He had spent ten long years being trained by ancient vampires and other intelligent immortals, and as such had adopted to the situation by becoming more like them. Now he was here with young men who had barely lived sixteen years and his heart ached in his chest. He didn't care about girls. He didn't care much about Quidditch anymore, either. He wasn't prone to angsting over the lot he had been handed in life, nor the 'unfairness' of their professors. Though he had always felt separate from his peers growing up, the ten year age difference held the truth in stark relief.

If he ever had before, he no longer fit in.

The revelation both saddened and lifted Harry's spirits all at once. On the one hand, he regretted losing the tight bond he had formed with Ron; despite the rough patches, the redhead had been a wonderful friend and had been right there beside him through so much. It dismayed him to realize the loss of his first friend, like he had suddenly lost his childhood. On the other hand, though, this would certainly make his predicted end result easier for him. He had no illusions that any of the people he knew from his years in Hogwarts would stand by him when the truth came out. If it wasn't his Vampirism, it would be his status as Dark. If it wasn't that, it would be the blood on his hands. Even if one of them was able to get past those things, one encounter with his cruel, calculating side and they would be sent running. He supposed the emotional distance that was setting in now was preferable to losing it all in one swift kick in the teeth.

Sinking into his bedding, he let the still familiar sounds of dormitory life rise and ebb around him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Severus Snape tapped his fingers against his thigh, a habit from his teenage years that still manifested before he had drunk his morning tea. The listless tattoo of his fingers was silent in the din of the Great Hall, but Severus used the faint pressure to keep is mind focused on his thoughts and not on bemoaning his life as it currently stood.

His favorite student had come to his rooms immediately after the Welcoming Feast, rambling on about Potter being different somehow this year. Severus sneered both internally and visibly, cowing a few students without even trying. The brat hadn't even been in the school twenty-four hours and already he was causing new problems for the Potions Master. He wondered about what Draco described, though. That the Malfoy heir had admitted to his weakness when confronted with Potter had astounded Severus and forced him to take the blond seriously, no matter how farfetched the situation seemed. His first assumption was that the death of his mutt of a Godfather had taken its toll on the supposed 'Hero' of the Wizarding world. He had hated Black into the deepest fibers of his being, but he could imagine what such a loss would do to the cocky Potter boy.

Black eyes flickered across the Great Hall, watching the students filling the house tables and chatting away with their friends. They were all so naïve, flitting about like there wasn't a war going on outside the castle walls, worrying about their superficial lives and their petty problems. Severus hated children for this reason more than any other. Even when he had been in school he had had to deal with Death Eater meetings, James Potter and his cronies, his mother's declining health, and just surviving beyond another year. He had not had time for the trivialities of youth, and he despised all these bumbling children who believed there was nothing more to life than who had gotten a haircut over the summer and who was going to win the House Cup that year.

Black eyes locked onto eerily bright green and motion in the hall froze for one moment, Severus's breath inexplicably locking in his throat. Something in those eyes was too… too hard for a child, too dark to be normal. Potter blinked and the moment was ruined, Severus quickly pulling his eyes away.

Severus chose to ignore the chill of foreboding that lanced down his spine and went back to sipping his tea.

Harry shook off the strange feeling that had filled him as the staring contest between he and Snape came to a close, choosing to instead focus on the biscuit he had commandeered for his breakfast. He had no real need for regular food, but he liked it well enough and chose to eat it to keep up appearances.

The morning mail had been delivered and Harry lost himself in the drone around him, his fellow students chattering excitedly, or in several cases woefully, about the classes they would be taking that year. Harry had half an ear on everything around him and his eyes slanted in the direction of a bored looking Dante, who sipped a beverage without even bothering to look his way. He didn't have DADA until the next afternoon, so doubted he would get to talk to the vampire before then.

Hermione's muted gasp rang to his right, and he took his eyes off of Dante and raised an eyebrow at her. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

The muggleborn witch shoved the Daily Prophet under his nose, pointing to a minor article on the second page. "Look here, Harry! They had to Obliviate over a hundred muggles this summer! This is terrible… at this rate, the Wizarding world will be exposed!"

It was only that she sounded genuinely on the verge of panic that made Harry not burst out laughing, instead he smiled gently at the brunette. "Don't worry so much. We won't be exposed."

"How can you talk to calmly?!" she said, shaking the paper which she had yet to remove from Harry's face. "You were raised Muggle too, you know how they are! If they find out about us…"

"Hermione," he broke in with a wry smile. "Calm down. It's because I know muggles that I'm not paranoid. You know as well as I do of how ignorant they can be. You could parade a dragon in front of a crowd and we would remain undetected. Half of the people would just brush it off as a special effect. Some would join little conspiracy groups believing the government was doing genetic experiments. And the remaining of them would just go home thinking they had been dreaming. It will take a lot more than a few people ranting about our existence for the oblivious fools to see anything they don't want to see."

Hermione's brown eyes widened before narrowing, lips pursed in a trademark 'Hermione is Thinking' expression. Harry picked at his biscuit as he watched her toss the idea around in her head, obviously weighing its truths. Ron remained focused on his food, not caring in the least about their discussion. Finally, bushy hair swung with the force of Hermione's nod and she smiled. "You know, you're right. I was being a bit paranoid, wasn't I?"

Harry resisted the urge to agree. "No matter, really. I can see why people would be concerned. But I think of my uncle: he knows magic exists and he still doesn't think it is anything to worry about. So I figure we just ignore them and they'll live on in their ignorant bliss. It's a win-win situation, really."

"That's surprisingly intelligent, Harry." Hermione beamed, obviously believing that to be a compliment.

Harry rolled his eyes at her and smiled. She was massively intelligent, but even though they had improved over the years, her people skills still needed work.

"Boys! Herbology starts in ten minutes! Up, up!"

Both of their groans answered her.

Harry fought the urge to practice a few choice curses on the Ashwinder that Hagrid had assigned to their group. They would only be alive another week, and kind-hearted Hagrid was insistent on making their short lives better before they laid their dangerous eggs, and it was his sixth year students' job to help. Harry sighed as he listened to the silvery-grey snake rant in broken insults and confusing tirades; snakes that did not spend time around humans did not speak in coherent sentences. He knew better than to even attempt speaking with the annoying serpent in class, so instead suffered being the only person who could hear the curses of the short-lived beings.

Hermione was currently in Arithmancy, leaving Ron, Harry, and Seamus as the only Gryffindors in the Care of Magical Creatures class. Thankfully it was the last class of the day. Harry had failed to take into account how utterly boring going to classes would be when he already knew all the material, and just wanted the annoying day to be done with. He was rather looking forward to his meeting with Tom that night, as he currently felt like he hadn't had an intelligent conversation in years. He shoved away a tiny voice that noted that it was odd to look forward to seeing Voldemort of all people, knowing things were different now. Despite what the man had done and despite the lingering feelings of dislike that remained, Voldemort was an intelligent and interesting person, and Harry couldn't help gravitating toward that.

Harry, Ron, and Seamus worked in silence, save for the annoyed grumblings of Ron and the angry hisses from the snake. As Harry attempted to adjust the snake's bedding, it stuck out and managed to sink its fangs into Harry's hand at the base of his thumb; Harry cursed under his breath and wasn't sure if it came out in English or Parseltongue, but was sure he didn't give a damn at the moment. Though not venomous, being bitten by anything hurt, and even the scent of his own blood was enough to make him antsy.

"You alright, mate?" the redhead asked, peering over Harry's shoulder, "It didn't get you, did it?"

Harry shook his head, his hand being in his mouth and keeping him from answering as he closed the wound. After a few moments he removed his hand, "No, I just managed to hit it on the bar a bit."

Seamus, who had been sitting on the ground and thoroughly ignoring their assignment, peeked up through sandy blond bangs. "Remind me again why I'm still taking this class?"

"Because otherwise you'd have to take Divination," Ron said.

Harry chuckled. "I think it's the only reason anyone takes this class."

Seamus heaved a heavy sigh and plopped backwards into the grass. "Wojus."

Ron joined him. "Yep."

Harry just shook his head and continued the assignment for the last few minutes of class, scowling at the hissing snake.

"What's it saying?" Ron asked suddenly, and Harry blinked back his surprise. Normally Ron seemed to try and forget that his friend was a Parselmouth.

"Uhh… you really don't want to know," Harry said sheepishly as the snake let out a few expletives that would have made Mad-Eye Moody blush.

"Maybe if you told it to shut up and we could ignore it for the rest of class," Seamus said hopefully, eyeing the snake with disdain.

Again, Harry was surprised by the boys' casual comments to his 'Dark' ability, but only laughed and brushed it off. "But then its insults would be against me rather than the color of Ron's hair, and that wouldn't be very entertaining for me."

Ron pinked in indignation. "Hey!"

"What? It's not like you can understand what it's saying."

His friend shrugged and pouted. "Stupid snake."

"Just be glad Hagrid has yet to decide to ask to use one of Aragog's children."

A visible shudder went through the redhead as the end of class was announced by a pleased Hagrid, and the three boys began their trek back to the castle in the slight mist. They had nearly made it to the doors when they were stopped by a figure that stepped out of nowhere, causing Ron and Seamus to jump back in surprise and Harry to stifle a grin at Dante's less than subtle emergence.

A golden eyebrow rose as the expressionless man surveyed the trio, feline eyes darting from one boy to the next before landing with an amused look on Harry. "Mr. Potter, I have been sent by the Headmaster to retrieve you. Will you follow me?"

Harry nodded, waving off his dormmates and following his instructor into the castle silently, waiting until they would both be sure of their privacy before yanking Dante into an empty classroom. Harry quickly put up silencing and locking charms to be sure their conversation remained private, a scowl overtaking his features. "What are you doing here, Dante?"

"Hn," Dante said with a slight quirk of his lips. "That's Professor Pierce to you."

Harry growled in response.

"Fine," he drawled, flicking his fingers at Harry. "Valerian sent me along after you. You should have known he wouldn't send his favorite pet out without someone to watch over him."

"I resent being called his pet and I want to know why I wasn't informed of this. And how did he send you as well? Opening the portal for only me should have exhausted him for weeks!"

Only because Harry knew the blond so well was he able to see the long-suffering look he was given. "You're thinking linearly again, Mylläkkä," he chided. "In fact, it exhausted him for a month, and he still waited another before he sent me. He merely sent me back farther. Time is not an issue to him, you know this."

Harry shrugged and sat down on the top of a desk, surveying the room for a few silent minutes. It looked to be an old Arithmancy classroom by the charts on the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin upon them, drained of anger now but still upset. "Did neither of you think this would be something important to tell me?"

Dante sighed and adjusted his position, shifting his weight to one foot and cocking his head at Harry. "It wasn't until after you left that Valerian became so worried for you that he asked me to go. You know how he can get. He never wanted you to leave in the first place, but he had promised you when he brought you to Sceaduwe that you could leave in ten years to return to the Mortal realm. Valerian would never go back on his word, but you know it hurt him to let you go."

Harry's eyes cut away. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions. But I would have appreciated a warning."

A smirk settled over Dante's face. "That was my idea, Mylläkkä. I have to keep you on your toes, after all."

Harry laughed weakly and shoved the blond, hopping up from his seat on the desk. "Whatever, Dante. How did you manage to get a job here, anyway? Surely Dumbledore knows you're a vampire."

A nod. "He knows, as will all students. It will not be hidden as it was with Mr. Lupin, and I am only going to be here for one year. He had planned, actually, to replace the Potions Master with the previous one and allow the Snape fellow to teach Defense… but the former Master had an accident. I was his only choice."

Harry laughed again and tipped his head. "Touché. I must say that this is convenient, though. I was worried about how I was going to get away with my meetings with Voldemort and not raise too much suspicion."

"Isn't Snape a Death Eater?"

"Yes, but he is also a dual spy. I can't be sure which side he is actually on."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "I hate spies."

"Oh, shut up. This isn't the same as your brother, Dante. I honestly respect Snape for being able to survive in the life he's been forced into. He's had a lot of things shoved onto his shoulders."

"Like you?"

Green eyes locked with blue. "Yeah, a lot like me."

"When is your first meeting?"

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus, frowning. "In two hours. I need to go to dinner to keep up appearances."

"We will talk tomorrow then, Mylläkkä."

"You've got to stop calling me that, Dante. You'll have to lower yourself to calling me Potter, because the name Mylläkkä will soon be as known as Voldemort. If someone heard you call me it…"

The vampire just lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I'll just avoid referring to you at all."

As Dante walked away. Harry smiled at both the knowledge of his friend's closeness and his impending meeting with the Dark side. Harry couldn't help the snicker that escaped him at the thought; he felt rather like a Star Wars reject. With a grin that he didn't dare showing others because of his fangs, Harry stretched his arms above his head as he walked down the empty corridor.

He didn't feel the eyes watching his every move.

Chapter Text

"I'm off to bed, guys," he said with a faked yawn.

From the common room couch, where she had been coyly flirting with Dean, Ginny pouted. "It's early, Harry! We all just barely got settled in!"

Harry gave the youngest Weasley an apologetic smile. "I didn't get much rest last night, having to adjust to Ron's deafening snores again."

The rest of the group, which included a few of Ginny's year mates as well as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, laughed at Ron's expense, and Harry received a face full of pillow for his effort. He grinned at Ron and tossed the pillow back at the redhead. They had all congregated in the Gryffindor common room to relax, deciding to spend their first real night back together. Thankfully, the homework load was less on the first day, though people who had had Potions already had a hefty essay to complete.

"Prat, I'm not that bad," Ron complained. "Neville snores louder!"

"Yeah, but Neville learned the put up a silencing charm over his bed years ago," Dean joined in.

Harry needed to get away if he was going to get out the window unseen and away from the castle, as the other boys would soon be going to bed. He broke into the familiar camaraderie. "G'night, all! I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione waved distractedly from within her Transfiguration textbook, and everyone else gave varying goodbyes. Harry gave another yawn for effect before trudging up the stairs, tapping his robe pocket to be sure the Regression and Reversion potions were in place. It would be too dangerous for Harry Potter to risk being seen anywhere near Riddle Manor, not to mention that Harry would be damned if he would try to conduct a meeting while looking like a sixteen year old.

Arriving in his dorm, he quickly yanked the curtains around his bed shut and cast a locking spell over them. He didn't want anyone to find him absent, so it was better if they were suspicious of him locking his drapes. After changing his school robes for a heavy cloak, Harry pulled his old Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk and unlatched the window, shivering the smallest bit as the chilly night air wafted in. With a last glance around the room he hopped onto his broom and soared into the night, heading towards the edge of the anti-apparition wards.

Behind him, sleepy hazel eyes blinked rapidly at the window, wondering just where Harry was going that late at night.

Harry wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hands, willing away the stinging prickles that the Reversion potion had invoked. Reversion, while not nearly as painful as the Regression was, still hurt like a bitch. He stood slowly and shuddered, trying to clear his head of the echoes of the roaring pain; he was suddenly very glad that he didn't do this often. Adding to the pain was the extreme tightness of his clothing, now. He'd forgotten to take into account the size difference. He had gone from bigger to smaller last time, so this had not been an issue. Now Harry struggled to move and cursed the fact that he had worn one of the few pairs of pants that actually fit his sixteen year old body that day.

The shadows of the forest outside Hogsmeade gave him total privacy anyway, so Harry threw off his heavy cloak and stripped out of his clothing, glad to find that he hadn't ruined his trousers in the transformation. After emptying the pockets, he sighed and shrunk them along with his invisibility cloak, glasses, and his phoenix feather wand. Stuffing them into the cloak pockets, he was glad to at least have boxers on as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders and used a spell to hold the front shut.

Not wasting any time, Harry Apparated into the foyer of Riddle Manor, adjusting the cloak's hood over his head as he observed the few people that milled around the manor at night. Many glanced his way, but few paid him any mind. Harry started on his way to where he knew Voldemort was, ignoring any looks sent his way. He knew he was expected.

Sneering at Pettigrew, who was crouched down in a doze beside the door, he strolled into the office and smirked at Voldemort as he lowered his automatically brandished wand. Harry pushed back his hood as he flopped gracelessly into the seat across from the man's desk. "Do you ever leave this office?"

Voldemort scowled and waved his wand, setting a silencing barrier. "Hello to you too, Potter. Nice to see you. Yes, I had a fine day, tortured Wormtail into a blubbering mess and got some interesting information regarding the Ministry. How about you?"

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "Oh Tom, are you in a mood? I'm sorry I am not following decorum, but you must admit that you are in the exact position I left you in weeks ago."

Voldemort growled, running a spindly hand over his face. "Being a Dark Lord isn't all Death Eater meetings and torture sessions, you know. I have mission reports to read, expenditure charts, missives from allies… you should be helping me with this, Potter, since you are supposed to be a partner in this."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and grabbed a paper off the top of the stack to Voldemort's right. "Well, no one but your Death Eaters know who I am at the moment, so I can't do much to help."

"We're going to have to change that, you know."

"Ah, but how? I refuse to go on a killing spree just to get my name out. If there was a worthwhile raid planned, I could accompany you. That would surely get the message out."

"We'll figure it out." Voldemort propped his chin on laced fingers, suddenly looking drained.

"Have you been sleeping, Tom? Pardon, but you look more like shite than usual."

A scowl. "Thanks, Potter."

The joking smile faded, and Harry leaned forward in his seat. "Honestly Tom, what's wrong with you?"

"Showing concern for the Dark Lord? Honestly, Gryffindors."

"Oh shut up," Harry said seriously, bright eyes narrowing, "I don't know what's crawled up your arse, but knock it off. We don't know each other especially well yet, but I'm not blind. When something is wrong with you it affects me as well, as we will not be getting anything done with you acting like a prat."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a wry smirk. "I'm tired, Potter. Lucius was able to regain his job at the Ministry, but with considerably less influence. I've been planning for over a week straight on the best way to handle this situation, but I keep finding loopholes in my plans. Fudge needs to get out, but I don't want someone like Scrimgeour taking his place; a fanatic like him would be worse. I want to add more of my men into the system, but that raises the chance of someone catching on. I want to start recruiting those who are disillusioned within the Auror ranks, but one wrong person and more problems will arise."

Harry propped his elbows on the desk resting his chin on his hands with far-off eyes as he thought out loud. "Fudge is easily manipulated, leave him. You should add people, despite the risks, the more there are the better. And you can always stage another raid on Azkaban if a few of your men get caught. Don't bother with the Aurors, there are too few who would even consider dissent for it to be viable. You should set Lucius rebuilding his contacts, making new ones. Despite his loss of power, he is still a prominent wizard and now that his allegiances are suspected, those people who do want to know more would want to go to him, as a powerful and well-known pureblood."

Voldemort inclined his head. "They were rhetorical questions, Potter. I know very well the best course of action. But it seems the years have been good to your practical intelligence as well. Salazar knows you had little of it when you were a teenager."

"I was a child forced into a war with no training. Don't tell me you expected me to be some kind of prodigy as well?"

"No, but you held your own for a brat, I admit. Do you realize how much of a blow to my ego it was to be thwarted by a child a tenth of my age so many times?"

Harry couldn't help smirking. "Was ickle Voldie's self-esteem bruised?"

"Oh, shut up Potter. Now, I'm going to call Lucius in here to relay the plans; is that acceptable?"

"I thought they were rhetorical."

Voldemort scowled. "They were. But your points managed to sway me. Now, shall I call in Lucius?"

With a nod from Harry, Voldemort dissipated the silencing spell and barked out in a harsh tone, "Wormtail!"

A few moments of silence passed and Harry sneered pointedly. "The git was sleeping in the corner across from your door when I arrived, he probably still is."

Voldemort looked livid as he stormed to the door, flinging it open with a loud crash. Harry leaned around his armchair to watch the doubtlessly entertaining scene and enjoy the pain of one of the few people he could bring himself to hate. "Wormtail," Voldemort hissed menacingly at the now cowering man. "How dare you neglect your duties, impudent fool!"

Harry let a satisfied smirk cross his face as this was followed by a Cruciatus, the wails of the rotund traitor echoing through the office. Harry relished in the pain he knew was being inflicted in a way he had never relished in pain before, a warm rush shooting down his spine. He grinned as Voldemort delivered a swift kick to the rat's side once the curse was lifted, sending him scurrying off to find the Malfoy patriarch.

Voldemort turned in time to see the look on his face, smirking as he returned to his desk. "Enjoy that, did you?"

Harry shared a wicked grin with the Dark Lord. "Only with that bastard."

Harry had pondered the night before just how he could move past Voldemort having killed his parents yet still wish for Pettigrew's death for simply giving him the opportunity to. It had been a simple conclusion, really. Voldemort had never been their friend. Voldemort had always been a straightforward man; he liked you and you were in favor, he didn't and you were either dead or wished you were. Pettigrew had no spine and had betrayed people who had shown him nothing but kindness. Harry welcomed the nearly euphoric feeling that spread through him with the Peter's pain.

"In the meantime, is there anything you have to report from Hogwarts yet?"

"Just one thing. Dante, my martial arts and dueling instructor from Sceaduwe Citadel, ended up being asked by Valerian to come back in time as well, to watch over me or some such nonsense. However, this is advantageous in that he is the new Defense professor, and so even without confirming Snape's loyalties I have someone to cover for me."

Crimson eyes had widened just a bit, and Voldemort steepled his hands under his chin. "You're on a first name basis with the Marquis Valerian?"

"Don't act like he's something special if he happens to check up on me, Val's ego is big enough as it is."

"It would be… extremely advantageous if we could secure an alliance with him; do you realize the power he commands?"

"Of course I do, it is his blood that made me what I am, and I have been his closest confidant these last few years. I am sure Val wouldn't be opposed to helping out or giving support, though he won't be doing much himself. I can say this surely, as he was rarely gone from the Citadel in the years I stayed there. I would know," he said wryly.

Voldemort looked at him questioningly, but Harry merely smirked. The two shared a moment of strangely comfortable silence before Harry perked up, looking sheepish. "Hey Tom… this is going to sound strange, but do you have a pair of trousers I can borrow? You're taller than me, but I can make do."

Harry nearly laughed at the comical look that overtook Voldemort's face, an incredulous lift of his brow that left one of his eyes twitching. "And… why do you need trousers?"

"I forgot that I was going to grow five inches and a fair amount of muscle mass when I used the Reversion potion…" Harry illustrated this by yanking on the top of his cloak, exposing his bare collarbone and shoulder. "While my state of undress is hidden, it's rather uncomfortable sitting here in nothing but my undergarments and a cloak."

Voldemort snorted and swished his wand, and moments later a folded black pile came through the still open door, sailing toward the desk. "I hope these are… acceptable," Voldemort said with a leer that made Harry nervous.

It made sense when he actually looked at the bundle, and a chuckle escaped his lips as he stood. "You just want to see me in leather, don't you, Tom? I'm flattered."

The leer intensified. "You grew up well, can you blame me?"

Harry laughed and canceled the spell holding his cloak shut, letting it slide off his shoulders and pool at his feet. He didn't have to look towards the Dark Lord to know he was watching. " You were a looker in your school years. It's a pity, really, that you're all… icky. No offense meant, of course, but you have to know what I'm talking about. I tend to prefer my men with noses," Harry said offhandedly as he bent to push his feet into the dragonhide trousers.

"Things are not always as they seem," Voldemort murmured, and Harry glanced toward him over his shoulder as he pulled the pants up, a strange sensation traveling down his spine at the heated look he was receiving. He ignored the shiver and raised an eyebrow for clarification as he stood and faced him, but Voldemort was too distracted to answer, choosing to rake his eyes down Harry's half naked form. Harry couldn't fight the heating of his face, pink spreading over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones.

He had just managed to close the clasp of the pants, scowling at the way the legs continued past his feet and called attention to his height, when Lucius Malfoy swept into the room, making it halfway to the Dark Lord's desk before halting at the sight of 'Mylläkkä' standing topless in leather pants. Harry's sheepish blush vanished instantly, a smirk appearing on his face. "Now this one, on the other hand…" He heard a muffled snort from Voldemort and Harry's smirk turned lopsided. "Hullo there, Pretty, like what you see?" he purred, making Lucius stop his perusal and force a blank look.

Lucius ignored Harry completely, obviously still sore from their first meeting. Though the area around his mouth was tight with irritation, his face was blank as he swept into a bow before Voldemort. "You called for me, my lord?"

Voldemort's eyes were amused, but he remained serious. "You will be extending your contacts and feeling out your old ones within the Ministry. As Mylläkkä here pointed out, you are still an influential and well-known pureblood. Any dissenters in the ministry would go to you before any other."

Grey eyes cut over to Harry, whose smirk broadened enough to show a flash of fang. "In the coming months, plenty of things will be happening that will make people's faith waver. Though you were cleared, most everyone is aware that you really are a Death Eater now, and those who question the Light will see you as an obvious choice to speak to."

"Understood, my lords."

"Hmm... I think I like the sound that, Tom."

"You would."

"Oh, don't give me that, Mr. 'No-One-Can-Say-My-Name'."

Lucius had looked surprised when Harry had insulted Voldemort, but he looked petrified when the only response to his flippancy was a chuckle. "It isn't like that ever stopped you, brat."

"Of course not. I've never been all that scared of you, bar a few more extreme situations.".

"Well, unless you have other business with him, I'm going to send Lucius off now."

Harry pursed his lips in thought, shrugging. "Unless I'm allowed to toy with him some more, I guess he can go."

Lucius scowled. "I am going to make you regret accosting me. No one dares to toy-"

Voldemort, who had been fingering his wand, turned it on the Malfoy. "Crucio. You shouldn't disrespect your superiors, Lucius."

The blond dropped to his knees and whimpered, the spell still holding. His pride made him try to keep from screaming, but both Voldemort and Harry knew it wouldn't last. Lucius fell onto his back, arching off the ground and a bit of blood trickling from his mouth where he had bitten his lip, and Harry sauntered over with a smirk. One leg on either side of his body, Harry leaned down over Lucius, a finger tracing his jaw. "Come on, Lucius, let me hear you scream…"

Furious and pained grey eyes locked with Harry. He gave a smirk in return. "Come now, Pretty. If you scream for me, I'll have dear Tom release the spell."

Whether it was this promise or simply being unable to hold it any longer, scream he did. The blond arched violently, eyes rolling back and only making Harry's grin widen. He waved a hand at Voldemort, and the Dark wizard obliged him by cutting off the curse. Harry crouched over Lucius and watched the man's body twitch, one tanned hand still tracing over aristocratic features. "It's impressive that he can be so pretty even like this."

Harry stood and moved away before the blond could retaliate, grinning at Voldemort. The Dark Lord smirked. "You have a sadistic streak, I see."

"I think I'm noticing that."

Voldemort turned crimson eyes on Lucius. "You are dismissed."

The blond tried to regain his dignity as he rose on wobbling legs, bowing and leaving without another word. Harry finally picked up the cloak he had neglected and put it over his shoulders, not bothering this time to seal it. He noted with amusement that Voldemort's eyes often strayed to the exposed skin, and wasn't sure why exactly that made him feel so smug. He was used to being looked at this way; since he had 'grown up', he had gotten his fair share of attention. Perhaps it was that it was Voldemort, his childhood nemesis that was staring at him so hungrily.

Nonchalantly, Harry leaned forward and snatched the quill out of Voldemort's hand, using it to mark a few points on a report from a raid the week before. Voldemort's eyes blinked several times before a scowl settled over his face. "Brat, give that back."

"Your mind was away from you." Harry smirked, looking up through his lashes. "So I figured one of us should be working."

Voldemort huffed and conjured another quill, snatching a paper off the stack. "Insufferable. How am I going to survive this war working with you? Is that your plot? Kill me off by driving me nuts?"

Harry winked, "We'll see, Tom. We'll see."

Chapter Text

"Have you even wondered how your life would have turned out if you hadn't had to grow up in the orphanage?"

Voldemort stopped writing at the sudden question after over an hour of silence, slowly turning red eyes up to meet green. "What brought this on?"

A shrug. "I don't know, really. I was just thinking about how alike we are, and I wondered how different things might have been."

"Well, I can't answer that. 'What ifs' are a pointless endeavor."

Harry scowled. "Come on, Tom. Haven't you ever wondered how different you would have been?"

"When I was a teen and younger, yes. All the time. I'm turning seventy years old this year, Harry, I've expended all my 'what ifs' by now."

Harry gave him a wry smile. "You actually called me by my given name."

"So I did." Voldemort was looking away from him, and Harry could tell that was intentional. He moved on quickly, and Harry ignored the twinge of regret. "What did you mean by us being alike?"

"Our childhoods. How we reacted is the only real difference. Orphan. My aunt and uncle hated magic, kept my ancestry from me until my Hogwarts letter came. Not so much abusive as neglectful. I was their House Elf."

"I never meant for it to be that way. If you've ever noticed, there are very few orphans of the first war. If the parents were killed, the child usually was as well. After how I grew up, I didn't wish it even on the children of my enemies."

For a long moment, the two just looked at one another, until Harry finally smiled and nodded. "I am glad that is the case."

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but an abrupt knocking at the door called his attention. With a scowl, Voldemort waved his wand at the door. "What do you want?!"

The door opened hesitantly, revealing someone Harry hadn't expected to see. Draco Malfoy was obviously scared out of his mind to be faced with the Dark Lord, but he was doing an admirable job of hiding it. The blond's eyes flicked to Harry but didn't stay on him, obviously too scared to look away from Voldemort. "M-My lord, it is very important that I find my father… Mother said he had come here?"

Voldemort raised his brow. "You interrupted me to find your father?"

"It's important, my lord! I-It's about Potter!"

Voldemort's eyes flicked to Harry, who had turned to hide his grin from Draco. He shrugged at the Dark Lord and leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow at Draco. "You're Pretty's boy? He just left a few minutes ago. I'd be happy to go looking for him, though."

Voldemort scoffed. "I'm sure you would."

Draco's silvery eyes were wide and frightened still, and Harry could hear the younger man's heart beating from across the room. He had obviously not had many dealings with Voldemort in person, despite his bragging in school. Harry stood fluidly, cocking his head at the younger Malfoy. "Shall I take you with me, Little Pretty?"

Quickly forgetting his situation, just as Harry knew he would, Draco scowled. "Excuse me? Just who are you, anyway?"

Harry heard Voldemort's displeased hiss, and held out his hand toward him. "Don't worry about it, Tom, I can handle this one." He turned to Draco with a wide grin, immediately causing the blond to shrink away at the sight of his fangs. "I am Mylläkkä, Little Pretty, the new partner to your Lord Voldemort. It's nice to see your father's genes are strong. Don't you belong at Hogwarts, though?"

Draco scowled again at the 'nickname', but quickly answered. "I have my own private floo connection from my room in Hogwarts to my room in my manor. I'm the only one who can go through it, but it is useful. I used it because I need to find my father."

Harry turned and gave a sweeping bow to Voldemort. "My dear Tom, I'll see you next week around this time, alright?"

Voldemort glared. "I don't know why I allow you to call me that."

"Because I'm me, why else?" Harry grinned, mockingly blowing a kiss. "Wish me luck finding Pretty!"

"If he kills you for coming on to him, it's your own fault."

Harry snorted and swept from the room, cocking his head for Draco to follow. He delivered a kick to the again-dozing Wormtail, smiling brightly as he walked down the halls. "So, Little Pretty, what was so important for you to scare yourself silly in front of the Dark Lord?"

The blond was wary of him, Harry could tell, because he was far too meek when faced with Mylläkkä. "I'm half Veela, and I had a confrontation with Harry Potter day before yesterday. I need to see my father about why he… felt differently so that my father can inform our lord…" The blond trailed off and wrinkled his nose. "You feel the same, somewhat."

Harry suppressed a grin. Malfoy could be so naïve. He didn't mind that the blond might figure him out, he was a Slytherin and wouldn't use it against him until it was beneficial to him. And before that could happen, Harry would be sure to educate the young Malfoy heir as to just who he was dealing with. "Describe the feeling for me, then."

"I can't. It was just… like… an addition to his aura, his presence. Something that wasn't there on the train ride home at the beginning of summer. You have it too, but it's much stronger on you. It's like an interference, a separate entity…."

Harry debated several minutes on whether to make it easy on the blond or not before deciding not to; he was far too entertained watching the proud Malfoy flounder. He smirked over his shoulder. "Well, I'm sure Pretty is around here somewhere, so we'll be sure to find him."

Draco followed the elder man with an obvious reluctant trepidation.

Lucius was found easily, lording over lower Death Eaters and generally making an ass out of himself. This was the reason his interest in the elder Malfoy would stay purely physical. He hated people who thought too highly of themselves. Voldemort had reasons; he was the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, commanded followers across the British Isles and into Europe. Valerian had the right as well; he was considered the Lord of the Immortal realm and had been for centuries, garnering the respect of thousands in several races. Harry, himself, could even probably get away with it if he so chose; he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, and a formidable foe who commanded more power and knowledge than many adult wizards would ever hope to, and all at the age of twenty six.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was nothing. Yes, he was a moderately powerful wizard, had influence and 'pure' blood… but he hoisted himself on an imaginary platform, believing everyone else should be bowing to him, ignoring the fact that he regularly dirtied his knees before a half-blooded half-snake madman. Not that Harry was insulting Tom, of course, but the facts remained.

Harry sidled up to the oblivious blond, Draco trailing like a puppy. Harry grinned and pressed himself into Lucius's back, resting his chin on the older man's shoulder. "Hello again, Pretty. Miss me yet?"

He felt Lucius stiffen against him, and Harry reveled in the fact that all the lower Death Eaters were backing away in recognition of their new Lord. Harry was impressed that the Malfoy had already learned his lesson after his Crucio, though Harry didn't hold much hope that the lesson would be retained. For now, though…

A wicked grin spread across Harry's lips as he turned his head to Lucius's neck. Lips ghosted over the pale skin. "Is anything wrong, Lucius?"

"My lord," the blond ground out through clenched teeth. "I would appreciate some distance between us."

Harry let his nose press into the pale skin before him, tracing up along the blond's jugular. "And I would appreciate some respect, Pretty. You seem to be lacking."

Harry could feel Lucius's breathing hitch before he spoke. "I apologize for stepping out of line earlier, my lord. It was a foolish mistake and will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Harry murmured, no longer caring what Lucius had to say. The scent of the man's blood so close beneath the surface was fogging his thoughts, his senses captivated.

Harry flicked out his tongue to taste the alluring skin, letting it flit across the fluttering pulse point. He felt the man he was wrapped around stiffen and begin to pull away; he couldn't have that, now could he? With slitted eyes, Harry slammed the blond into a wall. He pinned Lucius's hands over his head and pressed himself into him, something like a purr coming from deep in his throat. "You smell lovely, Pretty… so tempting… so delicious…"

Whatever Lucius had been about to say was cut off as Harry scraped his fangs over the delicate skin of his neck, pulling an undignified, strangled noise from Lucius's throat.

Harry's purring grew as he trailed his tongue up Lucius's neck, moving along the jaw until he could brush them with Lucius's. "I want to taste you, Pretty."

And Harry always made sure to get what he wanted. The kiss was short but deep and lustful, and Harry was pleased when Lucius responded despite his usual protests. If he didn't have to make it back to Hogwarts or had it been earlier in the evening, he would have been happy to have his way with the blond. He tasted as wonderful as he smelt, and Harry's only thought was to have more of it. Arrogant, insufferable prick or not, Lucius was certainly an entertaining challenge. Harry would relish in the game.

His mouth ran down a strong jaw line and his fangs nicked the skin. He licked across the minuscule amount of blood that welled there and nearly swooned, a moan escaping his throat. "Pretty, you'll let me taste you, won't you?"

In Lucius's lust, he nodded, and Harry ran his hand from the man's chest up his neck, over his cheek, and twining roughly in long pale hair. He yanked the man's head to the side and sunk his teeth into the tempting neck without any protests, a low groan from Lucius his only response. Harry grinned as he drank, his head spinning. Seemed his Pretty liked the pain. He would surely have fun with this at a later date.

He pulled away after only a few swallows, not wanting to knock the blond out. He licked the wound several times and nuzzled the spot softly, a smile lighting his face as he met hazy gray eyes. "Thank you, Pretty. We'll finish this another time."

He left Lucius that way, and nearly laughed aloud as he saw the shell-shocked look on Draco's face. He grinned as he patted the Malfoy heir's head as he passed, winking at the vacant expression. The other Death Eaters had wisely left at some point during the interaction, and Harry hummed as he made his way down the hall to the entry. What a nice evening.

He Apparated away.

It was nearly dawn when Harry returned to Hogwarts, a grin remaining on his face. He was tired but far from exhausted, a lightness having overtaken him from his visit to the Dark Lord's base of operations.

It was foolish that Harry did not pay attention as he ran with his inhuman speed back towards the castle, believing his invisibility cloak was enough to keep him hidden.

Hazel eyes watched him arrive, a complex charm allowing the person to see through invisibility. A calculating glint overtook those eyes, a rare smirk crossing thin lips. Though the famed 'Golden Boy' had only been back in Hogwarts for a day, the person had known immediately that something was different. Changed. New. And the person was glad; the war had finally turned in the Dark's favor.

The person would let Potter have his secrecy, and the person would keep theirs. They had remained undetected for years, they didn't plan to start getting caught now.

Dumbledore wouldn't see this coming if it smacked him in the face.

Harry strolled into the Potions classroom with an unconcerned air, eyes darting quickly to all corners of the room as he catalogued the details of the room in one fell sweep. The room had changed little from his memory, though now he noted more than he had in his teens. Across the back wall was a long row of jars on a high shelf, obviously for display rather than use. Seeing what appeared to be a unicorn horn in one jar, he had to assume it was for the rarest or barely legal ingredients. The stone ceiling was low, lending a claustrophobic air to the already small, dank room. The tables were aligned perfectly straight and Harry suspected they were held into perfect position by a spell, because nothing human could produce such accuracy.

Most obvious to him now, though, was an unremarkable banner that lay strung over the blackboard, its coloring matching the dungeon walls and the writing only marginally darker. Harry took in the seemingly nonsensical symbols with surprise before taking his seat, knowing Snape would soon enter the room. He quickly pulled out a quill and parchment and copied them down to study them more intently; it wouldn't do for him to show excessive attention to something he wasn't meant to understand, after all.

Severus Snape swooped into the room moments later, and Harry placed a second parchment over the first. He would wait until they were set to work to continue; Snape was nothing if not habitual, and every year always started out the same. Lecture rife with insults, derision, and unreachable expectations followed by impossible-to-answer questions, ending with 'silent time' reading the first chapter of their books and writing a foot-long essay on what they would be accomplishing in Potions class that year. Every year it had been the same assignment, and he didn't know why only Hermione seemed to preempt it by writing it over the summer. He had managed to half of it on the train ride once he'd gotten his books.

Hermione's quill was already scratching away beside him, the scowl on her face telling him she was still not over Ron having given up on the class. Speaking with McGonagall had done no good as Ron himself was against remaining in the class. In fact, other than Hermione and Harry, only Dean Thomas had continued the class. Both Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had taken on a Teacher's Aide position under Sybil Trelawney, while Seamus Finnegan used the free block for a nap. It was probably rather fortuitous that after O.W.L.s classes became a combined affair; otherwise, it would have been the three of them against a nearly full class of Slytherins, as all but Crabbe and Goyle had continued.

Snape surveyed them with a distasteful moue. "I see that the completion of O.W.L.s has drastically cut out the more moronic of your number, though there are several of you I would still prefer to see gone." Snape didn't even try to hide who his eyes strayed to, a sneer lifting his lips as he gazed at Harry. "I assume, since you are not quite the loathsome parasites of society that your absent classmates are, that you will be able to keep up with the curriculum I have planned. If you fail to, you will be ejected from this class forcefully. Do we have an understanding?"

Harry laughed mentally at the looks on many of the students' faces; the two Hufflepuffs, in particular, looked shell-shocked. Snape was effective at intimidation, surely, even if Harry thought he failed miserably as a teacher.

"Now, who can tell me the basic properties of gurdyroot?"

Harry tuned out the question and answer session, waiting until Snape called on him. And he surely would. It would not be a start of year Potions class without his attempt at humiliating his least favorite student, after all.

It was a given, and so when Snape barked an acidic, "Potter!" in his direction, Harry wrapped the naïve persona he needed around him and set his face to a rebellious scowl instead of the derisive sneer he wished. Snape would learn, or Harry would kill him. And that was that.

He did wonder why Severus Snape had anything written in the language of Sonneillon in his classroom. His grasp on the dead demon languages was slippery at best, but some phrases were common enough to be remembered. He only recognized the first line, but the message summed the man up rather clearly.

'Vengeance comes to those who wait.'

"It wasn't Myrtle. I was young," Voldemort said slowly, quill grinding to a stop on the page. He didn't look up to meet Harry's eyes even as Harry stopped any pretense of work. "Very young the first time."

The week had passed with little excitement, and Harry found himself once again in Voldemort's office helping with paperwork. It wasn't exciting by any means, but he plied Voldemort with small talk to amuse himself. Usually, Voldemort didn't answer. Harry was secretly pleased that he had this time, even if it had taken him many long minutes to finally speak up. "Who was it?"

"A boy at the school I attended. He was never connected to me. It was before Dumbledore ever showed up at the orphanage, before I had even gotten a grasp on my powers. "

"What did he do?"

Voldemort's lipless mouth quirked, but there was no humor in the look. "Nothing horrible. He insulted my mother. I was under the impression at that age that my mother had been some beautiful queen who was forced to give me up. Beautiful, tragic… I saw her as a martyr. So when he said something defamatory… well, I didn't let it pass. I lost control. I don't even remember now what he said."

Harry sat back in his chair and pushed his hair behind one ear, then propped his head on his hand. "Did you ever regret it?"

"Never. Regret is for people unable to accept their own actions."

A sad smile curved Harry's lips. "It doesn't make us less prone to it."

"No… no, I suppose it doesn't, does it?"

Harry picked up the quill once more, shaking his head. "Death isn't something a child should have to deal with, no matter who is dealing it out."

"That, Potter, we can agree on. I think I might have hated myself if I had had a different life."

"If you would have had a different life, we wouldn't be here."

It was Harry this time that didn't want to meet the crimson eyes he could feel on him.

Voldemort sneered over the wreckage of his desk, half his mind cursing the demise of his carefully ordered paperwork while the other targeted the cause of the mess. "Potter, you are the most infuriating little shit I have ever had the displeasure of-"

"Shut the hell up, Tom," Harry snarled, wand still held out in front of him and bright eyes locked on crimson. "You started this by being a prat."

"And you decided to be the little Gryffindor fool you are, jumping into the situation without so much as a thought to the consequences?"

"I'd rather be a Gryffindor fool than a heartless Slytherin."

The slur was immature, and Voldemort felt supremely stupid that it managed to infuriate him. Potter's words should not matter in the slightest to him. But they did.

"We can't all be pure as you, Saint Potter."

Potter paused in mid-rant, eyes fluttering rapidly. "What?"

Voldemort gave a wry smirk, eyes shuttered. "You sound quite lovely from your moral highpoint, but how about opening your eyes to reality, Potter? Heartless is the way of the world. These feelings you think that you experience are nothing but delusions of the human race. We care when it benefits us, we feel anger when we are spited, we are sad when we do not get our way. Emotion is a self-serving thing, and I prefer just as well to feel nothing."

"Nothing?" Potter's wand had dropped, and his eyes were narrowed. "Who's fooling themselves now, Tom?"

Voldemort refused to answer, simply setting his desk to rights. It wasn't long before Potter joined him, but it was a long time before either spoke again.

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

Voldemort glared at him without even meeting his eyes, a feat if Harry ever saw one. "Gods, Potter. Do you pull these conversations from your backside?"

Harry waved a hand. "Shut up, your Royal Pratness. I'm just curious. When you were a child, what did you want to grow up to be?"

Voldemort's jaw was twitching spastically, and Harry wondered if he was about to be cursed. But Voldemort only sighed and laid down his quill, reclining in his chair and lacing spidery fingers behind his head, peering at the ceiling. "Honestly? I never had a dream like that. My furthest dream was escaping the hellhole of an orphanage. I hated people and didn't want to work with them. I hated using my intelligence to benefit those rotten excuses for humans. I hated the idea of doing anything but escaping to some far-off place where I could be alone."

"You had no goals? No silly dreams as a child? Come on, Tom, you're just as human as I am… well, vaguely speaking, of course."

Voldemort snorted. "If I did… well, I don't remember them now."

"That's… sad."

"Maybe it is, Potter."

"First year."

"What are you starting now, Potter?"

Harry ignored the drawl and tapped his chin with the eagle feather. "In first year you told me that I was very much like you. Did you really think so, or were you just trying to eliminate me as your enemy?"

A snort was accompanied by the scratching of Voldemort's own quill. "Lazy shit, you're just trying to get out of work again."

Harry gave a sheepish grin and turned back to his paper. "No answer, then?"

"Hmm." Voldemort signed with a flourish at the bottom of the page. "I think at the time I saw similarities, but I couldn't have predicted the truth of how alike we were."

"Except I'm better looking."

Harry couldn't hold back the smirk as he felt a glare leveled on him, humming under his breath. Voldemort huffed but didn't retort.

"Fate is a funny thing, hmm?"

"Fate is a security blanket for those too afraid to take charge of their lives."

"Perhaps…" Harry sighed and pushed his finger in a circle on the desktop. "But sometimes believing in fate is the only thing keeping us going."

"I think a person that survives solely on the trust of fate needs to reexamine their life."

Harry pushed down the urge to ask how he should begin.

Harry leaned back against the manor's gate, inhaling slowly through his nose and feeling rather than attempting to see anything in the darkness around him. September had come to a close and October was already halfway through, and Harry could feel the chill in the air. Eyes closed and face upturned, Harry let the raindrops filter over his skin and soak him to the bone, relaxing back against wrought iron.

"Potter, you barmy brat, what are you doing out here?"

Slowly, lethargically, eyelids fluttered open, and Harry trained eyes he knew would be exceptionally bright on Voldemort. "Feeling. It has been a long time since I experienced the rain."

"Where have you been?"

The question was casual, but Harry could practically feel the curiosity Voldemort was restraining. They had discussed many things in the last weeks, but the last ten years of Harry's life was not one of them. Harry had given a brief outline, but had stuck to his education rather than the people or circumstances around him. The rain dissolved an inch from Voldemort's skin or robes, and Harry wondered what spell he was using. "Does it matter?" he answered eventually. Eyes again slid shut as the rain picked up, and Harry let out a deep sigh as he arched up toward the rain.

"No, I don't suppose it does. But the rain is hardly exceptional."

Harry's head lolled to the side and he gave another smirk. "Exceptionality isn't the only thing that makes thing enjoyable. Sometimes the mundane can be endlessly exciting when you are deprived of it. But anyway, I think the rain is lovely. I always loved it."

Harry hadn't realized how close Voldemort had gotten until he heard the disbelieving scoff from his side, the creak of the gate as a body joined his. "Stupid child."

"Perhaps."

And the rain fell down.

"Harry? Why are you doing homework? C'mon, mate, let's go flying for a bit! First game of the season is in a month, we need to be ready, y'know?"

Harry ground his teeth as he ignored the redhead, continuing to write his Potions essay as if Ron wasn't there. He would be damned if he didn't get good grades this year; he was a grown man with knowledge that surpassed most of the other students (barring, perhaps, Hermione), and there was no way he was going to look like an idiot. He couldn't show the full extent of his knowledge, but he could at least present himself as a passably intelligent student.

"Harry, mate, what's with you lately? You've turned into Hermione!"

"Ronald! That's just rude! I'm glad Harry is taking his education seriously for once, I mean, you could learn from him! This year and next are the most important we will face, and I can't believe you are letting yourself get left behind…"

Harry tuned the conversation out with much exasperation. This was the same thing that had happened every day for the last week, and Harry was being slowly driven insane by his once best friends. He loved them, surely, but the utter childishness of the two of them put together was taking its toll. He had work to attend to anyway.

It was nearly Halloween now, the air colder and the weather harsher. Every week Harry had managed to get away undetected to meet with Tom, and their plans at the Ministry were coming along well. Hogwarts was another matter altogether. Harry was wary to risk his or Dante's positions to overthrow Dumbledore early; besides, he had hoped to have created the seeds of doubt before taking down the Light icon. It wouldn't do for the old man to go down as a martyr, after all.

Without a word, Harry closed his Potions book, cast a drying charm on the newly written ink, rolled up his assignment scroll, and walked away. Neither of the two arguing sixth years noticed.

With a long sigh, Harry pushed his hand through his short hair, annoyed at the flyaway spikes that perpetually stood on end, existing for the sole purpose of helping along Harry's dwindling sanity into nothingness. He needed a break from his fifteen year old persona, and he needed it now. His feet automatically set him on a path towards Dante's rooms. Technically, it could get the elder vampire fired that Harry knew the location of his rooms, but with all the rules Dumbledore bent for him, he couldn't see it being a problem if he was caught.

As if fate was once again attempting to be contrary for the sake of it, Harry's senses alerted him to another presence approaching. There was nowhere to hide in this stretch of hallway, and no time to go another direction. Harry cursed mentally and shoved his hands into his pockets.

It was no surprise to Harry, whom was used to the worst things happening by now, that it was Severus Snape who swooped into the dark hallway, piercing black eyes immediately homing in on Harry and a challenging smirk lighting his features. "Well, well, Potter. Whatever are you doing in this wing of the castle? I'm sure you know it is forbidden to students. Whatever shall we do?" he drawled sarcastically.

Harry had to try very hard not to roll his eyes. "Really, sir? I apologize; I had not been aware. I needed to get an assignment from Professor Pierce, so I thought I would try to find his rooms."

Severus sneered. "And you thought it would be alright to traipse around in the teacher's wing? For shame, Potter."

Harry very nearly punched the man simply for the thrill of it, but held himself back with tense muscles. "I apologize, sir, for unknowingly breaking the rules. I will go back to my common room now."

Surprise flickered over the Potion Master's features for a quick moment before thin lips pursed. "See that you do, Potter. Detention with me tonight after dinner."

Harry cursed mentally; his meeting with Voldemort was tonight. He decided that he would very much love to make the Dark Lord Crucio his professor, and decided to bring it up before the next Death Eater meeting. "Yes, sir," he ground out, brightening eyes flashing.

With that, Harry spun on his heel back in the direction he came, intent on waiting until the snarky professor was gone so he could get to Dante. A plan would have to be made; he couldn't risk his automatic Reversion happening while he was stuck with Snape. His weekly meetings with Voldemort had become his time to renew the potion's effects. He scowled darkly once he was out of Snape's sight, a million causes of seemingly accidental death running through his head. He could kill the git easily and get away with it, he knew… but he still believed Snape had his uses.

He waited for the Professor's footsteps to fade away before he dashed around the corner, no longer caring to hide his inhuman speed. He didn't want to risk another run in with a staff member. He skidded to a halt outside Dante's rooms and hissed out the Parseltongue override password; a simple //Open// at any non-portrait door did the trick.

Dante looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "What brings you here?"

Harry huffed and threw himself into a squashy chair, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor. "I needed to get the hell away from the immature fools I call my friends. Merlin, was I half this bad?"

Dante rolled feline blue eyes. "Of course you were. It comes with the territory of being sixteen."

"Hermione has turned seventeen already, and she's so mature for her age… but put her in a room with Ron and she reverts to a bloody first year."

"Of course they seem immature to you; you're a twenty-six year old man playing the part of a child. It may not seem to be that big of a gap, but think of the ten years you spent in Sceaduwe. You aren't the same boy you were last you saw them."

"I suppose not," Harry said disconsolately, picking at the hem of his robes. "I'm just getting restless, I guess. There is only so much gathering and planting of information I can do… I feel so damned useless. It will be months yet before our plans can be set into motion. I want out of this brat factory! I want to be going on raids more than once a month, and I want to be able to be myself in front of whomever I chose. This is getting ridiculous!"

Dante had been peering into his book during Harry's rant, and looked up after several long silent moments. "Oh, are you done whinging yet? I wasn't sure… you seemed so happy to continue."

Harry scowled.

"You're being a fool, Mylläkkä. How do you expect to handle immortality if you get this antsy after a month?"

"Nearly two months."

"Now you just sound like a child."

"It must be all the ones I'm surrounded with - present company included."

Per usual, the vampire didn't rise to the bait, the slight lift of one golden eyebrow the only acknowledgment Harry got.

"Whatever, Dante."

"If it would make you feel better, Mylläkkä, you should start feeling out those you wish to tell. It would not hurt to have more people on your side, aware of who you really are. Let a select few see past the Harry Potter they think they know."

"Ah, and then one runs to Dumbledore and I have to fight a duel on campus, all the teachers and students on his side, and wards preventing me from using most of my favorite curses."

"Again, you're being a petulant child. Stop acting like you actually are a student, and start acting like the Lord you are supposed to be. I refuse to deal with you when you're like this."

Harry ran his hands over his face, grimacing. "I apologize, Dante. The stress is getting to me."

"Close your eyes, relax, and try to think of people you think could handle the truth. I'll read until you've finished. It will clear your mind to think of something rational right now."

Harry gave a nod to the blond and smiled gratefully. "Alright, then."

Severus Snape prided himself on being an observant man.

No one got away with anything in his classroom that he didn't want them to, no students managed to slip past his guard. He noticed things others would ignore, and learned things from them that others could not fathom.

Hence how Severus knew that his favorite student had been correct. There was something wrong with Harry Potter.

Oh, the boy seemed the same. He laughed with his friends, mouthed off to authority, and brooded sullenly like any angst-filled teen. Weasley and Granger were never far from his side. But Severus Snape saw deeper.

He saw the shrewd looks that overtook Potter's previously oblivious features. He saw the annoyed, quickly covered glares shot at Potter's friends. He saw the dark expressions that would pass over the boy's countenance, and threatening smirks that often peeked through when the boy was lost in thought. His temper, which had always been quick, was now glacial rather than blazing.

Oh, Severus saw all of this. Which was why after his encounter with the boy, he had immediately gone to his rooms to retrieve a Dark artifact from the Prince line which concealed one's aura. He didn't want the vampire - Pierce, his name was - feeling him, after all. Severus's cold black eyes narrowed as he neared the rooms of the new Defense teacher; he was sure Potter had come back here, no matter if he had said he was leaving.

Perhaps the two were having an illicit affair? The thought made Severus need to stifle a grin. He could get the vampire and the brat out of the school in one blow! It was brilliant!

As he crept up to the door, the voices leaked out softly. The pair had forgotten a silencing charm, luckily for Severus.

"Damnit, Dante. I forgot to tell you… you wouldn't believe that git Snape! He gave me a detention tomorrow evening! Now what am I going to do?"

Severus snarled silently; the disrespect of that brat! The whiny little snot-nosed…

"Calm down. I will… convince the man otherwise."

A dark eyebrow rose; the vampire thought he would do anything to him? Pitiful.

"You'll do no such thing, Dante. I still don't know where his allegiances lie, and until I do you are to remain inconspicuous…" The boy coughed and Severus could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Well, as inconspicuous as you get."

Now a chill ran down Severus's spine. Why did the boy care of his allegiance?

"Brat."

"But you love me anyway."

Forgetting the apprehensive feeling, Severus's ears perked once more. So the two were lovers!

A snort. "Whatever you say, Mylläkkä. Have you been bothering that poor blond lately?"

A laugh. "Lucius? Ah, I miss Pretty… I've hardly had any time to entertain myself with him."

"He's twice your age."

"He is not! He's only in his forties!"

A sigh. "You are such a child."

"And you're an old man, Dante. Since when does age matter to Vampires, anyway?"

"It doesn't, but the blond is not a vampire."

"No, he's half Veela though. So is Little Pretty… I figure he's going to catch on soon. Tom and I have a bet going. Tom is sure it will take me coming out and saying it, but I think Little Pretty will get it by Christmas."

"And you are not worried?"

"Nah, not really. Tom and I talked it over, and it won't be detrimental for me to be found out but members of the Dark Sect… in fact, it might be for the best. After all, think of the morale boost it will be to find out that the Boy-Who-Lived is Voldie's partner! The only problem is the question of Snape's allegiance. If he's with us, he needs to learn some respect, and if he's against us… well, then I'll be happy to use him as a snack."

"Mylläkkä, if you fed from him, I would be blamed as the only known vampire."

"Ah… damn."

Severus was sure his heart had stopped. Had coherent thought been possible, he probably would have denied the revelations until his last breath. But in that striking moment of clarity, he could only cycle through the thoughts on an infinite loop.

Harry Potter was a vampire.

Harry Potter was Dark.

Harry Potter was the Dark Lord's partner Mylläkkä.

Chapter Text

Harry looked up from his half meditative state. "What am I going to do, Dante? This meeting with Tom is important; we have to put the finishing touches on our plan for Halloween."

Dante tapped his fingers against the hard cover of his book, face expressionless but eyes narrowed. "You need to discover his loyalties or kill him. Simple as that. If he is loyal, you tell him who you are and you go to your meeting… if he is not, then you kill him."

Harry sighed and crumpled in half, hitting his forehead on his knees, "I didn't want risks like this this early. I don't want any hints thrown out until at least Christmas. I can't afford to be found out, yet!"

"You need to discover his loyalties, Mylläkkä, it is not a matter of your wants. You cannot afford to have a traitor running around."

Harry sighed and tugged on his short hair roughly, yanking it while his eyes glossed over. "But how… "

Dante let out a huff of air. "Well, I hope your acting skills are up to par."

"Eh?"

Dante closed his eyes and waited for Harry to actually use his enhanced senses; he knew when the younger vampire had by the curses that left his lips.

"Where is his aura?!"

"He obviously underestimated me, thinking that merely masking his aura would keep me in the dark. However, he is wearing boots on stone, no matter how softly he walks it resonates."

Harry cursed again and met eyes with his instructor. "So we put on a show, then?"

Dante smirked. "Of course, Mylläkkä."

Harry waited until he could feel Snape's heartbeat just outside the room before beginning, mentally scowling at what he was being forced into. "Damnit, Dante. I forgot to tell you… you wouldn't believe that git Snape! He gave me a detention tomorrow evening… now what am I going to do?"

"Calm down. I will… convince the man otherwise." Dante let a small smirk drift across his face, and the implications nearly sent Harry chuckling.

Trying to retain his straight face, Harry sighed. "You'll do no such thing, Dante. I still don't know where his allegiances lie, and until I do you are to remain inconspicuous… " he coughed to cover his amusement. "Well, as inconspicuous as you get."

"Brat."

"But you love me anyway," Harry said with a sly grin, making Dante snort and roll his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Mylläkkä. Have you been bothering that poor blond lately?"

Harry laughed and closed his eyes, grinning widely. "Lucius? Ah, I miss Pretty… I've hardly had any time to entertain myself with him."

"He's twice your age," Dante deadpanned.

"He is not! He's only in his forties!" Harry waved his arms about, fully immersed in his role and ignoring the exasperated glare from Dante.

A sigh. "You are such a child."

Harry glared with really annoyance. "And you're an old man, Dante. Since when does age matter to Vampires, anyway?"

"It doesn't, but the blond is not a vampire."

"No, he's half Veela though. So is Little Pretty. I figure he's going to catch on soon. Tom and I have a bet going. Tom is sure it will take me coming out and saying it, but I think Little Pretty will get it by Christmas."

"And you are not worried?" Harry understood that Dante was trying to force him back on course and sighed, nodding to the blond.

"Nah, not really. Tom and I talked it over, and it won't be detrimental for me to be found out but members of the Dark Sect… in fact, it might be for the best. After all, think of the morale boost it will be to find out that the Boy-Who-Lived is Voldie's partner! The only problem is the question of Snape's allegiance. If he's with us, he needs to learn some respect, and if he's against us… well, then I'll be happy to use him as a snack."

Dante rolled his eyes more exaggeratedly than Harry had ever seen him, obviously exasperated at Harry's obvious 'acting'. "Mylläkkä, if you fed from him, I would be blamed as the only known vampire."

"Ah… damn."

They both glanced to the door when they heard Snape take a clumsy step backward, and Harry nodded to Dante. Harry should take care of this. He stalked to the door and flung it open, the smirk on his face unpleasant. "Well hello there Professor… fancy seeing you here."

Severus's black eyes were wide as Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and yanked him into the room, uncaring of any reaction the snarky man might have. Once the door was spelled shut behind them, Harry released Severus and strolled back to his chair, reclining slightly and peering at the man over his false glasses, "It's bad manners to eavesdrop, you know."

Snape's lip curled, a bit of himself shining through. "You little brat!"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he stood once more, stalking towards the snarling man. "I would consider showing some respect, Snape. You are in a very precarious position."

"And just what do you think you can do?" Severus snarled, refusing to take a step back from the short sixteen year old, despite the chill of apprehension that jolted down his spine at the look in Killing Curse eyes. "You arrogant little brat, do you think you're playing a game? Strutting around like you own the world… do you think the Dark is something you can play in?"

"Listen to me now," Harry hissed, the palpable fury in his eyes finally forcing his Potions professor back against the wall, black eyes wary. Harry had no patience for this man. "You're a presumptuous, sarcastic, greasy, bitter old berk. You've done nothing but try your damndest to make my life a living hell because my father, whom I might remind you I have never known, was an arrogant git. I realize this. However, despite your astounding intelligence and cunning, you seem unable to reconcile with the fact that I am not my father."

Harry pulled out his wand carelessly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger before harshly jabbing it forward under Snape's chin, feeling vindicated by the harsh intake of air. He kept the wand pushed painfully against the man's neck as he continued speaking, thrilled as he saw the telltale signs of discoloration already forming. "Despite my problems with your atrocious attitude Severus, I respect you and your sacrifices. Thusly, I have decided to extend a chance for you to live through this year. Trust me, I have no qualms whatsoever in killing you where you stand, and I know at least a dozen ways to do it that wouldn't be traceable. But I think you are an intelligent man. You've been forced to risk yourself spying for years under one master or another with little personal gain to yourself, dodging scrutiny from both sides. Now, I am giving you a choice."

He let the pressure of the wand lessen minutely, but the look in his eyes didn't falter. "You can either suck up your conceited pride, work with the son of your childhood enemy, and be free of spying at the end of the school year, or you can have your corpse found at the bottom of the Astronomy tower tomorrow morning. I know plenty of ways to kill you that would keep suspicion off myself and my associate here," he waved a hand in Dante's general direction, "so don't think the blocks on all the good curses will stop me."

Severus's snarl remained in place, but he knew a corner when he was backed into one. He would not live to see another day if he crossed this boy. He loathed the brat in front of him with every fiber of his being, his excuses about not knowing his father be damned. But he knew power when he saw it, and currently power was roiling around Harry Potter, almost tangible in the air around him. Severus had been playing both sides for as long as he could remember, walking the fence with a precision others could not dream of. He had perfectly skirted the edges of Dark and Light, ill-content to wind up on the losing side.

So he had bided his time, working intimately within the Light, directly under Dumbledore's ever-watching twinkling eyes. Dumbledore, for all his good intentions, played with them all like chess pieces. And Severus was his Dark Knight, black painted white painted black again, and deeply embroiled in the enemy's side. Dumbledore was visibly saddened to send Severus on the dangerous tasks he set, but Severus could always see that gleam enter the old man's eyes that spoke of 'Anything for the Greater Good.' His manipulations were so cloaked that few ever even knew he was controlling their every move.

The Dark Lord was a different matter altogether. He was cruel, cold, and conniving. If he didn't like something you did, you were in pain so deep that you wished for death. If you really managed to anger him, you knew no more than the bright green of Avada Kedavra. He was callous and cold, uncaring what problems he may bring you so long as it brought him his ends. Severus's two 'Masters' were alike in this way. But the Dark Lord took no care to hide what he was like. No one entered into his service expecting candy and sunshine. When one took the Dark Mark, they knew they were signing up for torture sessions and killing. But they also knew that the Dark Sect would bring about change in a world that so sorely needed it.

Severus had been Dark for as long as he could remember. He brought death upon others without batting an eyelash, traversed the shadows with ease. He had been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, after all; he craved power and could manipulate any situation to fit his needs, and was one of the most cunning people alive in the Wizarding world. How else would he have stayed alive this long without having any clear loyalties?

But here he was staring into bright green eyes, painfully familiar eyes, and he knew the war was lost for the Light. Dumbledore may have been the Light's icon, but Harry Potter was its weapon. He was the one everyone expected to end the war. And Severus had a sinking suspicion that this young man would be the one to end the war… but not for the side everyone expected him to. This Potter was ruthless and calculating and he had blood on his hands. Severus knew the look of a killer. There was still empathy in those eyes that were the perfect mirror of Lily Evans, but it was drown by the will to do anything to get what he wanted. Severus was sure of this. And so, Severus clenched his jaw.

"Fine, Potter. I have no will to die."

Harry smirked and let off the pressure of his wand a little more. "Remember what I said about respect, Severus? If you do not wish to die you are going to have to acknowledge me as your Lord. I don't give a damn when you think of me, but you will give me deference. Can you handle that?"

Black eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes," he managed to grind out.

"Good." Harry released his hold and pocketed his wand. "Now, you're going to let me out of detention, because I absolutely have to meet with Tom tonight. Halloween is in five days, you know."

Severus hid his clenched fists. "Fine."

"What was that, Severus?"

A hissing noise escaped between clenched teeth. "Yes, my lord."

"Ah, good."

Potter was far too smug, grin tilting his mouth. Severus wished he could cuff the boy upside his moronic Potter head.

"For now, I want you to keep your eyes open. I need to know what the students are talking about in regards to the war, in regards to me. I want to know the names of students who are questioning Dumbledore. I want to know if there are any beings seeing things they shouldn't about me. Can you handle this, Severus?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You can go now, then."

Severus took in a deep breath, nodding his head curtly before spinning on his heel and sweeping from the room, scowl deepened to frightening proportions. He could feel Potter grinning behind his back.

"Well, that went well, didn't it Dante?"

Dante's sigh was the last thing Severus heard, and it was pleasing to know that he wasn't the only one Potter drove to the brink of sanity.

Harry sashayed his way into Voldemort's office with a raised eyebrow, seeing the two masked Death Eaters that hurriedly bowed to him and ran out the door. "Terrorizing the minions again, Tom? Isn't that bad form?"

Voldemort didn't bother looking up from the paper he was hurriedly marking and scowled. "You're late, brat."

"Well excuse me, but your little minion Snape decided to eavesdrop on Dante and I. He knows now, by the way."

Crimson eyes shot up to meet verdant ones. "And?"

"He's a self-preserving little bugger; we have nothing to fear from him."

"Well, now that you're here I hope you're ready for a raid. This will be bloodier than the last one."

Harry eyes lit up with a grin. "Oh? Where are we going, the Ministry?"

A snort. "Hardly. We have not progressed nearly that far."

"I hope you aren't planning some muggle massacre again, Tom. We've discussed the disadvantages to it."

"Not a massacre, no, but we are going after some muggles."

Harry raised an eyebrow before the smug look on Voldemort's face made sense. "Oh you've got to be kidding me! Why in the hell are we doing that?"

Voldemort's smug look didn't dim. "Because it would be a perfect deterrent for Halloween. No one will look twice at Harry Potter being dismayed over his only living family's death, giving you more time to work out the kinks in the plan."

Harry sighed and ran his hand over his face, glaring at the older man. "And if I object?"

"Why would you? You told me the stories."

And Harry had. After the last Death Eater's meeting the two had spent several hours relaying some of the more memorable moments of their lives… from the good to the bad. Harry was unceasingly amazed by how comfortable he felt in his former nemesis's presence, even speaking of things he had never told a soul. Perhaps it was the true similarities they shared that erased all Harry's qualms of sharing his less than stellar childhood, the knowledge that of anyone he knew, the reptilian man would understand. Likewise, Voldemort had spared little thought to sharing his own experiences with Harry, from the first true friend he'd made to a severe beating he had received from some of the older boys in the orphanage when he was five. Harry had nearly been late back from that meeting, hardly arriving before dawn.

"Yes, and I don't give a damn if they live or die, but would you call off the raid if I asked you to?"

Solemnly, crimson eyes met with piercing green and held, the two just staring for long minutes. "No."

Harry stiffened and planted his hands on the Dark Lord's desk, his lip curving in a snarl. "And why not?"

"Because they are the type of muggle that deserves extermination, Potter," Voldemort hissed back, leaning closer to the fuming man. "And I will see them dead for treating a wizard that way."

Harry blinked several times before a sly smile crept over his lips. "Oh Tom… " he sung out.

Voldemort stiffened and looked away from the mischievous eyes. "What in the hell are you looking at me like that for, brat?"

"I know your secret!"

"You do not, you little twerp! Now get out of here and prepare for the raid!"

Harry ignored him and poked Voldemort in the side of his bald head. "You care, don't you? The big, bad, evil Dark Lord cares about Harry Potter!"

Voldemort snarled and shoved 13 ½ inches of yew into Harry's face. "Shut your damned mouth, Potter."

Unfazed, Harry grinned. "You care!"

"Cruor incondite!" Voldemort seethed out, Harry barely managing to fall into a dodging roll in time.

"You asshole, that nearly hit me!" Harry shouted, hands balling into fists. The spell would have rendered nearly all his consumed blood useless and forced him to have more immediately while contending with terrible, debilitating pain, whereas it would have killed someone fully human nearly instantly.

"That was the point."

Harry was used to this by now. Several times over the last two months they had argued heavily enough to end up dueling, usually when Harry continued prodding the reptilian man on subjects he preferred to ignore. The insinuation or outright accusation of having any feelings beyond the more base ones was something Voldemort did not take kindly to.

Harry shot back a Bone-Twisting hex that would have left the older man unable to walk for a few days had it hit, but Harry knew already of the surprising agility that Voldemort possessed. He merely slid his body fluidly to the left and fired a Severing Charm Harry's way, managing to graze the young Vampire's arm.

"Merlin, you can be such a prick!"

"And you are a child," Voldemort hissed, his voice automatically taking on the snake-like quality in his anger.

"My lords," a drawl came from the doorway, instantly perking Harry's attention. "We should be leaving soon."

Lucius stood in the doorway with a cool face; he had ended up interrupting these fights already three times, he was used to seeing the two bicker. Though he couldn't figure out why his lord put up with the sass of the vampire, he assumed there was more to the equation than he was aware of. The power that emanated from the twenty-something Vampire was shocking at times, clearly reminding Lucius that the annoyingly cheeky man who wouldn't stop coming onto him was, in fact, powerful enough to reconcile the Dark Lord to partnership.

"We will be right along, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, obviously still annoyed but visibly restraining his temper.

Harry cocked his head at Voldemort with a rare serious expression. "Why do you always have to fight over this crap, Tom? Is it really worth it?"

Voldemort ignored him and pulled off his black cloak, walking to a small wardrobe against the far wall and pulling out his customary blood red robes.

Harry sighed and shook his head, steeling back his shoulders and focusing instead on what was soon to come.

He was going to enjoy making the Dursley's scream.

Chapter Text

They appeared on the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive with little fuss, the small group unnoticed in the dark night on the suburban muggle street. Even as out of place as they were - Voldemort's snake-like face and crimson robes, Harry's glowing eyes and waist-length hair, Severus and Lucius's black cloaks and masks - they drew no attention on the moonless night.

Voldemort jerked his hand in a signal for the men to follow him down the block, heading down the street towards Number 4. Harry sighed internally at his friend's bad mood, sidling up to Severus. "You will be listening to me tonight, you know. I lead here."

The man glowered behind his mask, Harry could tell, but he said nothing but for a muttered affirmative and jerky nod. Harry wasn't in the mood to argue with him over this. Snape was only coming because Voldemort wanted him to be able to report the activities of the night back to the Order of the Phoenix. Harry was not pleased with this, but Voldemort's attitude was already foul that night, and Harry didn't want to have to deal with the reptilian man getting any worse.

"My lord, what of the wards?" Severus asked in a low tone, breaking Harry's reverie. The question, though, had been directed to Voldemort.

"The resurrection ritual imbued me with the boy's blood. The Blood Wards will not stop me."

"And the rest of us, my lord?" Lucius put in hesitantly. "Surely the vampire… "

Harry snorted in amusement. "Don't worry yourself about me, Pretty," he purred gliding closer to the blond and letting their sides brush together. "I'll be fine."

Lucius growled under his breath, his words coming out strained. "I was not worried about you, Lord Mylläkkä. I simply do not wish to be caught and carted off to Azkaban again because of the wards around the Potter brat's domicile alerting the Aurors."

Harry snickered quietly. "No worries, Pretty. You'll see." Harry turned away and waved his hand at Voldemort, signaling the house they were approaching as the right one. "Here we are."

The wizards cringed at the disgustingly muggle home, identical in nearly every way to those around it with its perfectly manicured lawn and hedges, flowers blooming along the walk even with the chilling season. Harry ignored their responses and made his way up to the door confidently, though pausing on the stoop. He really didn't know how they were going to go about this. "Eh, Tom? Are we going for stealth or what?"

Voldemort finally met his eyes, crimson calmed significantly from an hour prior. "Stealth. I wish to have plenty of time to play with the muggles."

Harry's eyes lit up. "I have to agree."

"Finally ready to stop being a sentimental brat, then?"

Ignoring the looks from the other two men, Harry glared. "That wasn't the point, Tom. I was angry because you refused to acknowledge my opinion in the matter and then proceeded to play your stupid little 'I'm a Dark Lord and therefore have no emotion - blah blah blah' game."

Voldemort smirked darkly. "Glad to see this outing will be fun for you."

"The tortured screams of the obtuse ringing in my ears? What better form of entertainment is there?"

"Well, I'm hard-pressed not to agree with you, really, but you're forgetting sex."

Harry merely chuckled, grinning slyly over his shoulder at the trio. He flicked his Blackthorn wand and the door eased open. "Shall we, friends?"

Harry again ignored the growls from both Death Eaters, walking casually into the house he had seen only months before. Nothing had changed whatsoever barring perhaps a few new pictures of Dudley's rotund visage, making Harry's gag reflex act up. How he hated these people.

"Good Merlin," Lucius drawled. "What a disgusting example of a muggle. Who is this whale?"

Harry snickered. "Dudley Dursley, age sixteen. Spoilt rotten brat and all around tyrant-in-training. Besides eating, his favorite hobbies include heckling girls in front of the grocery mart, beating up small children, and seeing how many followers he can amass with brainpower as low as his. Think of Goyle… except without a wand to back up his nonsense."

Gray eyes cut towards him. "How do you know?"

An amused smile was all the answer he got before Harry walked away, gliding through the living room to the stairs. Voldemort, who had followed closely behind suddenly froze in place, making Harry turn to him. The Dark Lord was staring furiously, a hand pointing forward. Harry followed his eyes and cringed. His cupboard. Harry nodded to the unspoken question.

"Surely you jest?" Voldemort hissed, crimson eyes nearly as bright as Harry's own.

"It wasn't so bad, you know. I was a small child to begin with, and the stairs are steep enough to create quite a bit of room. It could have been worse."

"Could have been worse?!" Voldemort spat, directing his anger on Harry and advancing, the other two men in the room totally forgotten. "These muggle filth locked a magical child into a small space with no light. They neglected a wizard without food for days, only allowing him freedom when they needed a House Elf. You dare to stand up for these pigs?!"

"Stop spouting off my damned life story as if I don't know, Tom. I am not standing up for them. I just know it could have been worse for me. I could have been sent to an orphanage like you, or left on the damned streets. They could have decided ignoring the little freak wasn't enough and that they needed to beat the magic out of me. My childhood might have been shit, but I damned well know it could've been worse."

Voldemort was seething, eyes narrowed to slits. Harry stepped closer, leaning forward until he was sure the pair's subordinates would not overhear him. "Don't get pissed at me again Tom, but I have to point out that for someone who denies giving a damn about the rest of humanity, you seem very upset."

Harry leaned away in case of retaliation, but was surprised when a skeletal hand just raised up and rubbed irritably over a bald head. "You're going to be the death of me, Potter."

"No no, Tom my dear, that's so last year."

Voldemort scoffed and cut his eyes toward the two Death Eaters. Severus's stance was unchanged, though his form was stiff as he took in the truths of Harry's upbringing and saw the painful similarities with his own childhood. Lucius, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped all mental functions beyond the connection of Mylläkkä being Potter.

Voldemort hissed to get their attention, breaking the moment and commanding their attention. "Go fetch the muggles down. I've already placed silencing spells around the premises."

Harry raised an eyebrow, casually twirling his wand between his fingers while he watched them bow and go to the stairs. No one would hear the Dursley's final moments save those in the house. Harry gave a shark-like grin, anticipation thrumming through his veins. For years he had imagined what his revenge would be like, and finally it was upon him. In his younger years he had pushed away the darker ideas of revenge, but he had always thought he would do something once he was of legal age. Perhaps turn them into the pig, horse, and walrus that they resembled? Or maybe a charm to make everything Dudley and Vernon ate taste, literally, like shit. That would have been entertaining.

But this… this was much better.

He heard the moment his relations awoke, Vernon's bellowing voice melding with Petunia's screeches. Dudley's whining, half-asleep complaints followed soon after. It was not long after that Lucius and Severus made their way back down the stairs, the three residents of the house bobbing along behind them like grotesque balloons.

Once Lucius and Severus had maneuvered them in, Harry signaled for them to be released from the spell in front of his old cupboard. They crumbled to the floor in a heap of moans and curses. "Hullo there."

Vernon was the fastest to recover, Petunia and Dudley shrinking back while the head of the household drew himself up in anger. "Freaks! What do you want here? We've got nothing to do with you lot while the filthy brat is away at your freak school!"

Voldemort growled under his breath and took control of the situation, striding forward with a menacing air. Voldemort was chilling in a cold temper, and Harry was temped to watch him more than the show his relatives were making. A slow cock of Voldemort's head was all it took to call attention to himself, and Petunia gurgled in fear. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Vernon had paled significantly at the sight of the snake-like man. "A-A f-freak, that's who!"

"No, Vernon!" Petunia choked out, shaking her head in denial. "Not him, h-he's the one… the one who…"

"Who will be the cause of your death?"

Petunia shook her head rapidly.

"Sorry, flower…" Voldemort gave a leering grin. "But denial will get you nowhere."

Dudley had been whimpering since he'd been let down. At Voldemort's words the unmistakable scent of urine filled the air, and the whimpering ceased tellingly.

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Oh Dudders, that's disgusting. The torture hasn't even started yet and you're already pissing yourself?"

"And who are you, freak?!" Vernon bellowed, unable to understand the situation he found himself in. "How dare you address my Dudley?"

"Oh, Uncle, don't you recognize me?"

Now all three of them had paled to an ugly bleached white, trying to melt into the wall at their backs without success. "Y-You!"

"M-M-Me?" Harry stuttered mockingly, baring his teeth at Vernon and relishing in the loss of blood to the fat man's face. "Why yes, it is. Come now, Vernon… you had to know I'd grow up one day and be back."

"You should have died as a child!" Petunia spat, her nature overwhelming her fear. Harry almost had to give her credit for tenacity, if nothing else. "You had no right living when my sister died. She might have deserved it for the crowd she took up with, but your filthy hide deserved it more!"

Harry felt his body temperature drop, amused smirk melting from his face and leaving a mask of impassive apathy in its place. "Deserved it, did she?" he said in a low voice. "I'd say that's the wrong answer, Auntie."

Petunia's skin was mottled red and white, her face twisted into something like fear, but more like resignation. She tilted her chin at him in defiance. Eyes he'd never noticed happened to be a dark shade of green and were narrowed in spite. "She was a stupid girl. Ran around with those freaks, thinking she was Queen of the World. She was nothing, she never did a damn thing to earn the praise she got. She-"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light seemed to envelope the room, colliding with Petunia's forehead and draining the life from her. Harry watched with cold eyes as she crumpled to the ground, murky green eyes staring. Dudley was keening now in a low voice, staring at the corpse of his mother as he rocked back and forth. Harry only curled his lip.

"P-Petunia! Boy! What did you do to her? You ungrateful little wretch! Your worthless, idiot parents wouldn't have done half the things we did for you! Now, you set her right this instant!"

Rage surged through him. He had thought he had let all this go years prior, he had thought he didn't care about retribution. But the anger boiled under his skin, clawing at his veins and fighting to tear through him. These people were supposed to be his family. They had looked at a toddler and seen a fiend. They had turned him into a servant, the perfect scapegoat for their beck and call. They had poisoned the mind of their weak-willed child, and turned a second innocent mind into a monster of their own creation. They believed they had the right to put him down? To insult his long-deceased mother?

Harry snarled as he raised his wand again toward Vernon, intent on ending this. No longer would their filthy mouths have the ability to put down their betters. Never again would he have to hear the mindless drivel pour from their mouths, infecting him with its mindless rot. He would put them down for the sake of the bloody world.

A hand on his shoulder made Harry pause, the first syllable of the Killing Curse on his lips. Voldemort pulled him away. //You're losing control. Go into the other room for a moment and cool down before you manage to kill them. I didn't come all the way out here for you to steal all the fun.//

Harry stared at Voldemort, eyes blazing and heart hammering in his chest. He felt the anger seep away as the moment ended. Crimson eyes stayed trained on him, head cocked to the side as he watched Harry take calming breaths. //Fine,// Harry said once he felt in control. //But I'm taking Lucius.//

/

//If it will help…// Voldemort smirked, and Harry was amused to feel the heart rates in the room pick up speed in terror.

Harry turned to Lucius and crooked a finger, signaling the masked blond to follow him out of the living room. When it looked as if the blond might protest, Harry merely leveled his wand on him and raised an eyebrow, challenging Lucius to defy him with his gaze. The blond obeyed after a long moment of silent glaring and trailed after him.

Severus wiped his palms on his Death Eater's robes, attempting to stave the trickle of blood he could still feel coming from self-inflicted wounds. His mind was drawn deeply into blankness, a habit borne of years of spying and deceit. It was the only way he could cope at times, and it served him well.

"Crucio!"

The scream that followed would have severely agitated Severus, had he not been so far within his mind. As it was, it produced a mild displeasure to break his apathy. The boy under the Dark Lord's wand writhed, pudgy fingers scrabbling at the hardwood floor in a desperate attempt to find purchase. But Severus knew he would not find it. When one was lost, they could never be found again.

The dead eyes of Petunia Evans were staring at him. He couldn't stop the occasional glance in her direction, even though every glance abraded his self control. He rubbed his hands again, his blood itching against his palms.

He remembered a gangly girl, pug-nosed with a permanent scowl. He remembered snotty remarks and knobby knees, the antithesis of appealing with her looks of disdain and screeching voice. As he looked down now at glassy eyes, he wondered as he had in the past just how this woman could possibly have been related to Lily. Beautiful Lily.

"She was nothing, she never did a damn thing to earn the praise she got."

Wrong. So wrong. Severus forced himself deeper into oblivion, unwilling to face such thoughts. Not here. Not with Potter nigh ten feet away with Lucius Malfoy, not with the Dark Lord practicing a Skin Peeling curse on the fat lump of a man Petunia Evans had married. Not ever, if he could help it. Seeing Lily's sister was like ripping open an old wound, even after the years that had passed. The words passing through her lips had been like poison, infecting Severus's mind.

He'd wanted to shout at her, remind her how much her sister had loved her. He'd wanted to kick her teeth in as she had spoken ill of Lily, make her choke on her own words.

But he'd done nothing. It wasn't his business, Lily wasn't his business. She hadn't been since he was fifteen years old, if she had ever been at all.

But the pain had dulled to nothing more than an ache over the years, his denial, his impotent rage smoothing out. Even with Potter's arrival as his student, it had merely kicked up old memories, soon to be settled and boxed away in the farthest reaches of his mind. He had mourned years ago, and though he would never - could never - repair the hole left by his loss, he could function just fine.

And he would again, once this night was done. He would file these moments away in the farthest reaches of his mind, only to be thought of if he needed to summon a consuming rage. There was no need for them otherwise. They were superfluous to his existence. So by morning, they would be gone.

If they weren't, he didn't know what he would destroy to make them go.

The dining room door had hardly swung shut before Harry had Lucius against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have you missed me these last weeks, Pretty? I've hardly had time to play with you…"

Lucius bucked outward, trying to wrench himself from Harry's grip. "Potter, get your filthy half-blood hands off of me!"

Harry hummed, pulling the blond's mask off and ignoring spiteful protests. "You didn't fight nearly as much when still you only thought of me as Mylläkkä, Lucius."

"And I feel infinitely dirty for ever allowing your hands on me in light of the revelation. Now let go this instant."

Harry did, stepping away with a calculating grin. His wand pushed into the taller man's chest, the smile not leaving his face. "Produxitur tormentus.(1)"

Harry felt he understood Lucius rather well at this point in time, two months of chance meetings fueling him. He was always mildly impressed by the blond's endless sense of pride that caused him to attempt to hold his reaction to the Cruciatus. Then again, be was also terribly amused that Lucius would actually prolong torture sessions in order to preserve his overinflated ego. This, however, was not about breaking the blond.

A sharp hiss left Lucius's lips, his head falling back against the wall as the curse coursed through him. The steady stream of mild pain caused his fists to clench and unclench, an expected reaction to the sensations. Harry watched the expressions that crossed Lucius's face with pleasure, relishing in the knowledge of what he was doing.

The Prolonged Agony curse had been created by a reclusive witch in the late 1200s, before the Unforgivable Curses and before many of the favored torture curses of the modern day. In comparison to Crucio it was seen as weak; it took many long minutes to build up to the Cruciatus's level of anguish and was discarded for this. However, when one's victim enjoyed pain… Harry licked his lips as Lucius shuddered and slid slowly down the wall. Produxitur tormentus was perfect for him.

Harry dropped down, his knees on either side of the glassy-eyed blond, his hands braced on the wall to either side of Lucius's head. "You don't want my hands on you, Pretty?" he cooed, lips grazing Lucius's ear. "Then whatever shall I do?"

Silvery gray eyes rolled back as the spell's staccato beat increased in tempo, back arching away from the wall. Harry backed away to avoid being pressed into with the movement.

Dipping his head, Harry let an elongated fang trace Lucius's jaw line. He moved at an excruciatingly slow pace, watching in fascination as the pale skin swelled and darkened in its wake. "There are many things that do not require hands, you know," he murmured, flicking out his tongue against the blond's earlobe. "What would you like, Lucius?"

A muffled noise between a whimper and a groan was his response, though Harry knew that Lucius would never admit that either sound could be produced by a Malfoy. He let his tongue drag teasingly down the pale throat, pausing to lave across the bobbing Adam's apple, continuing down towards a collarbone. The echoing screams of torture from the living room completed Harry's ecstasy and drove him forward.

Lucius shuddered and arched towards him, but again Harry backed away as he tried to press into him. "Tsk tsk, Pretty. None of that now. Or… have you forgotten that I am the one in control?" Harry asserted this point by pushing forward roughly with his mouth, letting his fangs sink into the tender flesh partway. Lucius groaned freely this time, and Harry grinned as his tongue slowly ran over the blood that surfaced. "I am your master, Pretty. You would do well to remember that. My identity is none of your business and never will be. You will obey me nonetheless."

Harry pulled away and Lucius whimpered, a gasp escaping him as the spell again increased in intensity. Harry watched with sadistic enjoyment as Lucius writhed as he struggled to maintain his composure, seeking to acclimate to the new intensity of pain. Harry chuckled under his breath. "Do you want something, Lucius?"

He let his body tilt toward the blond, close enough for their clothing to brush. His breath fanned across Lucius's lips as glazed eyes locked on his own. Harry was pleased with his subordinates rumpled appearance, feeling inordinately content with the number of pegs he was bringing the blond down. He could feel Lucius's muscles twinging rapidly as an effect of the spell, could smell blood where the blond was biting his tongue. It was times like this that he wished he could stand the Malfoy, because he was certainly addicting to his senses. Pale lips fell apart and Lucius began panting, lips moving silently in an effort to speak.

Harry flicked out his tongue to capture a fleck of blood from Lucius's lips. "What's that?"

"T-To… " Lucius moaned again, his head snapping back into the wall and cutting off whatever he had meant to say.

Harry let out a groan of his own and leaned forward, tracing the pale lips with his tongue teasingly. "What do you want me to do, Pretty?" he breathed out, pressing slightly closer to the sitting form he still straddled.

"T-Touch me now, you infuriating fool!" Lucius gripped Harry by the hair, pressing himself upward.

Harry couldn't resist the urge to grind back, hissing as their erections pressed together. He pulled away before he could lose himself in the delicious friction, forcing on a grin and trying to calm his breathing. "You didn't say please, Lucius."

"F-Fuck you, Potter!"

Harry allowed another slow grind. //Such a dirty mouth, Luciusss.// Harry drew out the last syllable of Lucius's name and watching as the lust in his eyes intensified. //There are much better things a dirty mouth like yours could be doing.//

Lucius moaned, eyes rolling back and the spasms of his muscles escalating. Harry knew he wasn't going to last much longer under the curse; even though the severity was dulled, Lucius had already been under it for ten minutes. Harry closed his eyes and gave up on the slow torture after a short consideration, realizing that he needed the release just as much.

"Scream for me, Pretty," Harry breathed out, rolling his hips tantalizingly again and again. He could feel climax approaching already, the drawn out torture stimulating his sadistic side and driving him nearly insane.

The increased agony coupled with the sexual stimuli broke the blond easily, and his head made a loud cracking noise against the wall and he threw it back, screaming out in mingled pain and pleasure. Harry pressed down frenziedly, quickly following as he watched the perfectly delectable sight of Lucius coming. Panting, Harry somehow managed to grab up his wand again, swishing it in a jerky motion and muttering the incantation to end the curse.

Harry stayed straddling the blond's hips, on his knees on the floor of 4 Privet Drive, a bit shocked at himself for having taken it that far. While he was far from innocent, he had only had three partners in his decade's tenure in Sceaduwe. One had been a breathtaking Nymph who had thoroughly ruined him for any woman ever again - she had been far too perfect and beautiful for another female to ever compare. She had also been the most vain and vapid bitch Harry had ever met, and that included both Cho Chang and Fleur Delacour. Then he and Valerian had taken up together, beginning a several year long off and on affair. The only other had been a one night stand with a Veela man after consuming too much Firewhiskey, and Harry couldn't honestly remember the man's name if his life was in danger.

But here he was, satiated and collapsed in the lap of Lucius Malfoy of all people. It had been meant only as a way to enjoy the blond's torment; it had been far too entertaining to work the blond into angry, pained, or pleasured fits. But Harry had not been able to stop when it had come down to it. He was glad of their current surroundings, for Harry was rather sure it would have degenerated even farther had there been any privacy. Though a bit shocked, Harry really couldn't say that he cared much. It would make for even more entertainment to see the blond be uncomfortable around him.

Harry leaned away from the still-dazed blond, smirking to himself at the effect he had on him. A whispered Tergeo and Harry was no longer so uncomfortable in his clothing, standing and chuckling down at the blond. "You'd better come back to yourself soon, Pretty, or we might leave you here in muggle suburbia."

This seemed to rouse Lucius somewhat, as his eyes met with Harry's and a scowl began overtaking his features. Harry laughed again and winked. "Well, I'm going to go have some fun with Tom and Severus, join us when you're presentable."

Leaving a slowly more aware and fuming Lucius, Harry strolled back into the living room, grinning as he looked at the broken, bloody forms of his cousin and uncle. They were alive, shown by the ragged rise and fall of their chests and the pained groans, but they were very much out of it.

Voldemort smirked at him. "Did you have fun, Potter?"

Harry grinned, "Why yes, Tom. Thank you ever-so for the suggestion."

"Lucius drowned out the screams of the muggles. What did you do to him? I'd rather you not do too much damage to my Death Eaters."

Harry chuckled. "Nothing he didn't enjoy, I assure you," he winked at Voldemort and laughed at the disgust Severus was radiating. "But enough about that. I don't even feel the need to play with these two now. What's done is done. There are better ways of gaining relief."

Voldemort snorted, and eyed Harry with a hungry look. "One of these days, Potter… "

"Get a nose, Riddle."

"You're such a vain little child."

"And you weren't at my age? Sorry if I'm picky… "

Voldemort chuckled, ignoring the way Severus was slowly backing away. "Of course. I was Tom bloody Riddle, for Merlin's sake. Vanity was my modus vivendi."

Harry grinned, feeling and odd warmth seeping into him. He was at Privet Drive, the source of near torturous years of slavery, childish nightmares and murdered dreams… but he wasn't bound to the Durselys' neglect anymore. He would never have to come back to this hellhole again. His grin faded to a genuine smile at the Dark Lord. "I didn't even realize that I needed it."

Voldemort didn't reply but for a nod, turning and firing off two Killing Curses at the unconscious Dursleys. Harry breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he relished his first moments of true freedom from his childhood, and only hoped that Voldemort understood the 'thank you' that Harry couldn't bring himself to give.

Chapter Text

Hermione sighed from behind her Arithmancy text, brown eyes flicking over Harry as he ate. He had been acting strangely since summer had ended - introverted and quiet, polite and calm almost beyond normalcy. She was confused in the changes to the boy she considered to be her best friend, closer to her than Ron, a brother in all but blood. The year before they had been concerned that he would lose his sanity with all the stress that the war was putting on him coupled with Sirius's death, but he had come back from his relative's house with soft smiles and bored expressions. It was like he was suddenly an adult in a way the rest of them could only dream of being.

She loved Harry as she loved her family, she always had. It wasn't his fame or his money that kept her by his side, it was simply that he was her first real friend. In primary school, she had been shunned for loving her books more than playing tag, for holding knowledge above the playground. No one wanted to be friends with the bushy-haired bookworm - it would have ruined their chances of making other friends. Not that she had minded, really.

When her Hogwarts letter had come, both she and her parents had thought it to be a hoax. After all, magic? Really, now. There was no basis in science for the ability to pull rabbits out of hats without slight of hand, no proof of any real miracles. Her family was pragmatic if nothing else, and magic just didn't fit in with logic.

But then Professor McGonagall had shown up on her doorstep, a properly intelligent woman who could prove the existence of magic. Hermione had been in awe of the sheer brilliance and poise the woman possessed, totally enamored with the explanations of magical theory she presented. So then, magic did exist… and Hermione would be able to perform it. Her mind had spun at the possibilities.

The beginning of her first year had dampened her fervor. Though she had been thrilled beyond expression at the quantity of new things to learn, books to read, and spells to memorize, she had noticed that Hogwarts was almost just like the other schools she had attended. Children laughed and pointed at her, mocking her enthusiasm for learning, poking fun at her pronounced teeth and frizzy hair. She had hoped that magical children might be more intelligent or at least aloof enough not to stoop down to a bully's level, and the realization that they were just like all the other children had saddened her terribly.

But then Harry had stormed into her life. He had never actively teased her like the others, no matter that he just sat back and let Ron say horrible things to her. And then he had run to her rescue that Halloween night, his small stature overshadowed but the sheer size of his courage and heart. Hermione had developed quite the crush on Harry that day. Ron had 'put up with her' because Harry had seemed to like her, and she couldn't have honestly called him her friend until the end of the year at the soonest.

Her little crush had quickly warmed into a secure friendship, and Hermione couldn't help but be devoted to Harry. He had given her the acceptance she had hardly even realized she had craved, shown her what it was like for someone to care for her for who she was. He had accepted her bossiness with bare complaints and never looked down on her for her devotion to learning and knowledge.

Now, as she snuck looks at her best friend over her textbook, her heart clenched to see the once vibrant boy half asleep over his breakfast with a brooding look on his face. He had exceptionally quiet all week, though Hermione had originally put it down to the approach of Halloween, she wasn't so sure now.

Harry was darker than before. She could see past the polite and smiling façade he put up for the rest of them, she could see behind the seemingly attentive gazes and reassuring smiles. She played along with his little act, letting him continue to hide… but she saw the looks that passed over his eyes at times, the way he tensed up involuntarily when people got too close to him. He had always been a bit touch-shy and skittish, and his maturity had always been higher than that of the others in their class… but it was different now. It was not a shy air he held, it was a cautious and violent one. And it scared her.

So she watched him, filing away all she learned in hopes of understanding this man who seemed to have taken her Harry's place, treading guardedly as she tried to put together the puzzle he had become. For while he was still obviously Harry and she still considered him to be her best friend, Hermione Jean Granger never let a puzzle go unsolved.

She watched as Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn, green eyes watering. She was worried at how exhausted he seemed lately. It reminded her too vividly of the year before when he was plagued by visions on a nightly basis, forced to watch the torture and death of countless people. She sometimes nearly hoped this was why he acted so strangely this year, though, because it would relieve many of her worries. She knew it was wrong to hope for something like that, but in comparison to some of the other things her overactive mind had worked up, it was preferable.

"Harry?" she ventured quietly, finally letting her book lower and meeting bespectacled eyes. "Are you alright? You look exhausted. Have… have you been getting visions again?" she asked in a whisper, gaze darting around to make sure they didn't have eavesdroppers. She needn't have worried, breakfast in the Great Hall was always a loud event, despite the lack of 'morning people'.

Harry smiled softly to her, a genuine smile that took a weight from her shoulders; smiles like that had become more and more rare. "No, I just haven't been sleeping well, is all. I've… been thinking of a lot of things."

"Sirius?"

She saw the way his smile suddenly became strained and her heart broke just a bit. "Among other things," he answered slowly, eyes shifting away from hers.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry? I mean… you've been so distant this term. I worry… "

Harry waved a hand, cutting her off. "I'm fine, Hermione, honestly. I'll get through this just like everything else. Besides, we have to be on guard, Halloween is this coming Tuesday."

The witch stiffened and began poking her breakfast a bit harder, her eyes turned away from Harry's. "So something will happen this year?" She hated thinking about it. She hated knowing that again something terrible would happen on that accursed day. Despite the fact that the first Halloween in Hogwarts had brought her acceptance, she didn't relish in a repeat… and every year just seemed to get worse.

"Something always happens on Halloween, Hermione," Ron cut in, rubbing his newly filled stomach with a content expression.

Hermione watched as Harry's eyes glazed over and sighed. Ron was right, of course, but he didn't have to be so callous about it.

She frowned at the redhead. "Ronald, that was uncalled for."

"Huh?" he asked with several rapid blinks. "It's true, innit?"

"Well… yes, but that was an awfully rude way of putting it," she glanced over at Harry's far-off eyes; he seemed to be entranced with his hands and didn't appear to hear a word they were saying. "Anyway, we'll deal with it when it comes."

Ron set his jaw, and narrowed his dark blue eyes. Hermione couldn't help the slight speeding of her pulse at the uncommonly serious look. "We should be planning for it instead of just waiting for whatever happens. What if it's worse this year?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "You're proposing we work?"

The redhead scoffed. "This is strategy, not work."

"How can we plan a strategy when we have no idea what form the attack will take?"

"Uhh… well… we'll figure out something? Yeah! We can think up things tonight… " he said, fidgeting and glancing away.

It was Hermione's turn to narrow her eyes. "Are you trying to get out of homework using Halloween as an excuse, Ronald?!"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get through this like we have every year, guys. We have DADA first, we should get to class," Harry said suddenly, getting to his feet and looking at them as he finally came back to reality.

"Oi, seriously, that Peirce is a real arse."

"Ronald! Don't disrespect your teachers! I swear, you get ruder and ruder every year… what has Professor Peirce ever done to you? He's an entirely fair teacher and is terribly intelligent… " Hermione jumped in immediately.

"I dunno, but he reminds me of a Malfoy. He's always all dreary and snooty, I hate bastards like that. And there's something off about him… "

Hermione sighed and glared at the boy as they exited the Great Hall. "You're being silly, Ron. Professor Peirce is a wonderful instructor, we should feel lucky to have such a competent teacher after last year's debacle… "

"Don't tell me you've got a crush on this Defense teacher too!" Ron stuttered out loudly causing blood to rush to Hermione's face.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

Harry laughed sincerely from where he walked in front of them, and Hermione tried to fight the smile that threatened to break her intimidating countenance. Perhaps this 'new' Harry wasn't so different after all.

Severus Snape watched as the Golden Trio exited the hall, black eyes narrowing at the casual gait of one Harry Potter, the bane of his existence. Severus was thankful that he was required to treat the Potter brat no differently while in school than he had before the shocking revelations. He could hardly hold his tongue at the occasional times when he was alone with Potter or at a meeting with the Dark Lord.

He hated knowing that the boy he had spent the better part of a decade loathing was now his superior. He hated seeing this child command such power and rank. And most of all, Severus Snape hated the minuscule amount of respect that was forming for this troublesome boy.

The night before had been enlightening if nothing else. Watching the people he had assumed to lavish the boy in attention spew out insults toward Wizarding kind had been shocking. The boy had left minutes after their deaths with a mandate to Lucius and himself that if a single soul got word of his identity that he would kill them both indiscriminately, seeming unharmed by the words his so-called relatives had spoken. The word 'freak' brought back memories of Severus's own magic-hating father doling out punishment on his mother simply for existing.

However, the boy was still Potter. Severus was not suddenly going to realize he had been wrong all these years and become the boy's friend. Severus scoffed at himself for the thought, nearly snickering aloud. Regardless of his home life, the boy still strolled around the castle like he owned it, ignoring all the rules and getting preferential treatment because of a task he had done at a year old without effort. It sickened Severus to see previously dignified wizards and witches tripping over themselves to answer his beck and call.

And yet, he did have a grudging respect for how Potter had turned out despite his upbringing. He looked at himself for an example and was amazed that the boy could still act so… normal after being raised that way. Severus himself had only become more and more withdrawn as the years went by, even after his own father was killed he had continued on the decline. He had refused to trust anyone, secluding himself away from people his own age and looking only to gain more power and prestige. Nothing else had mattered.

He remembered the bloody 'Marauders'. Black and Potter especially with their stupid pranks and low intelligence quotients. They hadn't cared about the world outside, never managed to let the fact that a war was beginning outside dampen their immature antics. Severus had always been their favorite victim simply because he was a Slytherin and withdrawn, not surrounded by others like most of the elitist purebloods. To this day Severus was sure Black had been the one to chose him out, seeing him as a perfect person to take out his rage against his own Dark family on.

The Dark Sect had been a release for Severus. He had joined simply for power, wanting more than a desk job in the Ministry could ever give. He was the youngest Potions Master since Salazar Slytherin himself - he wanted to do something that showed the world how great he was. Perhaps it would have been different had the Dark Lord's priorities not become obscured. Perhaps had he remained on his journey to change the Wizarding world Severus would have the esteem he craved.

However, somewhere in the late seventies the Dark Lord had become more interested in violently eradicating muggles than changing the Wizarding world. The Dark Sect as a whole began making this their priority, as if a handful of magic-users could really wipe out several billion non-magical humans around the world. It was an impossibility, especially with the way the muggles were advancing in technology. They would have been wiped out themselves.

But here he was once again becoming embroiled in the Dark Sect, all due to the influence of one horrid boy. Harry Potter commanded more power than even the Dark Lord or Dumbledore did, though he lacked greatly in the experience the two elder wizards had. But Severus shivered as he imagined what the boy would be able to do with time and training, and seriously wondered where Potter planned on taking them. Was his upbringing enough to send him crashing after the Dark Lord on his plan for world domination, or was Potter going to be the one to bring them back on track?

Severus didn't know, but he was sure of one thing.

The Light didn't have a chance.

Ron wasn't an idiot. Now, many would disagree with this, and perhaps he wasn't the most intelligent of people - his grades could attest to that. He was brash and headstrong, stubborn as a Hippogriff with a temper to rival one: a Gryffindor through and through. He was impatient and often surly, hated spending time outside of the classroom on work, and was much better suited to a professional career in Quidditch than in the Ministry like his father. However, no matter what anyone else might think, Ronald Weasley knew he was not an idiot.

Despite his hasty decisions and foolhardy personality, stratagem had always been a strong point for him. It had started with an affinity for chess in his younger years and quickly grown to everyday life. He could imagine every move on a battlefield as pieces to play, see the best steps to take to ensure victory. However, his own personality was often his worst enemy in these situations, as he tended to act before even allowing the possibilities to sink in.

The older he got, though, the more quickly the paths he could take opened to him. Nearly every situation now - from a conversation with Harry and Hermione, to a game of Quidditch, to the battle at the Department of Mysteries - showed him infinite steps he could take and where they would lead him. He still, of course, made wrong moves. Life was not chess and the possible moves were unlimited, therefore he was prone to missteps. However, he was quickly learning how to apply his uncanny abilities into life.

Feelings and emotions confused him, as they did most regular teenage males. He didn't understand why girls seemed to cry for no reason or what the expressions that flashed through people's eyes meant. He understood liking people well enough, whether it was platonic or more friendly than that, as he had many friends and there were several girls that he had trouble keeping his mind off of, his close friend Hermione being the foremost on that list. But he didn't have a clue why he felt things or why others did… and he really wasn't all that interested in finding out.

He understood the more base emotions well, though. He understood anger; after all, the bloody prat Malfoy pissed him off simply by existing on a daily basis. He understood fear; no he wasn't just referring to spiders, though who could honestly like the creepy little things? They were disgusting and hairy with their beady little eyes and gave him the chills just thinking of them… but he was getting off topic. He understood fear because he had been raised on fear. Fear of the different, fear of Voldemort, fear of the Dark side, fear of failure. Fear had been a fundamental part of him for years.

And he understood jealousy. Oh, how he understood jealousy. He had befriended Harry Potter on the train at Hogwarts because he was Harry bloody Potter, for Merlin's sake. Who wouldn't want to befriend him? To know your best friend was one of the most known figures in the Wizarding world? Ron had been in near ecstasy just by the thought of it. In the months and years to follow, though, he had second guessed his decision. It was hard living in Harry's shadow. Many times he had nearly wished that he had never even met the boy, that he could have had a chance to be great and not just known as 'Harry's friend'.

His feelings had culminated in the Triwizard tournament his fourth year. Again Harry Potter had gotten away with something no one else could, and again Ron had gotten left behind. It had infuriated him so much. It had been this that had led him to shun his friend and be an overall prat.

But then reality had washed over him.

Being Harry Potter was not as easy as it looked.

He had never thought that maybe fame wouldn't be fun. He had never even imagined that Harry wouldn't like the attention that he received, or that being the catalyst for everything would put a person into situations which could risk their lives. He had never even considered it to be a possibility.

But he knew now. If the Triwizard Tournament hadn't taught him that, the Department of Mysteries certainly had. Being a hero meant the expectations of the world on your shoulders, it meant risking your life in the name of people who would one minute laud your name and the next persecute you for doing exactly what they wished of you. Sufficient to say that Ron no longer wished he was Harry Potter.

But while Ron was not the most intelligent of people, nor the most observant… he did notice things others might miss because of his unique perspective. And it was because of this that he knew something big was coming. He didn't know what, but he could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the innate knowledge that something life changing was approaching. And Ron would be prepared. He would not allow others to have all the prestige this time, and he would not allow Harry to fight what was coming alone. Because Harry was his best friend, honestly, beyond the petty emotions of his younger years. Harry was his best friend and that was what mattered.

As they entered the Defense classroom, Ron was surprised to see Dumbledore at the head of the class beside their Professor. Harry halted in front of him and Hermione as shockingly untwinkling eyes met with them and Dumbledore nodded. "Harry my boy, I need you to come with me."

Somehow, Ron thought things were about to take a bad turn. But that didn't matter.

He would stay with Harry through thick or thin.

Well… he thought so, anyway.

Chapter Text

Harry followed Dumbledore through the halls with a blank expression, internally grumbling over his luck. He had hoped to get a chance for a nap before this conversation; he had hardly slept at all that week. Though with his vampiric attributes he needed less sleep, all living beings required some. His adrenaline had been pushed too high for him to find any rest the night before, and now he was paying for it. By the time he had felt like sleeping it had already been time to wake up and get ready for classes, but Harry had been hoping to use lunch and his free block for a nap. He would still probably be able to do so, but he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Dumbledore in this mood.

Dumbledore called out the name of some candy or another as they reached the gargoyle, and it moved aside for them to enter the spiral staircase. Dumbledore was oddly silent during this time, the ever-present twinkle in his eye suspiciously absent. Had Harry not been aware of the Dursleys' deaths, he might have been worried.

"Sit, Harry." Dumbledore sighed as he walked around his desk, sitting and propping his chin on age-marked hands. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Harry tensed himself. "What's happened? Did Voldemort do something? Is everyone alright? Halloween isn't for four more days, surely he hasn't made his move yet…" he asked quickly, pleased with how natural it sounded.

"There was a raid last night, and I'm afraid… "

"Was someone killed?! Tell me it wasn't Remus, sir, or one of the Weasleys! It wasn't an Order member, was it?"

Dumbledore sighed and steepled his fingers. "It was your family, my boy."

Harry's eyes widened, careful pushing down the indignant irritation that flashed through him. The old bastard dared to call them his family after all the things they'd put him through? Perhaps they were his relatives, as blood relation couldn't be negated, but they were not and had never been family. He hung his head to hide any sign of the flare of temper in his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself as he responded. "Ah. So the Dursleys are dead, then?"

Dumbledore's voice was a bit troubled. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Harry."

"Alright then." Harry nodded and tilted his head back to observe the ceiling.

"You do not seem very upset… "

Harry glanced at the old wizard, an eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry that I cannot find it in me to be upset that they're dead, sir. I will mourn the last of my blood, but I will not mourn the people they were. You know very well how they treated me, don't you, sir?"

The Headmaster's eyebrow twitched slightly, giving away his irritation. "I admit they might not have been the kindest, but surely it was nothing so bad? It turned out for best, after all. Just look how wonderfully you turned out, my boy. Had you been raised in the Wizarding world, you would have become spoilt and needy. You're a good, strong boy from your experiences."

Harry couldn't help a snort in response.

When Harry didn't bother responding in words, his eyes once again trained down, Dumbledore continued. "This poses several problems in regards to Voldemort."

Harry was glad his shaggy hair hid his expressions from the old wizard, because he couldn't fight off the incredulous look that was taking over his face. First Dumbledore calls them his family, then immediately jumps into how their deaths will effect the war? If he had given a damn about their deaths, he would have blown his lid!

"What would that be, Professor?" he asked in a tight voice.

"With your Aunt Petunia's death, the Blood Wards have been destroyed, and you will not be able to renew them for your last year. This creates a problem with where you will be staying this summer. I've been speaking to the other Professors about which you could stay with for the summer and be safe… "

"Excuse me sir, but why not Grimmauld Place? The Fidelius would be more than enough to keep me safe."

"No no, you don't need to be stuck with all the Order members running in and out. Terribly boring for a young man your age. I was thinking that perhaps going to Italy with Professor Sinistra would be nice for you, or with Professor Sprout to visit her family in Amsterdam. Lovely community, that."

Harry seethed despite the fact that his allegiances would be out by summer. "Wouldn't the summer months be better spent training, sir? There is a war going on… "

"Oh, don't you worry yourself about that, Harry. After all, you have the strongest weapon of all inside you already!"

Harry held back the barking laugh that wanted to escape, sliding a strained too-wide smile onto his face. "Well, of course, Professor. However, that 'power' is only likely to work against Voldemort himself, what about if I get into a situation against Death Eaters?"

"Oh, I have confidence in you, Harry my boy."

Harry was nearly shaking with tension, eyes firmly on his clenched fists. "May I go now, sir? This is a lot to take in."

"Oh yes. Before you go," the Headmaster paused to pull a letter from the top of a pile on his desk, leaning over to hand it to Harry. "Remus sent this along to you."

Harry's eyes widened and a ghost of a real smile crept over his lips. He took the letter and nodded jerkily. "Goodbye, Professor."

"I am sorry for your loss, my boy."

Harry made sure he was out of the office before the loud snort escaped.

Narrowed hazel eyes watched as Harry Potter left the Headmaster's, a derisive sneer overtaking his face as he jogged down the deserted hall. They had been watching carefully, and knew the young man was now deeply involved in Dark affairs, even if they had not been able to confirm it. After all, they were the Dark Lord's most precious spy, an asset to his cause. They had been placed within the maelstrom itself; Hogwarts far outranked the Ministry on the rank of where everything happened.

Unfortunately, this meant very limited communication with their Lord. Their job was to watch for anything dire and try to pull the legs out from under it, but keep hidden at all costs. Snape's purpose was information gathering and relay. This person's job was the subtle dismantling of the Light's goals and plans, the surreptitious seeds of doubt planted in even the most loyal of its followers.

But the boy was obviously just as involved in the Dark as they were. They could feel it in his aura, in the expressions Potter made. He reeked of tainted power, so strong that it was a wonder Dumbledore hadn't caught on. Then again, the old man tended to see what he wanted to see. He would never look to his perfect weapon and think it was getting away from him. Dumbledore believed he had an unflinching hold on the boy.

He was obviously wrong. One only had to look to see the truth.

The person watching over Potter smirked, adjusting their robes as they made to leave their hiding place. Soon the act could drop. A new day was dawning… they could taste it.

Harry was annoyed.

Scratch that, Harry was more than annoyed. Harry was downright incensed.

After his meeting with Dumbledore, a well-meaning but utterly aggravating Hermione had latched onto him, mothering him so badly with the news of his relatives' deaths that he had been unable to take a nap. Sure, he knew she was merely concerned in her own loving, overbearing fashion, but his temper was short enough.

Once he had finally managed to escape her stranglehold, he had been cornered by a blushing and stuttering Ginny Weasley, fresh off another breakup. He had honestly thought her over her little crush, and had thought her far past acting awkward in his presence, but apparently he had been wrong. She had tried to ask him to Hogsmeade, which he had declined… as gently as possible, of course. She had grown into a beautiful girl, but she was very young still and her immaturity alone would take her off his list of possibilities even if there were any reasons to consider her. However, there were none at all for him beyond that she was mildly attractive, and he honestly didn't know if he could date another woman ever again.

Then, to put the icing on the cake, he had had to deal with Ron's ranting about his sister fancying his best mate and how awkward it was, but how he wasn't sure if he should be angry or not that Harry rejected her. He had switched back and forth between sympathizing with Harry and outright cursing at him for making his little sister cry then back to rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Harry had gotten fed up with this quickly.

He could feel that he was at the end of his rope. His patience was sorely taxed by weeks of nothing but Blood Substitution potions and animal blood, too wary of wizards realizing there was a feeding vampire nearby. He didn't want any suspicion to fall on Dante, after all, but the lack of fresh human blood was tearing at the barriers that kept him sane. He would not be able to deal with this much longer.

He flew low to the ground, his Invisibility cloak snapping around his ankles painfully. However, the stinging kept him grounded in reality, holding on to the thin strip of sanity that he retained. If he was not careful, the bloodlust would take over. As it was, he knew that for the first time in months, he was not going to be able to stop as the heart rate slowed.

Harry didn't bother with the Reversion potion. The pain was likely to send him over the edge, and he couldn't afford a rampage through Hogsmeade. Perhaps some day, but not while he was still undercover. He hated feeding in his teenage form, his stunted height and unfit body giving him a disadvantage, and that was not even counting that he may be recognized.

Tonight didn't matter, though. Tonight his meal would not live to recount the attack.

He could hear hundreds of heartbeats, all the inhabitants of Hogsmeade unknowingly calling out to him. The rhythmic drumming surrounded his senses, calling him in every direction at once. There were those lost in sleep, the beats of their heart slow and steady. There were those running through the streets, blood flowing through their veins rapidly, their pulse fluttering alluringly. Men and women, the elderly and children, Harry closed his eyes and immersed himself in the simple pleasure of having his pick of the populace. No other vampire would dare feed from a place such as this, and most would not dare to go after a wizard. While magical blood fulfilled deeper, the risk of exposure was too great in a bigoted society. Muggles had to do.

Harry slunk through the shadows, staying hidden but uncaring if he was found out. He wanted power tonight, so the first to sense his presence would be given the privilege of dying by his hand. It was a very few who were so lucky, after all.

He was surprised when it was a child.

The young boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight, matted wiry hair hanging limply over his eyes. He sat huddled in the darkness against the back of a building, knees drawn up and face hidden in his arms. Harry's heart clenched as the child looked up foggily, a wan smile tilting his mouth. The look was tired and aggrieved and far far too old for a child so young.

The moon shone at Harry's back as the dark-skinned boy tilted his face, captured in Harry's shadow. "Ah. Are you my angel, then? Finally come to take me away?"

The boy was thinner than Harry could remember himself ever being, even, with wrists that looked brittle as glass in the silver sheen of moonlight. "Surely you do not wish to die."

A rasping laugh. "But I do, Angel. I've been punished with life enough."

Harry pursed his lips and tilted his head up. "I am no angel."

Dark eyes scanned over him slowly, and Harry felt vaguely unnerved. Harry tried to ignore the way the boy's voice seemed heavy in the air. "You glow under the moon, Angel; did you know? But then… you blend into it as well. Are you a spirit sent from the moon, then? A child of Mawu? You'll take me there, then, won't you?" (1)

Harry shivered. "Sorry, young one. I'm nothing so grand as that."

"I think you're lying," the eerie child said, his smile fading. "Release me, Angel. I want to be with Mother," he nodded his head.

Harry's body contracted at the sight he was met with, eyes slowly raking over the mangled flesh of… something. His sense of smell was no greater than a humans, and having smelt nothing he assumed the kill to be fresh.

He let his eyes shift back to the small figure against the wall, a golden sheen to his eyes apparent now that Harry was looking. In his haze of near-bloodlust, he had not deemed it necessary to read the auras around him. But now he did. The boy held no magic, a squib he supposed as he was in Hogsmeade. A werewolf then, likely off his first transformation, as the full moon was the night before. A child so young, already with a death under his belt. And of a loved one no less.

"Please Angel. I wish to go to the moon. Mother loved the moon."

Harry turned glowing verdant eyes on the pitiful young boy whose breathing was controlled and calm despite asking for death. Harry's expression never twitched. "Ah. Alright. Let's send you then."

Harry was nearly disgusted with himself at how easily he was able to kill now.

Two more deaths added to his ever-growing list in one night, one a not-so-innocent child. It would have made him ill to drink the blood of a werewolf, but he had sent the child off painlessly, lying him beside the corpse of his mother with a cleanly broken neck. Even if the child was young, it would have done no good to allow someone already given up to live on. The child wished for death, a child far too wise for his years, and Harry could have done nothing but grant it. He knew those eyes, the lost but determined air they held. So he had granted peace, peace he had wished for so many times in his own childhood. Peace he was never granted because of a prophecy that laid over his head.

He had drained the first person he'd seen after that, a nondescript witch who was wandering through the streets. He hadn't put a second thought to her death, pushing her into a wall with a hand over her mouth as his fangs sunk into her neck. It was not murder in the strictest sense, though a human would see it that way. Humans killed living beings for food every day, but they considered themselves the top of the food chain. It was for this reason that vampires were feared; they showed humans that they could be the prey just as easily as the cows or chickens they led to slaughter.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair as he walked slowly back up to the castle, calm enough now to walk rather than take his broom. The moonlight shone down on him, comforting as it always was. 'Mother loved the moon,' the child had said. Harry understood this. He loved it as well. No matter the stage in his life, he had always found an odd solace in the cold light, detached and distant. As a child he had wished to visit the moon, it had become his dream for escape. He had imagined a society there where he would be treated as any other, ignored but not neglected. He imagined his parents waiting for him there on the moon, just waiting for him to come to them.

Now in the moonlight he walked lazily, letting his other senses guide him as he closed his eyes. He basked in the pale light, letting it illuminate him, uncaring at the moment if he was seen on grounds long after curfew. He was still half a mile from the castle proper, he doubted he would be seen, and surely he would be recognized even if he was.

He skirted the western shore of the lake, regarding the glassy surface with his eyes. It looked solid with no discernible breeze to move its waters, and with the squid asleep there wasn't even a ripple. Like a solid plate of black glass stretching on to the cliffs in the distance, the faint lights of Hogwarts unable to reach its surface to reflect upon it. Even the moonlight seemed absorbed.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets to ward off the autumn chill, his breaths puffing out in faint clouds from his lips. His right fist encountered a paper, and green eyes widened behind false glasses. The letter from Remus.

The moonlight was enough for his sharp eyes to read the scrawled script, eyes darting across it and fists clenching tighter with every line. His heart hurt more with every sentence, but he could feel the truth in the werewolf's words.

Dear Harry,

Hello there, pup. I was glad to get your letter; I had thought that after June you would no longer want to talk to me. I appreciate the smile you were able to give me, fleeting though it was.

I'm not sure about much of your letter. You left many hints and ambiguous messages, and I fear that I am chary to attempt to decipher many them. The less I know, the less I will have to pass on.

I am sorry if this is not what you wished to hear, Harry, but there is little I can do. I know we hardly knew one another, but you brought a light into my life that I hadn't had for over a decade, and for that I thank you. Though it is selfish of me, I will always love to think of you and remember your father, and how proud he would have been to see what a man you are becoming. This, however, cannot change many things.

I cannot tell you where I am for safety, but I am doing work for the Old Crowd in a werewolf pack. They are kind here, I am amazed constantly by how misinterpreted being a werewolf is in society. I fell into the beliefs just as anyone else, but being here is opening my eyes. Not all werewolves need be bloodthirsty monsters like Greyback. I think I may learn more about myself on this assignment than I will learn for the Old Crowd, but I suppose that I am due for something for myself.

I do not blame you for Sirius, pup, just so you know. He wouldn't have wanted me nor you to mourn him, you know, and I refuse to let life end because he has gone. He is with James and Lily now, after all. I will be back with him someday, and your parents as well. But if I still have time here, I am in no rush.

Whatever you choose to do, Harry, they will not be disappointed in you, that I can promise. While they may not understand your choices, they would know that they were your own. Just as I must make my own. I will not pass on anything in the letter you sent, but please do not send another like it. Next time I will have no choice. Despite everything, all the changes I wish to make in my life, and that you are the only thing close to family that remains for this old wolf, I cannot change so much, Harry. I am old and nearing the end already.

Take care. Please. I beg this of you. No matter the outcome of your choices, I wish your safety.

With Love Always,

Moony

Harry closed his eyes and let the now crushed paper be caught in the wind, carrying it away from him. It hurt more than he had expected it to, and for the first time Harry considered what was to come for him. If he was so affected by the refusal of someone who he valued but hardly knew, how would it feel when Ron and Hermione looked to him with betrayal in their eyes? How much harder would it be to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield from all the people who had made his teenage years tolerable?

It wasn't that Remus had turned away. Remus was, at the core of it, nothing but a friend of Sirius whom he had looked up to. He had hardly ever spoken to him, and never had the chance to become attached. But he was an indicator of just how much the coming months would hurt him.

Harry looked up at the silent moon for long minutes, as if the answers he sought laid there.

They did not.

Chapter Text

"Harry… are you okay? You aren't eating so much as you're pushing your food around and around."

Harry looked up from the race he was currently conducting between his peas and a piece of meat from his pie, eyes meeting with Ginny Weasley's. Her comment called Ron and Hermione's attention as well, and Harry gave a silent sigh. "I'm fine, guys. Just a bit out of it today."

"You are looking a bit peaky, Harry." Hermione moved forward over the table, laying the back of his hand to Harry's forehead.

Harry shook his head and pushed her hand away, smiling slightly. "I'm fine! You all worry too much."

"We're your friends, Harry. It's our job." Ginny looked away with a blush, her teeth sunk into her lip. Harry had nearly forgotten her attempt of the night before, but now he grimaced internally as she peeked at him through her lashes.

"Yeah mate," Ron said through a mouthful of food. "S'not like we can help it. You haven't got the best record for telling us what's wrong."

Harry speared a bit of meat and ate it to stave off his response.

"Honestly, Harry. We worry about you…"

Harry was saved from responding when Ron waved his fork in Hermione's direction. "Don't nag him, it won't help. Mate, we need to do something about Quidditch. We had to let Kirke back on and put him as Chaser. He's terrible, and I think we should move Ginny over with Demzela and have you back as Seeker. I'm sure Katie won't fuss about it, she thinks we need you back too."

"Ronald! This is not the time for worrying about Quidditch! Can you not be serious just this once?"

"Quidditch is just as important as anything you can come up with, Hermione."

Harry pushed his plate away and stood with a rueful grin. "Guys, we've got to get to Charms. Are you with me?"

Harry tugged his hood further over his face, keeping it in shadow as he skirted a group of Death Eaters in the halls of Riddle Manor. After Harry's last class on the day before Halloween , he had immediately begged off from Ron and Hermione with a muttered excuse about seeing Madame Pomfrey for a headache potion. Instead, he had put on his cloak, unshrunk his broom, and once again made his way out of the Anti-Apparition wards. Not only did he wish to finalize the Halloween plans with Voldemort, but he also needed someone to talk to without reserve; he could think of no one else he could speak to as freely as he could with Voldemort. Valerian perhaps, but that was out for obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, leaving in the middle of the day meant that he had been unwilling to risk using the Reversion potion in the open. He would wait until he had gotten into Voldemort's office. He cringed internally as he imagined the repercussions of a Death Eater glimpsing the face under his hood. It would be chaos.

He was surprised that the Dark Lord was not at his usual position at his desk. He had been building a belief that Voldemort had been grafted to that chair, only released when his various dastardly schemes required him to move about. But instead of sitting in his desk, Harry found Voldemort sitting on the wide sill of the window behind it, a cigarette between his fingers. Harry gave an incredulous lift of his eyebrow to the back of Voldemort's head and glanced several times between the Dark Lord and the cigarette before stepping forward.

"Filthy habit that, Tom. Never pictured you to have such a dirty addiction."

Crimson eyes shot over to him, apparently having been caught off guard. Harry was nearly worried now. Voldemort was never caught off guard, and Voldemort did not make a habit of smoking muggle cancer sticks out the window like a rebellious teen. Harry narrowed his eyes as Voldemort sighed. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"Tom? What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Eight of my men were lost in a raid last night. Three of them dead. Bellatrix, the elder Nott, McNair, and both Lestrange brothers all captured. They were the strongest of my Inner Circle, bar Lucius."

Harry cringed, knowing what a blow to them this was. Their forces were limited, after all, and would continue to be until the next generation had graduated Hogwarts. Harry seated himself opposite Voldemort on the wide sill, propping up his foot and laying his arm across it casually. "Well, Halloween is Tuesday, so we can't do much at the moment, but if you think they can wait a week or so, we can go after them then."

"They might be Kissed by then." Voldemort paused in his line of thought, seeming to truly look at him for the first time as Harry let his head fall back, exposing his face from the shadows of his hood. "Why in Salazar's name do you look like that?"

Harry blinked in confusion a few times before groaning and fishing his potion from his pocket. "It's early and I didn't want to risk getting seen or heard while Reverting. I have issues limiting the range of silencing wards and such spells in an open area, so I can't hide in the daytime."

"You need more training. And you don't have to bother with the potion if you don't feel the need to use it… though it is rather bizarre seeing you like that."

Harry grimaced. "I prefer to be in my real body as much as possible, thank you very much; I hate these months of feeling weak… and short… "

Voldemort snorted as Harry put the dropper to his tongue and let a single drop of the fluorescent orange potion fall onto it, capping the vial quickly to prevent it from spilling as the pain hit. He had taken to wearing clothing that would fit his altered form under his robes on days when he would be visiting Voldemort's base of operations, and therefore simply braced himself for the pain.

He refused to scream in front of Voldemort. Categorically refused. Despite the fact that they were no longer enemies, Harry would not show such weakness in front of the most powerful wizard alive. He gritted his teeth as his bones elongated, muscles and tendons following. He stifled a keening whimper that crawled from his throat without his consent, curling slightly in on himself as the pain began to subside, a heaving breath leaving his throat. The frequent transformations had begun taking their toll on his body, making the transformations more and more painful. He looked forward to Christmas when he would be able to spend two weeks in his natural state. It would help him to continue.

Breathing deeply, Harry opened eyes he hadn't been aware had clenched shut to find his vision full of black fabric. As his brain caught up with him, he had to force down a blush as he jerked away from Voldemort's chest where he had fallen in the midst of his transformation. "Eh, sorry Tom."

Voldemort rolled crimson eyes but nodded, settling back against the windowsill despite his cigarette being long finished. It was strangely comfortable to sit in the autumn sun, feeling the breeze. He was watching Harry from the corner of his eye as Harry pulled off his now tight Hogwarts robe and pushed himself back onto the wide ledge, fingers unconsciously playing with a segment of impossibly long black strands.

Harry didn't notice when Voldemort raised his brow at the nervous gesture, perturbed by the uncommon weaknesses that Harry was displaying. Usually Harry managed to make everyone forget his relatively young age, a mask of cheeky sarcasm and teasing wit concealing that the young man had never really had a normal stage of his life. He went from a childhood in which he was treated like a servant instead of a child, to an adolescence where he was treated as a weapon instead of a youth, finally ending up to a coming of age in which he spent all of his time being trained by immortals who had relatively no understanding of human emotion.

"Is… something the matter?" Voldemort asked with halted speech, being rather inept at emotions himself, though his predicament was mostly by choice.

Green eyes shot up to him and a grimace crossed Harry's features. "What makes you ask?"

"I think if nothing were wrong you would not be braiding tiny sections of your hair. Unless, of course, you've suddenly decided to add that to your style. Add some little barrettes I'm sure all the primary school girls will be flocking to our troops."

Harry immediately shoved his hands into his lap. "Hah bloody hah. You're hilarious, Tom, honestly. Have you considered being a stand-up?"

"Ah yes, it was my second career choice you know. I always knew if I didn't make it in ruling the world, I could fall back on my fabulous comedic talent."

"I see, and here I thought you would survive off your dashing good looks."

Voldemort laughed, not the high-pitched cackle he was known for, but a lower ranged chuckle that made crimson eyes dance. "You so enjoy poking fun at me, don't you Potter?"

Harry frowned. "How many times must I tell you to call me Harry, Tom?"

Noticing the change in mood, Voldemort cut off any other witty comebacks. "Quite a few more times, I suppose. It seems too personal to call you by your given name. Our history demands distance."

Harry shoved a hand through his long hair cutting his eyes to the window. "It has been ten years since we fought, for me. Ten years in which I gained perspective on the past and politics, and since I was given the ability to take control of my own life. I admit that I disliked the idea of allying myself with you, but I thought in the last months we had gained something of a friendship, Tom. Surely you can at least call me by my first name."

"It may have been ten years for you, but it has been less than six months for me. I spent over a decade plotting your demise, it's difficult to assimilate myself to working side by side with you instead. It is getting easier, but you have to give some margin for error, here. And I do not have friends, Potter, I have minions and allies. In the current state of things, a Dark Lord cannot afford something like friendship."

"That's bollocks, Tom, and you know it! Fine, I get that you are finding it hard to see me as anything but your next Avada Kedavra, but don't you dare tell me you cannot have a friend. Do you sit down with all your minions and allies and talk about your childhoods? No. You don't. I know this because almost no one even knows of your true heritage, let alone that you grew up in a muggle orphanage. Allies don't do that. Friends do."

Voldemort glowered, lipless mouth pursing tightly. "What do you want from me, Potter?"

"I… " Harry trailed off, brow furrowing. "I don't know, Tom. Just… stop treating me like one of your damned Death Eaters."

"If I was treating you as a Death Eater, you would be held under the Cruciatus every ten minutes for your cheek. I treat you nothing like that."

"Yet you still manage to refer to many of them by their first names."

Voldemort stopped and glanced away, knowing the younger man had him there. But he honestly couldn't bring himself to acknowledge this… friendship that had been building steadily in the months since Potter's tornado-like entrance into his manor. His life had been overturned with the presence of the young man, totally wrecking havoc on his long ignored emotions, his patience, and his libido. He didn't know how long he could continue to remain aloof from the man across from him, but he would be damned if he would give in so easily.

"Given time, I am sure I can do the same for you, Potter, but for now… this will have to do."

Harry sighed and nodded jerkily, obviously still annoyed but acquiescing for the moment. His lips thinned to a line as he once again turned his gaze out the window, staring up to the clouds with a pensive expression. The pair stayed in silence for long minutes, Harry enjoying the quiet. Even before his ten year hiatus from Hogwarts the constant presence of others had been overwhelming much of the time. He had, after all, spent his entire life before Hogwarts being ignored ninety percent of the time; even in the presence of his friends Harry had always found it difficult not to feel stifled. He supposed it was conditioning that made him so craving of the silence.

Voldemort finally broke the reprieve after many long minutes of watching the sky, tilting his head towards Harry and giving in to his curiosity. "You never answered. What has you so preoccupied today?"

Harry motioned with a hand for one of the cigarettes Voldemort had pulled out, deciding that if it worked to relax Voldemort of all people, then it had a chance of helping him a bit. "The reality of my choices are catching up with me, I think. Sceaduwe was like another world… well, it was another world, but I mean it was like this one didn't exist." Harry cursed his fumbling conversation skills. "My decisions are my own, and I would never feel right trying to mold myself to the Wizarding world's expectations, but I can't help but look at the people I am losing."

"Did something happen?"

Harry snorted and made a face at the cigarette, disliking the taste and sensation. "I received my reply letter from Remus the other day."

"Who is he?"

"The last of my father's friends, Remus Lupin. The werewolf." At Voldemort's nod he continued, "I sent him a letter at the end of summer, hinting towards my situation and allegiances. I had hoped that since I was the last link to my parents for him as he is for me, that he might follow me. I was wrong."

"I wasn't under the impression that you two were close."

"…We weren't, I suppose. He is a brilliant man; I learned a lot from him when he taught Defense in my third year. But I never knew the whole truth until he was leaving, and he did so much Order business that I hardly ever got to speak to him after. But from Sirius, I learned a lot about him, and the few times we managed to spend time together I found him a wonderful companion."

Voldemort tipped his head back to rest against the lacquered wood, eyes closed. "I don't understand family, so I can't be of much use to you on this. I have never had anything resembling affection or friendship, so I can't hope to understand why this upsets you enough to drop your guard. But from what I have witnessed in others, the least expected things tend to happen. You may act more like a Slytherin now than you used to, but you're still very much a Gryffindor, Potter. Let your famous stubbornness lead you."

Harry chuckled weakly, snuffing out the cigarette and deciding they really didn't work to relax him and tasted foul to boot. On the other hand, Voldemort himself seemed to do the job just fine with his emotionally-stunted ruminations, helping Harry to realize that he wasn't the only one with little understanding of pleasant emotions.

He felt rather silly for acting so out of character and unsure, but his heart lightened as he watched Voldemort turn away after imparting his advice, scowling at himself. Harry didn't understand this connection they had, the ease he felt in the presence of the older man, but he knew he wouldn't take advantage of it. He appreciated the bond they had forged too much to.

Harry smiled. "That was surprisingly comforting, Tom. You're getting better at this."

A snort. "Shows what you know."

Harry shook his head rapidly, attempting to clear it of his bleak thoughts. "Enough of this dreary nonsense, let's talk about the bloodshed on Halloween!"

"And that isn't dreary?"

"Not when you're me, it's not."

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Touché. Morbid brat."

"Look who's talking."

Voldemort only looking skyward in exasperation.

Harry smirked and shrugged before getting down to business. "So, how are we going to get you into Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to. I think you can handle it well enough, and it will serve as a true exposure of the new Dark Lord Mylläkkä if you manage Hogwarts on your own. At the same time, I will go to Azkaban and pull out those who were captured. It will be a two-sided attack and will leave the Ministry scrambling."

Harry smirked. "Well, I suppose I can handle it on my own. Makes things easier, hmm?"

Voldemort cackled and grinned, exposing his teeth. "The Wizarding world is in for a surprise if they think that a decade as a spirit made me any less lethal."

Harry grinned back.

Harry awoke on Halloween morning with a heavy weight on his chest, putting him immediately on guard. He had arrived back by the end of dinner the night before, thankfully, and had passed off his absence as a long walk around the lake. Hermione had been narrow-eyed at this, but everyone else seemed to take it at face value. He had gone to sleep in order to be well rested for the festivities of the evening, knowing this was an important night.

Harry called up his magic; though he couldn't control his magic wandlessly, he had an affinity for using it as a brute force. It was something of a one-time thing, but it was handy for knocking away opposition as a last option. He snapped open his eyes and prepared to blast whatever laid upon him away, when he got a glimpse of the source of the weight. He sighed and let his magic settle, glaring at the glowing yellow eyes that looked on from a few inches away.

A quick silencing spell later and Harry was attempting to sit up under the weight, glaring all the while. //What in the hell are you doing here, Nagini? Not that I'm not always pleased to see you, but as I just saw Tom last night, he can't possibly miss me already.//

The snake flicked her tongue at him in a huffy manner. //Master wished me to be your accomplice tonight, brat.//

//How were you able to enter the grounds?//

//I am a creature, why wouldn't I be able to? The Ill-will wards do not effect non-humanoid beings. After all, our natural instincts have to do with harm, so they cannot keep us away that way, or else the centaurs and other beasties in the forest would not be there.//

Harry stared at her incredulously. //Then why did you never sneak in and kill me? It would have been easy.//

//Master is vainglorious, he would not allow any but himself to kill you.//

//Makes sense.// Harry could practically hear Voldemort complaining in Nagini's mind.

//In any case, Master has sent me to be of assistance to you.//

//I'm not sure how much good you can be, Nagini. I think I have it figured out.//

//I can provide watch for you, so you are not surprised as you carry out your plans.//

Harry had to admit that it would be helpful, as Dante would be teaching a class when he carried out his plan. //Alright then. You will have to wait for me here, because there is no way I will risk having you follow me through my classes.//

//I'm not a hatchling, brat, I could figure that out on my own. But leave warming charms. And a nice mouse or six. I'm hungry. //

Harry sighed and bowed as well as he could around the large coils that draped over his lap. //As you wish, madam.//

Care of Magical Creatures was his last class of the day, and halfway through learning the differences between Bicorns, Unicorns, Thestrals, and other equine creatures, Harry gave an excuse to Ron and Seamus about not feeling well. Their pitying looks confirmed that they would believe it because of the date, just as he planned. He had acted jumpy and morose the entire day, playing on the ill-fated day as the reason for his odd mood.

He walked quickly to his dorms, taking the flights of stairs quickly as he tried to keep himself from running. He had less than two hours to complete his plan; it had to be done before classes let out for the evening. Time was of the essence.

He arrived in the Gryffindor common room to find it empty, and he jogged up the stairs to his room. He unlocked his drapes and found Nagini sleeping ensconced in his bedding, and it took him a few precious minutes to convince the snake to get up. Stabbing at her head with his finger, he hissed profanities about lazy reptiles until she was insulted enough to awaken and curse at him. While the long black snake whinged about his cruelty in interrupting her beauty sleep, he ignored her pointedly and strapped a wickedly shaped dagger to each thigh.

Harry proceeded to Disillusion both himself and Nagini, draping the snake over his shoulders and applying his Invisibility cloak overtop of them as an added precaution. He would not be seen. Harry snatched the Marauder's Map from under his pillow and set out, using his abilities to his advantage as he dodged the few people with a free block or those who were skiving class.

He reached the tower in record time, as he had never been eager to go there before, and let the Disillusioned Nagini off at the base of the ladder. //Wait here. If anyone comes near, paralyze them. No unnecessary deaths.//

The snake gave an irritated hiss. //Fine.//

Harry pulled himself up the ladder to the room he had always dreaded entering in his younger years, a grin spreading across his lips as he saw his target alone, surrounded by the noxious incense that she seemed to think added some kind of 'ambiance'.

He pulled off his cloak and cancelled the Disillusionment spell over him, grinning ferally as the woman jumped in surprise. "Why hello Professor Trelawney… "

Chapter Text

Sybill Trelawney blinked in her owlish way at the boy who had appeared before her, using a bony finger to push up her glasses. "What are you doing here, my dear?"

Harry pulled out his secondary wand and flicked it at the opening that lead into her classroom, sealing it off at least temporarily and silencing the room. Trelawney began fidgeting in the silence as he pulled off his school robes.

"Are you perhaps considering taking my class again? You just don't have the talent, my dear boy, it would be a fruitless endeavor! Of course, I Saw you coming to me, begging to be taught… but I am afraid I must refuse you, dear, dear boy! Without the Sight, one cannot learn!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and leveled his wand at the hollow of her throat. "You're annoying," he drawled, intoning a spell Harry affectionately referred to as the Mannequin curse, as it left the body poseable from the neck down. It didn't stop the victim from screaming though; it was that feature that made Harry like it all the more. He tilted his head at the morbidly widened eyes of the witch, smirking at her. "Did you foresee this, Professor?"

Trelawney jerked her head, and Harry could see the panic setting in. Surely the reality of her situation would be hitting her now, no matter how air-headed she was. "Y-Your aura speaks of darkness, my dear boy. What have you done? Evil emanates from your v-very soul! Repent now, my dear, r-repent so that it does not consume you!"

Harry stared at the woman blankly, eyebrows slowly climbing upward. "You're totally nutters, you know that don't you?"

Magnified eyes blinked rapidly as the woman fought to stay in control. "The recent full moon has affected your mind, my dear boy! Reconsider your path, await the turning of the moon and you shall have a clear path laid before you!"

Harry ignored the woman's ranting, pulling her arms out in a downward slope as if she was reaching for a child. From his thigh he pulled one of his curved daggers, relishing in the audible speeding of the witch's heart. He deftly cut through the gaudy sleeves of her robes, the material parting to expose her arms and falling against her frozen torso. He grinned widely. "My path is already clear, my dear."

"B-but the darkness is contaminating you! You are not in your right mind! You've seen the Grim haven't you?!"

Harry merely chuckled and pressed the blade into her skin at the base of her thumb on her right hand, ignoring her screeches. He avoided the major veins as he trailed the blade up her arm, licking his lips as the scent of blood reached his nose. "I wish I had more time to play with you, Professor, but unfortunately my time here is severely limited. So as fun as it would be to spend hours stripping the skin from your body, I'm afraid I have to make the most of the time I have…" he reached the shoulder and pushed the blade in hard, shoving it through clean to the back.

Harry couldn't resist the urge to lean forward, running his tongue across the red rivulets that now nearly covered his former Professor's arm. Blood borne of pain was always much more sweet, somehow. He wished he could hold her under the Cruciatus as he carved her up, but the wards would log his magical signature. He couldn't have the game ruined so quickly, after all.

"Y-you're psychotic! Oh, how could I have not read the signs correctly? You have been tainted so long that it has finally corrupted your very mind, my boy! Oh woe…"

Harry snorted and trailed his fingers over hers, lingering on the tip of her pinkie before snapping it cleanly. She gibbered out nonsense, begging him to stop. Harry was pleased to ignore her. "I'm not a psychopath, I'm a sociopath, Professor. I am not at all insane, I merely don't have many of your petty morals. Psychopaths don't know the difference between right and wrong, sociopaths do and just don't care. Understand, my dear?"

He again took a long swipe of the blood that welled in the deep gash of her arm with his tongue, not needing it at the moment but enjoying his personal ambrosia nonetheless. He might as well not waste the blood, even if he couldn't bite her. He didn't want it known that the Lord Mylläkkä was a vampire just yet. It would only serve to further the prejudice and fear, and it would likely make life harder for Dante as well.

He cut a path over her collarbones, letting the blade push a bit deeper into the hollow of the witch's throat, ignoring her screams and frowning a bit as he realized that anything further would be difficult. After all, he didn't want her to end up nude, so he couldn't cut overmuch… that would make him rather ill. He also didn't want her dying yet, so it limited his choices. He sighed and lifted the blade from her neck, again moving his hand to rapidly snap two more of her fingers.

"Merlin, stop, please! Why are you doing this?!"

"You're an example, Professor, and I apologize that it must be you… but honestly, maybe you should have thought better of predicting a student's death at every turn, hmm?" he twisted her thumb harshly and squeezed, feeling the bone shatter. The mangled fingers hung limply, unable to move out of the positions they fell in.

Harry positioned the blade to hover near her navel as her voice, hoarse and harsh from screaming, began rambling again. "Oh, what terrible calamities fog your future! They cover you, seeping into your mind until it is twisted and rotten. What will more blood do to your soul? I am truly sorry such an evil has been visited on you, dear child…" Harry shoved the blade into her stomach, holding it in place to prevent her entrails from falling out and killing her.

After that, she only screamed.

Harry transfigured a forgotten pencil from the ground into a wooden bowl, pressing it underneath the wound and twisting the blade. It only took a few slices to fill the bowl nearly to the brim, and he drank the slowly cooling life from it happily, watching Trelawney's twisting face and listening to her screams. They were high-pitched and unpleasant, much less appeasing than, say, Lucius's, but the sounds of pain were always satisfying on a base level that Harry often attributed to his vampirism. He drank enough of the blood to be sated, before in twisting the blade harshly and filling the bowl once more.

His time was growing short, he knew. He couldn't afford to linger much longer if his he was to get away with his plan. With a wave of his Blackthorn wand he sealed the bowl containing her blood, shrinking and pocketing it. He sighed, locking eyes with frantic pale green that were rolling in panic. "And now, dear Professor, our time comes to an end. Pity, really. We might have had much fun together. Alas, time is of the essence. Use your Inner Eye and See this future, hmm?"

Her eyes went glassy and her screams stopped abruptly, and Harry recognized the signs of Trelawney making a prophecy. He swore under his breath, annoyed that be couldn't just kill her already and rid the world of the nuisance.

Even under the Mannequin spell, she swayed slightly in her trance. "The end comes near, shadows stretching and consuming. Darkness will creep over hills and sea, until nothing but despair breeds under its depressive cover. The full moon will watch as its child is thrust to the fore. Not all aims will be realized, nor all plans be for naught. One final confrontation shall decide the victor, the Light and Dark vying for supremacy. Only the binding of the Two can ensure the world's survival, the Power the Dark Lord knows not must be realized. A defied prophecy shall tell the tale. The end comes near…" she screamed as she rid herself of the trance, and Harry plunged his second blade into her chest.

She screamed no more.

Harry burrowed himself into the warm blankets of his bed, letting the comforter cocoon him. His wide grin was hidden by his pillow as he laughed out loud, relishing in the adrenaline that still ran through his system. Now the deed was done, and only the presentation remained. He had been locked within his bed for the last hour hoping that Ron or Hermione would come to wake him, securing his alibi, but since neither seemed inclined to fetch him for dinner, he would just make sure he was seen coming from the dormitories.

With a hissed farewell to Nagini, who would be leaving back to Voldemort in the melee of the next few hours, Harry looked himself over. His hair suitably mussed and his eyes convincingly bleary from the long minutes he had spent in the dark, Harry escaped the bindings of his bedclothes and made his way down to the common room, looking for all the world as if he had just awoken from a pre-dinner nap.

The common room was near-empty when he stepped into it, eyes skimming over a couple of seventh year girls that were crowded around the fireplace and a couple of younger students doing their homework sprawled across a plush rug. However, as always, the arrival of Harry Potter to a room caused heads to turn and eyes to track him, though he pretended not to notice. It was not as many witnesses as he might have wanted, but it would have to do. He made a show of yawning and stretching his arms over his head, looking around the room drowsily before starting for the portrait hole.

He hadn't even made it to the stairs when he was nearly mowed down by Professor McGonagall, hair pulled back tightly enough to look painful. She startled when she pulled back from him, hands up. "Oh, excuse me, Potter."

Harry inclined his head. "No worries Professor, I just wasn't watching where I was going. Where are you hurrying to?"

Stern eyes turned on him, scrutinizing as if she expected an ulterior motive to his question. "Dinner. One of the first year girls managed to set her drapes on fire."

Harry gave a smile to his Professor. She was too decorous for his tastes, but she always put her students before herself. It was refreshing in a world of Lockharts and Umbridges.

He gave a slight bow to the taciturn witch as they reached the Great Hall doors and went to their separate tables, Harry returning a wave from Ron as he pleaded silently to be saved from Hermione's wrath. It seemed Ron had done something to earn her ire again.

"Preposterous, Ronald! You're being as suspicious as a Slytherin right now, and I won't stand for it!"

For a long moment, Harry wondered if he was already that close to being found out. His own paranoia ran through him and he froze in mid-step, eyebrows raising as Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm telling you, Hermione, there's something off about him!"

"And what is off? That he is the first intelligent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've had since Professor Lupin?"

Harry's breath whooshed out of him, silently berating himself for being so paranoid. Being caught would be dangerous, though. He was surrounded by over half a school full of Light wizards who would like nothing more than to turn into a raving mass of panic at the first sign of 'Dark' activity. Even with his training and Dante at his back he would have a hard time escaping such a situation.

Harry stretched his back out as he took his place at the Gryffindor table, nodding every so often in a parody of the good listener. He honestly didn't hear more than every fifth or sixth word that Hermione was saying as she ranted on about Dante's better virtues; his mind was elsewhere. His mind was on the shock the Great Hall would soon receive and what his own reactions needed to be.

He carefully put food onto his plate and watched as all four House tables filled around him, a glint in his eyes as he waited for the opportune moment to unveil his masterpiece. It was when Dumbledore stood that Harry let his wand drop from his sleeve into his hand beneath the table.

Albus Dumbledore smiled benignly as the Great Hall filled with students, hundreds of young minds that were his responsibility… his to mold, his to nurture.

His life's work was in the room with him: these children that milled around him, their parents before them, their grandparents before that. He had spent the last fifty years as Headmaster shaping the Wizarding world into his perfect image, into the only way they would survive. The Light had grown stronger in his reign than it had ever been before. That was, at least until Tom Riddle had stepped up his games and intensified the quiet war that had been playing out in the background.

But it was alright. Tom's ten year defeat had given the Light time to celebrate, its followers feeling safe enough to reproduce in large numbers again. Those lost were replaced by the new generation, and he was the one in charge of bringing them up right. The Slytherins were a lost cause, of course, but that left the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors to mold correctly. It would have to be enough.

His favorite student of them all had been worrying him this year, though. Harry had been withdrawn from even his friends, quiet and contemplative. He was reminding Albus far too much of a young Tom Riddle, before the initial Chamber of Secrets fiasco. He worried for his protégé and for the Light side.

But he knew he was only being silly. After all, had he not saved Harry from his life at the Dursleys' home? Had he not been the one to teach him of his parents after a lifetime of lies? Had he not been the one to help him free his Godfather? To believe him despite the circumstances? To save his life time and time again? The boy knew all this, surely, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

He hadn't made the same mistakes with him as he had with Tom. He had taken on an active role this time.

And now he had the perfect tool to take down his biggest failure.

He had not been expecting much that night at the Hog's Head in late 1979, though he had hoped to perhaps find a replacement Divination teacher. Instead he had gotten a boon in the form of a fluke prophecy, forecasting Tom Riddle's downfall at the hands of a yet unborn child. Where he had failed Tom he would again have a chance to succeed, changing the Wizarding world into the dream he had of it.

So what if he had left young Harry with the Dursleys? If the boy had been raised in the easy life of the Wizarding world, he would have been susceptible to the darkness Tom offered. This way, he had grown and persevered and come out stronger for it. Albus still had several decades of life left in him, and he refused to go until he had managed to shape the world properly and banished away the Darkness.

His benevolent smile widened as he stood, an instant hush falling over the hall. He loved the power he commanded over these children, the way their eyes lit up in awe as they looked to him. He was their Lord, their Master. He was all that was good in the world and he would pass on his righteousness to them. But not soon, because he planned to live much longer, yet.

He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes twinkling merrily, when the looks of awe and adoration morphed into fear and revulsion.

Then the screams began.

The students were cowering away now, several had begun vomiting onto their laps and plates. Some were crying, others frozen in shock. All their eyes were focused behind him, and Albus turned with trepidation.

His heart clenched at the sight, his blood pounding rapidly in his ears. The spectacle was above his eye level by a foot or so, leaving the view unobstructed to all the students in the hall. Hanging by wrists that were bound over her head, Sybill Trelawney was attached magically to the wall, glasses skewed across her face and mouth open in a silent scream. Blood stained her skin, her clothes, dripped indolently down the wall even still. Some of her innards hung limply from a long gash in her stomach.

But none of this caught Albus' attention.

Abover her head scrawled in harsh, dripping red lettering was the full prophecy. Every word of it. His hand raised of its own accord to clench his robes above his heart. How? How had they done it? Sybill herself had never even been aware of it, so how had they managed to get it?

A glowing ball that resembled a Prophecy Sphere hung around the corpse's neck, hovering. Albus broke from his daze and made to summon it when it crashed to the ground deafeningly, even over the clamor of the Hall. Everything went still as an unfamiliar voice trickled out of the broken glass.

"Is my lovely ink running? Let me be sure you've gotten the gist of my message. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies.' Lovely, isn't it? Legilimency is a beautiful thing… the mind needs not be consciously aware of a fact for information to be stored there. Now the secret is out, Dumbledore. It seems it will be my friend Voldemort versus your Golden Boy. I wonder who will win? The child without any training, or the Dark Lord with decades of knowledge and experience? Children, I suggest you start looking at the war now, because if you are not with the Dark Sect, you are against it. All is never as it seems. Have a good meal now, children. You may call me Mylläkkä."

Albus Dumbledore, for the first time in many, many years, was speechless and frozen. So much so that he stood staring up at the wall, at the now not-so-secret prophecy, at a loss.

It took Minerva's hand tugging on his sleeve to bring him from his daze.

He was getting too old for this.

Severus Snape gripped the table with pale hands, teeth clacking together. He had not been informed at all of this. He had been totally left out of the loop. He growled under his breath, tearing his eyes away from the gruesome display of blood and gaudy jewelry.

His black eyes sought Potter; the entire school was staring in various degrees of shock and disgust at the suspended corpse, shaking in fear after the message had played. It was positively disgusting, using such tactics, and Severus sneered harshly towards the boy.

Perhaps he was not his father after all. James Potter was likely rolling in his red and gold grave after such a violent display by his progeny. James Potter would have pleaded Gryffindor righteousness and would never have murdered in any form, let alone so viciously. The boy was truly Dark then… which, of course, was another thing James Potter never would have done.

But the boy had his father's arrogance, that was for sure. Even with his enlightenment of Potter's upbringing, he saw the arrogance. It was in the way he walked, the tilt of his jaw, in his disregard for the rules. The boy hardly tried in half of his classes, messing about with Weasley instead of actually applying himself, yet he still managed passing marks and the praise of hundreds. It was sickening to watch the rules seem to bend of their own accord for a mere boy, hardly aware of the power he held. Potter had no regard for others, like his father. He ran about late at night, had the Headmaster under his thumb like a proper little Golden Boy. He was everything James Potter was in an even more influential package, and Severus hated him for it.

But he was also a vampire. He was a Dark wizard and a vampire who held the position of partner to the Dark Lord. The mere thought of the child of James Potter being in such a position was mind boggling. It nearly gave him a headache when he considered it. Despite the similarities between the two Potters, he could see some of himself in the boy, in the calculating cast his face sometimes took to the subtle ways he was able to put people off of him, especially in the recent months. It was laughable, and he wished he could see the bastard one more time so he could rub it in his face.

But he still loathed the boy. No one should mistake that. He was mildly impressed at the job he had done on Trelawney, and perhaps his respect for him had gone up, but that was merely one wizard to another. From one man to another, he still saw nothing but a brat when he looked at the boy.

Said boy turned in that moment, locking mesmerizing green eyes with his. His heart clenched as it did every time those eyes met his. No matter how much the boy looked like James Potter in hair and jaw, his eyes, nose, and mouth were purely Lily Evans. He didn't understand how people didn't see her in him, choosing to look at the hair and coloring and dub him a clone of James Potter. He had so much of Lily in his appearance. Especially those eyes.

He hated those eyes.

It was like a physical blow every time Potter had looked at him for the last six years to see those eyes on a person who looked so like James Potter. To see those bewitching, beautiful eyes on a boy who was the epitome of a mixture between both Lily and James. To have proof before him every day reminding him of the girl he could never have had.

He had loved those eyes, once.

But he hated them now, no longer seeing a fiery girl with long auburn hair, defiance written in her very stance as she drew the attention of everyone around her. Headstrong and always virtuous, Lily was. She was beautiful not just in body, but in her fire and spirit as well. No woman Severus had ever seen could compare to her. One glare from her had always stripped away his defenses, instantly driving him on the defensive if only to salvage his pride. Because she could never turn those eyes on him when the blasted Marauders were not present, he had never been so lucky. Once the Marauders had been brought into the picture, Lily had drifted away from him, the beautiful girl he had met all those years ago drifting farther and farther away. But now those eyes were no longer singularly belonging to Lily. Now those eyes personified his losses, showed yet another thing James Potter had taken away from him.

Those eyes were on him now, piercing into his soul. Could this Potter read him as easily as his father could? Oh, James had known. He had known since their fourth year. It was when the torture had started, the endless stream of pranks. Could this boy see into his very soul with those eyes so like Lily's? They were not perfectly alike at all, he knew. Potter's eyes were darker, not in hue, but in the shadows they held. Harry Potter had seen a hard life until this point, from abusive relatives to near-death experiences every year since being rescued from them. The shadows that swept through Potter's eyes was all Severus could focus on at moments like this, needing a tangible hold on reality, reminding him that this was not Lily.

Lily was gone. Lily was dead. And it was his own damned fault.

He had given over the first lines of the prophecy, after all. He hadn't realized she was pregnant when he had given the information over, hadn't considered that those words could possibly mean her child, that she could get caught up in the mess. It was this that had sent him running to Dumbledore, realizing that he had put her into jeopardy. And it was this that had ultimately killed her.

And people wondered why he was so cynical.

Potter smirked infuriatingly before turning away, putting on a mask of righteous fury at this new enemy. Severus's smirk was sardonic and black eyes focused on the charmed ceiling.

Just who was Harry Potter, really?

Chapter Text

Hermione's eyes slowly tracked from the dead body of Sybill Trelawney, brown eyes wide and tear filled, looking at Harry with an air of confusion. "Did you know?"

For a moment Harry's heart stopped. "Know what, Hermione?"

The witch took a shuddering breath, using the heels of her hands to banish the welling tears. "The prophecy. Did you know?"

Harry regarded her with a wary air, having forgotten that he hadn't told his friends. "Yes," he said. "Dumbledore told me at the end of term."

Hermione closed her eyes with a pained sob and Ron's angry face suddenly turned to him, slightly green around the gills at the sight of the corpse but fury overriding his disgust. "You knew?! Why didn't you tell us, mate? Why wouldn't you tell us something that important?!"

Harry looked away, unable to hide his agitation. "It doesn't concern you."

"We're your friends, Harry!" Hermione burst, standing from her seat and drawing the attention of most of the hall. "How could you not tell us about this? How could you leave us in the dark?!"

Harry stood as well, eyes narrowed and his voice cold. "Did it say, 'The three friends with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach'? No! It didn't! It says the one. This will be my fight, my war, and you will not get in my way! Either I kill him or he kills me, no one else can do anything!" Gasps rang off the walls of the Great Hall as those who hadn't understood the prophecy or who were in shock finally understood.

His words were laced with honest annoyance, but he was going to make the best of the situation. He had to confirm for the students of Hogwarts that Harry Potter was the one expected to kill Voldemort. When his defection was realized, they would have to know that he was the one prophesized to kill him and realize how lost the Light was.

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm as the redhead made to leap over the table, fists clenched and ready to strike out at his best friend. Hermione glanced around at their audience and spoke lowly. "We'll be talking about this tomorrow, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded, ignoring the fearful whispers that filled the hall as someone finally took charge and sent them to their dorms.

The castle had a mournful air the next day, students less boisterous than usual. Breakfast was somber, and Harry had to stifle the urge to laugh. Trelawney had been a mockery, one of the least favorite teachers to students and staff members alike, yet now they all acted as if they had lost their closest friend. It was rather funny in a morbid way, and Harry snorted under his breath.

Apparently, the noise had not been quiet enough, as Hermione's face whipped around to him with narrowed eyes. Harry looked away from his friend, ignoring the suspicion written plainly on her face. He thought she might have said something if the morning post had not arrived in that moment, copies of the Daily Prophet being dropped in several places. Hermione tore at her own to see the front page, rapidly paling. Harry pried it from her stiff fingers and made a show of looking angry, concerned, and morally outraged as he scanned the article.

Halloween Horror!

By Trish Pettingale

Halloween was full of more ghouls and terror last night than ever before. In a bold and frightening move, You-Know-Who managed a double strike against the world, successfully breaking into Azkaban once again and as well as infiltrating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The first alarms were sounded by Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, informing the Ministry that somehow an agent of Voldemort had not only gotten into the school but had killed Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney. "It was revoltin'!" a source from the crew sent to retrieve the body told his reporter. "She was pinned up in the Great Hall, insides fallin' out o' her where all the wee kiddies could see! And there were words, words written in blood! Sounded wonky, sayin' who would defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or some such nonsense!"

This reporter was understandably shocked to learn this, but was so far unable to learn the words that were written. Was there a prophecy made foretelling the fall of You-Know-Who? If so, why have none of us heard about this until now? And what would You-Know-Who gain from revealing said prophecy? The biggest question to this reporter, however, is: how did You-Know-Who manage to get into Hogwarts? Isn't it lauded as one of the most secure locations in Wizarding Britain? How did they get past Albus Dumbledore?

(For more on reactions to such a terrible offense happening so close to the children of our world, see page four.)

Less than an hour after Sybill Trelawney's murder, alarms pierced the night within the Ministry, signaling a break in the wards of the most secure place of all - Azkaban. Once again He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has broken in and this time the Dementors have gone with him. Due to the chaos that has come of this, we are not even aware of how many of his followers he was able to liberate, though we assume that the captures of Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Warden McNair, and Thomas Nott earlier this week have now been voided. It is unclear if You-Know-Who freed others as well, however.

Seventeen Aurors were killed in the battle that ensued as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made to leave with his followers, including the highly decorated Alastor Moody, Second-in-command Gawain Robards, and Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebot, all three reportedly killed by You-Know-Who himself. Only two Death Eaters are confirmed dead, neither of their identities known at this time.

Is this a sign that You-Know-Who's reign is going to be once again like it was twenty years ago? Are any of us safe if both Hogwarts and Azkaban were infiltrated? Are our children safe? These questions and more plague this reporter, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that we must find the answers.

Harry crumpled the paper in a fit of annoyance, both real and put-on, scowling down at his plate. He needed to be upset about the deaths caused to the eyes of the Great Hall, but inside he was a mess of calculations. Seventeen aurors! Mad-Eye, even! His respect for Voldemort rose a few notches. He had always known the man powerful, but it was different imagining him beating Moody than it was knowing he had managed to outsmart him as a teen. He didn't know about Robards, but Kingsley was a good duelist and though Moody was getting on in age, he was one of the best out there. That Voldemort had managed to take all three of them out on his own while under fire from at least a couple dozen other Aurors, if the death count was any hint, was impressive.

He wondered who from their side was killed, though. Two wasn't that bad, but depending on who the two were it could complicate things. Certain people being unveiled as Death Eaters would cause a chain of other identities revealed, and that could cause them a plethora of problems. And personally he was hoping it was not either Pettigrew or Lucius, as he held personal stock in both of them. Pettigrew's death was his, and Pretty was far too fun to die. And they needed Lucius in the Ministry, of course, but at the moment Harry only cared that his toy was unharmed.

An owl swooped to him as he contemplated, and he pulled off the letter with confusion. No one really ever wrote him, and he was confused as to why someone was now. He sucked in a breath when he recognized the handwriting, willing himself to not draw attention to himself. Thankfully, Hermione was stuck in thought-mode, going over the slightly wrinkled Daily Prophet article again.

He turned his eyes down to the letter he held, unfolding it slowly and breathing out in relief as he read the first line:

Potter-

Stop hyperventilating, brat, this letter is spelled against anyone reading it who isn't a Parselmouth. Handy spell, isn't it? I found it in one of Slytherin's descendants' books. Since Parseltongue doesn't have a written language (why would snakes need to write?), this was wizards' substitution. To anyone else this will leave the impression of a letter from one of your ever-adoring fans.

As I'm sure you've managed to perceive by this point, last night was a success. We only lost Marcus Flint and Alecto Carrow, and neither important enough to be missed or connected enough for there to be much reverberation. There are some concerns I have, but I will save them for another time.

I am obviously not writing for your entertainment. I will be going out of the country for the month of November, seeking a spellsmith in Norway. In the meantime we will obviously not be holding our weekly meetings, though I will be calling a meeting once I return. I'm sure you can mange without my wonderful presence for that long, can't you Potter?

-Dark Lord Voldemort

Harry snorted and pulled out his Holly wand, pointing it at the letter and letting it crumble to ash and fade to nothing. Hermione's eyes hadn't even turned from the paper, and she hadn't even been aware he'd had a letter. It was all for the better; he didn't want to test if that spell of Voldemort's worked.

Dumbledore stood then, announcing that to mourn those who had bravely died the night before, classes would be cancelled for the day. Hermione and Ron stood to leave, the brunette tucking the paper into her bag for further thought, Harry trailing along behind them as they made their way to the Room of Requirement to talk. They had been making an effort all morning to treat him normally, as if the night before had never happened, but he could see the tension in their 'casual' movements. Now, however, he listened to their debate from where they walked side-by-side in front of him, less amused by the minute.

"I'm telling you, I think it was him! We've never had an attack this bad in Hogwarts, and all of the Defense professors have been bad in one way or another. He's probably this Mylläkkä guy!"

"Honestly, Ronald, you're being silly now. Do you really think the Headmaster would let a Dark Lord teach here?"

"What about the fake Moody? Dumbledore didn't know then! And what about Quirrell? The guy had Voldemort on the back of his head! There's something real fishy about Pierce, and I think Dumbledore's losing it in his old age. A person can only totally miss the obvious so many times, you know."

Harry couldn't help his own silent agreement with Ron, though he was slightly stunned at his friend's opinions on Dumbledore. Though anything Dark still sent Ron into fits, the boy obviously had gained some perspective through the years.

"That's Professor Dumbledore, Ron. And besides, Professor Pierce couldn't possibly be this new Dark Lord."

"How do you figure, Hermione?" Ron said with an agitated glare, obviously annoyed at the lofty tone of her voice. Harry was hard-pressed not to nod in agreement, though or different reasons. He was honestly curious about why she was so adamant of his innocence.

"Because he's obviously a vampire."

Harry tripped over his feet in shock, turning wide eyes on the brunette. "Wait, what?!"

Ron was bleached white, mouth agape, choking noises occasionally escaping his throat.

Hermione sighed, pushing her unruly curls over her shoulder and planting her hands on her hips. "Really, you two! You pay so little attention that I wonder how you've both survived this long! He has an aversion to sunlight, his grace and speed are obviously preternatural, his speech patterns are often bordering on archaic, he never eats when he's in the Great Hall, his pupils are slitted… how much more proof do you need?"

Harry's mind raced to take in this new development. Dante had planned to reveal his Vampirism in the aftermath of Halloween in order to distance himself from the possibility of having committed the crimes; as a full vampire who was forced onto Blood Replacers for as long as Dante had been (a medical scan would be able to confirm this) would be nearly unable to resist biting a dying human in the presence of that much blood. A full vampire had more control than Harry did in his strange hybrid form, but even with that control, two months of the potions would test their limits. It would only present itself in the case of a lot of blood, but that was just the kind of situation they were now faced with.

However, it appeared that Hermione had known for quite some time that their professor was not human and was utterly fine with it. He hadn't honestly thought she would have a problem, being muggleborn and without the pureblood prejudices that children on the Light side and many of the ones on the Dark had grown up with. He well remembered her easy acceptance of Remus' Lycanthropy until she had thought he had betrayed them. It was Ron's ghost-white face and seeming inability to move that worried him. He would now see just how badly his oldest friend would react.

Harry shrugged and looked away from them both. "Whatever, it isn't a big deal. If he didn't kill her we just have to figure out who did, right?"

Ron choked. "Just like that? Just like that you're fine that there is a vampire teaching in our school? We'll all be killed! A vampire! Don't you two know anything? Vampires only ever come around humans to kill them; they don't take jobs just for the fun of it! They're creatures who feed off pain and blood, they want to kill off all us wizards! We're doomed…"

Ron's words hurt, honestly, but they weren't terrible. He'd honestly expected a lot worse. Then again… he didn't know his 'best mate' was a vampire, either. If he did, Harry thought the words would be much worse despite the time they spent together.

Harry watched as Hermione puffed up under the redhead's prejudice, and Harry easily recognized her righteous S.P.E.W. fury building. "Ronald Bilius Weasley! He has been teaching us for two months now and no one has ended up dead until just last night! You're being a thoughtless bigot! I thought you had actually grown up a bit in the last year, but obviously you have not. Do you remember third year? Until you met Professor Lupin you thought all werewolves were vicious animals. Do you forget how wrong you were then?!"

Harry sighed and began trying to walk away, glad for Hermione's words but not in the mood to listen to her in lecture mode. However, Ron saw him edging away from them and blue eyes narrowed. "You too, mate? You believe this crap she's spouting?" Ron's voice raised several octaves as he mocked Hermione's shrill tones, "'Honestly Ronald, Vampires are just like puppies! They like rainbows and hugs and bearbees and would never hurt anyone!'"

Hermione's face turned brilliant red in her fury and Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're being an idiot Ron. Shut up while you're ahead."

The redhead, as usual, seemed disinclined to listen to sound advice. "So you are buying this rubbish! Blimey, Harry, I knew being raised muggle made you a bit less quick on these things, but I thought you at least had sense! You're both nutters if you think we're all going to be fine with a vampire running around the school! Dumbledore is totally off his rocker!"

Harry didn't think he could listen any more. It was no less than he expected, but it surely didn't mean he had to like listening to the words coming out of his friend's mouth. He turned and stalked away, irritation boiling under his skin like a virus. He was not angry, but he was agitated beyond belief. This was just too much to deal with this early in the morning. He scowled and made to walked on, both Ron and Hermione's voices growing fainter as he turned the corner, eager to get away.

Of course, as seemed to be the norm, things couldn't be that easy.

"Well, well, Potter. Alone without your pets, I see?"

Draco was shocked when in less than a moment after he had spoken, Harry had grabbed him by the collar and thrown him against the hallway wall, lip curled up in a snarl. "I am not in the mood for you right now, Malfoy. Get a life."

Draco paled as green eyes pierced him, and he stopped breathing as he felt his long-time rival's aura wash over him. It was nothing like it had ever been, and he was rather eruditely familiar with Harry's reactions when angry. Whereas in years past it had been like flame, licking and burning, now it was as cold as ice, still brushing over his senses like roaring flames but freezing. And it felt terrible, even to his own Dark magic, twisted and nearly sickening. He could still feel the other boy's flame-like magic, but it was buried underneath the second entity that had been confusing him all these months. This second aura of power is what was choking him now, silver eyes wide in fear.

"Have you forgotten already, Malfoy? Don't you remember what I told you at the beginning of the year? You're an idiot. You're a child and you have no idea of anything, and you really need to learn to think before you speak. Your refusal to believe that someone could be more powerful than you is going to be your death."

Draco struggled, his father's words ringing in his ears. His father had specifically told him to stay away from Potter a few days prior, and now Draco was wondering just what his father knew that he did not. It couldn't be this murderous look in Potter's eye, as his father had not seen Potter since the end of the year prior. But now he wished he had heeded his father's mandate. Now he couldn't even tell his father about this meeting without revealing that he hadn't listened. "Let go of me, Potter, you daft moron!"

"Next time think before you speak." Harry's voice was a hiss as he pressed into Draco, lips brushing against the blond's ear. "Do you know what I could do to you?" His voice was a purr and sent shudders through Draco with its malice. "I could make you suffer, Malfoy, make you scream. I could kill you with my bare hands without another soul hearing your last words. I could strip the skin from your body, leaving you alive all the while. I could drain every drop of blood from you with ease, leaving you a withered husk on the ground in some forgotten hallway, not to be found for years."

Draco stopped breathing, throat constricting with fear. He couldn't show the extent of his fear, he couldn't let Potter see that he was scared out of his mind. Draco forced down the urge to cower away and clenched his fists, concentrating on the pain of his nails digging into his skin.

Harry pulled away now, his voice back to a normal level. "Watch who you insult, Malfoy, because I do not have as many scruples as you think I do."

Harry grabbed the blond by the throat and threw him away, a loud crack signaling Malfoy's meeting with the wall as Harry walked away into the darkness.

Draco cursed violently as he stood, body shaking like never before. Who was that? Surely it couldn't be Potter; the words sounded more like the Dark Lord than the Golden Boy. Perhaps… wait, perhaps that was it? Was Potter possessed? That would explain the second aura, the malicious air around him, his father's warning to stay away. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood on end; the Light was so screwed.

And down the hall, unnoticed by either Draco or Harry, two sets of eyes had witnessed it all.

Chapter Text

Hermione was fuming as she stormed away from Ron, her cloak billowing around her in a manner frighteningly similar to Snape on a good day. He was such a bigoted idiot! When first entering the Wizarding world, she had seen how different races worked together, and had foolishly believed that the Wizarding people were not prejudiced like muggles were… but she had been so wrong. Where muggles would persecute a person for their skin color, religion, or sexual orientation, wizards persecuted for blood purity and the acts of your parents before you. It was disgusting, and she had been sick of it from year one.

She could handle being called a mudblood, because though it was a paltry slur, she had only learned of it a few years prior. Most insults are only insults because of the way you are brought up, words you hear are bad from a young age. Mudblood, while rude, was easily ignorable to her. Besides, she knew very well that her parents were muggles. It didn't bother her. She felt blessed to have been gifted with magic, but she wouldn't trade her family for the world.

But then she had started to notice the state of things in the Wizarding world. A world that feared the name of its terrorist so much that they could not bear to even see it written, a world that enslaved a sentient being for their own use. Slavery in the muggle world had been a terrible, horrible thing, but she found it so much worse in the Wizarding world. At least in the muggle world the slaves might have run. House elves had no choice as they were magically bound to their masters, hardly able to think of freedom let alone attempt to attain it.

She had seen the way people had reacted to Remus Lupin - poor, sweet Professor Lupin - simply for a curse he had had no choice in bearing. There was no cure for lycanthropy, no way to stop himself from transforming. He had been dealing with it since he was a child, forced into a segregated world where he had to hide his affliction for fear of being killed for it. What had he ever done to anyone? Hermione didn't know, but it was just another thing that sickened her.

Perhaps wizards saw no difference between people for their race, in muggle terms, and perhaps one could love whomever they pleased openly… but the Wizarding world had its own unique set of prejudices that seemed even more petty and disgusting than those she had grown up seeing. And wizards thought themselves so much better? It was a travesty, and Hermione wished more than anything to be able to beat the Wizarding world over the head with their own idiocy.

She set after Harry intent on getting as far away from Ron as she could right then, still needing to talk to him, but more than anything needing to be around someone sane and reasonable for a while lest her temper get the better of her.

She rounded the corner and had to jam her knuckles into her mouth to stifle her gasp, quickly pulling herself back against the wall out of sight. She blinked rapidly and peeked around, sure she had to of been seeing things… but no. There was Harry flush against Draco Malfoy in a dark corridor. Her mind quickly ran through the possibilities. Their stance looked too… intimate for them to be fighting. Hermione blushed. Harry and Malfoy? Not in a million years! She peeked again, seeing Harry's face far too close to Malfoy's neck. By Merlin, it couldn't be… right?

She wished she could hear what they were saying, assuming they were speaking. She was too far to hear or accurately read the pair's facial expressions, and her heart was thundering in her ears. Not that she had a problem with homosexuality, mind you, but she hadn't thought Harry was that way, let alone with Malfoy of all people! She tried to think of another plausible reason why Harry would pressed thigh to chest with his rival, anything that would make sense. Nothing seemed to.

At least until she looked again.

Harry muttered something with a dark smirk on his face, a look so out of place that Hermione nearly gasped again, seized Draco by the neck and threw the blond away from him. Draco slumped down the opposite wall with a groan of pain. Harry stalked in the opposite direction from Hermione, leaving the brunette to hold a hand to her heart and stare after him with a perplexed look.

How could a person as gentle as Harry wear a look that malevolent?

What had they been saying?

How was Harry strong enough to bodily toss Malfoy from him, a boy at least half a foot taller than him?

She didn't know, but she surely was going to find out… no matter where the truth led her.

Hazel eyes narrowed on the brunette witch who had come across the Potter and Malfoy boys in the hall. This could prove to be a problem. Had the girl been able to overhear any of Potter's rants? The watcher had been utterly intrigued by the surrounding darkness in the boy, the way his power had flared in his anger. It was nearly intoxicating, and unlike anything they had ever seen, even in the Dark Lord himself. But the thrill was short to last as the Granger chit was noticed peeking, undoubtedly trying to put the pieces together in her astute mind.

They considered Obliviating the nosy girl, but that might raise too many questions.

It was interesting to them that Potter was so incautious. Obviously, despite the Slytherin tendencies he had shown, he was still quite a Gryffindor underneath it all. He was meant to be undercover, yet he assaulted the Malfoy heir in the halls where anyone could have seen. And someone had. Was he so confident in his abilities that he thought he would not be caught? Or did he, perhaps, not care if he was found out?

The watcher didn't know, but it was an interesting thing to ponder.

They considered revealing themselves to the boy, allowing him to know that they had another ally in the school… but they thought better of it. If the Dark Lord had not seen fit to tell him, they would not either. The boy had shown no indication that he knew of their leanings, and until he did they would stay hidden in the shadows, waiting for the time to expose themselves.

What a day that would be.

They couldn't wait.

But until that day, they had a role to fulfill. With an agitated purse of their lips, the person slipped away into the shadows.

Harry walked the hallways silently, on his way to Dante's rooms for a sojourn. Since he didn't have his weekly visits with Voldemort this month, he had been visiting his friend every Friday evening to take his potions and ensure he wasn't caught doing it. Oftentimes he only stayed for an hour and then went out to hunt, taking his suddenly free evening to make sure his temper never got so short again, but most often he just took the time to relax in the company of someone who knew all his secrets and whom he was able to be himself around.

November was drawing to a close and there had been no word from Voldemort until that morning, and Harry had been annoyed to find that instead of anything informative it had been full of verbose descriptions of towering mountains and massive fjords lining the coast. Harry had never taken Voldemort as the type to wax poetic about scenery, but apparently he still had a lot to learn about his friend. The only information that had been given other than several paragraphs of rambling on about the beauty of Norway was that the spellsmith he was searching for remained elusive and his search could last until Yule. As it was the 29th of November, this aggravated Harry greatly for no reason he could understand.

Harry sighed inaudibly as he halted in front of the stone expanse that was the entrance to Dante's rooms, hissing out the Parseltongue override and slipping into the rooms. Dante was not there currently, but Harry made himself at home in front of the fireplace, pulling over a book he had found on his last visit on Vampire ritual magic. Dante likely had a detention or something teaching-related to deal with, so Harry would just relax until he returned.

Harry nearly salivated over blood rites and magics he found, wishing that he had the power needed for them. Unfortunately, Valerian had assured him that his vampiric magic would not be developed enough for at least another decade or more; it was not unheard of for it to take a century for it to be usable. And once the magic was accessible, it would begin corroding his wizard magic, slowly diminishing it to nothing. It happened to all Vampires who were originally wizards, the slow degradation of Wizarding power as their vampiric power rose. Dante was an anomaly, known as the only Vampire to keep his ability to use a wand more than a century; it made him all the more sought after as he had kept his with minimal corrosion even after nearly a millennium. Even Valerian had lost his Wizarding ability after seventy years.

This, however, meant that Harry would be unable to do much, if any, Vampire magic during the current war. He would have no shadow walking or summons, no elemental spells like Valerian was famous for. Harry sighed petulantly as he paged through the book, looking over all the things he would not be allowed to use.

A half an hour passed on this thread and Harry was quickly growing bored. Where was Dante, anyway? He replaced the book on the coffee table and began to flick through a sheaf of papers that were stacked neatly adjacent to Dante's armchair. It was his planner for his classes, and Harry snorted amusedly at his matter-of-fact statements about the ineptitude of his students. His amusement, however, was short-lived.

Harry sighed and pushed the papers back, frowning into the fire. Dante was a good teacher in his own way, and he was absolutely brilliant when he chose to apply himself. However, he hated teaching students he did not choose himself. Harry was at a loss as to why he would willingly take a job teaching teens when he could have his choice of students amongst the immortals. He knew, of course, that Valerian had requested for Dante to come back and watch over him, but it still made little sense to Harry that Dante would freely choose to teach at Hogwarts.

As he was lost in thought, he didn't realize Dante had returned until a hand fell onto his shoulder, causing Harry to jump in his seat. "Merlin, Dante, don't scare me like that!"

Dante huffed lightly, looking to the ceiling as he seated himself regally in his lounger. "You are foolish, Mylläkkä, dropping your guard so often. The longer you have remained here the more lax you have become. It will cause you nothing but trouble."

Harry sighed and pushed a hand through his short hair. "Am I so bad?"

Dante nodded silently.

Harry grimaced. "Yes, well, I'll try and watch out for that. I don't honestly mean to… but my plans have been progressing so slowly that I'm becoming lethargic here. I need a break from pretending I'm someone I'm not if I am going to survive through this year."

"I wonder the same about myself," Dante muttered. "These brats are going to be the end of me, I swear it."

"Why…" Harry paused as he tried to formulate the question, needing to voice his earlier thoughts. "Why do you teach here? I know you hate it."

"Because Lord Valerian asked me to watch over you, Mylläkkä, and there was no way for me to do so without becoming an instructor here."

Harry scowled. "I don't need a babysitter, this is not some crèche, and I don't need you to be here, Dante. You could just as easily have bought or rented a home in Hogsmeade to be near me. I'm sure Valerian doesn't require me to be watched twenty-four hours a day."

"Mylläkkä…" Dante said in a harder tone than his usual monotone. "After all Valerian has done for me in my long life, I would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked me to. However, I would do it in my own way and with my own comfort. I would not teach if I did not feel the need to be close to you, Harry," he enunciated the name slowly. "Whilst my fidelity is with Valerian, I am not in a linear timeline with him. For this journey, I chose to place my loyalty with you. Not for the Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever name they choose for you in the future, or for the heir of Valerian, but for the young man I have trained for the last years."

"But why, Dante? Why choose this? I don't… I don't understand."

Dante sniffed and looked away. "My reasons are my own."

Harry wanted to protest but knew better, letting a slightly stiff silence descend on them. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for several long minutes, feeling the tension draining from his shoulders. It was nice, this relaxation, but it was also painfully boring. Not that Dante was not a good conversationalist… but that was only when he felt like speaking more than a word or two. And after the monologue of a few minutes prior, he knew not to expect another for the night.

"Morgana's tits, I'm going to die of boredom," he murmured.

"Is your Lord Voldemort not yet returned?"

Harry jerked in his seat, not realizing he had spoken aloud, seeing Dante ignoring him behind the same tome he had been reading from earlier. "You won't believe this," Harry said with a growl, "but I finally got a letter from that berk… he spent an entire page of letter going on about the bloody scenery and nearly nothing on when he's getting back here except it's taking longer than he thought it would! Can you believe that?! The arse leaves for a month for whatever Merlin-forsaken reason, totally stalling any planning we might be able to do, leaving me to fend for myself here, and he doesn't even write anything bloody useful!"

Dante raised an eyebrow. "I suppose my company is not good enough for you, then?"

"You know that isn't what I meant. But my conversations with Tom are different. We're terribly alike in several ways, and thought he's an awful git a lot of the time, I really enjoy my conversations with him. Stuck with all these idiots day in and day out, it's nice to have an intelligent conversation." He paused ans sent Dante a smirk. "One consisting of more than three words at a time, that is."

"Why not attempt to speak with the Potions master? He seems sharp."

Harry made a face. "Yeah, he's sharp alright. Sharp as a tack and nearly as painful. No thank you. His hatred of me runs too deep for him to consider having a civil conversation with me at this point. Perhaps someday I will be able to convince him that I am not my father, but until then it would be hopeless. Besides…" he shifted a bit, looking away from Dante. He didn't know why he was suddenly uncomfortable. "I like talking to Tom. If the berk would just come back already, there wouldn't be a problem!"

Dante chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, really…"

"Dante…" Harry growled, narrowing his eyes.

The vampire cocked his head with a smug look. "I find your crush on the 'terrifying' Dark Lord hilarious."

Harry promptly mimicked a fish, jaw falling open and closing several times before he could speak. "Wh-what?! You're insane! I don't have a crush on Voldemort!"

"He's all you've talked about in a month. You were practically counting the days until he returned from his mission, and now you're beside yourself over his absence being extended. Your interest in him is too strong to be purely platonic."

"That's barmy! You're insane!" Harry said redundantly, his face flushing a brilliant red. "He's not even good looking for Merlin's sake!"

Dante's smug expression fell into a lightly incredulous one. "There are many things that attract people in a companion, you know."

Harry's irritated blush didn't recede. "Bollocks. Looks always come first, then you figure it out from there. I mean, hell, how else would people end up together if not attraction?"

The look on Dante's face was the most expressive Harry had seen him in several years, somewhere bordering between disbelief and pity. "You truly believe so, Mylläkkä?"

"What else is there?"

Dante looked at a loss, still staring intensely at Harry. "Are you so socially inept that you have never heard of people being together for reasons other than sex? Surely you don't think that how attractive a person is should be the mitigating factor in a real relationship?"

Harry turned away from the hard blue eyes of his friend. "It's all I've known. I wanted Ariana because she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, never mind how much of an idiot she was. Valerian wanted me once I grew up and stopped being a scraggly little mutt of a child. What else is there but wanting?"

"And you've never found yourself caring for a person for reasons beyond that?"

"Of course I have! My friends have always meant more than anything else to me, and you and Valerian are closer to me than anyone else. How can you even accuse me of that?"

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I merely wondered, as you seem to think that the only thing that matters in regards to romantic feelings is the looks of a person."

"It's not that at all…" Harry floundered, shaking his head. "I just… is there really more than that?" he said in a soft voice, still refusing to meet Dante's eyes. "I mean… can there be more to it than just finding someone beautiful? If there is… I've never found it."

"You assume, then, that anyone who's ever been interested in you has merely been so because of your looks? You think Valerian put up with you all these years because you were attractive?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I hope not. I don't think so… I suppose."

Dante sighed, resuming his uncaring mask. "You are still so young, Mylläkkä. You will learn as time goes on that there are much more important things than beauty."

"I already know that! I just…" Harry waved his hands around. "I can't explain this. I know looks aren't all that matters, and I know they hardly matter at all, really. And in friendship this is true constantly. But can a romantic relationship really work out without sexual attraction? Honestly, Dante."

The blond tipped his head in thought. "I suppose it is necessary… but oftentimes it is a person's heart and mind that make them beautiful to us. It does not always hinge on the obvious qualities. Tell me what you think of when you think of your Voldemort."

Harry snarled quietly. "Don't call him mine, that's disturbing," he said automatically before meeting Dante's eyes. "I don't know how to answer that. I think of someone who I enjoy talking to, who I look forward to seeing. I am continuously surprised by how much I enjoy his company, how much I anticipate the following meeting. He is intelligent and witty, and exudes a tranquility I can't find in anyone else. He frustrates me to no end with his denials of his humanity and his temper can be disturbing when he forgets who he means to take it out on. But he's absolutely brilliant, his mind works in ways I can't even begin to follow! Do you realize how many spells he's created on his own? Dumbledore wasn't kidding when he referred to him as a genius! I could listen to him for ages, I swear…" seeming to realize he was rambling, Harry shut his mouth with an audible click, jaw clenching.

"And does that enlighten you at all?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Merlin help me…"

Dante smirked. "Again, this crush amuses me greatly. I believe I am going to accompany you once he returns; I have a need to see this in person."

Chapter Text

Harry walked along the streets of Hogsmeade alone, having lost Ron and Hermione in Zonko's. He had Christmas shopping to do, and he didn't want to be questioned on the things he was buying. Unfortunately, he didn't even know what he was going to buy for anyone. He had already been through five of the smaller shops off the main road and though he had easily found gifts for his Gryffindor housemates, he was having more trouble with his older friends.

Exiting yet another store, he glared at the street. He hadn't had to buy gifts in years, and damn if it wasn't difficult. Dante was the most difficult, he thought, as the man really didn't like anything.

He spied a dark storefront at the next corner, a few Slytherins exiting it. It appeared to be some kind of knickknack shop, the mysterious look to it leading Harry to believe he might find something interesting there. It felt juvenile, but Harry made his way to the door, keeping an eye out for anyone watching him. It didn't look like the most reputable place to be. But before he could enter, echoing cracks of apparition startled him.

He turned on his heel, unable to see the main street at all. But it was obvious what was happening.

The screams had already begun.

Harry's eyes narrowed as the frightened screams resonated off the storefronts, their echoes unheard over the din of the already panicking masses. An attack? Without word to him? He snarled and dashed toward the main street, wondering who had sanctioned this. If this was totally unauthorized Harry was going to enjoy holding the perpetrators under some creative torture curses.

Harry darted into an alley that connected to his destination, swearing under his breath in a mix of English and Parseltongue. This was certainly complicated; he had to look to be assisting and being his Gryffindor self while attempting to figure out what the hell the Death Eaters thought they were doing and surreptitiously sabotaging any attempts at capturing Voldemort's - his own - troops. It made it infinitely more complicated that the Death Eaters still didn't know his identity, something he hoped to rectify over his Christmas holiday now that Snape was confirmed as loyal.

Harry broke into the middle of a veritable war zone, firing off Stunners rapidly at the ground near the feet of the black robed attackers while trying to assess the situation. There were a dozen Death Eaters terrorizing the shoppers on the main street, a handful of students and chaperones fighting them off. At least two of the masked assailants were bound in the thick ropes indicative of an Incarcerous, which Harry subtly freed them from before moving on. All the while Harry tried to discover why they were acting without permission, half his mind set on dodging badly-fired spells and on predicting his opponents' movements so he would miss with his own.

A hard grip on his hair took him off guard, eyes welling in pain as he was ripped backwards. After little to no attention to his hair as a child, he had found himself to have a tender head as he aged, and any pulling of his hair ticked him off immensely. He snarled, wrenching his head to the side and resisting the urge to bare his fangs. It was a large man he wasn't familiar with, a towering mass of dirty blond hair and roughened skin. He easily stood head and shoulders over even Harry's natural height, so he absolutely towered over Harry's fifteen year old guise.

But as the old adage said: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Harry dropped down as far as he could with the grip on his hair, sweeping his foot out and successfully toppling the brute. Harry went down hard with him, his head banging forcefully onto the dirt while curses spilled from his lips. Harry kicked out forcefully in an attempt to escape the grasp, managing to with the loss of a chunk of his hair. He spat a Stunner at the masked man and kicked him in the head to appease his own vindictiveness.

A Diffindo grazed across his shoulder near his neck, resulting in a hiss of pain. He couldn't risk being too injured in this battle; Madame Pomfrey would surely notice his lack of complete humanity if he was injured enough to require a medical scan.

Harry glanced around to be sure no one was nearby before he shot an earth-based spell at the feet of three advancing Death Eaters, knocking them on their backsides without lasting injury. Scanning the battle, he realized that most of the students had retreated now and various Order members and school staff were doing the fighting now. Harry quickly shot several Finite Incantatem at those Death Eaters that were bound and a Rennervate at the one he had stunned. In the continuous volley of spells between the Light and Dark factions, no one noticed. He knew his anonymity was temporary, though, and crouched in between two stores as he tried to decide what to do next. He couldn't actually take part in the battle, as he had a cover to keep with the Light and did not wish to pick off his own followers, so he settled for freeing the downed Death Eaters nearly as soon as they were taken down.

A loud crack very close at hand startled him, the sudden Apparition behind him taking precious seconds away as Harry was seized by the scruff of his neck. He bit his tongue as he was slammed hard against the alley wall with a spell binding his arms to his sides and sending his wand clattering to the ground. Harry swore and scowled into the meaty face in front of him; he didn't know who it was, but resemblance told him it was the father of either Crabbe or Goyle. He never could keep those two straight. For the millionth time he cursed his weak fifteen year old body, though he knew that physical strength would not help him now. Though he was sure he could shatter the weak spell holding him, the magical flux would call even more attention to him and likely endanger him even more. But he would be damned if he died at the hands of what was technically one of his own minions.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Harry Potter," the man sneered, lip curling to reveal grayed teeth.

"Well, well, if it isn't a walking flobberworm," Harry said, raising an eyebrow calmly.

The man grunted angrily and raised his wand. "You'll give me endless fame and power, Potter. Master will be so pleased to see you dead…" Harry's eyes widened. He didn't think a follower of Voldemort would really be stupid enough to attempt to kill him. He was, after all, claimed by the Dark Lord himself. Apparently the sons took after their fathers. "Avad-"

Harry's saving grace came in the form of a silky drawl, inflectionless and bored. "I don't think you want to do that, Goyle, our lord would be… most displeased."

Harry let out a huffing breath as he took in the masked figure that could only be Lucius Malfoy, platinum hair perfectly placed even after battle, his wand lightly placed against the larger man's temple. "Oh my savior… however shall I repay you?"

Lucius smirked. "We'll just have to see how I can be… repaid."

"Free me from these bindings and we'll talk, Pretty. I'm currently very unhappy."

The blond glared but acquiesced, moving his wand from the elder Goyle's temple to flick Harry free. Harry immediately brought up his wand to the fat Death Eater's unmasked face and stunned him, pocketing it with a look to Lucius.

"So, care to tell me why there is a raid going on without my consent or any warning whatsoever?" he said in a deceptively pleasant voice.

Lucius pulled off his mask and inclined his head slightly. "I apologize for being unable to inform you. The owl sent with the letter from my lord was one of mine and returned with a tracking spell in place. I was able to Confund the spell long enough to make it appear to have gone elsewhere, but the fact that it was tracked meant it was too dangerous to allow another owl to deliver a message to you without time-consuming spells protecting it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is this about, then?"

"As you know, I was left in charge while my lord was away." Lucius waited until Harry had waved his hand to tell him to move on. "Last week it was discovered that the failed raid a few days before Halloween was a result of a spy in our ranks, a lower level Death Eater that has been feeding information to the Ministry. He managed to evade capture and we found this morning that he was here in Hogsmeade. There was no way to contact you quickly enough."

Harry nodded, impressed with how professional Lucius was acting. It was a far cry from his defiant attitude of October, and Harry smirked. "So, Pretty, miss me?"

Lucius stiffened and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't snap back as he used to. "That name is repugnant."

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No insults? No descriptions of the pain you would like to inflict on me? No patented Malfoy Death Glare? No denial?"

Lucius looked away with his nose upturned. "I am attempting to be properly deferent."

"And what made you decide I was worth your deference?"

"I saw the images taken of Sybill Trelawney's… presentation."

Harry snickered. "So all it takes to impress you is creative mutilation? Hell, if I'd of thought it was that easy to get your illustrious approval I'd have done it ages ago."

"I was unwilling to believe that you had the qualifications to be my lord's equal. However, I now am willing to give you… a chance."

Harry chuckled and slid up to Lucius, running a finger down the man's chest. "Are you really, Pretty?"

Lucius' face twisted into a grimace. "Please, my lord, that is highly disconcerting while you look like that."

Harry grinned, respecting Lucius' discomfort and stepping back a bit to lean against the alley wall. "I'm sure we haven't much time left, but were you able to catch the traitor?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And everyone is still here because… ?"

"They await my signal. I apologize for those who dared attack you, my lord."

"It is not a problem, Lucius, I haven't told them who I am yet. I think I will have to remedy that over the holiday, though, if I can find a way to get away from here."

Lucius' slate eyes were getting wary now, eyes darting as the sounds of battle began to draw closer to their hiding place. "If you manage to find a way, I was requested by my lord to invite you to stay at Malfoy Manor. He should return by Yule and you will need to be free for the meeting he will call."

Harry pushed a hand through messy, short hair, wracking his brain for not the first time on what he would do to get away. "I'll figure out something, I'm sure."

"I should be going, my lord. It would look badly for one of either side to see us conversing."

Harry waved him off, smirking. "Can't wait to see you again, Pretty."

"Yes, my lord." Lucius studiously avoided his eyes and dipped into a bow much lower than any he had graced Harry with before, quickly straightening and raising his wand.

With a shouted 'Morsmordre', cracks of apparition once again echoed through Hogsmeade, signaling the end of the raid.

Harry gave a show of looking angry and angsty as the announcements were made; fifteen dead. Most were nameless Hogsmeade occupants but one had been an Order member - Elphias Doge - and two students - the seventh year Gryffindor Alicia Spinnet and the sixth year Ravenclaw Mandy Brocklehurst. Harry was, in actuality, very bored as he listened to the students mourn in a loud fashion, ducking his head to hide the wide yawn that cracked his jaw. There were many better things he could be doing, and he had yet to see the point of corralling all the students in the Great Hall like livestock. If an attack were to take place on the castle, wouldn't this just make them easy pickings? The enemy would storm the wide entry doors and block them in, the small side doors would be crammed with students trying to flee and people would be trampled. Really, it was silly.

He hated that he now had nothing to distract himself. He had been very purposefully keeping himself busy since his enlightening conversation with Dante the night before, unwilling to examine the parts of him his friend had pulled out. So, maybe he was sort of bad with understanding emotion.

Scratch that - he was really bad at it.

It wasn't his fault, though. It wasn't as if he had had any great examples in his life. He'd grown up in a household where he was treated worse than a pet and without half the attention one would get; it wasn't exactly a breeding ground for a compassionate, emphatic soul. His early years in Hogwarts he had invariably been thrust back and forth between loathed future Dark Lord and vaunted Savior of the Wizarding world, and though having Hermione and Ron beside him had begun to help him understand about loving one's friends and going out of your way for them, they didn't help with the romantic world. He had no examples for that at all for years.

Cho Chang had been pretty, so he'd liked her. That was that. He'd known nothing about her, not her hobbies or personality, simply that his stomach did flip-flops when she was around and that thinking of her made for a good wank. This had not particularly been the best beginning to understanding romantic feelings, especially when she had turned out to be surprisingly lacking in a brain for a Ravenclaw and hard up for a personality as well.

When he had gone to Sceaduwe, he had been concentrating too much on training at first to attempt any kind of romantic conquest. It wasn't until just before his seventeenth birthday that he had found himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long cinnamon hair, ample curves, full lips and slanted almond eyes had captivated him, and he had ended up jumping into bed with her the day he'd met her. He didn't exactly regret that, but he realized he had been quite stupid. He had found out quickly after just how vapid she was, but had consoled himself in that a brain wasn't necessary to enjoy sex.

Sadly, though, his Gryffindor morals had set in and disallowed him from a repeat performance.

Then there had been Valerian… witty, intelligent, mischievous, and quite possibly the most intriguing individual Harry had met to date. Over a year in Sceaduwe under the influence of his vampirism and physical training had done wonders for Harry, he had finally filled out in the appropriate places. And then one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen wanted him… him! Prior to the night Valerian had practically accosted him, he had considered himself a perfectly normal straight male. One night had, however, totally changed his mind. He hadn't been aware prior to that just how foreign the soft curves of a woman had felt until he had the firm planes of a man to compare the sensations to.

But he could hardly even fathom his current situation. His mind could not wrap around the mere idea of fancying Voldemort. While denial was a lovely thing, Harry had never been in the habit of lying to himself. He had tried to tell himself it was just friendship, but he knew it was a lie from the moment the thought danced across his brain. He felt differently for Voldemort than he did for his friends, the feelings too intense to be the same.

He couldn't equate the feelings with anything he'd ever felt before. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the years of hatred and near obsession that strung between them, the angry emotions managing to distort to such a degree as to end up egging on the strange fondness between them. Somehow he understood the reptilian man with only a glance, the subtle nuances of his expressions all Harry needed to comprehend. It was unnerving and he mostly tried to ignore the signals he had been noticing for months, the recent absence only compounding it.

It was wrong and frankly made his stomach turn, but he was enamored with Voldemort.

Tom Riddle, someone he had been rather accepting of calling his friend and always excited to spend time with. He did honestly know that looks were not the be-all end-all in a relationship… but could one feasibly be in a relationship with someone whose looks revolted them? He had found as the weeks passed that the man's looks no longer fazed him, but to imagine kissing or touching him in an intimate matter? Harry shivered. He didn't think he could do it. Not at this point. Though he could see himself finding the piercing red gaze erotic and he could think of more than a dozen things a forked tongue could be useful for… at the moment the bald head and flat snake-like non-nose were just too much for him to overcome. Did that make him shallow… or discerning?

Harry shoved his hands into his hair roughly and sighed, unaware of that over half the Great Hall had been watching him as he had toiled. Thankfully, all but a few bought that he was distraught over the deaths. And those who knew better could only wonder.

It was three days later when Harry finally found himself a bit of time away, meandering aimlessly through the halls. Ron and Ginny were away at Quidditch practice, Neville working with Professor Sprout, and no one else seemed interesting. His feet took his towards the library where he was sure Hermione would be; as usual she had been spending a lot of time there. She had begun her NEWT speech at the start of term, never mind that they had nearly two years until it was relevant, and had already begun stressing herself out over them.

She had been acting strangely in the last month, and there had been a tension about her that he usually attributed with an upcoming test. He had found that when Ron was not around she was a much more suitable conversationalist. Now that he was on a much more even playing field with her he found her fascinating, one of the only students he could stand to talk to for any length of time.

He found her exactly as he expected to find her, hunched over a book with several more piled around her. She was scratching away at a piece of parchment without even looking to see her writing, eyes firmly glued to the dusty tome before her. Harry used every ounce of his abilities to sneak soundlessly up behind her, suddenly feeling mischievous and wanting to give her a jolt. All playfulness died a quick death as he saw the parchment she was writing on, though.

Things Different About Harry

- Quieter (long bouts of inattention and contemplation)

- More serious (studious, less free smiles)

- No more Quidditch?

- Dark, brooding countenance (glares at nothing, deep in thought often)

- Decreased appetite (hardly touches food but to snack)

- Phenomenal strength (threw Malfoy)

- Increased intelligence and marks (actually manages on his own in Potions!)

- Often disappears at night (Neville saw him leave via broom their second night back)

Possible Conclusions

- Abuse (Dursley's worse than we thought? Unlikely due to the lack of anger and skittishness. Would not explain strength etc.)

- Secrets (Prophecy could have explained it, however has since been uncovered and changes have not ceased, would not explain strength etc.)

- Voldemort-related stress (would explain many of the psychological effects but not the intelligence or strength)

- Werewolf (No. Would explain most symptoms but he has been seen during several full moons)

- Vampire (No. Walks in daylight. No word of strange deaths.)

- Dark Elf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. Fitting, if he could be believed to be under a glamour to hide the dark skin, but unlikely due to no Elven blood in the Potter line.)

- Dwarf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. I find myself insulted for Harry for even writing it. Not nearly short or child-like enough, would explain little.)

- Veela (No. Wrong coloring for the potency required, would on-

Her quill continued scratching away at the parchment as Harry sighed internally and rubbed a hand over his face. It seemed her suspicions were far-reaching. Had be been so careless? He had known that he had been a bit lax in his security… but this was out of hand. Neville had seen him leave? Hermione had seen him with Malfoy? Brooding so deeply that he didn't notice he was being watched?

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder but got no entertainment from the way she yelped and spun in her seat, brown eyes wide. "H-Harry!" she said, awkwardly shoving the paper into her bag without losing eye contact. "Did you need something?"

Harry's eyes were sad. "Suspicious of me?"

Hermione cringed, before straightening with a familiar look of determination. "Well, then why don't you tell me?"

"I think not." Harry glanced around and found them utterly alone in that portion of the library, consciously casting out his senses to be sure there was no one hiding. The closest person was far out of a human's hearing range. "I don't expect you to understand. I'm sorry for this, Hermione."

"Sorry for what?" she said with a wary frown while drawing back.

Harry pulled out his Blackthorn wand and pointed it at her forehead, closing his own eyes in pain as he saw hers go wide with betrayal. "Obliviate."

Chapter Text

Harry sighed as he slipped out of the library unseen, his hand unconsciously dropping to feel the shrunken bulk of items he had had to confiscate off of Hermione. He ran a shaky hand through his short hair, annoyed at how off balance the encounter had made him. Every time he began wondering how little of his humanity remained, it seemed a situation came up to convince him otherwise. He had thought he had put a reasonable amount of distance between himself and his prior friends, but it seemed he had not done as good of a job as he'd thought.

It had physically hurt him to stare into her blank eyes and tell her that she had, in fact, been researching Vampires in order to have concrete proof backing her statements as she argued with Ron about Dante. That she was not suspicious of him. That she only hoped for his wellbeing and had not, in fact, seen anything to lead her believe him to be anything more than an angsty and brooding teenaged human male. He hated washing away the faint hope that had arisen in his heart as he'd read the analytical slant of her words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong. Hoping that maybe he wasn't going to lose all vestiges of his old life when the truth came out, that Hermione was bookish enough to not let her emotions cloud her judgment.

But he knew that was not the case. Hope was for children and fools, and he fancied himself to be neither.

He had found an entire notebook filled with her neat handwriting, all listing truths about Vampires that she had found in various unbiased books. He was impressed with how much she had been able to find. It hadn't been hard to place a sleeping hex over her and replace the damning paper about him with the notebook after checking it over for anything pertaining for him. He wasn't going to allow himself to slip up anymore. He had done it enough. He would have to be more careful if he was going to make it though the school year.

He had also done a search of her book bag, taking out all texts that would have been irrelevant to her supposed task. Within it he had found a boon, something that very nearly made having to Obliviate the only woman he looked to as family worth it. He was sure it was from the Restricted section, and likely the only copy in existence; it was handwritten and tenuously bound, an unassuming cover leaving him in shock as he'd flipped through it.

Innocuously titled 'Joint Magicks', he had discovered it to be a book about spells that required both a wizard and a participant of a different species, usually Vampire or Werewolf, though Harry had spied spells for use in combination with Dwarfs, House Elves, and Sirens. He had decided to 'borrow' it for further perusal when an entry had caught his eye.

An entry detailing the combination of a wizard's magic with a vampire's, combined with a complicated potion which would create a fully functional Blood Clone.

Harry pushed away all melancholy thoughts and let a wicked grin curve his lips. He had a Potions master to speak with and a Rite to prepare for. He would have free reign over the hols even if it meant suffering Severus Snape.

Harry strode through the dungeons as if he owned them, uncaring if any sneaky Slytherins would witness his passing. He didn't think he would be keeping the truth from many of them much longer, and they wouldn't dare take their complaints to Dumbledore. They would stew with their grievances until the truth came to light.

Harry paused to rap on the door to Professor Snape's classroom, not uncouth enough to barge in unannounced. No matter his distaste for the man, he did respect him and knew he would be a valuable ally if Harry could force him to get over his childish grudges.

"Enter," the drawl came in the familiar deep timber. Harry had found over the years that the annoying voice in the back of the head that alerted him when he screwed up had taken on that same deep drawl; it had been a source of the utmost annoyance for him for years. It usually went unnoticed now, though.

He opened the door and slid into the room, clicking the door shut behind him and ignoring the steadily deepening scowl that was on the sallow man's face. "Hullo Severus, I need you to do a task for me."

The scowl transformed into a snarl, but Harry could see the man reigning in his initial instinct to lash out verbally. Like Lucius, it seemed that though it may take a while, respect and subsequent deference were on their way. "And just what, Potter, do you need of me?"

Harry perched on the edge of what was normally Malfoy's desk. "I need a potion brewed and have little time to work out the specifics to brew it on my own. It is within my skill level, but I would prefer to know your skills were behind it."

Black eyes showed surprise briefly before they went flat once more. "If it is within your own unexceptional proficiency level, then it is likely not worth my own time at all," he sneered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and saw the man flinch back slightly, obviously having known better than to make the comment. It seemed he had made an impact on Snape, though the man's personality was hard to be quelled, especially in the face of James Potter's son. "Perhaps you missed the memorandum, Severus, but I am not the same sniveling, brooding little boy you tossed out on his backside at the end of term. In case my appearance change has not been hint enough, I was in training for a decade before returning for the school year. If not for your own incompetence at teaching, I would have been a fine student, though admittedly never top of the class."

"What gives you the right to demean my teaching skills, you ungrateful little brat?" Snape growled out, knuckles white where they clenched the desk's edge.

"Have you ever heard of Dougal Fraiser?" he asked with a sly smirk, watching the faint color leave the Potions master's face. "You have, I see. It took six months under his tutelage to correct the damage you did on me over the years, and once I was able to hold a blade correctly and actually identify ingredients, I was able to work on my own at a passable level. I will never love it as you do, nor will I ever hold the patience for any long-term brews… but I know what I am doing around a cauldron, Severus, and I would thank you to stop questioning my intelligence. It is not your place," he finished with a growl of his own, flipping his Blackthorn wand from his sleeve and leveling it at the man threateningly. It was an empty threat, they both knew; the wards would not allow him the creativity he would like, but the implication and reminder was there.

Severus swallowed with a pinched expression and tipped his head in a stunted show of submission. "What do you need of me, then, my lord?"

Harry ignored the man's attitude as his love of obscurities surfaced, a smile working its way over his face. "I found a spell to perfectly suit my needs for the holidays. However, it is Cooperative magic and I require a Harmonizing potion to synch up the varying magical signatures. It's relatively uncomplicated but for the careful stirring required."

Harry pulled the book from his pocket and tapped it with his wand, expanding it and flipping through the pages quickly, plopping it down onto the desk and grinning at the astonished looking Potions master. He watched Snape run a long finger down the ingredients list. "What is the purpose of this potion? The jobberknoll feathers associate the potion with memory, the moonstone with emotional balance, and the runespoor eggs with increased mental acumen, but the properties of the asphodel and knotgrass would not be complete enough to serve to create a golem."

Harry nodded fervently. "That is why it is Cooperative magic, it isn't a golem at all. Golems need to be directed and instructed, this allows you to create life!"

He pointed to the opposite page of the potions instructions and lifted himself on the corner of the high desk. "See? It's a minor ritual in a triangular formation, and with Dante and I working as the anchors I just need you to brew and apply the potion at the correct point. It's fascinating. It works by converting both the wizard and vampire magic into a neutral, original magic without roots in any species. Because creating a veritable life form without birthing is impossible to all species, we are creating an alternate life form that will be, in theory, an exact replication of me. The potion is needed to cement a sense of self into the clone and allow it to move without constant direction. The magic creates the body and it can be mentally and physically linked to me to make it have my personality, goals, and memories and look exactly like my fifteen year old form…"

Black eyes were slightly unfocused. "Why isn't this more well known? The mere idea of this is fascinating. Think of what I could do with this: having an assistant that isn't a complete dunderhead to contribute to my experimentation…"

Harry chuckled at the dreamy gaze. "Unfortunately, the clone won't work properly in close proximity to its maker, nor will it function under duress. That nullifies any uses I have come up with in assistance and battle. A person also cannot be linked to more than one at a time, limiting the clones singularly. It is helpful for establishing an alibi, or as in my case, appearing to be where I am not. It is very unknown because it requires a human and a vampire of at least moderate strength to work together, and with prejudices the way they are that is unlikely."

Severus scowled again, though this time it was directed at the wall rather than Harry, surprisingly. "Damn."

Harry chuckled again and nodded. "I know. I spent all last night thinking of what I could use it for… I was rather annoyed to have gotten my hopes up. I will look more into this subject, though, surely."

Severus nodded and scanned the potion list again. "When do you need this done by?"

"At least a day or two prior to the Yule hols. I don't want to create it too soon; I haven't found a stasis spell yet."

Severus again nodded to Harry vacantly, and Harry was surprised to find himself comfortable in the man's company. It wasn't often that the man wasn't imparting his irascible wit onto him, and he found that without the scathing sarcasm the man could be tolerable company. He wouldn't call it pleasant, really, but it was a far cry from their usual interactions.

"I'm only worried about one aspect," Harry said seriously after a few minutes' silence. He hated to bring up this particular subject, as it would surely bring back the Snape he reviled, but he respected the man's intelligence and needed his opinion. "The one thing that will not be carried over to the clone will be my vampirism. As such, its mind will be wide open. I worry about Dumbledore coming across it in that state. I considered extracting the memories of the last ten years, but it would leave months of unknown gaps in its mind and would leave it disoriented. It would cause me to be found out too easily."

"Are you telling me," Severus said in a dark drawl, "that you are so incompetent as to have been unable to master Occlumency after a decade of training? What kind of a brainless imbecile are you?"

"Watch your tone, Severus," Harry hissed. "For your information, I am unable to learn Occlumency. The Avada Kedavra made my mind unable to form defensive shields. Had you not been blinded by your own childish presuppositions you might have noticed that in our lessons. Thankfully, being a vampire has many advantages, only one of them being able to deflect human Legilimency."

Severus's face contorted into an angry grimace. "There is no way your mind cannot make shields. It is a basic ability available to all wizards at birth!"

"And there is no way I could have survived a Killing Curse to the head either. Yet I stand here. I'm sure you've noticed that precedent has never stopped me thus far."

"How could I not notice? The very laws of nature bend backwards to accommodate you."

Harry scoffed. "And there I was for years wishing I could just be invisible. But now…" Harry let a wicked smirk cross his face. "Now I see the benefits of being under the world's scrutiny. I will make sure my messages are heard. Someday I still hope to fade into obscurity, but I know now that short of holing myself away in the Immortal realm, that isn't going to happen."

Severus scowled downward irritably as Harry pushed himself off the high desk and gave a mocking bow. "I will take my problem to Dante, since you seem unable to hold a civil, intelligent conversation. I fear, Severus, that you and I are going to bump heads for many years to come - assuming you survive that long, of course - but you would make it far easier on yourself to see that I am absolutely nothing like my father. I really can't tell you, though, since the most I've ever seen of him was the scene in your pensieve. You would be doing yourself a favor to try and look beyond your own muddled sight. Pretend for a single day that you never met my father and see what you think after that. Because if you don't begin to treat me with the respect I command as your lord… I don't guarantee your survival long enough to get out of this school year, let alone this war. While I am content to make you scream a bit, my dear Tom seems to take offense to people insulting me."

He turned at the door and saw the ashen complexion of the man, grinning and giving a jaunty wave. "I want the list of students I should speak with the day I return, Severus. Ta-ta."

Harry left Severus staring at the cracked stone of the dungeon wall in a seething fury… but underneath it all, he wondered if the boy might be at least partially right.

Harry was packed and ready to leave - all the clothing and supplies he would need for the two weeks away from Hogwarts shrunken in a small trunk in his pocket. Now he only needed to retrieve the Blood Clone from Dante's rooms and set off under his invisibility cloak for the train. He halfway wanted to Apparate, but he had decided it would be easiest just to take the Hogwarts Express and meet up with Lucius that way.

Harry paid little attention to his surroundings, being nearly alone in the corridors while everyone ran around getting ready for their holidays. He was one of a handful of students staying over (so the castle believed, that is) and so it wasn't anything special to see him wandering the halls. After all, if he was really a sixteen year old staying behind for Christmas without his friends, it would only rub salt into the wounds to watch everyone else happily preparing to depart.

When the shoulder of an equally distracted person caught onto his, he turned to snarl out a rebuke when he was caught by wide silver eyes. He raised an eyebrow as the blond quickly bent at the waist and refused to meet his eyes again. "My lord, I apologize for not watching where I was going!"

Harry snorted, amused that Draco had managed to figure it out. "Don't worry about it, Malfoy… and don't bow to me in school. Wouldn't want anyone else to figure it out, after all."

Still the blond would not meet his eyes, though he did straighten. "I apologize for my behavior this year, my lord. Had I known you had possessed Potter…"

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Excuse me, Malfoy?"

"Potter… you've possessed him, haven't you my lord?"

Harry let out a short bark of laughter, smirking as the blond twitched slightly in an aborted attempt to cringe away. "Now Malfoy, my memories of you aren't exactly clear… but I could have sworn that you were exceedingly intelligent."

Draco's face turned pink at the insult. "I-I don't understand…"

"I am Harry Potter. Voldemort," the boy flinched, "in no way has possession of my mind or body." Harry paused and smirked. "No matter how much Tom might wish it."

Draco clenched his fists and growled. "Potter… then what in the bloody hell is wrong with you? You aren't the same Potter as before, you're Dark and strong and…" the younger seemed to realize he was inadvertently complimenting Harry and stopped, face screwing up. "What the hell are you?"

Harry smirked and advanced on the boy, stopping only inches away. "Don't worry your… pretty little head over it, Draco."

The word seemed to trigger something in Malfoy, as he paled slightly. "You've got to be kidding me."

A wicked grin spread over his lips. "I can't wait to see your home, Little Pretty. I especially miss your father…"

Harry winked and left the slowly reddening, furious blond behind him as he walked with a new skip in his step to Dante's rooms.

Harry groaned and stretched from his position on the floor of the train's cabin, pushing his neck from side to side to crack it. He had lost track of time, having finally had the time to pull out the materials for the only hobby he'd picked up in the last decade and deciding to put his talent to work on Christmas gifts for his Dante and Voldemort. He snickered at the idea that he was actually had to consider what to get Voldemort for Christmas. How things changed.

He had managed to use his talents to create a gift that each would find acceptable, but he was still at a loss for Lucius. Since the blond was his subordinate and beyond their mini trysts they were far from close, Harry hadn't thought he would be giving Lucius anything. However, now that he had been invited to stay in the man's home, it was only right that he give something to him. He hoped to figure it out while he was there. If Valerian had taught him anything over the years, manners and proper decorum were the biggest.

Putting away his things and carefully packing away the gifts before shrinking and pocketing his trunk, Harry stood and stretched his back out and swished his invisibility cloak back over his shoulders. He had used the Reversion potion almost as soon as he had warded the door, and had to crouch slightly to stay under the cover of his cloak.

The train began grinding to a halt, finally having reached King's Cross. It was an exhausting and time-consuming ride, and he now wished he had just Apparated. However, he hadn't wanted to lose track of time. Since he had never been to Malfoy Manor he needed to enter with Lucius the first time. He sighed and cast a quick Reflection spell to check that he was fully concealed before removing the wards and obscuring charms he had placed on the door.

He watched impassively as the train emptied of its passengers, waiting until it was nearly empty before he skirted his way through the crowds. He frowned as he watched Ron, Ginny, and Hermione run of to the rest of the Weasley party and leave with loud voices. He wasn't bitter, honestly… but he knew that had this been ten years ago and had this moment been happening to his sixteen year old self, it would have nearly broken his heart.

He sighed and slipped through the barrier column into the crowded muggle station, immediately picking out Lucius in a rather unnoticeable alcove behind a column. He smirked and started towards him before another blond drew his attention, the younger Malfoy walking furiously and purposefully towards the elder. "Father!"

Lucius turned slightly, raising a pale eyebrow at his son's loud voice. "Yes, Draco?"

Harry was nearly there now, not even needing sensitive hearing to pick out the words.

"Are you insane?! You invited that… that…"

"What are you going on about, Draco?"

The boy was furious, Harry could tell, and he stopped a foot away just to watch in amusement as Draco nearly shook in fury.

"Do you know who he is, Father?! This lord of yours that you… oh Merlin you let him… and you liked it… he's bloody Ha-"

"Pretty, do shut up your progeny before I shut him up," Harry purred from beside Lucius, still under his cloak but with a hand on the man's arm.

"Be silent, Draco," Lucius said to the fuming boy without even a flinch. "We will discuss this later. My lord? Are you ready to go?"

Harry pushed back his cloak enough to expose his eyes to the two blonds, "Hmm… I suppose so. I should really get some… sustenance before leaving, but I'm sure you won't be adverse to being my donor tonight, would you Pretty?"

He felt Lucius shiver against him. "Of course, my lord."

"Splendid," Harry said with a hiss, focusing his eyes on the silent but obviously livid Draco. "Shall we go, then?"

Lucius pulled out a piece of parchment and waited until Harry's hand was grasping the paper over his own hand before saying the activating word and letting the three of them swirl out of existence.

Chapter Text

The second the dizzying feeling of the portkey ended, Draco's furious face was turned to the tiny floating section of Harry's face that was visible, "You…"

Harry pulled off his cloak indifferently, drawing his Blackthorn wand from his sleeve and rolling it between his fingertips, eyes set on the incensed younger Malfoy. "Yes, Little Pretty?" Harry flicked a long tendril of hair from his face, tilting his head. "Your face is rather pink. It's truly not your color."

The blond's color rose yet higher and Harry could see him struggling to maintain his Slytherin mask. Lucius sighed inaudibly from his side and turned slightly to face Harry. "My lord, if I may? I think my son needs time to reconcile with the knowledge of your identity."

"No, Lucius, I think you're wrong," said Harry, his eyes flicking back to silver. "I think he needs to understand. It's bad enough I have to deal with Severus on a daily basis and the ginormous stick up his arse, I don't want to have to contend with your brat tripping me up every other step. He could end up an asset or a hindrance. I would like to try for asset, if you don't mind."

The angry tinge to Draco's cheeks seemed to lessen as Harry spoke, the slightest confused furrow of his brow marring his face. Harry took this as a good sign.

Lucius pursed his lips but bowed, locking eyes with Harry. "As you wish. But please…" Lucius couldn't seem to let his sentence continue, the mere word 'please' having strained him. Harry smiled softly, becoming oddly endeared to the toff man.

He flicked his wand back into his sleeve. "I only want to speak to him, Pretty. No worries." He looked back to sliver eyes. "Walk with me, Little Pretty?"

A scowl. "You could at least call me by my given name," Draco said in a tight voice, and Harry found it amusing that his childhood rival actually had the capacity to compromise.

"Fine, Draco. Show me the grounds?"

The left the Entry Hall to Lucius mumbling about why Harry hadn't listened to him when he'd asked to be called by his name, Harry chuckling and following the younger of the two blonds. He smiled serenely as Draco pointed out the Pegasus stables and the non-regulation Quidditch Pitch. He snorted as he noticed at least a dozen white peacocks roaming the grounds, wondering whose touch that had been. It was feminine enough to have been Narcissa, but it was amusing to think it could have been Lucius. He thought it redundant and pretentious to place animals associated with wealth in such an obviously rich atmosphere, but no one ever said the Malfoys were simple.

Harry was amused by the haughty tone that was slowly returning to Draco's voice as he spoke, not even noticing that Harry hadn't been paying attention. "And this," he said with a regal wave of his hand, "is the Manor Garden. Only the most rare and beautiful plants have been included, imported from all over the planet. You will find no better private garden anywhere." Draco sniffed. "Obviously. Malfoys never settle for less than the best."

Harry let out a soft laugh. "Oh, obviously."

Draco jumped and lightened a few shades, obviously having forgotten whom he was leading. "Yes, well…"

Harry brushed past the teen with a smirk, walking with a sway to his hips into the grandiose garden, eying the ornate fountain in the center. He walked slowly, wary of anything that might jump out at him in a magical garden, eyes lazily darting from side to side. He spotted a rather eye-catching purple bloom and stopped, looking down to it before dropping to his knees and pulling a creeping weed from where it was tangling around the base of the stem. He set it aside after assuring himself it wasn't anything animated, smoothing over the soil where he had disrupted it.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy suddenly asked, and Harry didn't have to see the other boy's face to know he was sneering. "From Dark Lord to House Elf?"

Harry laughed quietly, flicking a glance over his shoulder as he moved to pull another weed. "House Elf, am I?" he chuckled again in a calm way. "Tell me, Draco, did your parents hug you when you were a child?"

The voice was hesitant and confused. "Of course they did."

"Did your mother tuck you in at night? Your father teach you to ride a broom?"

The sneer was back in full force. "Is this going to be some orphan spiel, Potter? Pathetic."

Harry laughed again and sat back on his heels, brushing the dirt from his hands and leaning back onto them in the soft, magically-maintained grass. "I think not. I was just wondering. Your parents seem so cold, but as I've gotten to know your father I've noticed how different he can be. He loves you very much."

Draco scowled at the ground across from Harry, but seemed to sacrifice his pride as he dropped gracefully to the grass. "I think you've taken getting to know him far too far, Potter."

Harry smiled serenely. "Ah, perhaps."

"You're far too amused by the knowledge that you've molested my father."

"Perhaps again." Harry's smile widened mischievously. "Just feel lucky I seem to be attracted to the older aristocratic types… if you were a decade or so older I'd probably hit on you as well."

Draco made a face but couldn't stop his face from turning pink. "Prat."

Harry watched the dark clouds crowding the sky and wondered if they would finally get the first snow of the season. The air was sharper than it had been the last few weeks, a nip in the wind that hadn't been there previously even in up in Scotland. It would be strange to see snow in Wiltshire this early in the winter, but he knew not to rule out the possibility. Rain, at least, was a surety. 

Harry tilted his head back to stare at the grey-covered sky, twitching uncomfortably as he felt his long hair pool on the ground. He had forgotten how annoying his excessively long hair was, but after having spent long months of not having it, he found a new appreciation for it. No matter how many times he had complained to Valerian about its length, it was a comfort to have it back. Harry pulled out his wand, ignoring Draco's flinch, and released the spell he reflexively applied whenever he Reverted. The spell that kept his long brownblack hair framing his face dissipated and let the tapered bangs hair fall back from his forehead, leaving his famous scar visible. It was faded after years without visions or agitation, but it remained ever etched there.

He felt Draco's eyes on him and tilted his head back forward, green meeting silver. "Yes?"

"How have you changed this much?" Draco asked in a blasé tone, though the curiosity was obvious in his eyes. "You get my father arrested as a scrawny twat, and you come back after summer some…" Draco's face pinked again and he waved his hand. "Like this! And suddenly allying with the Dark Lord! It makes no sense!"

Harry smirked and went back to watching the crawling grey clouds. "Not everyone has had the life you have, Draco."

"Don't start wittering on with the orphan thing again."

"Oh, stuff it." Harry sighed. "I didn't witter then and I'm not going to now."

"Do go on, then."

Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to throw a pity party over my shitty life; I don't want to say it and you don't want to hear it. But I will tell you that Voldemort," Draco flinched, "and I grew up in the same way. Upon entering the Wizarding world I was suddenly vaunted as a hero and told my parents died to save my life. Until then, I had been told they had died while driving drunk. Think of Apparating drunk and it is about the same amount of taboo. Suddenly I was loaded with the expectations of an entire culture on my shoulders. I was eleven years old. Of course I wanted to be brave like my parents, of course I didn't want to be like the man who had killed them or the boy who acted just like my spoilt bully of a cousin."

"You were also an idiot," Draco said with an obvious pout that Harry easily ignored.

"In any case, after my godfather was killed, I was given an out of that life… the life where I was treated like absolute crap half the time and even worse when opinions were good. So I went away. Except," Harry paused and thought of how to word it, "there was something that made me come back. It wasn't even the prophecy, but the expectations on me were huge, and Dumbledore was too dangerous to leave unfettered. He would ruin the Wizarding world if left to his own devices, or else the war would destroy it for him. So I came back… time travel, if you must know, Vampire magic… to end it. I just might not be ending it the way they all wanted me to."

"By joining with the man who killed your parents?" There was no mockery in the tone, and that was the only reason Harry answered.

"That wasn't my first option, but it ended up the best. And I'm glad I did, honestly. I think we can make this world great."

"The Wizarding world is already great," the blond sneered, lip curled.

"You're lucky you aren't a Death Eater, Draco, or I would have cursed you for that," Harry said in an amused voice, watching from the corner of his eye as an color Malfoy had drained. "But since you are not, I will warn you. Don't talk down to me."

"Y-yes, of course."

"Anyway, I believe we can make this world great, improve upon what exists and take away the fears of the people. Restrictions on muggleborns to increase security, mixing of different magical blood to enrich the lines… we won't be exposed and we can flourish. Voldemort and I working together could well end up the best thing to ever happen to the magical world."

Draco was frowning but nodded slightly. "Why tell me all this? You hate me and I can't say I'm all that fond of you either. What is the point?"

"I don't hate you, Little Pretty." He ignored the glare. "Honestly, I hardly remember much of our encounters. So, while I do not hate you, I think very little of you. I am giving you the chance to change that." He cut off the blond before he could insert the sarcastic retort that was sure to follow such a proclamation. "Think twice before you answer, Draco. I am now the partner to the Dark Lord. Your aspirations include being a Death Eater, yes? What better way to be sure you receive the rank I am sure you believe you deserve?"

"What would you have me do?" the blond asked, an uncaring mask over his face.

"Do? Help me take Hogwarts. I need people to help me with that. Call a truce with Harry Potter on the outside and begin showing me people you trust who have our goals. I need a force to leave behind after I take down Dumbledore, people intelligent enough to make sure the truth is known. My plans for Dumbledore are solo, but I may need diversions in the meantime. It isn't anything more than a more proactive version of what you're already doing. Can you handle this?"

Draco paused for many long minutes, staring at the same point in the sky that Harry had studied minutes prior. Harry remained silent, knowing the blond's intelligence ranked with Hermione's and with his ideals he would surely agree. Survival of the fittest, after all, was high up on a Slytherin's creed. And if he could help himself be the fittest? Well, all the better.

"Fine, Potter," Draco said with a curt nod. "But don't expect me bowing to you!"

"Not in school, Malfoy, but you need to remember that I am not your equal. If you accept this, out of public you will show subservience."

Draco grimaced and grumbled under his breath, obviously unhappy with what he was about to do. He visibly cringed as he held out his hand.

Harry smiled genuinely, wrapping his hand around long fingers. "Deal, then."

Harry swirled the brandy slowly, eyes tracking the ice cubes as they ran around the glass. He and Draco had arrived back in the Manor an hour before and the younger had retired immediately claiming exhaustion, leaving a silent Lucius in the study with his guest. Harry had watched the man for long minutes before turning his gaze on his perpetually-filled glass. Lucius was working on something for the Ministry and couldn't be bothered. Harry didn't mind. The silence was soothing in a way that the boredom at Hogwarts had never been. Here, he had a purpose. He was merely relaxing in the meantime, taking in the sights and sounds of a normal existence.

Harry took another slow sip, letting the drink burn down his throat and warm his stomach. While snow had yet to fall, it was raining heavily and a chill had descended on the Manor. Roaring fires in every fireplace couldn't seem to effect the huge mansion, and though Harry knew a warming charm would be the wizard's solution, he found mild discomfort like cold reminded him of his mortality. It was something every important figure had to keep a grasp on.

A sigh from Lucius drew his attention back up to the man, papers spread before him and long white-blond hair fanned over his shoulders. Every few minutes he would agitatedly push stray hair out of his face or absently blow at a lock that obscured his vision, mind focused on the papers he was perusing. Harry found it terribly amusing.

Patrician features were illuminated in the ambient light, lower lip moving in a way that suggested that Lucius chewed on the inside of it. Harry wondered if he had, as a child, chewed on the lip itself until it had been trained otherwise. Harry smiled as he saw the smallest flash of white teeth that confirmed his first assumption.

"Something amusing, my lord?" Lucius asked, not looking away from the official document.

"No, nothing, Pretty."

Lucius's eyes twitched in an aborted roll, but no comment was made. "Would you like me to summon a House Elf to take you to your rooms?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm amusing myself just fine."

Lucius finally glanced in his direction. "If you are sure, my lord."

Harry's let a small smirk cross his lips that was nearly too fond to be called so. "No need to worry about me, Pretty. I'm used to this by now. Between Tom and Valerian, I've spent entire days of the last year in this position. I have learned to amuse myself."

Lucius let out a hum and went back to his paper, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry stood slowly, a smirk on his lips. He ignored the tensing of the blond's shoulders and slowly carded his fingers through platinum hair, letting his short nails rake against the man's scalp a few times. Harry pulled the strip of leather from where Lucius had discarded it and slowly tied the hair back from the man's face, leaning forward once he had pulled the band tight. "So, Pretty," Harry said, his breath ghosting over the skin of Lucius' neck. "Just where is your… wife?"

The man's eyes stopped darting across the paper but he didn't look up. "Finishing her Yule shopping in Spain. She should be back tomorrow evening or the morning after."

Harry gave a breathy chuckle. "I can't say I'm disappointed that she isn't here, Pretty. I was afraid you and I would get no time to ourselves." Fingers trailed across Lucius's shoulders as Harry leaned forward. "You see… I tend to be rather possessive with my favorite things."

A noise of denial attempted to worm its way out of Lucius' throat, but Harry merely smiled. "No, I do not mean to call you a thing, Pretty… however, you are certainly of my favorites…"

A low exhalation of air was Harry's response, and Harry let his nose press behind the blond's ear and his tongue flick out to taste the hollow there. "M-my lord… perhaps this isn't…"

"Call me Harry, Pretty," he murmured trailing the tongue down and taking a hold of the man's earlobe.

Another exhalation and a grunt of denial. "T-This is not a good…" a moan cut the man off, color flushing his cheeks. Whether he was embarrassed or it was merely in pleasure, Harry didn't know.

Harry lazily trailed a fang down the pulsing jugular, eyes drooping in a sultry cast. He pulled back slowly and blew against Lucius' neck, watching the fine hairs stand on end, "But I must argue, Pretty. This is very good…"

With a muffled groan, Lucius let his head loll back until gray eyes fixing hazily on green.

Harry smiled slightly and leaned over, nibbling leisurely at the pale lower lip and tugging it between his teeth. Another small sound escaped Lucius' mouth that sent a chill down Harry's spine, his fingers digging into the man's shoulder as a slow fire built within him. Not pausing in the slow attentions of his tongue, Harry let his hands roam up the exposed neck to cradle the man's face, inverted though the case may be, dexterous fingers stroking the slanted jaw. He broke apart from Lucius after the slow kiss, smirking down at the man. "Very… very good…"

Lucius' throat worked for several moments before he managed to get a word out, his voice rough as Harry moved to trace lines across the man's throat with his tongue and fangs. "This… I should not be doing this!"

Harry let out a sigh against the man's skin and pulled back to look into gray eyes, breath coming out in sort pants. "Why ever not, Lucius?" he asked with a hiss, drawing out the man's name and relishing in the way gray eyes fluttered.

"I am not a toy," Lucius said in a slow, measured voice, obviously trying to force composure through the vapor of lust surrounding him. "And will not be treated as such… not even by my lord. I will carry out any order… but I will not be made to crumble whenever your whims demand it."

Harry stared for long minutes into Lucius' eyes, startled when he didn't feel amused or angry over the defiance. He felt… proud. Proud that the man had gone from defying him, to respecting him enough to follow him, to finally able to set his own principles down to him. It told Harry that Lucius was growing as a person and that he, himself, was managing his goals well. He wanted to change many things, one of them being how the Death Eaters worked. Fear alone was not enough to rally true support and loyalty.

He smiled, startling the waiting Lucius, and leaned forward, brushing his lips against the older man's. He took the step needed to take him to the man's lap and stood over him, his stomach brushing the blond's chest, "You are right of course. But please," his voice was hoarse as need rose in him once more, "Merlin, please let me taste you one more time."

Lucius groaned and pushed himself up into a dizzying kiss, and Harry let himself be lost in the sensations. The kiss was short but fierce, permission granted as Harry lowered himself into the man's lap and pressed himself hip to chest with him. Teeth nipped and tugged, tongues conflicted, heart rates soared. Harry could never figure out what it was about Lucius. Though the man was improving, he was still in essence an annoying and lordly prat who believed his shite smelt of roses. Though exceptionally attractive, there were others out there as attractive as he was, so it couldn't be merely that. But there seemed to be a… magnetism between them, something that made it nearly impossible to resist leaping on the man every time they were alone.

With a low moan Harry trailed his mouth to the tempting neck and paused, trying to calm his breathing. Perhaps it was this. Perhaps it had been so long since he had had a live and willing donor that his hormones couldn't resist taking advantage. Feeding was a very sensual thing, even in its most violent aspects. You were taking a bit of your victim into yourself, essentially merging for a short time together with them. Taken by force it inflamed power, given freely it invoked passion.

He sank his fangs slowly into the soft skin at the pulse point. Lucius's groan seemed loud in the quiet room, disrupting the sound of the rain falling outside. Harry's eyes rolled back as he drank, his fingers gripping forcefully on the blond's shoulders. The blood made the dizzying feeling from before paltry in comparison, a wave of desire and ecstasy washing over him in a wave. He listened to the man's heartbeat and pushed harder against him as arms wrapped around his waist.

All too soon he heard the telltale slowing and had to pull away, the small pinpricks sealing quickly as he stayed, breathing heavily, leaned against the man's neck. The arms that held him were still tensed but shaking, and Harry knew he should help Lucius to bed before he passed out.

Harry licked his lips and pulled back, half lidded eyes meeting gray before he pressed his lips fleetingly to the other, pulling away and offering his arm. Barely holding onto consciousness, Lucius took it and rose and let Harry lead him to bed.

The next day in Malfoy Manor passed swiftly and surprisingly pleasantly. His truce with Draco was holding well enough; the boy was conceited and a snot, but he was also surprisingly witty and intelligent. Lucius was rather set in his ways, but Harry thought he had a chance to make something of Draco. In fact, when the young blond managed to forget Harry's real identity for minutes at a time, he was nearly enjoyable company.

They had spent a while flying and discussing Quidditch tactics (this conversation had not lasted long, though, as Draco had managed to remember nearly instantly who he was and challenge him to a Seeker's Game), then Harry had spent the afternoon in the library looking through the rare and one-of-a-kind tomes the Malfoys held. Lucius had joined him for a while towards evening once he had returned from the Ministry, and Harry had lost himself in debate over the advantages of using spells that ran the risk of mental damage to the so-called 'safe' ones.

Dinner had been amusing, Draco having forgotten his identity through almost the entire meal and had bandied back and forth with Harry comfortably. Upon remembering his conversation partner was, in fact, Harry Potter, Draco had excused himself quickly, though his curses had carried down the stone passageway. This had made Harry's night.

After drinks with Lucius he had retired early, rising even earlier and setting to making the gift he had decided on for his host. It was the twenty-first now, and he found himself more and more often wondering how long Voldemort would take in being out. Harry wished he had been able to be around more in the last months; he couldn't manage the Death Eaters without Voldemort. He was hardly known at this point and they would not follow him even with his status. That would have to wait until after Hogwarts had fallen, because he just did not have the time to divide between the separate conquests.

It was well after dawn by the time he came out of the trance-like state he had fallen into, and Harry stretched out before going through his morning ritual. A shower, tooth brushing, and change of clothes later, and he was setting out for the dining room. He wasn't sure if Lucius would be awake this early since it was a Saturday, but the man was generally a creature of habit and didn't seem the type to sleep in. Harry let out a yawn as he navigated the twisting hallways of the manor, nodding politely to various portraits on the walls. As he walked he ran his fingers through his hair and drew it back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, his normal style for it when not doing business or aiming to impress. It was less cumbersome that way.

He was surprised when he entered the dining room to find the entirety of the Malfoy family seated around the table, currently only long enough for the four of them but able to be expanded at a word. He was not noticed immediately and took a moment to look at the group. Draco had a small smile on his lips as his mother raved about something she had seen in Spain, and though Lucius's attention was on his newspaper he had a small quirk to his lips. Narcissa herself looked much different with her face animated than she had in Harry's foggy memory from when he was fourteen.

Her blond hair had more of a golden tint than Lucius or Draco, but her skin was just as perfectly pale and her crystalline blue eyes held the same superior glow to them. She was a beautiful woman, Harry thought, and for just a moment he stood watching the exceedingly beautiful family before him. How could an entire family be that lucky in the gene pool? He supposed it was something to do with their Veela heritage, though they still seemed to end up on the good end of the stick regardless. He laughed silently and noted that he could see features of both parents in the son. And with the nearly regal poise both held, it was no wonder Draco was the way he was.

He sashayed into the room them, bored with watching, catching the attention of all the rooms occupants. Narcissa was observing him with guarded interest, while Lucius simply nodded and turned back to his paper. Draco scowled but gave a stiff tilt of his head in greeting as Harry gave them a wide grin. "Good morning Pretty, Little Pretty. And good morning to you as well, Mrs. Malfoy!" He walked straight to her and took her hand, bowing low over it. "I must say, I would think to refer to you as Beautiful if the word did not seem so pale in comparison of your magnificence!" He pressed a feather-light kiss to the back of her hand, giving a crooked smile as pink dusted her cheeks and a smile fought past her attempt at a dignified bearing.

Draco was making a dry retching noise in the background that Harry ignored, and Lucius had a mildly amused look on his face. "If you are done charming my wife, my lord…"

Harry laughed. "Jealous, Pretty?"

"Really, Potter," Draco said in a weak voice. "Leave my parents alone!"

Narcissa's eyes were round and Harry sent a mild glare at Draco. At least he knew that Lucius had, in fact, kept his identity a secret. "Since Little Pretty has ruined my game, let me introduce myself, my lady. I am Harry James Potter, known as Mylläkkä, and I am charmed to meet you. Please, do call me Harry."

She stared for another moment before collecting herself, inclining her head. "And I am Narcissa Druella Malfoy and ask you call me Narcissa in return. I have heard much about you."

Harry seated himself in the open chair and grabbed a piece of toast to nibble on. "I'm sure nearly none of it was complimentary in either guise," he said slyly, peeking at Lucius from the corner of his eyes and watching the man clear his throat and raise his newspaper to block his face.

Narcissa smiled genially. "At least in your pseudonym, it has become increasingly flattering over the last weeks."

The reason for Lucius hiding his face became clear and Harry gave a roguish grin, ignoring the groan from the youngest Malfoy. "I am pleased to know that, Narcissa. Hopefully I can leave a good impression of my own on you."

Harry had a feeling his days at Malfoy Manor would only get more entertaining.

Severus winced as he was Called, his hand clasping his forearm. It was the day before Christmas Eve and it had been nearly two months since he had felt the pain, the longest time since his lord's rebirth. The stinging reminder of his servitude, per usual, sent messages to his brain.

'Fool. What a dim-witted child you were. Allying yourself with a madman for power - power he didn't even grant you! A second rate tyrant in a group of misguided hooligans. You became everything you wished to avoid, everything your father was. Magic? What difference does magic make when you're still torturing those weaker than you?'

He forced his mind to stop recriminating him and sucked in a deep breath, gathering the tattered remnants of his dignity around him even as he stood and pulled his Death Eater robes from his wardrobe. Perhaps things would be different now, now that Potter was standing beside the Dark Lord. Now that Potter himself was no longer an obstacle, perhaps they could move towards the goals they had set decades prior instead of meaningless attacks on unarmed opponents.

Perhaps now he could reclaim his pride.

He stalked through the empty corridors with practiced ease, his teaching robes snapping around him. He would not don his Death Eater's robes while still in the school; not those bloodstained things, real or imagined. He wouldn't wear them in the castle no matter the circumstances, even if he didn't have to be as surreptitious as usual since there were so few students remaining for the holidays. He knew the Potter clone was out there somewhere, and he didn't wish to come within twenty yards of the thing. He would have to deal with Potter enough that night.

The night air slammed into him as he exited the castle and he pulled his Death Eater robes over his shoulders, now free of the school and no longer feeling the leaden weight of guilt. With a sigh that produced a puff of visible air, he continued toward the edge of the wards.

He had nearly crossed the gates when he registered the presence behind him, and he nearly hexed the person for being ballsy enough to have followed him. When he caught sight of golden-blond hair, however, he merely grimaced. "What do you need, Pierce?"

The vampire said nothing as he walked up alongside the Potions master, eyebrow quirked. "Who said you could give me anything I would need, Snape?" The voice was toneless, but Snape's spine stiffened, knowing there would be a sneer accompanying it from anyone else.

"You are following me, Pierce, and since I was under the impression that you were not an utter moron, I assumed that meant you had need of me for something. If there is nothing, I am in a hurry."

Dante flicked back a lock of hair, raising an eyebrow silently. "I am following you because I am going to the same place you are. And you will take me there."

"Like hell I will!"

"You will," said Dante as he gripped Severus' upper arm. "And you will not argue with me. Perhaps Mylläkkä allows it, but I will not allow lip from a twofaced, traitorous spy."

Severus drew himself up to his full height, which put him almost perfectly level with the vampire. "And if you think I will let some nonentity like you order me around, you are sorely mistaken, Pierce. While Potter might have authority over me, you have nothing. Now unhand me before I make you unhand me."

"I would like to see you try."

Severus's voice was a rumble as he wrenched his arm away from Dante, black eyes glittering in the moonlight. "You're just like that little shit, aren't you? You get some false idea of power and suddenly you're lording it over anyone you can, content to make their lives miserable. Well let me make this clear, Pierce: I hold the cards. In half a moment I could tell Dumbledore everything, and even if I died I would know it would take him and you down with me."

Dante's blue eyes narrowed and his lip pulled back into a snarl, and Severus was thoroughly shocked by the show of emotion. The man was less expressive than even him, and the expression of fury was unexpected. "Listen to me, Snape. I will not allow you to harm Mylläkkä. Once a traitor, always a traitor, and I am watching you. If you make so much as a twitch that I perceive as you considering giving information over to the old man…"

Dante trailed off and turned his hand to the ground, palm-down, an aura of fiery, crackling magic surrounding it. "I, Durante Lukas Peirno, do pledge on my true name, magic, and the very life that sustains my body that I shall serve as a shield between the one known as Harry James Potter and the one known as Severus Tobias Snape. Should the latter dare to cross the former, I shall guard him. Should the former be endangered by the latter, I forfeit my life in defense. With my life I do pledge," Dante hissed out, the ritualistic words completing with a crackle of magic.

Severus stood frozen, eyes wide. He couldn't move even to let his jaw drop as it wished to. It was not magic that bound him, but a stinging disbelief as he looked into the angry blue eyes of the Vampire before him. The man had just assured his own death should Severus suddenly switch back to the Light and betray Potter. Should any of his actions directly put Harry Potter into jeopardy, the man before him would die.

Dante ran a shaking hand through his hair, visibly blanking his features. If not for the slightly audible pitch of his breathing, Severus might well have believed the calm façade. "Now, are we not late?"

Severus shook his head minutely. "Why?" he hissed in disbelief, his voice hardly a whisper. He wanted to ask 'Why Potter? What is it about the boy that inspires such loyalty?'… but he couldn't. He could hardly breath, let alone speak. "Why?"

His question was understood. "For no other reason than for who he is. Not the name or the background, but for the heart and sincerity. You know nothing of the boy, nothing. I knew him better than you did after one day in his presence, because I was not blinded as you are."

Finally Severus managed to escape the cold grip of shock. "You would risk your immortality for that? Even if he were a saint I would think you a fool!"

Dante smiled wryly, obviously knowing his mask was broken for the time being. "If he were a saint he would not be worth my time. You of all people should understand this. You who, had luck shined upon you, might have been that boy's father." He ignored the scowl that overtook Severus's features. "He is… he is a reflection. Of you, of me. He is everything someone Dark strives to be. He is powerful, cold, and ruthless, yet still able to live. He can still feel, even with the boundaries he has crossed. It is how he was able to attract the Marquis Valerian, how he captured my interest enough to train a novice.

"He is…" Dante waved a hand, glancing around before catching the moon, "Lunar. He is lunar. Not light, but cold, lifeless. However, no matter how dark the moon may be, it is able to conduct the light of the sun, to reflect it. It is Dark that can be Light. A shadow that is a beacon. That is Mylläkkä perfectly."

Severus was silent, but as the vampire had spoken, something has resonated through him. Something that burnt fierce and hot, something that bloomed hope in his long-dead chest. Perhaps it was merely the quiet passion with which Dante spoke, perhaps it was something more… but he felt more strongly in that moment than he had managed to feel in decades.

Severus silently signaled the vampire to follow him into the Forbidden Forest so he could Apparate them to the meeting. Dante seemed to take the concession for what it was.

Chapter Text

The Malfoys plus Harry were seated in the drawing room when Lucius's right hand darted to his forearm, a grimace of pain reflecting briefly on his face. Harry's eyes lit instantly. "Tom's back?"

Lucius gave a short nod and relaxed. "Apparently so. Would you like to accompany me, my lord?"

"Why would I do that? I can Apparate myself just fine, thank you."

Draco sneered from his place by the fire. "Unless you fancy walking outside of the wards, you will have to go with my father."

Harry gave the young blond a dispassionate look that made him shrink back slightly before standing. "Alright then. We shouldn't keep Tom waiting, should we Pretty?"

Lucius gave him a smirk and stood, a flick of his wand summoning his Death Eater regalia, holding out his arm for Harry. "You do not wish to change, my lord?"

Harry peered down at his outfit; he was dressed rather casually in a pair of trousers and a silvery button-down, but he had no real wish to be more formal. This was his holiday, and damn if he would be formal for anyone… Voldemort or not. Harry walked up to the older man and wrapped an arm around his waist, throwing a wink to the laughing eyes of Narcissa. He liked her quite a bit, she was lovely company, and he had spent much of the last two days with her. Harry locked eyes with Lucius. "No need," he said simply. Lucius nodded and they Disapparated.

They appeared in the centre of the meeting room, many black-clad figures surrounding them, talking in hushed tones. Harry scanned the room quickly and fell upon the pretentious throne at the head, Voldemort's reptilian visage greeting him. Harry did all he could to repress the grin that was threatening to overtake his features as he waved to Lucius and walked quickly to the head of the room.

He hated how girlish he felt at the moment, his heart pounding and his stomach fluttering. It was sentimental and annoying that he wanted to grin like a fool and leap on the other man, simply happy he was returned. Had they not been in a room full of Death Eaters, Harry was rather sure he would have actually stooped to hugging the Dark Lord… amusing though that imagery was, Harry was appalled at his own internal candor.

Finally managing to bypass the genuflecting Death Eaters, Harry let a smile stretch his face as Voldemort turned to face him. He hopped up the steps onto the dais and leaned forward, intruding on Voldemort's personal space impenitently. "Took you damn well long enough, Tom."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved slightly. "Don't tell me you missed me?"

Harry scoffed loudly but couldn't prevent the heating of his face. He hoped that it wasn't noticeable and put on a cocky smirk. "Why my dear Tom, how could I ever be expected to survive even a moment without you?"

"Ah, but I apologize for ever subjecting you to the horror of existence without my company. Merlin knows your life is endlessly droll and pointless without me." Voldemort placed a hand over his heart before snickering and leaning back into his seat. "I am sure we have much to discuss?"

Harry grew serious. "Yes. You left at the worst time possible and were gone far too long. Much has happened that needs to be brought to your attention."

"We'll get to that once this meeting is over."

"Are you going to tell me what you've been doing? You didn't tell me a bloody thing before you left or while you were gone," said Harry, leaning even closer forward with narrowed eyes.

Voldemort gave a wicked smirk. "You can wait."

"Fine," said Harry, most certainly not pouting as he stood straight. "I need you to hold back your trusted at the end of the meeting, though. Due to incidents you are not aware of since you left, I have found it necessary to reveal my identity now to some of the minions."

"My Inner Circle then?"

"So long as those are the ones you trust, then yes." Harry smirked, glancing back at the group and noticing they were still missing a handful of men. The abnormal length between meetings and the unexpected Calling made it expected for the usual wait time to be longer.

"Is there anything I should know before the meeting begins?"

Harry crept back closer to Tom, his face turned away from the dozens of black-robed figures. He hissed his answer quietly in Parseltongue, as it was unable to be overheard and was mistaken for whispering at low levels. //I have no doubt you are aware that there was a raid on Hogsmeade in your absence to apprehend the traitor in your ranks… while there, Goyle attempted to use the Killing Curse on Harry Potter.//

Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed and flicked past Harry shoulder to where the seniors Crabbe and Goyle stood, a murderous intent emanating from him. //Is that so?//

Harry's lips curled into something of a smile, and though he was unsure whether the rage was directed at an order willfully ignored or towards Harry's own well-being, he liked to pretend it was the latter. He dragged his eyes across the assembly once more, counting heads as he went. They were only missing one, and Harry assumed it to be Snape. The man had to come all the way out of the wards of Hogwarts, after all.

It took nearly five more minutes - Harry was beginning to honestly worry by this point - before a crack of Apparition rang through the room, revealing not only the missing Snape as Harry had assumed, but also the uncloaked blond Dante. Harry groaned mentally.

Dante strode forward, unperturbed by the wands on him, stopping at the base of the dais and inclining his head. "Mylläkkä. Voldemort."

Gasps and angry hisses rang through the room, and Harry sighed. "What are you doing here, Dante?"

The blond let a smirk twist his lips. "I believe I told you I wished to come the next time. I simply convinced Snape to bring me."

Harry turned in a seemingly casual way to put his back to the Death Eaters, and Voldemort's brow raised as he saw the dull flush of color staining his partner's cheeks. Amused, Voldemort turned back to the blond man. "I believe we have not been properly introduced."

Dante swept into a half bow, courteous but far from subservient. "Apologies. I am Durante Lukas Peirno, known currently simply as Dante Pierce. I am currently the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I am usually employed as a guardian and advisor to the Marquis Valerian in Sceaduwe Citadel. I have heard much about you, Voldemort."

There were low muttering throughout the room that their owners could not seem to stifle. A glare from Voldemort silenced them all, but Harry was again impressed at the weight Valerian's name seemed to carry. He had never heard of him until the day they had met, and he was used to the immortals immediately becoming deferential when faced with him, but it was another thing entirely to see mortal witches and wizards becoming fearful with the mention of the vampire's name.

"And I you. You are well known in the History books, and P…" Harry heard Voldemort pause and threw the man an amused look, knowing the man had gotten far too used to referring to him by his surname. "Mylläkkä here has spoken of you often."

"I must say that he speaks of you… often… as well." This was said with a wicked smirk, much more expressive than Dante's usual looks, and Harry was thankful he had kept his back turned to the Death Eaters as his face flamed again, a scowl setting over his face.

"That is enough, Dante," he hissed, glaring at him over his shoulder. "You will hold all conversation until this meeting is concluded. If I had known you were serious about attending I might have prepared."

The elder vampire looked seriously into the younger's eyes, lips pursed as he read how annoyed he was making him. "As you wish, Mylläkkä."

Voldemort watched the byplay with interest, eyes darting back and forth between the two. Harry was sure he wanted answers.

"You may stand off to the side until the meeting has concluded," said Voldemort with a wave of his hand. "We will converse once I get rid of the morons who can't even seem to deal with a month without me."

The bodies of the Death Eaters were deathly still and Harry turned with a blank expression to watch the proceedings. On the outside, the vampire Mylläkkä was watching Voldemort call on his minions, taking lengthy reports and doling out punishment for unsatisfactory results. But on the inside, Harry was fuming and annoyed, silently cursing the cocky blond who was watching so nonchalantly from the wall. He loved Dante, honestly he did… but there had been a few times in their decade of friendship that Harry wished strangling him would have an effect.

This was one of those times.

The meeting was boring, and Harry spent an inordinate amount of time peering at Voldemort's reptilian visage from the corner of his eye. He tried his damndest to reconcile the strange squeezing of his chest with the pale, spindly man on the throne, his heart hammering every time those crimson eyes slid to meet his gaze. What was wrong with him? Why had elation spread through him the second he had realized Voldemort had returned? Why had be wanted shake the man and question why hadn't written more, assured him he was safe? Why had his first instinct been to merely touch the man somehow, to assure himself all was fine? It wasn't lust… that he was used to. Lust and mere interest were common and easy to define with the fluttering sensations and eye-glazing fantasies.

Was this the true extent of having real feelings for someone?

Harry didn't know if he liked it.

Harry gave a quiet, self-depreciating laugh when the cracks of Disapparition startled him from his daze. He must have been quite out of it as he saw two Death Eaters lugging the lolling figure of the elder Goyle away, signifying that Harry had managed to zone out through the torture. Vaguely, Harry wondered if the burly man was dead; though his limbs still twitched spastically, that could be a result of nerve damage to the corpse. Harry trailed his eyes over those who had walked forward and placed themselves in a crescent at the base of the dais. These were Voldemort's elite, his Inner Circle. He surveyed them critically.

There was Lucius, of course, pulling off his mask and pushing back his hood. The man caught his eyes for a moment and raised a brow, though he pointedly ignored the salacious grin Harry sent him. The man was standing by his mandate from Harry's first night in the manor, and though he was pleased with Lucius for it, it was maddening.

Severus stood by his side, equine nose angled up per usual. Once his loyalties had been affirmed, Harry had suggested the man be made privy to the Inner meetings. After all, he was the only Death Eater in Hogwarts with Harry, and if Harry was going to make decisions he wanted the man's opinions. This was assuming Severus could hold his tongue… but Harry was hardly worried about it in front of Voldemort. Severus had spent years watching his tongue in front of the Dark Lord, after all.

Beside Severus was Rabastan Lestrange, slightly younger brother to Rodolphus. Harry didn't think there could be more than a year or two between them. If same-sex fraternal twins weren't so rare in the magical world, Harry might have believed they could have been. He was sickly pale and gaunt, his eyes somewhat glassy but his bearing proud.

Rodolphus was next, husband to Bellatrix. Unlike his brother, he was actually rather ruggedly handsome, Harry thought, despite his years in Azkaban. His face was broad and he had a strong jaw line that was lined with a close-cropped beard. His eyes were alert and without the haunted cast Harry was used to associating with Azkaban escapees, his posture rigid as he stood waiting his lord's command.

Next was Bellatrix, who really needed no introduction. Her face had filled out a bit in the intervening months since the Department of Mysteries debacle, but she still had the wildness to her eyes that gave Harry the distinct impression that she was barely holding on to her mind. Currently, she was intermittently glaring in his direction and looking to Voldemort with reverence, something that make Harry smirk. He loved toying with the woman, and playing on his closeness with Voldemort was the best way to do that, surpassing any torture that could be inflicted.

Antonin Dolohov stood to her other side, lined face set in a grim expression. Harry rather thought that was his usual look, though. He didn't like the man on sight, remembering the purple curse he had hit Hermione with. He didn't hold a grudge, really, but the man just rubbed him the wrong way. He was one of the oldest Death Eaters still living, his grayed hair thinned across the temples.

Walden Macnair and Augustus Rookwood ended the line, the two former Ministry informants looked much the same as they had the last Harry had seen them in the Department of Mysteries, Macnair's moustache, though, was missing. Rookwood, also, now sported a long scar from his temple down his neck, though Harry didn't have a clue how he'd gotten it. It stood out even among the pockmarks that littered his face, an angry red speaking of recent scarring.

Harry watched the last of the lower ranked Death Eaters disappear and dropped to sit on the ground, unperturbed of the looks of disdain he received. Unlike the others in the room, he saw no correlation between power and decorum, and Harry couldn't honestly care less about what those who didn't know him thought of him. He wasn't about to pull a Dumbledore and summon a chair, and he wouldn't stand and be uncomfortable while the reports were given. As Death Eaters, the eight of them had no choice. Harry on the other hand did. Harry leaned against Voldemort's seat beside the man's legs, green eyes flicking to red. Voldemort nodded barely with a bemused smirk and tapped long fingers on the arm of his throne. "Lucius. Report."

Lucius took a single step forward, bowing low. "My lords. The Minister has been agitated as of late and whispers are beginning that he is considering allying himself with the Order of the Phoenix. Since the prophecy was leaked to the media in November, he feels that getting on the Order's side will put him in Potter's good graces."

Harry snorted loudly, causing all eyes to flick his direction. Voldemort glared. Harry, of course, ignored him.

Lucius went on without acknowledging the interruption. "The Minister will no longer listen to my counsel since my arrest," gray eyes made an aborted motion to glare at Harry and ended up looking like a twitch, "but the general consensus is that it would be foolish to ally with Dumbledore. They are still convinced the old man wishes to take the Ministry himself."

Voldemort brought his fingers to his lipless mouth, absently running them across it. "When do you think this will end up having an effect?"

"Perhaps the end of the school year, my lord."

"Then it's a moot point," Harry put in, cocking his head at Lucius. "Because by then, Dumbledore will be dead. I think you should play on these fears they have, Pretty. We decided early on we'd leave Fudge in office for now, both for his malleability and the doubts he forms in people. The longer he stays on, the more people will fear where the Wizarding world is being taken. I'll have Dumbledore out of the picture soon enough."

Bellatrix was sneering, her face twisted. Harry could tell she had been beautiful at some point, but between the effects of Azkaban and her repugnant expressions, there was little to enjoy. "Awfully confident, aren't you? Seems to me that you do nothing around here! You call yourself a partner to my lord and yet you're hardly ever here! Unworthy fool, what makes you think that you can defeat Dumbledore when my lord has yet been able to?!"

Voldemort's yew wand was raised immediately, but Harry laid a hand on his knee. "No, please, allow me. I think it's long past my turn."

Voldemort's crimson eyes were narrowed dangerously, the glare piercing Harry, but he refused to back down. If they were meant to be equals, the Dark Lord would just have to deal with it. Harry was normally content to let Voldemort handle things… he had no interest in supremacy, after all. Sighing, Harry pulled out his wand and leveled it on the faltering brunette. "Tsk tsk, Bella. You not only insulted your new lord, but you managed to imply your Lord Voldemort was incompetent. Crucio."

Bellatrix hit her knees almost immediately, dark eyes crossing in pain. Harry grinned and leaned forward, locking his green eyes with her. "You said to me once, Bella," he said in a cheerful voice, "that I had to mean it for the Cruciatus to work. That I needed to really want to cause pain - to enjoy it. Can you feel how much I'm enjoying it now, Bellatrix?" The woman could take no more and screamed, back bowing and her head connecting with the floor with a dull thud. Harry chuckled.

Sweeping his eyes over the other Death Eaters, Harry stood from his spot beside Voldemort's legs and brushed back his hair. "For those of you in this room who are not already aware, I shall be introducing myself to you now. This information is not to cause you any less deference than I deserve and you will find very quickly that I do not tolerate insubordination." He paused to give a wicked grin down at Bellatrix who was dragging herself to her feet. "While I am known as Mylläkkä, I was born as Harry Potter." He smirked at the widened eyes. "Come now, you know me… the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Golden Boy, prophesized conqueror of the scary Dark Lord…"

Voldemort snorted inelegantly. "Flair for dramatics much?"

Harry grinned and bowed mockingly to the Death Eaters before taking his seat again, leaning this time purposefully against Voldemort's legs and watching Bellatrix's wan face turn livid red. He tilted his head back to meet amused crimson eyes. "You should now that by now, dear Voldemort." He turned his eyes back on the either before him, looking to each of them in turn. "I may not be here as often as you deem I should be, but that is a perk of being the one in power. You have no say whatsoever. I will not justify myself to you, Bellatrix, nor anyone else. Anyone who needs to know where I spend my time already knows."

"Potter?! I refuse to…" Bellatrix began, ignoring the jerk her husband have to her arm and the disapproving look.

"Refuse to what, Bella? I think you have no say whatsoever," Voldemort hissed, leaning forward over Harry's shoulder. "I am well aware of who he is and what I am doing. Next time you deign yourself worthy to question me, remember this. Crucio." This time, she screamed instantly, writhing on the ground under her second Cruciatus in as many minutes. When she was released there were unwilling tears lining her face.

"Does ickle Bellie hurt?" Harry prodded, grinning at the clenching of the woman's fists.

Before either of them could make the situation worse, Voldemort cut in. "May I commence with the meeting now, Potter, or do you have more thespian skill to awe us with?" There was a dangerous tone beneath the pleasant veneer to the man's voice that Harry ignored.

"Oh, by all means."

Voldemort glared but turned back to his gobsmacked Death Eaters. "Macnair! Rookwood! Have either of you managed to reconnect with your Ministry informants?"

Harry let his attentions drift once more, distracted by the warm limbs at his back and the memory of hot breath over his neck when the man had been leaning over him. Really, he had always imagined the man to be cold. He ignored the chill that ran down his spine and fought off the content fog that threatened to lay across his mind. He tried to focus on the dual screams of Rookwood and Macnair as they were tortured for being unable to make contacts after their imprisonments, but found his mind drifting back to recriminations and annoyance. What was he, anyway, an adolescent schoolgirl?

Harry was jolted back to reality when he felt something butting against his hand impatiently and looked down to see Nagini's large head glaring up at him from his lap. //I see how it is, brat. You welcome home Master yet ignore my greatness. Can't rightly see anything else in the room when Master's about, can you?//

Harry scowled down at the snake but obliged her needy bumping with a few strokes between her eyes. //I didn't even know you were there so how do you assume I am ignoring you? Don't be foolish.//

The huge snake coiled at his side. //Use your stick to make me warm, brat. Master does not allow me to settle upon him when his underlings are hanging about. I don't suppose you would either, would you?//

//You are both being exceptionally distracting,// Voldemort inputted suddenly, glaring at them and causing Harry to realize they had become the center of attention. //It's bad enough I can understand you and have to try and ignore you both, but you're catching attention, Potter. Stop now. You two can witter on once the Death Eaters have left.//

Harry glared silently up at Voldemort but didn't bother to argue, feeling a bit like a reprimanded child.

"Lucius, did you manage for the Minister to accept your invite to your Winter Ball?"

Harry's attention was pulled back into the meeting. He had known about the Ball, of course, as he had been helping Narcissa to plan it with the House elves, but he hadn't been aware the Minister would be attending. The blond was looking at Voldemort. "Yes sir, once he realized how much of high society was attending it was inevitable. He accepted last night."

Harry glared at Lucius for not telling him but kept silent as Voldemort closed the meeting. Harry stood and walked to the blond with a raised eyebrow. "Any reason you didn't tell me about the Minister?"

Lucius gave him a wry look. "You spent half the night up with Narcissa planning the damnable thing, I was under the impression she would have mentioned the possibility."

"Still jealous?" Harry chuckled, watching Voldemort order Rabastan and Rodolphus to take away the unconscious Macnair and Rookwood. Apparently, the Dark Lord had been most displeased with them. "Anyway, it's no matter really. I think I will be staying here for the night if Tom is amenable… we have too much to discuss for me to keep you waiting."

Dante, who had been silently observing, smirked faintly. "I'm sure…"

"Dante, shouldn't you be getting back to Hogwarts?" Harry said in the sweetest voice possible, his icy eyes contradicting the tone.

"Without the mark of your Voldemort, I cannot Apparate out of these wards. I must await Snape… unless you mean to show me the way to the entrance hall?"

Harry turned and sought out Severus, nearly desperate to be rid of his friend. He found him a few feet away, a bored expression over his features. "I was waiting to ask… my lord a question."

"Well, what is it?"

"I wondered the ages of those you wished me to pass along to you."

Harry sighed. "Just fifth and sixth years. Seventh years will be useless as they will be graduated by the time they are needed, and I have no want to try and put up with any younger than that."

Severus bowed, and Harry was struck by how uncommonly obedient and respectful Snape was being. "If that is all?"

"You may go. And take this annoying bastard with you, please?"

"We will talk about this later, Mylläkkä. Have no doubt about that," said Dante.

"I have no doubt." He stared into the slit-pupiled blue eyes of the elder Vampire, a rough tension surrounding them. Harry knew his friend meant well, but when he had yet to accept any of this himself, he didn't need Dante's brand of 'help'.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow from where he was still lounging on his throne. "Were there not matters to discuss with me, Pierce?"

Dante bowed. "No, Voldemort, I merely wished to watch one of these meetings. It helps me to be acquainted with procedure for the future, as I am pledged to Mylläkkä for the next ten years."

Harry saw by the look on Voldemort's face that he was unconvinced, but he allowed the blond to take Snape's arm and Disapparate.

Soon, with threats to Bellatrix, Harry and Voldemort had managed to clear the room of the last of the Death Eaters and were making their way back to Voldemort's study in the back of the manor, Nagini hissing happily from where she was wrapped around her master's shoulders. They reached the room and Harry raised his eyebrow as the Dark Lord hovered in the doorway. "Not sure what to do with yourself after being gone for weeks, Tom?"

Voldemort frowned. "You're unusually cheeky tonight."

Harry waved his hand negligently. "You should be used to it by now. Well, are you coming in or not? We have much to talk about."

"I trust you can entertain yourself for twenty minutes? I refuse to do anything before I've taken a shower. I called the Death Eaters immediately after returning."

Harry gave the man an incredulous look. "It can't wait?"

"Salazar, no. I missed my bathroom more than anything else while I was gone. It feels like… a lifetime since I've been able to enjoy it," he said slyly.

"You missed a room… a room in which you relieve yourself, I might add… more than me?!" Harry asked with an exaggerated pout. "I am so offended!" Harry paused before dropping the theatrical act. "Anyway, I thought this mansion was purely muggle. What's there to miss?"

"As if I would leave the manor as disgustingly mundane as I found it. Entertain yourself with beginning the reports I missed while I was gone, won't you?"

Harry gaped as the man smirked and left the room with a snap of his robes, leaving Harry staring in horror at the pile of papers that would have undoubtedly fallen over if not for magic. It swayed perilously as he watched, and Harry held back a groan. Just for leaving him, Harry was going to work really, really slowly.

An hour later, Harry was staring blankly at the precarious stack, trying to figure out what could possibly be taking Voldemort so long. He had managed a handful of the papers before he had gotten tired of not understanding what was written, his brain too stuck on finally getting his answers to concentrate. He stood and spun around towards the doorway that Voldemort had vacated and made his way up the stairs that led to the living quarters in the upper floors of the manor.

He used the sixth sense his scar gave him to search out where Voldemort was, growling as he found the man to be on the fourth floor. 'Of course he would be on the topmost floor,' Harry thought sarcastically, 'Because he can't make anything easy on me…' The stairs were narrow and dark, only small sconces of magically created light illuminating it. The way was dusty due to the years with no one as an inhabitant other than Voldemort himself; even the manor's few House elves wouldn't go beyond the public floor.

The door was left open to the room his senses told him Voldemort was in. He chuckled under his breath as he listened before entering, the slow, even breathing signifying that Voldemort had fallen asleep. Oh, but Harry would love teasing him for this one once he'd woken him.

Harry froze in his tracks once he'd pushed open the door more widely, hand still on the antique knob and one foot poised to take a step inside. His heart rate sped and he could practically feel his eyes dilating.

Because Voldemort was not on the bed. No. Despite the expanses of lightly muscled pale skin that glowed in the moonlight distracting him, and despite the wet dark hair, graying slightly at the temples, that obscured half the man's face, Harry knew who it was immediately. It was not Voldemort.

It was Tom Riddle.

Chapter Text

Harry's harsh exhalation of air was like a thunderclap in the silent room, breaking the daze Harry had found himself in and causing his eyes to jerk to the man's obscured face. He didn't stir. This was strange in and of itself, and Harry took a step forward with a vague sense of worry. Tom didn't strike him as a sound sleeper, after all. Harry's eyes trailed down a thin arm to the wand held in a lax grip, a slightly blue glow surrounding it. That was it, then. It was something Harry himself had done many times over the years to assure he would get at least a bit of sleep when time was against him. It was a timed sleeping hex, able to be set to whatever amount of time was available and immediately cast you into a deep sleep, the hex lifting once the allotted time was up. Harry wouldn't have thought that such a paranoid man would allow himself to be put into such a vulnerable state, but he simply counted his blessings.

The man's skin glowed in the moonlight, only given modesty by the sheet draped low on his hips. Harry's eyes focused in on the sparse hair trailing across the flat stomach and disappearing under the sheet, his body tensing as he resisted the urge to follow the path with his tongue. His fingers twitched at his side in an urge to reach towards the pale skin.

Lust. Now this was something Harry was familiar with. He had to exercise every ounce of his willpower not to leap onto the bed and give Tom a wake-up call he would never forget; Harry wasn't particularly in the mood to be hexed out of his skin. These urges he knew, this appreciation of the lean body before him was something recognizable. He banished all the confused thoughts of the early evening and let his eyes peruse the beautiful sight before him more carefully.

Arms were thin but lightly muscled; Dark Lords Did Not Do physical labor, after all, and weren't expected to have bulging biceps. The chest was defined more than Harry would have thought, shoulders not overly broad. The neck was long and elegant, leading to a masculine, angled jaw line and prominent cheekbones. Lips were thin but shapely, nose long and straight. Harry wished he could see the man's eyes in that moment to see whether they were still burning crimson or if they were the dark blue of the younger Tom.

Harry noticed that the skin across the shoulders was slightly darker than the ivory tone of the chest and stomach and took another step closer, head tilting to the side and eyes narrowed. It seemed not all the effects of the reptilian visage were gone, as the skin appeared rough there in a likeness of the scales he had always noticed across the top of Voldemort's hands. Again Harry's hands trembled at his side as he held himself back from running his fingers across them to feel the texture.

Had Harry not been so distracted, he might have noticed the blue glow leave the wand, but was instead frozen in place as the man on the bed groaned and an arm came up to lay across his eyes. "Hell, half an hour wasn't enough," Tom grumbled, the muscles in his jaw tensed and working as he swallowed.

Harry remained entranced as the arm fell away and brilliant crimson eyes fell on him, the body tensing for a moment before relaxing again. "Do you make it a habit of watching people sleep, Potter?"

Harry gulped as the man stood fluidly, uncaring of his nudity, and arched his back in a stretch that sent audible pops into the room. Harry licked his lips as he tried to raise his eyes from Tom's backside. "You went on a journey for two months in order to regain your body?" Harry said with a flippant note in his voice that he didn't feel at all.

Tom scoffed as he reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of crisply creased black trousers. "Hardly. I'm not vain enough to have taken important time away like that."

"Oh really?" Harry drawled, regaining a bit of his equilibrium and finally managing to move his eyes to the man's face. He appeared middle aged in this form, perhaps forty or so with a dignified air to him. Tom was looking at him with amusement over his shoulder as he pulled up the trousers, chin length dark hair swept behind his ears. "And here I see you leave looking like a snake and returning…" Harry attempted to sound uncaring and make an offhand comment, but found he couldn't as an alluring smirk curved the man's lips.

Tom chuckled and turned towards him, doing up the fly as he stalked towards Harry. "You like what you see, then?"

Harry's tense jaw quivered. "It's… an improvement…"

Tom laughed again. "Really? Is that all you can say?"

Whereas moment ago Harry had been having trouble forcing his eyes up to meet Tom's, now the opposite was true. He was captivated in the crimson gaze, unable to look away to regain his dignity. He wished sorely that he had taken Lucius's offer of a robe as the half-bared man slunk towards him, moving with a grace Harry could never hope to possess. Tom stopped directly in front of him, Harry's back against the door, and leaned forward, his breath tickling Harry's lips. "You have a problem, Potter, with your incessant need to be in control of your life. Is it a byproduct of your younger years, perhaps? You seem to refuse to let yourself express what you think unless you are sure it will benefit your ends."

"I could say the same about you," Harry said as he tried to control his breathing.

"Perhaps. But there's a difference between us, Potter." Tom paused and smirked, licking his lips slowly. "I take what I want regardless of control. Sometimes, life is about losing it."

For a long moment Harry's breath caught, and he was sure the older man would kiss him. Tom leaned forward until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart, close enough that Harry was losing all his oxygen and was nearly lost enough to close the final millimeter between them, breath panting and heart rate soaring…

And then Tom leaned away.

"But that's a discussion for another time, don't you think, Potter?"

Harry glared at the other man, unreasonably angry for the slight. He growled and jerked his head to the side. "Whatever. If you meant to take a kip you could have warned me. I'll wait in your study."

Harry walked away from Tom without looking back. If he had, he might have seen the aborted step the Dark Lord took towards him.

"Are you done with your strop yet, Potter?"

Harry didn't look up, but he knew he was being foolish. What right did he have, really, to be so offended? He was being a twit and he knew it… but knowing the truth and doing something about it are two very different things.

"Whatever, I know you're listening so I'll just talk. I was searching out a spellsmith named Alec Greene. His grandfather worked for me when I first left Hogwarts and happened to have engineered several of the rituals I went through in those years. I left on a chance that his talent had been passed down. I needed something - a spell or an object - imbued with a spell that would allow us to discern someone's leanings. Taking down the ministry will be infinitely easier if we can decide whose loyalties lie congruent to our own.

"He attempted to hide himself away from me, but I was able to track him down. His personality and finesse are far inferior to his grandfather, but his speed was exceptional. Not that it spared his life, of course, but it was relatively painless in contrast to most people who try to secret themselves away from me."

"None of that explains why you're now sporting a nose, Riddle," Harry snarked, glaring petulantly.

Crimson eyes rolled. "You're so petty. I look like this because this is what I am supposed to look like. I am a metamorphmagus."

Harry finally turned to look at Tom, an irritated twitch asserting itself beneath his left eye. "You mean to tell me that you've been able to do this all this time?"

"No," Tom chuckled. "Unfortunately, the rituals I did to attempt immortality and gain power had many side effects. My eyes and skin are only minor ones in comparison to others. One of the more annoying consequences was that I became trapped in my affected form." With only the slightest tightening of his jaw, Tom was replaced by Voldemort."I was able to assume my natural form for a few moments, but holding it any longer than a minute or two and it caused excruciating pain. I had Mister Greene take care of that as well."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "Why would you choose a form like that?"

"The world is about power, Potter, but I wanted to so much more. I wanted unconditional fear, I wanted the Wizarding world at my feet. I wanted the mention of my name to strike terror into those opposed to me and cow those who served me. I wanted terror and mayhem at the barest glimpse of my face, I wanted real power. If this form is what struck terror and made me unable to be confused with any other… all the better. The heir of Salazar Slytherin needed to be distinguishable, after all."

Harry blinked several times before leaning forward, his elbow propped on the desk separating them. "Wow, you really are nutters, aren't you?"

Another slight shift in his posture and Tom was once again seated across from him. "I was… ambitious."

"No. Your followers, for braving through your torture sessions to see the world they envision, are ambitious. You are a megalomaniac."

"Semantics, I'm sure. Now, you know where I was and why it took me as long as I did." Tom seemed inclined to ignore the squawked protest Harry raised, casually raising his bare foot to prop on the edge of his desk and draping his arms over his bent knee. "So isn't it your turn? Or were you as useless in my absence as my Death Eaters?"

Harry gritted his teeth and growled. "Do shut up, Tom. I spent the weeks researching, mostly. First, Dante and I were creating a spell that will ensure privacy. It is keyed to an entire room and makes it impossible for the people within it to utter anything told to them in the room outside of a key person's presence and without permission; we based the concept on the Fidelius Charm. I hope to have the details worked out in time for when I meet with the students who might be converted. After all, without the proper steps taken, Dumbledore's death will only manage to cement the loyalties of those in the school to the Light."

Tom nodded. "Yes, because if he dies a martyr's death then we will become even more ostracized for being the ones to have taken down the 'wonderful Albus Dumbledore'. We will only attract the cowards who wish to save their own skin and miss out on the rest, giving us more opposition."

"Exactly. So, other than finding a way to reveal myself to many students without fear of being turned in, I have also been researching Dumbledore's past… something that has proven very interesting. Were you aware he was friends with Grindelwald?"

"Was he now?" Tom purred, a content grin stretching his face and once again nearly making Harry's breathing catch. "How delightful. What else have you learned?"

"I wrote out a report on the things I've found." Harry pulled a small trunk from his pocket and tapped his wand on it to resize it, rifling through it until he came across a scroll of parchment labeled 'D x G'. "So I'll give this to you now so that you can do what you please with the information. There are also some people listed who might be able to give you more information… willing or not. I have an identical copy linked to yours, so as I find out more I will add it."

Tom put the parchment aside and nodded. "Good, this will make for some interesting reactions, I'm sure."

Harry nodded and moved to close his trunk, pausing and looking into it. After a glance to Tom he sighed and reached inside, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in a bit of silky cloth. "Since I will be spending Christmas with the Malfoys, I will give this to you now. I didn't think you'd mind it wasn't wrapped." Harry refused to meet crimson eyes that were watching him with surprise. "It isn't much and it's more of a practical gift than anything… but, well…" He sat it on the desk and pushed the material aside, tapping it with his wand and hissing a sibilant command before looking at a wall to his left.

Tom watched as the revealed silver snake, only the diameter of his pinky finger, became animated and slithered towards him, hissing unintelligibly. It took his distraction and slithered over his lax hand, winding itself around his wrist and becoming still, now nothing but a metal bracelet, "It's lovely, Potter, but you said it was practical?" Tom managed, still entranced by the craftsmanship. Every scale was defined and though the coolness told him it was but metal, the way it had moved had been fluid and natural.

"It only responds to Parseltongue and will allow us to send messages back and forth." Harry undid the button of his cuff and rolled his sleeve, revealing a duplicate of the snake found around his forearm near his elbow. "It will warm to signify that a message is waiting, and you only need to tap it with your wand and say 'Play' for it to give the message. To send, you merely tap it and say your message. The two are linked magically."

Tom stroked a finger over the lifeless bracelet. "Ingenious. Where did you manage to find something like this?"

Harry shifted in his seat. "I made it."

Tom's eyes left the gift and fell on the uncomfortable countenance of his partner. "Really, now?"

Verdant eyes flicked to meet crimson before looking away again. "I found out years ago that I had a natural talent for metalworking. All it takes from there is some creative spell work."

"Thank you, Potter, it is a royal gift."

Harry nodded but looked awkward. Tom changed the subject easily, knowing exactly what to say to rile up his partner again. "So, how long did you stand there watching me sleep? You're lucky I didn't hex you immediately upon waking."

An angry flush crept up Harry's neck. "I was only wondering why a short shower took you over an hour and went looking for you. I had just walked in when you woke up."

"Funny, Potter, because your eyes were rather glazed for someone who had just walked in…"

"Stuff it, Riddle," Harry threw back automatically before he paused and took a deep breath. Realization spread over him slowly with a comforting warmth. He was never this way. It was true he often felt much less confident than he appeared, but he never let such weakness show to those who would exploit it. And right now, Tom was doing just that. He was better than this, damnit, and he knew it. Even if Tom was only using their usual repartee, Harry had to do the same. Pouting like a child was getting him nowhere.

As Tom had said so definitively… sometimes life was about losing control and taking what you wanted.

Harry stood and planted his hands palm-down on the desk, leaning over it to look into Tom's eyes. "If I didn't know you so well, Tom, I'd think you enjoyed the attention. And I'd also think you have no idea how to do anything about it," he paused and let a wicked smirk curve his lips. "If I didn't know you better, of course."

Tom was obviously thrown off balance by the change in Harry's demeanor, eyes widening, before his face smoothed into a mocking smile. "Funny, Potter. But I think your Gryffindor audaciousness is showing through. You could very well be making an arse out of yourself if you're wrong."

"I could," Harry conceded. "But I think I've thrown you off balance. You know me, too well I think most of the time, and I know you just as well. I'm not faceless or anonymous. You don't know what to do about me, do you? And if I'm wrong…" Harry leaned forward until their noses almost touched, eyes half lidded as the remembered lust of an hour prior swept through him like a tidal wave. "Then say it, Riddle."

Tom's face morphed into a vicious look and a growl rose from his throat. Harry hardly had a moment to react before lips collided with his own, a hand gripping his collar and yanking him forward across the desk. Papers scattered and Harry submitted instantly to the harsh pressure, tilting his head back and letting a groan escape his throat.

It was ecstasy. Perhaps it was his confusion, perhaps the anticipation and the effort needed to get to this point, but Harry lost himself instantly and let himself be pulled into Tom's lap and pressed hard against the desk. The edge dug into the small of his back painfully but he didn't care, the pain only reminding him of the reality of the situation. He pushed his hands up into Tom's hair at the slightly graying temples, gripping tightly in an attempt to pull the man impossibly closer.

The lips trailed down across his jaw to his neck, teeth sinking harshly in against the skin. Already long fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, and Harry was struck but how hot the other man was, how alive and burning. "This means nothing, Potter," was hissed against his neck.

Harry pressed harder against the older man and let his eyes fall shut, a grimace unseen over his features even as he arched his back. No matter how his heart clenched, he knew it was better than nothing. It had to be.

"Yes, nothing. Of course not, Tom. Nothing at all."

Hermione's head was killing her. It throbbed incessantly with the intensity of a jackhammer, growing steadily the more she thought over her current problem.

Her parents wanted to pull her out of Hogwarts.

The disaster at the Department of Mysteries had seriously worried them. In the previous years, Hermione had always tried to gloss over the dangers that were rife in the Wizarding world, skipping over the more death defying aspects of her adventures with Ron and Harry and letting it sound far more like a fairytale than any real menace. She had managed to allay any fears they had had, never mentioning her personal sacrifices. Her petrifaction was passed off as a spell backfiring, bruises and scrapes after third year played down as an incident with Crookshanks, and her stressed countenance after her fourth year had been taken as teenaged angst. She had never wanted her parents to realize just what kind of life she had there, how much turmoil being close to the 'Boy-Who-Lived' (not that her parents had any understanding of why he was so special) brought her.

But when Dolohov had injured her in her fifth year, she couldn't pass it off as anything else. Dumbledore's letter had been very specific, after all. They had been frightened and confused, unable to understand why they had been after criminals and how such men were able to get away with what they did. The world of magic was much like a fantasy novel to them, and trying to reconcile it with reality had been very hard.

When she had left just weeks before her seventeenth birthday, it was with her parents watching with troubled eyes from the platform and a dire assurance that they would not tolerate any further danger to her person.

They had received a letter from the school, as all the parents had, regarding the death of Sybill Trelawney. Hermione was actually rather aghast at the detail it went into, but thought her Transfiguration professor's rather clinical personality lent to that. And as such, her parents had decided she would not be returning to Hogwarts.

She was a legal adult in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, though, and she didn't plan to abide their mandate.

They had been arguing since she got home days prior; for the first time in her life, Hermione could recall her parents being red-faced and shouting. She had always been a good child, a stickler for the rules with a complacent demeanor. And her parents, too, were rather calm and intelligent people, never arguing in loud tones but instead preferring to speak through their differences. But this last week had been full of shouts and clenched fists, threats and harsh declarations. And Hermione had had this headache for days.

And currently, it was killing her.

Lou Granger was a kindly man by nature, but currently his jaw was vibrating with tension and his eyes had a hard cast. "Hermione Jean Granger… you've left us with no choice. If you will not stay away from that… that school of yours, we will have to take harsher action."

Hermione glared. "Just what will you do? I am of age, Dad, and no matter what you and Mum think, I won't leave Hogwarts! I refuse not to graduate and I can't leave Harry like that!"

"That boy," Patricia Granger said slowly, her voice much quieter than either her husband or daughter's, "is the reason everyone gets hurt around that school, isn't he? You don't need any certification they can give you, Mi-Mi, you can go to university and get a good, respectable job, away from all these… Voldiemarts and Death Swallowers…"

"I don't want a 'good, respectable job', Mum! I want to stay in the Wizarding world! It is where I belong now, can't you see? I am a witch, and you've always supported me until now, why are you doing this to me now?"

"It's for your own good, Hermione. You will not be returning to that school. We will pull your tuition…"

"I'll get a scholarship, then! Or I'll ask Harry to lend me next year's fees! You can't stop me, Dad!"

"I can and I will," Lou said in a low voice, a dangerous tone that raised Hermione's hackles and sent her headache thrumming so painfully through her mind that she could hardly see. Vaguely and for the first time, she was conscious of the tiny voice in her mind whispering how unnatural the headache was. "If you won't listen to reason, we'll take you to an asylum! They won't know anything about this magic you spout on about, and you won't have any chance to endanger yourself there!"

The last thing Hermione remembered was drawing her vine wood wand as the agonizing pain in her temples reached a crescendo… before her world went dark.

Chapter Text

Intensity. That was the only word Harry's foggy waking mind could come up with to describe the events of the night before. The fiery relationship he and Tom shared at the best of times had transmuted itself into an uncontrolled passion easily, leaving both of them scalded in its wake. To Harry, it had been ethereal… though once the hazy fog of lust and need had abated, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Because, as Tom had said, it meant nothing.

…To Tom, at least.

Harry didn't make it a habit to lie to himself, and he knew the truth quite plainly, no matter how much he didn't understand it and wished it wasn't so. He had hardly been working through his unexplainable feelings for Voldemort the day before, and now here he was nude in bed with the amazingly attractive version of said man. He had a feeling things would get infinitely worse before they got better.

He had never experienced anything like it before. With his trysts, it had been about sex and little else. With Valerian, there had been emotion, but it just hadn't been… powerful. It was more of a comfort, something they did to feel connected to another being. There hadn't been any real passion between them despite the lust they had always felt. Their relationship had been consuming yet easily burnt through, lasting in short spurts of lust and leaving a contentment borne of friendship rather than love.

Harry hated to admit it, but the intensity he had shared the night before with Tom scared him. Badly. Because it meant nothing.

It couldn't mean anything.

Harry banished the angst-ridden thoughts as a warm arm wound around his waist and yanked him to the side, leaving him molded to the equally nude frame of Tom. "Shut up and go back to sleep, Potter, it's too damned early for thinking."

Harry snorted and wriggled until comfortable, producing a groan from the body behind him. "And how would you know whether I was thinking or not? I could have been fantasizing about creative ways to wake you as far as you know."

"You scrunch your nose when you're thinking serious or unpleasant thoughts. Are you going to tell me that a fantasy involving me is unpleasant?" Tom's voice was slurred and drowsy, and Harry wondered if a fully awake Tom would have revealed that he knew what Harry's facial expressions meant.

Harry turned in the lax grip and took in the pillow that was clamped over Tom's head, giggling internally at the thought of his Death Eaters knowing what a child he was when he woke up. Harry dipped his head and trailed his tongue across one collarbone, arching lazily in a path towards the elegant, pale neck. It had been several days since he'd fed, and if he trusted himself to do so he would have loved to have tasted his bed partner in that moment. He had a scent and taste utterly unique to him, and Harry looked forward to finding out what flavor he would be.

Harry sucked at the soft skin of Tom's neck teasingly, ignoring the groggy complaints from under the pillow. "Potter, stop that this instant, you insatiable brat…"

"Feeling old, my dear Tom?" Harry cooed as he continued peppering Tom's neck and chest with attention, kicking his leg over the man to straddle him.

"Yes," was hissed back emphatically, the pillow lifting up to expose tousled dark hair and glaring crimson eyes. "I do not have the energy nor the motivation to keep up with you this early in the morning. Now let me sleep another hour!"

Harry snickered against the gooseflesh he was creating on Tom's stomach. "You are such a whiner in the mornings." Harry moved steadily down, green eyes still locked on narrowed red. "If you stop complaining, you won't have to do anything but lie there…"

A long-fingered hand slid into the hair behind his ear and gripped it hard, yanking him up into a deep kiss. Harry purred in the back of his throat in contentment as they laid skin to skin and a hand wandered down his back, letting the man assert his thoughts on who would be doing what. A snicker echoed through Harry's mind. With men like Tom, that would work every time.

Harry panted against Tom's neck, refusing to move even to alleviate his weight from the other man. If Tom wanted him moved, he'd move him. He was comfortable where he was, thank you very much.

Tom groaned beneath him, weakly pushing at Harry's shoulders. "Bloody hell, Potter."

"Only as young as you feel, Tom," Harry said with a grin. "And you're currently feeling, what, Dumbledore's age?"

A grunt. "Never mention Dumbledore while nude. Ever."

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit creepy, isn't it?" Harry lifted himself slowly, his back popping as he rolled to the side. "Well, good morning, Tom, what are your plans for the day?"

Tom stretched languidly and threw his feet off the side of the bed, affording Harry a nice view of the man's back as he reached for his discarded pants and began pulling them on. "The usual. I have too much paperwork to catch up on." He scowled darkly.

"I feel for you," Harry said with a grimace, staring at the ceiling in an effort not to get up. "It's really too bad you aren't coming to Narcissa's party tonight…"

"I'm not much for social events," Tom said. "Besides, I'm a tad conspicuous."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, you aren't looking so conspicuous like that." Harry raked his eyes down the man's exposed torso.

Tom turned with a smirk as he pulled a clean shirt on over his shoulders. "It's good to be appreciated."

Harry scowled at him and rose from the bed, smirking back at the Dark Lord as he paused in buttoning his shirt to stare hungrily. Harry lifted up his clothes with a grimace and spelled them clean before pulling them on. "I must concur."

"Cheeky little…" Tom broke off as he stuffed the ends of his shirt into his trousers and grabbed his robes. "Anyway, you backchatting little imp, though I am more apt to blend into society in this form, my eyes are rather… unique, and it would only take one person noticing for a riot to be raised. Not to mention my complete inability to listen to stupidity without using the Cruciatus… well, I imagine Lucius and Narcissa would not appreciate me outing them entirely by torturing their guests."

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "You have a point." He stalked closer to the man who was smoothing his clothing, grabbing him by the front of the robes and pulling him down to his level. Harry hated being short, and Tom was exceptionally tall. "Would have been nice to have someone to sneak away with, though… I hate these kinds of things."

Crimson eyes narrowed and without a pause Voldemort stood connected to the robes. "I have by no means alleged that this would be anything more than a singular event, Potter, and you would do well to remember that."

Harry barely managed not to wince when the barb hit home, the tightening of his lips the only indication he did not agree entirely. It was far from the worst thing Voldemort could say, he knew, but it didn't keep the comment from smarting. He had been surprised when Tom had merely grabbed him around the waist during their postcoital satisfaction and muttered a goodnight, but had been more than happy to oblige the man by staying. He had expected after the rather cruel remark Tom had made at the beginning to merely be thrown from the bed at the first opportunity. So Harry supposed he should be counting his blessings in this… yet he couldn't manage to totally ignore the disappointed pang.

He raised an eyebrow as a staring contest commenced between them, his hand still clenching a handful of the material covering Voldemort's chest. He found himself strangely unaffected by the menacing façade that had given him pause weeks ago. He doubted he would be able to find it attractive, but he felt none of the repulsion he had thought he would in the situation he found himself in.

The smirk that tilted his lips must have thrown the older man off, because his eyes widened minutely and he put up no resistance as Harry yanked him down into a brutal parody of a kiss. Harry's tongue flicked against where lips should have been, eyes connected with crimson. "And when have I ever listened to a word you said, Tom?" Harry murmured against the lipless mouth before releasing him and stepping back, raking his eyes up and down. "Why, of all the skills you seem to possess, did I get Parseltongue? It's an interesting skill and all, but I think being Metamorphmagi would have come much more in handy."

Voldemort glared heatedly but didn't press the previous subject, straightening and rolling his eyes. "Because I wasn't born with the ability. It was, in fact, one of the first rituals I underwent out of Hogwarts. I was too well known as the Head Boy and as the halfblood Riddle… I needed to distance myself from the notoriety I had in order to pursue my goals."

"There's a ritual for that?" Harry said with interest.

"It requires draining a Metamorphmagus entirely of blood on a dais and leaving their bloodless body to decompose in the elements. The maggots that feed on the corpse then must be ground into…"

"Ugh, sorry I asked, " Harry said with a moue of disgust. "Really, no need to go on."

Voldemort snickered and turned towards the door. "Unlike you, I have work to do. Either come and assist me or find some other way to make yourself useful."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Git."

Voldemort paused in the missive he was writing and let out an uncharacteristic sigh, running a long-fingered hand over his hairless head. Potter had gone running off with the excuse that the needed to get sustenance in before the Ball that night at the Malfoys'. He didn't doubt the young Vampire's sincerity, and in fact was rather glad to get some space.

Harry Potter. Bane of his existence for a decade, unexpected partner, and now suddenly his lover. How in the seven layers of hell had that happened? No matter how he tried, Voldemort seemed unable to reconcile the facts. He had slept with Harry Potter. Slept with… well, saying it over and over in his mind wasn't helping anything.

He hated how weak the boy made him. He hated how utterly entranced he was by the casual seductiveness Potter possessed, the easy way he had fallen asleep with the younger man in his bed. He hadn't slept in the company of another since he was barely out of his teens; when you had a life like he did, you could never be too careful. Yet he had easily fallen into slumber with the warm figure pressed against him, his mind not even beginning to think of him as a threat.

Why? Why did he let Potter get under his skin?

He hated how he had noticed the boy in the last months, he hated how often bright green eyes occupied his thoughts. He hated how the expression on Harry's face as he'd Apparated in and seen him had made his chest tighten. He hated that he was letting the boy matter to him.

This had to stop.

He pushed and Potter pulled, he ran and the brat had the audacity to follow. What would it take to sever this attachment without losing him the war?

Why did the mere thought feel like ice down his back?

Harry sunk his teeth into his victim with a mental sigh of relief, the blood managing to calm his serrated emotions. He had known better than to go so long without feeding, but he had allowed his own laziness to keep him within the extensive wards of Malfoy Manor. It was dangerous, toying with his vampirism as he did, and it was more than likely to bite him in the backside sooner or later.

He tossed the muggle aside, running his tongue over his lips and teeth to clear them of blood. He found taking muggles to be particularly degrading, but it was one of the things necessary when he was forced to hunt in a small town like Great Hangleton. He hadn't dared to hunt too close to their base of operations, and this was the next closest town.

With a flourishing wave of his wand, the corpse became a replica of a Styrofoam cup and blended in with the trash-littered alleyway. It was for the best, though crude, and Harry couldn't bring himself to give a damn about some muggle who had been too curious for their own good.

Fed and feeling much more in control of himself, Harry made to Apparate back to Riddle Manor when alarm bells went off in his head - and not the figurative kind. He cursed and yanked back his sleeve to expose his snake band and tapped it quickly, leaving Tom a quick message of his whereabouts.

Harry glanced around to be sure he was alone before Disapparating, landing himself in the Forbidden Forest on the closest area to the school doors. He pulled out his invisibility cloak and enlarged it quickly, throwing it over his shoulders and darting towards the school. The wards were still sounding, but the secondary set he had placed to alert him of Legilimency being used had yet to go off. He didn't know what he could do - he couldn't replace the clone, because getting to close to it would cause it to malfunction and he hadn't had time to Revert, regardless. He could only hope to find out why Dumbledore was near it and distract the old man.

And then the bells in his mind stopped chiming. The old man had left the Blood Clone's general vicinity. Harry sighed in relief as he entered the school, not bothering to keep to the walls. It was only a short walk later when he ran across his surest source for information, smirking as he shot out and grabbed the man. He made sure to pin down his wand arm and placed an invisible hand over the man's mouth, yanking him as close as possible to hiss in his ear, "It's me, Severus, stop struggling and go into that classroom."

The man scowled darkly but complied, black eyes narrowed and darting to both sides suspiciously. Only when they were both inside and silencing charms placed on the room did Harry pull off the cloak. He glared away the acerbic remark sure to come out of the man and started immediately. "I need to know why Dumbledore was near my clone."

Snape straightened and his scowl turned blank. "The Granger chit's family was killed last night."

"Hermione?" Harry asked quickly. "What about her, is she alright?"

"Traumatized and mourning, but nothing serious. She somehow managed to escape all injury."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How is that? Who attacked them? I know for a fact that Tom didn't order anything of the sort. Could it have been someone acting on their own? And why would they kill her muggle parents and leave her alive, when she is the friend of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?"

Severus rolled his eyes and bit out in a strange tone. "Not everything is about you, Potter. There is an investigation going on, but it seems muggle methods of torture were used. It is, at this point, being called a crime by a muggle killer."

Harry didn't believe that for a minute, but there was nothing else that made sense. However, if he found out a Death Eater had, in fact, worked on their own… Harry would have their head. He nodded to Severus. "Will there be any reason for Dumbledore to approach my clone again?"

"Not that I am aware of. I believe he was merely ascertaining that 'you' would not, in fact, make a Gryffindor idiot out of yourself and charge off seeking revenge. He will be busy with the Order over the next several days because of this."

"And Hermione?"

"Granger should be fine. She had some surface injuries and was unconscious when found, but nothing even remotely threatening."

"Right then. Would you tell Dante to keep an eye on her for me?"

Snape bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord."

Black eyes moved up to meet green, and Harry's lips tightened. "You're creeping me out with this whole listening to me thing. Is there any reason you've decided to suddenly be deferential? It is very unlike you."

Severus sneered and turned his head away, greasy hair hiding all but his prominent nose. His voice, however, was unlike Harry had ever heard it. Though clipped, it was soft. "Who am I to continuously work against the flow, Potter? You obviously have the ability to inspire loyalty and esteem in all those around you… there must be a reason for that. And so I will discontinue working actively to challenge you, if only to make it easier on myself."

Harry cracked a smile that Snape couldn't see, but could surely be heard in his voice. "So Slytherin, Severus. And here I was wondering over the years if you had been missorted. You seemed to have far too much of that Gryffindor brashness and courage."

The man rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. "And I thank Salazar every day that you talked the hat out of putting you in Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Dumbledore told you that, hmm? Well, I should be going… I should be helping Narcissa set up the last details for the Ball tonight. Keep an eye on things here, for me, would you?"

"As you wish, my lord."

"This will take some getting used to, I think."

"You? Think? I hope not, Potter, or we will all surely be doomed," he snarked, lifting his lip.

Harry gave a familiar smirk. "Much better. Ta-ta, Severus."

Severus stayed in that room for long minutes after the vampire had left, a blank look on his face and his hands clenched at his sides. He doubted he would ever like the boy, but in those last moments, he couldn't help the tightening in his chest.

Severus impatiently yanked a hand through his hair and set out of the room. Reminiscences were useless. He assured himself this was not giving in, but merely reinstating his vow to himself to keep watch over Lily's child. He found it much easier when the boy was in his older form… he looked much less like James at all. But still with those eyes…

As Severus left the room, he mused that it was strange that he had never really heard the boy laugh before that day.

Yet another thing he had gotten from his mother.

Elsewhere in the castle, Albus Dumbledore entered his office, hand clenched around his prize. It had been terribly easy to get what he had needed from young Harry, but then, what had he really expected? The boy was kept untrained for a reason, after all, and it had everything to do with keeping him under Albus's thumb. It wouldn't do for the boy to become too aware of the things around him, after all.

He would train the boy himself once he had graduated, once he could keep the boy dependent on him enough to allow growth. As of now, the boy had too much freedom and opinion in him, too many opportunities. Once Harry had completed Hogwarts, however, he would need Albus to help him, need him to show him the best way to go and what to do.

But recently, the boy had been rebellious. He no longer looked up to Albus with that same reverent air, no longer came to him with his thoughts. The boy was distancing himself, and Albus was worried about him. An uncontrollable weapon, after all, was useless.

He worried the boy would follow in Tom's shoes, using Dark Arts to improve himself before Albus could show him the correct path. Already the boy had managed to go from barely managing in his studies to effortlessly topping the class. Had be undergone one of the many Dark rituals that supposedly gave great intelligence and mental acumen? There seemed little other explanation for the sudden incline in his intelligence.

And now this strange situation with the Grangers. As the parents were only muggles, it wasn't a loss to the war and wouldn't normally be his concern, but it raised more questions. Hermione Granger was, after all, one of Harry's closest friends, and yet she had somehow managed to escape unharmed? Her wand had shown nothing but the most innocuous of spells, but at the same time the situation was terribly suspicious. She apparently had no memory of anyone entering the house. It could, of course, be explained by the girl being knocked out before the attack began, but it could also be a sign that the young Miss Granger was dabbling in the Dark Arts along with her friend.

Albus pulled out a vial from behind his desk and placed the hair he had procured from young Harry into it. It was a simple test, though perhaps more complicated than it needed to be. But it would tell him unequivocally whether his young charge was anything less then human. Dark Arts stripped away at the soul, and therefore also at humanity. Polyjuice was perhaps a rather complicated means of finding out, but it was certainly the most instant way he had on hand. Polyjuice, after all, was only for human transformation. Even the slightest shred of creature blood or Dark Arts use would cause the potion to fail quite spectacularly.

Albus downed the potion with a grimace and summoned a mirror to study his new appearance once the change had settled. Incontrovertibly human.

This was good, but it only meant there was quite possibly something more devious afoot. Albus would have to keep a close eye on young Harry.

The fate of the Wizarding world depended on it.

The Minister of Magic had disgustingly sweaty hands. Harry shuddered. He put on a polite face as the man greeted him and rambled on about one thing or another; as an honored guest of the Malfoys, he was automatically afforded some degree of respect, even if these people knew nothing about who he was. He had been introduced by the doorman as a relation to Lucius and had been set upon immediately by simpering fools, much to his chagrin. Mylläkkä was known now and thought of with fear, but his appearance was still unknown. And so, for the night he was Rhet Yaptorr, distant relative of the Malfoys from the Continent. He found it terribly amusing that he was using Voldemort's own trick, though his name didn't come with any fancy meanings like 'flight of death'.

He finally managed to escape the maddening Minister and made his way towards where Narcissa and Lucius stood greeting the partygoers, all polite masks and proud bearing. Harry was amused. He slid up to Narcissa during a lull in genuflecting guests and bowed low over her teasingly proffered hand, kissing the inside of her wrist with a roguish grin. "Ah, the most beautiful lady in the mortal realm. Might I have this dance?"

Lucius' eye twitched in an urge not to roll them and Harry gave him a smile as well. "Oh Pretty, don't be insulted… do you want a dance with me next?"

"I think I will survive without."

"Pity," Harry crooned, taking Narcissa's hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. "Ah, well, we'll have more fun without him anyway, won't we my lady?"

Narcissa's lips twitched into a smile. "Why would we want that boring man bothering us anyway?"

"Well, he can be rather entertaining…" They shared a sly look, and Harry was once again thankful for Narcissa's easy humor. "But alas! Were it not that you were the Hostess of this gala, I would whisk you away to the shadows and we could have some real fun…" he twirled her with a grin.

"You think you are such a charmer, Rhet, but it is good that I know you better than that. You'd much rather be whisking away my dear husband-"

"But he is my cousin!" he said with a laugh.

"-than I." She didn't even bother acknowledging his interruption. "Or perhaps you would rather be spiriting away whomever left those marks on your neck…"

Harry couldn't help the tinge of pink that crept up his neck. "Ah, erm, yes, there's always him."

Narcissa's voice was sly but very quiet as to be sure no one would overhear. "I was under the impression that you were working with my lord to catch him up on all he's missed since he was away."

Harry coughed and twirled her rapidly, looking away. "Yes, well…" Narcissa dropped the subject as the song came to an end and Harry bowed over her hand once more. "I thank you for the dance Lady Malfoy."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You're not getting off that easily, you know."

"I know, I know…" Harry grinned and darted away into the crowd, making his way towards the magically maintained drink bar.

"Oh gods, you…"

Harry plopped down on a seat beside the groaning youngest Malfoy, shooting him a grin. "Yes, me. Get used to it Little Pretty."

"I swear Po-"

"Rhet!" Harry hissed with a dark look.

"Look, Rhet, I don't understand why you are so intent on ruining my mood all the time…"

"Do shut up, Malfoy," Harry cut in, glaring, his voice nearly inaudible even thought here was no one near to them. "I've been putting up with your impudence far more than I should. You are allowed to have your own opinions, and I can even put up with your mouth, but you will learn that there is a time and place for it. If you ever hope to be a Death Eater, you would be held under the Cruciatus for even looking at Voldemort wrong, and by proxy me when in his presence. Now, learn to curb your tongue, Draco."

The youngest Malfoy was pale but nodded, "I apologize. But this takes getting used to."

"I understand, and you have the rest of the holidays to get over it… but in public, use your damned intelligence and don't you dare insult me."

Another nod. "Yes, my lord."

"Very good."

The conversation turned over to the next term and things to expect from an innocuous standpoint, sure that to any listening ears it was merely Draco complaining about his schoolmates. Harry took it in stride and answered the questions as well as he could in the company they were in, his eyes constantly moving over the crowds.

His eyes happened to fall upon the ballroom doors as they opened, and his breathing hitched as a grin spread over his lips. "Good Merlin…"

Draco cut off in the middle of a tirade about 'the Weasel' and looked to where Harry was looking, a confused furrow of his brow making itself known. "Who is that?"

The doorman's posture straightened as the figure gave their name, a look of fear clouding his face even as he bowed and his magically-enhanced voice rang out, "Introducing the Marquis Valerian!"

Harry's grin didn't fade even as Draco gasped out a disbelieving 'Bloody hell' from his side. Vampires were feared automatically by society, but the title of the Vampire Marquis had held respect even to wizards. It was a respect borne more of fear than any real admiration, but effective nonetheless. No matter the speciesism of the Wizarding world, even the Minister wouldn't dare stand against the Vampire Marquis. They wouldn't be allowing him any political input, of course, but interealm relations were kept up through stiff respect and nicities.

Harry ignored Malfoy entirely and stood, making his way towards the regal figure with a smile he couldn't hope to smother. Most of the room was too terrified to approach him so Harry was able to cut through them easily as they went back to what they were doing, casting fearful and intrigued glances towards the imposing Vampire Lord. The man looked as he always had, long inky hair unbound and a dry smile curving his lips just enough for a fang to peek through. It amused Valerian terribly to intimidate 'the silly mortal hoi polloi'.

Harry stopped directly in front of the man, who looked him over with an amused glint. "You've grown up well, pet."

Harry was mildly disappointed that this was not his own Valerian, but was still inordinately pleased to see the man. He had, after all, been a constant in his life for a decade; the last months had been bizarre without his flamboyant presence. "And you haven't changed at all, Val." Harry smirked and wished he could simply latch onto the man, but knew that their present surroundings deemed it inappropriate.

Valerian raised one elbow and bowed slightly. "Shall we go somewhere more appropriate to speak, pet?"

"I think that first I should introduce you to the hosts of the ball you felt the need to crash, but after that I am sure we can go somewhere to speak." He took the man's arm and pulled him towards an interestedly watching Lucius and Narcissa, Lucius's posture even straighter than usual. Harry bit his tongue not to snicker at Lucius' power lust, throwing a genuine smile to Valerian. "I didn't think I'd see you at all until this mess was over with… and now I am wondering how often your 'important business' was you checking up me."

Valerian laughed as the crowd parted before them. "I can't say for sure, but time will tell, will it not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Vague prat."

"Goodness, pet, do I always allow you to talk to me in such a way? Such crass for a childe…"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he threw the older Vampire a wink. "Don't worry, you never cease complaining."

They reached the couple and Harry bowed with a flourish. "Pretty, Narcissa, may I present to you Valerian."

Golden eyes rolled skyward. "I really must remember to try harder to instill elegance in you…"

Lucius tipped his head gracefully. "It is an honor to meet you, sir Marquis. We welcome you to our home."

"Please, call me Valerian," he purred, giving both blonds a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. I am glad to see someone taking care of dear Mylläkkä…"

"I don't need to be taken care of," Harry said with a scowl.

"Shush, pet, we adults are talking…"

Harry growled as Lucius let out a surprised laugh, quickly stifling it as Harry glared at him before turning it on Valerian. "I wish you wouldn't call me that…"

Lucius looked amused though he was attempting to mask it. "I certainly see where you picked up your attitude from…"

"Shush, Pretty…" Harry broke off as he realized just how like Valerian he really was and groaned. "I've become my own worst nightmare. That's enough. I'm taking Valerian up to my room now, we have catching up to do. Drinks once the guests have gone home?"

Narcissa halted whatever comeback Lucius might have had with a hand on his arm. "Of course, dear. We'll see you in a bit."

Harry grinned at her and began tugging on the golden eyed man's arm. "Come on, Val, before you manage to embarrass me more…"

Valerian let out a loud chuckle as he was forcibly dragged from the room, leaving half the hall staring after them.

Chapter Text

Voldemort was surprised by the loud laughter down the hall, the voice of his once-nemesis reverberating in a far too cheerful manner. He hadn't expected the boy back for a few days yet, though he couldn't honestly say he was disappointed. Potter was obviously in an exceptionally good mood; it was rare for him to feel relaxed enough to laugh.

Voldemort chided himself for going down the familiar path to contemplating Potter, but it seemed he was unable to resist. Years of obsession had planted a firm area of his mind dedicated to the younger man, and now that their relationship was… amicable, he supposed, was an acceptable description… it was merely filled with tidbits of information he had gleaned from their many late-night conversations. Much to his vexation, his mind seemed to latch on to every bit of gen and file it away, no matter how banal the subject matter.

Harry's ( was he Harry now? ) favorite color was actually a pale blue, though you wouldn't know it by his wardrobe. His second was a dark crimson red, far too Gryffindor for Voldemort's liking.

He preferred to sleep on his stomach, though Voldemort's mind now assimilated that the boy was perfectly content to sleep on his side while sharing a bed in close quarters ( it had taken Tom himself moving to the other side of the bed to escape the boy, and convincing himself to move away from the cloying warmth had taken almost an hour, only to be broken come morning ).

Despite his preference, Harry still thought many women were attractive, even in a sexual manner. He just simply didn't want to sleep with them ( damn good thing that was; Tom had enough things to be annoyed about to begin with ).

Harry made rather piteous noises in the back of his throat when Voldemort would touch on his less than stellar past, and seemed quick to defend the young Tom Riddle's actions… even when Voldemort himself believed no vindication was needed ( after all, he knew damn well the things he had done, and he would not take back a single death for anything. They were his choices and he refused to waste his life on the petty regrets that so many fell victim to ).

When thinking or speaking too heavily, the younger man's nose would scrunch up… if things became too grave, he began to nibble his thumbnail. Somehow, Harry didn't seem to notice this ( though Voldemort was disgustingly aware of how he had blurted it in his drowsy state ).

For all his false bravado, Harry still had many issues with his confidence, likely a combination of his upbringing and the fluctuating viewpoints of the Wizarding world in his teens. To make up for this, Harry hardly ever truly smiled or laughed, choosing to project a sly and roguish personality to hide his own insecurities ( except when he was with Voldemort… it seemed their similarities lent Harry the ability to be open ).

But there it was again… that laugh. Rich and delighted, adding depth to the dreary manse that was totally unnatural. Voldemort scowled towards the door and ignored the twinge in his chest as he wondered exactly what had gotten Potter into such a good mood. He hadn't been nearly so happy the day before when he had been forced to leave so quickly, although there had been a… dimension to his eyes that Voldemort didn't dare to try and name.

When the door swung open, a fiercely hot sensation seized his chest as the boy practically bounded into the room, one of his hands interlaced with that of another figure behind him. The man held himself like a king, golden eyes immediately scrutinizing Voldemort before Potter had even had time to give his usual smile of greeting.

His first instinct was to seize Potter by the waist and pull him over his desk into his lap, hissing at the tall, elegant man that dared to be touching what was his… and then Voldemort realized just what he was thinking and shrunk away mentally, sealing off his emotions in the most concrete fashion he knew. He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Back so soon, Potter?"

Harry waved his hand, finally dropping the connection with the man behind him and leaning over Voldemort's desk. "I've brought someone for you to meet; I think you'll be terribly happy with me."

Voldemort didn't see how that would be. The adoring way Potter kept throwing glances at the other man raised his hackles, and he had the most immature notion to change forms and see if he could garner the same attention. It was one of the most petty thoughts he had had in a long time and it sickened him, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the thought from being formed. Voldemort clenched his teeth and waved a hand, not trusting himself to retort at the moment.

"This, my dearest Tom, is the Marquis Valerian… I believe that you were rather adamant in saying that an alliance with him would help the war? Well, we've got his support for as long as we need him." Harry was grinning, leaning closer in the manner of an excited child.

For the moment, his animosity towards the vampire vanished and he let out a rather discomfiting smile. "Pleasure to meet you, sir Marquis. I have heard much of you."

"And I of you, Lord Voldemort," Valerian said. "Please, call me Valerian."

Voldemort watched as the vampire sat where Potter usually did, the boy too happily oblivious to mind that his seat had been usurped. The hot sensation again clutched at Voldemort's chest as he realized this was the happiest he had ever seen the young man. What was it about this Valerian that made Har- Potter, damnit! - so delighted?

Voldemort made to speak to return the courtesy, but Potter cut him off by scooting himself onto Voldemort's desk with a grin. "Just call him Tom, Val."

Voldemort raised his wand with a scowl. "Repeat that, Potter. I dare you."

Harry's smile was amused, his eyes holding a strange cast when they met crimson. "Val isn't someone you have to be the Dark Lord around, Tom. He will never see you as above him and you know this already. He's so much older than us that we're like toddlers to him. And, well, I spend several hours last night speaking of you to him. So why not attempt being yourself for ten minutes, hmm?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits and he jammed his yew wand under Harry's chin, ignoring the raised eyebrows of their guest. Potter's glare was murderous but Voldemort ignored it easily. "I have put up with many things from you, Potter, and I am quite sure I will continue to. But do not assume that because you are able to get away with the disrespect you show that I will ever be anything less then the Dark Lord. No matter your disillusion, I am no longer Tom Riddle no matter the form I take. Now, care to change your suggestion?"

Potter growled, lip lifting into a snarl. Voldemort had no time to react before Potter's own wand, the strange one that was not the brother to his own, was pressed into the hollow of his throat. "And you, Tom, need to realize that intimidation does nothing to affect me. I have remained respectful to you in front of the Death Eaters, but I will not be cowed into submission."

"You will show me respect in front of others no matter their standing!"

"This is just Val! He is one of my closest companions!"

"He is the Vampire Marquis!" Voldemort roared, standing from his seat and leaning closer to the younger man, Potter's nose nearly brushing the flat plane where his own should have been. "I will not be made a fool in front of anyone!"

"No one's making you into a fool but yourself, you old git!"

"Stupid Gryffindor child!"

"Slimy snake bastard!"

"Oh, young love!" Valerian crooned from behind them, snapping both men's attention to him as he clapped his hands with a wide grin. "I knew you spoke of him fondly, Mylläkkä, but I had no idea of how adorable you two were!"

Both of them bared their teeth at the ancient Vampire. "Keep out of this!" they hissed in unison before turning on the other and glaring heatedly.

Valerian laughed. "So sweet…"

"You have a skewed perception, sir, of what is sweet," Voldemort growled, shifting away from Potter and refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment that was flooding him. He had never been one to blush and was suddenly glad for it. "But I digress. There are more important things."

Once Voldemort had sat back down, Potter's wand lowered and he stared away from both of them, obviously reigning in his temper as a dull flush of red crept up his neck. Voldemort pointedly refused to look towards him.

Valerian continued grinning from his seat, golden eyes flicking back and forth between them. The two amused him greatly and he found that no matter their response, there was one major thing they had not done…

Deny it.

Harry sighed as Valerian and Voldemort settled the details to their alliance, Valerian himself being unable to stay but donating several dozen soldiers to their cause. Seventeen Vampires, nine Dark Elves, four dwarves, fourteen werewolves, and seven sirens were certain, and Valerian promised to send along any volunteers from amongst the other species within Sceaduwe. Voldemort was obviously thrilled, crimson eyes bright and a quirk to his lips that he was unable to suppress. Harry, too, was very thankful, though he knew that Valerian could actually spare double the number he was promising.

"I will also send one of my Kenraali to assist you in military planning and to keep my people in line; they will defer to Mylläkkä here as my heir, but even he would have trouble commanding them."

Harry's eyebrows rose unnoticed in response. He had been trying to recall everything that had happened around his first Christmas in Sceaduwe, though he had not been very deep in the know so early in his tenure. However, he did recall a Dark Elf named Emele who had gone on a 'mission' from Valerian in his first year there. She had left him discomfited at first with her pitch black skin and hair and the nearly glowing crimson vines that tattooed her skin in a symbol of her elemental affiliation. He had been distinctly uneasy whenever she so much as entered a room and had avoided her gaze like the plague.

He had, however, grown used to the different immortals that inhabited the Citadel, even the disconcerting Dark Elves. The werewolves had been more aggressive and fierce than his solitary acquaintance with Remus had led him to believe, but pleasant enough… barring the dignitaries that had made fun of him all those years ago for his affected moniker. Harry still held a grudge against them. He had never had much contact with the dwarves, feeling unable to reconcile their childlike appearance with a wise, long-lived race. It was the same with the sirens; they were rather vicious away from their prey and their stories were usually rather gruesome. Despite all that, he had found all of them interesting and looked forward to the renewed contact.

Harry realized he must have been lost in his thoughts for longer than he'd expected, because Valerian was standing and clasping Voldemort's skeletal hand. Harry felt an odd tranquility flow through him as he watched the two powerful men go through the standard oaths of alliance, the purple strands of fire lashing out to seal the agreement. But he was being sentimental; it was unnecessary in that moment and would only bring him more confusion. He smiled at the two, still avoiding Voldemort's eye.

"Will you be returning with me to Malfoy Manor, pet?" Valerian asked, his stance casual. "There is much still that I do not know."

Harry was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. He wanted to escape Voldemort's crimson gaze more in that moment than he had in years. But he was not a coward; like it or not, he was a Gryffindor and proud of it. The tension that laid thick and ignored between them needed to be gone if they were to work together. Their brief squabble proved that. There was so much more underlying their interactions than any mere annoyance.

Harry drew himself up and sighed, smiling at his mentor. "I'll be back over there tonight or tomorrow, Val. I have some things I need to clear up with Tom before I relax."

The smirk the eldest got was wicked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, pet."

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

Harry gave a weak grin. "Well then, I'll be sure not to be silent for even a single moment. Happy?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head before the shadows collected at his feet. He threw his charge a wink. "Do that while nude and you're on your way to greatness."

His laugh echoed in the study even as he disappeared, leaving Harry to studiously avoid his partner's eye. It was alright, though, because even as he focused on anything but Voldemort, Voldemort studied his every move.

Chapter Text

"So," Harry said eventually, "what crawled up your arse and died?"

Harry could hear Voldemort grind his teeth in annoyance. "Funny, Potter."

"What? It's an honest question."

Voldemort waved a hand and leaned forward, steepling his fingers and narrowing his eyes. "I have many better things to do than sit here and listen to your annoying quips. You stayed because you believe we have things to discuss, so speak."

"And I have better things to do than listen to you act like you're Merlin's ruddy ballsack." Harry sneered at the reptilian man. "But you don't see me bitching about it."

Voldemort's disposition had been bad enough since Harry had arrived an hour before, and Harry could tell he was steadily approaching the end of his rope. It was really too bad for the Dark Lord that making him lose control was exactly what Harry was trying to do. "Potter, get out of my study right now before I hit you with the most painful curse I can think of."

Harry smirked and pushed himself off Voldemort's long desk, stretching his arms over his head casually. "No, don't think I will, Tom. You started with your terrible attitude the second I walked in the door and haven't stopped since, and I want to know why."

"You have no right to question me," Voldemort hissed at him in a low tone, the sibilance indicative of his affected form's forked tongue becoming pronounced. Inanely, Harry's mind entertained thoughts of whether, as a Metamorphmagus, Voldemort's natural form could have the tongue as well. It was an interesting thought, but irrelevant to the current situation and was quickly pushed into the back of Harry's mind.

"As your partner in this blasted war, I have every right!"

"Crucio!"

Harry had been ready for the curse and flung himself to the side just in time, the sickly yellow light barely missing his shoulder. Harry rolled as he hit the ground and pointed his Blackthorn wand at Voldemort. "Exosso!"

Voldemort threw up a shield at the last second that absorbed the Bone Dissolving curse, luckily for Voldemort. The curse had been aimed at his head, after all. He hissed out an incantation of nonsense words in Parseltongue, and Harry was not stupid enough to sit back and let whatever the orange jet of light was hit him.

He threw up a reflecting shield and raised himself into a crouch, ready to somersault out of the way should the spell be one of those that was unhindered by magical shields. The spell bounced off and Voldemort moved in the nick of time to dodge the rebounded curse.

Harry was already sick of this fight. They hadn't had a falling out this bad in months and Harry wasn't having any fun with it as he usually did, neatly rolling to his left to avoid Voldemort's rapidly fired Shattering hexes. Harry reached beneath his long hair and pulled out his dagger, catching the Dark Lord off guard as the unornamented blade sunk into the bicep of his wand arm.

Harry stood and brushed off his robes, darting forward to snatch Voldemort's fallen wand before its owner could snatch it up in his right hand. However, since Voldemort was capable of quite a bit of wandless magic, Harry didn't bother keeping the wand any more protected than tossing it over is shoulder. Without pausing long enough for the bleeding man to gain his bearings, Harry resorted to tackling the Dark Lord out of his chair, the arm managing to catch Harry's hip with bruising force as they tumbled onto the floor in a heap of limbs.

Harry's patience with the man was lost at this point, and he grabbed thin wrists and pressed them into the ground, panting a bit out of adrenaline. He regretted now that he had skived off so much on his training for the last few months, because his muscles were protesting the acrobatics. He glared down into Voldemort's furious eyes as he gathered both wrists into one hand and used the other to pull the short blade from his arm.

Harry nearly moaned as he licked the intoxicating blood from the blade, eyes never leaving Voldemort's. He had always thought the man's blood would be particularly complex if only for the amount of Dark magic he had delved into… but nothing could have prepared him. The Darkness was nearly tangible across his tongue, the sheer power in it leaving him lightheaded. He was forced to place the blade aside before he went into a crazed state over it; it was too powerful. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to reassert his control over himself.

Harry hadn't been expecting the unconventional attack, and therefore did little other than melt when lips crushed into his own, a hand winding into his hair at the back of his neck to jerk him down flush against Tom's body. And it was Tom, as evidenced by the thin lips currently devouring his own. Harry didn't know what to think, really, only that for one reason or another Tom was kissing him ferociously and damn but did it feel good.

The kiss was so intense that neither seemed even able to think of the need to breath through their noses until air became such an issue that they had to break apart, leaving Harry staring down into the serious face of Tom Riddle. He didn't move away and their lips still brushed as they shared a long silent moment, no longer caring that they were sprawled across the floor and injured from a duel.

Harry muttered a healing charm on the bloodied arm absently, suddenly feeling drained. "Why do we always do this, Tom?"

Tom was strangely expressionless, not lashing out as he normally did when Harry finally came down off his adrenaline. His right arm, the one that had not been injured, raised up and took a lock of long black hair between his fingers, rubbing it back and forth between them. "Perhaps it really would be impossible for us to both live in peace so long as the other survives. It seems neither of us can attain peace when the other is around."

Harry scowled. "I think the prophecy is a moot point. Don't tell me you're actually willing to let that codswallop rule your life? Oh wait, I forgot, you're the reason the prophecy matters to begin with!"

Tom scowled back, raising himself up on his elbows though making no move to get out of their position, "What did you expect me to do? A child born that could defeat me? Was I to leave such opposition?"

"'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'. Had you not bothered to rush into the situation like some Gryffindor and attack the Longbottoms or my family, you never would have had any opposition! If you hadn't cast the Killing Curse at my head, we wouldn't be here arguing about it!"

"I didn't know about that line of the prophecy, you idiot!"

"Yes, well, Slytherins are known for their cunning, are they not? Why not wait a few more years and attempt to retrieve the full prophecy for yourself before running headlong into your demise? I was a year old, Tom, I wasn't going to be any opposition for you anytime soon."

Tom paused and scowled. "Perhaps that is true, but what is the use of arguing over something already done?"

Harry sat up, knees to either side of Tom's waist, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're the one who brought it up as if it has any relevance in our lives."

"Because we can't seem to get along for more than a day at a time!"

"So? Do we or do we not always figure things out in the end? All relationships…"

"Don't you dare refer to," Tom waved his hand with a scowl, "this as a relationship."

"Any partnership is a relationship, Tom, though I would beg to differ about what this is."

The two stared at one another, green and red clashing silently. This was a line Harry knew was better not to cross, but his mouth tended to work without consulting his mind first. Tom refused to even admit to having human emotions, let alone anything as intimate as Harry was suggesting. It was risky to even hint towards such a thing, let alone to state it so bluntly. Harry waited for the explosion.

It never came. Tom sighed and stretched out his arms, laying back onto the dirty floor and clenching his jaw silently. His dark hair was disordered around his head in such a way that Harry knew he would be livid if he saw it. Harry thought it fetching. He resisted the urge to reach down and run his fingers through it, which would effectively call attention to the mess it was. Harry also resisted the urge to press his lips to Tom's frowning ones, as he was lucky enough to have gotten away with the comment he had made; calling attention to the strange connection between them would only exacerbate the problem.

Harry shifted slightly, becoming all to aware of their position as his line of thought made its way for the gutter. All thoughts of prophecies and Trelawney began draining from his mind as he rethought his previous directive of not kissing Tom…

Harry's thoughts froze. Trelawney. Prophecies. Oh hell, he knew he'd been forgetting something.

"Erm, Tom?" Harry said with a nervous laugh. "I've just remembered something…"

"What did you forget, Potter?" Tom said slowly, raising himself up once more and glaring. The effect was somewhat muted by the disheveled hair, but Harry knew the other man was serious.

"There… there was another prophecy."

Tom jerked into a sitting position, dislodging Harry's seat and making him tumble across Tom's legs. "Another prophecy?" Tom hissed in a low voice, black rage creeping over his features. "And you only now felt it pertinent to inform me?"

"I honestly forgot… you left directly after Halloween and before we could meet and it totally slipped my mind in the meantime… I don't hold much stock in the damn things, anyway…"

"Tell me now, Potter." Each word was annunciated slowly, crimson eyes flashing.

Harry sighed and clenched his jaw. "The end comes near, shadows stretching and consuming. Darkness will creep over hills and sea, until nothing but despair breeds under its depressive cover. The full moon will watch as its child is thrust to the fore. Not all aims will be realized, nor all plans be for naught. One final confrontation shall decide the victor, the Light and Dark vying for supremacy. Only the binding of the Two can ensure the world's survival, the Power the Dark Lord knows not must be realized. A defied prophecy shall tell the tale. The end comes near…"

Had the situation been different, Harry might have laughed at the gobsmacked expression on Tom's face. As it was, any humor Harry might have felt was lost as Tom shoved him back off his legs and stood, brushing his robes with a look of controlled fury on his face. "Repeat it slowly, Potter," he growled, snatching up a parchment and quill, "and then get the hell out of my sight."

And Harry did. There was little left to say anyway, on any matter, at least with Tom's current mood. Once he had repeated it word for word, he stood from the dusty floor and inclined his head. "I'll be back, you know."

Once Harry had left the room entirely, Tom let his head fall into his hands, his soft snort echoing through the empty room. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry sat contentedly next to an amused Narcissa as he watched Lucius and Valerian unsuccessfully hide their flirtation. Valerian had always been one to appreciate beauty and no one could ever call Lucius less than that. And Harry was all too aware of Lucius's power lust. When he had first noticed the obvious attraction, he had expected jealousy; Valerian, after all, had been his lover for nearly eight years, and Lucius a favored dalliance.

But he wasn't. He watched them with unrepentant mirth, whispering to Narcissa as one of them made a comment that bordered on spelling out their desires on paper and fanning it in front of the other's face. It amused both he and Narcissa, and made Draco pointedly ignore them all from the corner of the room where he was penning a letter. It was Yule, after all, and Narcissa had insisted they all spend time in the parlor.

"Really, you'd think they were teenaged girls," Narcissa groused for the seventh time. "Dancing around each other the way they are…"

Harry snickered behind his brandy. "I see your point, but it seems they are both playing coy for the night. How… corny."

"What's… corny… is that you could use that word. Banal, love, sounds much better."

"Am I offending your sense of propriety? Apologies…"

Narcissa failed to hide her laugh, earning her raised eyebrows from both the men across the room. She waved them off and narrowed her eyes at Harry. "You're lucky I've been drinking, love, because I'd never forgive you for making me laugh in public elsewise."

"Public?" Harry snorted, glancing around the room. "It is only your son and husband, Valerian, and me in the room besides you. How much have you had to drink if you think this is public?"

"But Harry, it's the Vampire Marquis! The power he possesses…"

"Are you going to attempt to get into Val's pants, too, then? Oh, or maybe a threesome? Merlin, that's actually kind of hot. Unfortunately, Valerian doesn't care much for women… though I'm sure a train could be arranged… I'd want to watch, of course…"

Narcissa's lightly flushed face darkened rapidly, wide blue eyes torn away from their view to stare at Harry. "I had no idea you were so crude! In the presence of a lady of my stature! I never!"

"But you love me regardless, don't you dear?"

Giving up on decorum, Narcissa snorted. "You'd like to think so, wouldn't you."

Harry laughed and patted her arm, reclining back in his seat and smiling over at the blonde. "You liked your Christmas gift well enough, I see."

Narcissa's hand moved to lay against the bracelet he had admittedly made last minute. He hadn't expected to get on with Narcissa as well as he had - free from expectation and power plays, he could just lark about with the woman. She wasn't a minion or a potential ally… she was just a woman with a wicked sense of humor and far too little chance to use it. She was free of the perpetual stick-up-the-arse syndrome that both Lucius and Tom seemed to suffer from and was without the toffee-nosed attitude that Draco possessed. It was relaxing to spend time with her.

The bracelet had been a cliché idea coming from knowing very little of her, but it suited her. The circle of golden narcissi had been the most delicate metalwork he'd ever done, edges charmed to glimmer in any light. It went well with her coloring and he was pleased to see her wear it. Lucius' gift, a wyvern drink dispenser, was also displayed on an end table. He wasn't so sure whether that, though, was honest appreciation for the gift or just Lucius being obsequious.

"I do. I don't think I've gotten a gift handmade for me since Draco was a child. He used to make me the cutest cards and have his father enchant them…"

"Mother!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the indignant squawk. He should have known the boy was paying attention. It was an improvement, though, that he hadn't added himself to the conversation when Harry had been being lecherous. However, as it was Christmas, Harry didn't bother with a snide remark, he just smiled at his companion. "I'm glad it was well received, then. By next year, I suppose I'll know you well enough to give you something even better."

"You plan to be around this time next year, then?" she asked shrewdly, one pale eyebrow arching.

Harry merely lifted a shoulder in response and let her take that as she would. He wouldn't be making promises he wasn't sure he could keep, after all.

Valerian liked unexpected things. He loved surprises and unforeseen circumstances. He loved the astonishing and the bizarre, the things that didn't synchronize with the everyday world. After all, once you began thinking to count your age in centuries rather than years or even decades, it was very rare to find true joy in the world around you.

His Mylläkkä, the one currently in front of him, was one of those joys. His very existence hinged on an anomaly, on being the first and only person to survive the Killing Curse. It had caught Valerian's interest as soon as it had happened those years ago, and he had waited patiently for a chance to study this strange creature known as Harry Potter.

Reports had come in over the years of a small malnourished boy capable of astounding feats of magic. With each account he had grown more and more intrigued by the boy, more amazed at the feats he had been able to accomplish. He was truly a puzzle, one which Valerian took great joys in trying to pick apart. Since he had finally managed to get the boy under his wing only months ago, he had only become more and more interested in the secrets he hid.

And here was that boy before him, grown under his tutelage into a fierce and vibrant man, treading the line between mortality and immortality effortlessly. He had obviously taken to Valerian in the intervening years, as Valerian could see his own mannerisms in the boy from the way he moved to the way he treated others, and it warmed his long-dead heart to see it. He had never taken an heir, but somehow in the course of the next decade, he would delegate this boy into the position. The boy had told him so, and he could only agree with the decision.

He left the scrumptious part-Veela man that was apparently a subordinate of Harry's, sashaying his way to where the young man sat with the pretty blonde lady of the house. He bowed deeply and gave a roguish grin to the slightly flushed woman, the alcohol in her hand having had a slight effect no matter her nobility. "May I join your conversation, my lady Malfoy? I do not wish to impose."

The blonde smiled a bit too widely and nodded. "Of course, sir Marquis. We would be honored… wouldn't we, Harry?"

Harry snorted into his drink and peered through his fringe at Valerian. "Charmed."

The elder Vampire chuckled and conjured himself a seat, crossing his legs and settling comfortably. "I will be leaving tonight, pet."

"So soon?" Harry asked, sitting forward abruptly. "But you can just open a portal and jump back!"

Valerian gave a genuine, soft smile, a hand reaching out to tuck back the strands of hair that had escaped the younger man's ponytail. "I cannot interfere here, Mylläkkä. I am sorry. This is your battle. My title is more than just superfluous garble, you know. I am sworn to keep myself out of mortal affairs if they might effect the timeline… and this surely would. I will lend the support of my followers, but I myself must be gone for the coming events. I assume you know this by now, pet? The restriction the Fates have placed on me are heavy."

"You will come back?"

"As if I could leave you for long," Valerian winked and quickly fell back into his most comfortable role, eyes shining with mischief. "So, how did things go with your Voldemort?"

Harry grumbled and scowled. "That man is the most stubborn dolt of anyone I've ever known! And that includes you!"

Valerian laughed brightly, a grin spread over his lips. "I have every faith that you will figure it out, pet. I am going to retire for the night if my lady has no objections?"

The implications were clear, and Narcissa gracefully, despite her inebriation, inclined her head. "It was a pleasure to have you in our home, sir Marquis."

"Trust me, my lady Malfoy, the pleasure was all mine."

She laughed as Valerian turned towards her husband, an eyebrow rising in question at the stately man. Just as he swept from the room, he heard the younger vampire laughing. "How can you be so blasé about all this, Cissy? Honestly…"

The lady's laugh was clear and ringing. "Come now, love, haven't you ever heard of a pensieve?"

Valerian laughed, himself, on his way to the guest room they had graced him with, feeling more at ease there than he had felt in years. He saw himself returning to this place often.

Harry hated his Animagus form. When his tutor Nicolai had done the test to see if he was capable, Harry had been beyond thrilled to know that he would be able to become an animagus like his father and godfather. It had taken him nearly three years of work to be able to attempt the transformation, as he had had too many other studies congruent with Transfiguration to focus extra attention on it, but the day Dante and Nicolai had told him he was ready he had been nearly giddy. Then he had transformed. His good mood had been short lived.

He had imagined himself to be something fierce and wild… a panther maybe, or a wolf. Something befitting of how he saw himself. He had also dreamed of being a stag like his father in the back of his mind, a hope he had held from when he was thirteen and learned of his father's form. Hell, he would have appreciated an owl or a housecat more. He supposed the symbology was fitting enough, but that did little to assuage his annoyance with his form.

He was a spider. A bloody spider! And not a cool vicious looking one, either, like a tarantula, or an especially toxic one like the Sydney Funnel Web. He was a spider from the Latrodectus family, probably a Red Back, though the fact that his markings were in the shape of a lightning bolt made identification more difficult. He might have even dealt with the form despite all his complaints if not for the final icing on the cake: not only did he end up with a tiny form that would be easily squished, not only was he only mildly venomous, but he was the bloody girl of the species. So here he was, climbing the craggy stone outer walls of Hogwarts with an oversized arse the size of a pea and another two levels left to climb.

Harry wished he could have just used his invisibility cloak and gotten into Dante's rooms that way, but being as the Entry Hall was too close to the Great Hall and it was lunch time, he didn't want to risk coming in close contact with his Blood Clone and making the damned thing malfunction. The last thing he needed was for the clone to regress in age or begin singing showtunes in front of the staff. And, unfortunately, flying in his invisibility cloak was a very bad idea any farther than a foot off the ground, as there was no way to conceal his feet.

Dante's window was in sight now, and Harry nearly sobbed in joy to see that his window was cracked open. He would have been pissed off if he had made it all the way up only to find the window locked tight. Now he just had to hope Dante's unnatural aversion to spiders didn't cause him to squish him before he noticed who it was.

Dante was sitting in his favorite chair in front of the fire, hand paused in the mid-turning of a page. Dark blue eyes were riveted on Harry as he crawled his way through the window. "Mylläkkä, you are lucky that your form is so distinctive or I would have impaled you." He flicked his wrist to call attention to the dagger he had there.

Harry transformed once he was free of the window, glaring over at Dante. "You really need to see someone about this spider obsession you've got. Really. Because for a millennia old vampire, it just can't be healthy."

"Shut up, childe."

Harry sighed and fell gracelessly into the other chair closing his eyes in exhaustion. It was New Year's Eve and Harry had decided to preempt the students' return to Hogwarts. He had given over information to Lucius to do further research on Dumbledore and sketched out a timeline for the release of bits of information. Rita Skeeter would be their unknowing comrade-in-arms in this; after all, the petty witch never passed up the chance to slander someone. By giving her a few pieces of information, she would hunt for more and exaggerate as much as possible. Hopefully it would be enough.

"Dante, I want to spar," Harry said suddenly. "I need to get back into shape. These once-a-month training sessions just aren't going to cut it."

The blond looked up from his book. "What brought about this epiphany?"

Harry coughed and looked away from his trainer. "I figured it out while in a duel with Tom, but then Valerian decided he wanted to test me… and he kicked my arse…"

"Nothing new about that," Dante said with a smirk.

"Yes, well, usually I can at least hold him off for a while! He kicked my ass repeatedly for an hour!"

Dante nodded, "Fine, we will begin your training again. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the Safe Room off my classroom from four ante meridiem until you must return to ready yourself for classes. Will that be sufficient?"

Harry sighed, already dreading being back under Dante's torture- that is, tutelage. "Yes. That will have to be fine."

"Why were you dueling with your Lord Voldemort?"

Harry refused to take the bait of arguing that Voldemort was not his. He explained the events of the holidays as best he could, leaving out bits that he neither wanted Dante to know nor did Dante want to know. "And so, for one reason or another, he was ticked off at me enough that, in front of Valerian, he started a fight! Then, once Val was gone, he decided to be an even bigger arse and start shooting curses!"

Dante's lips twitched, and Harry knew he wasn't going to like where the conversation was going. Any time Dante was amused, it was generally at his expense. The blond inclined his head, effectively hiding his expression. "Interesting."

"Dante, I haven't the will or the mood for this right now. Please don't toy with me."

"Your Voldemort was jealous."

Harry blinked rapidly, eyebrows climbing up towards his hairline. "What?"

"Jealous. He was jealous. It is quite obvious, Mylläkkä."

"But he's the bloody bastard that said it was a 'one time thing', and it was only Valerian…"

"He does not seem like one to share, regardless of circumstance. And denial is very common in the emotionally constipated."

Harry snorted. "Yes, well, that may be true. Regardless of that, he's a damned prat and I really shouldn't put up with him. The sooner this war is over with, the sooner I can leave this convoluted world behind."

Dante's expressionless face stared back at him, and Harry resisted the urge to fidget. "Do you think it will be so easy?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Harry countered. "Once I return to Sceaduwe, I can leave the annoying world and its perpetual power struggle behind. My task is merely to make sure these prophecies are no longer relevant so I can live my life in peace."

Dante didn't even blink.

"What?!" Harry said in exasperation.

"You are such a foolish boy. Still a child no matter the weight on your shoulders. Do you really think you would be able to stay away?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about this life."

Harry sat back and looked at the ceiling. "Well, let's see… I would probably end up consenting to a full Change; as Valerian's heir I can't be anything less than immortal. The werewolves are the only beings allowed in who aren't, and that's only because they once were. I will help Valerian all I can and continue learning… it will be a lot like these last few years, really."

"What were your motivations during your training?"

"Are you being a counselor or what, Dante? Ugh. I don't know… Escaping the Wizarding world by putting an end to the ties that bind me there, making myself powerful enough to be taken as an equal to Tom…"

"And what will your motivations be when you return?"

Harry pursed his lips and didn't answer.

"You would have none." It wasn't a question.

Harry inclined his head. "Regardless…"

"Tell me, Harry, how you imagine a world without your Voldemort in it."

The use of his given name startled Harry enough to meet blue eyes, which were narrowed slightly in his direction. Harry sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I… don't really think I can. Since I was eleven years old I've been trying to, but Tom is kind of a central figure in my life. He was the killer of my parents, my attempted murderer, the reason I was who I was, the reason my life had been the way it was. And now… well, he's Tom. He's the prat that makes my life difficult and kisses me for no damn good reason, who doesn't like to get up early and…" Harry halted his speech and resolutely refused to meet Dante's eyes.

"I think you need to sit and consider just what you've gotten yourself into. You continually shove all such thoughts to the back of your mind, unable to bear the thoughts that you know you have. You refuse attachment because you are a pessimist who believes your life is fated to go wrong, you run away from emotions you don't understand. This will end up hindering you in the future."

Harry growled under his breath. "How do you figure you know so much about relationships? You have no experience whatsoever in this; you haven't even moved on past your first love from when you were still mortal."

Silence.

Harry knew immediately that he shouldn't have said that. It was an unspoken boundary, not to be touched no matter the circumstance.

Dante stood slowly, jaw quivering in rage and his hands balled into fists. He had more control than anyone Harry had ever seen, though, for he only turned to face the fire and continued in a low tone. "I have spent the last centuries observing. When you have lived so long, after all, what else is there to do? I have seen generations pass me by, and watching the way they interacted was always interesting to me, as it was never the same from day to day. You may choose to ignore my advice all you wish, but if you dare to mention Ann again, I will not be so kind next time."

"I'm sorry Dante," Harry said quietly, knowing it was inadequate. "You know I didn't mean it."

"I will go to retrieve your clone now, Mylläkkä. We will continue this conversation later."

Harry heeded the dismissal and unshrunk his invisibility cloak, pulling it around his shoulders and slipping from the room. He needed to see Snape about the student list, anyway. Now, though, in addition to the million other things on his overburdened mind, he also had how to apologize to Dante.

It seemed he was far too good at saying the wrong thing lately.

Chapter Text

"…So I thought you wouldn't mind my dropping in, Severus."

Severus ground his teeth as he looked up at Albus Dumbledore in all his twinkling glory, robes charmed to change colors at hourly intervals and an oversized Wizard's hat perched over his head. Oftentimes in moments like this, Severus wondered what wrongs he had committed in a past life to deserve such a fate. He also considered mixing together dragon's blood and aconite and, for the first and only time, enjoying an exploding cauldron. Instead he gazed blankly up at the Headmaster. "I am a busy man, Albus. Is there any reason you have ventured into the dungeons, or are you once again existing solely to make my life miserable?"

"Miserable, Severus? You wound me." The words were petulant, but Dumbledore's buoyant smile was unquenched. "I have important matters to discuss with you, my boy. Have you noticed anything strange about our Mr. Potter?"

A million acerbic comebacks laid on his tongue, most conjoining with the plural possessive adjective, but Severus paused for half a moment. This could be his chance… his chance to break away from the mess Potter was plunging him headfirst into. Away from the corrupted Dark and back into the Light, where he had been working for so long to repent for his sins. Could he do it? Could he, once again, switch sides? Albus was his mentor, the only person to see a shred of redeemable humanity in the shell he had become after Hogwarts, had offered him a chance to redeem himself…

'Offered it with the price of guilt, with an endless term of slavery attached. He gave a broken child empty promises of redemption, which I sought for years without a single whisper muffled or hostility dampened… All for the price of being the killer of the woman I loved… the woman whose child is now presiding over me with those damnable eyes…'

"The brat seems to be as Gryffindor as ever, Headmaster." And so he sealed his fate, invisible chains binding him forevermore to the spawn of James Potter. Severus thought he should feel worse in this situation; as it was, he merely felt resigned.

"Good, good," Dumbledore chirped, hat wobbling precariously on his head as he nodded. "He's at an age where he might get… ideas in his head about the paths he is taking… and we wouldn't want that, now would we? You'll keep an eye on him, won't you Severus? "

"When did I ever get the choice, Headmaster?" he snipped, eyes falling back to the course planner he was revising. "Now, if that is all…"

"Lily would be proud of you, my boy."

Severus flinched, and he knew the movement was caught by Dumbledore. it was probably intended. Again he brought up Lily. The man had nerve, Severus would give him that.

'The nerve of a feral koala, ready to rend flesh from bone the moment its needs are not met. Your benign exterior may fool the masses, but I've been in the fold for far too long old man. How Minerva or Pomona or Filius can even look you in the eye I don't know…'

Severus let a grim smile stretch his lips as the Headmaster left the room and the door clicked shut, his voice soft. "Would you really, Lily? Or would you sooner cut me down for allowing him to follow this path?"

"Why would my mum do much of anything to you?"

Severus jolted as the voice rang through the empty room, his eyes immediately seeking its source. The damned cloak again, he bet. Sure enough, there was a glimpse of inhuman eyes floating before him before they disappeared again. Severus sneered, "That would be none of your business, Potter. What do you need?"

"Touchy much?"

Severus bared his teeth. "What do you need, milord? I would like to complete this grading before the students return and turn in their holiday assignments."

Severus heard Potter nonchalantly pushing himself to sit on the corner of Severus' desk, displacing several items. "You've got that list for me, right?"

Severus wordlessly snatched up a scroll and handed it over, ignoring Potter as best as he could as the scroll hovered in midair. It was only moments before the scroll was back in front of him. "Looks good enough for me… in fact, that's more people than I thought you would be sure of."

Severus glared at the parchment in front of him. Who was Potter to question his work? He nearly said something to that effect as well, but Harry cut him off.

"Not that you're incompetent in any way, of course; I knew that if anyone would be able to get this information it would be you. But I didn't think there were actually that many people who were sympathetic in fifth and sixth year."

"There are more who would be swayed. Right now the war is teetering on a precipice; everyone fears the Dark Lord and knows him powerful, but you were the one to defeat him as a baby. They believe you would only multiply in power as the years went on. They all believe you are firmly with the Light and that causes fear in those who would possibly fall in with the Dark Sect."

Harry nodded vaguely. "Alright then. For now, send out a note to each of those students, self-igniting, with an invitation to come to the Room of Requirement if they are amenable."

"And for those students who are not aware of the room's location?"

"I suppose you should simply put that they should come to the seventh floor corridor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

Severus nodded absently. "What date and time?"

"Hmm." he could hear Potter's feet shuffling on the stone floor; he had obviously gotten off Severus' desk now. "How about Tuesday the seventh at half seven? That should give us enough time before curfew."

"Yes, my lord."

The door opened slightly, signaling Potter finally leaving, but Severus could still hear the boy's breathing. He wanted more than anything for the brat to leave already, but it seemed, per usual, fate was not on his side. "Severus?"

"What do you need now?" he snapped, glancing up to meet glowing green eyes and freezing. It was eerie, he supposed, but it was also much easier to deal with Potter when he could see nothing but the boy's eyes… there was no resemblance to James Potter there. He waited for whatever the boy would ask now.

"Tell me about my mum."

Severus' fingers tightened around his quill and the sound of it snapping was loud in the silent room. He didn't want to answer that, he couldn't answer that… yet he seemed unable to avoid the question in the face of those eyes. Vaguely, though Severus would never admit it, the words Pierce had spoken went thought his mind: 'You who, had luck shone upon you, might have been that boy's father.' Had fate been kinder, would the boy still have those eyes? Would they still be the bane of his existence then?

"Your mother…" Severus couldn't believe he was even speaking. "Your mother was the most amazing soul I have ever met." A sharp intake of breath made Severus snap to attention black eyes piercing green. "Get out, Potter. I have work to do."

"Snape…"

"Go, Potter."

Severus heard the boy sigh, but moments later the door was closed again and there was no longer any sign the boy had been there. Severus rub his eyes wearily and pushed his grading away. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on it, anyway.

Harry wasn't sure what he thought as he left Snape's office, invisibility cloak tight around his sixteen year old body. He had reverted in an empty classroom after leaving Dante's room, unwilling to remain in his natural form for long in Hogwarts, invisibility cloak or no. Of all his memories from his younger years, fifth year had always been the most vivid. Between Umbridge's reign, Occlumency lessons with Snape, the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and Sirius' untimely death, there were memories of that year that stood out in stark relief against the more mundane and faded ones surrounding them.

He keenly remembered, for instance, the only time he had ever seen his parents in anything but photographs. The memory in Snape's pensive had disillusioned him of his perfect father, had taken away the awe and reverence James Potter had previously held in Harry's heart. And he might have even felt badly enough for Snape to apologize, having seen that his father really had been a swaggering bastard… if not for how Severus had turned around and treated the beautiful woman Harry knew to be his mother. Mudblood, he had called her, as she had risen to his defense. And so any shame Harry might have felt and any sorrow that might have been directed at his Potions' professor faded to nothing in the face of Lily Evans' pained expression.

But Snape had spoken of her… reverently. What was he missing in this puzzle? He had only even asked because no matter how much he heard of his father, he knew very little of his mother beyond that she had a temper and was good at Charms. He had thought to hear something, biased though it would be, from someone who might have seen her day to day and known something… and then Severus had spoken. What was Harry missing?

Harry paused as he exited the dungeons, senses flaring out immediately. Someone had been watching him and being sly about it. The aura was distinctly human but… off. He didn't know how to describe the difference. It tugged at him, and something in him screamed that he should know what the disparity was, but he just couldn't place it.

He made a show of stretching his arms as he pinpointed where his watcher was. With his blood thrumming in his veins he used every ounce of speed he could muster he sprang towards it, intent on catching his observer. He felt their aura flash in alarm even as he threw himself around the hallway corner to catch a look.

All Harry saw was the tail end of a black cloak disappearing around a corner farther down.

Harry cursed and stood, not bothering to hunt the offender farther. He'd find them again.

"I figured, y'know, with their shop and all, that they'd actually be gone once in a while. But no, they just had to be there. And then, do you know what they did? Do ya know, Hermione?!"

Hermione's fingers were threaded through her bushy hair, a dark look on her face. "I don't know Ron. Tested out a prank on you, perhaps?" she muttered with a sarcasm that was lost on the redhead.

"Yes! And in front of Fleur! I mean, I know she's my brother's fiancée and all, but she's bloody gorgeous and… And it couldn't be a normal prank that just changed my hair color or something, it was one that listed out my nicknames! So now she knows…" Ron's face turned a sickly puce. "Well, she knows things that no one has a right to know!"

"Like what? Ronniekins? She would have heard that one after a few days in your house anyway," Hermione said with exasperation.

"That wasn't the worst of it! It even listed the dumb ones from when I was a kid… like Wonald Wetpants… that was a stupid one I had for about a month from the twins when I was five!"

Ron met Harry's eyes and gave an imperceptible nod as Hermione finally cracked a small smile, puffy eyes still trained on her uneaten dinner but finally managing an expression other than glaring or staring despondently. It was more of a reaction than Harry had managed to get from her in the few days he'd been back at Hogwarts. He understood her pain at losing her parents but was unable to fathom how bad it must be to lose something tangible. To him, the loss of his parents was an abstract, an empty space where people who cared for him were meant to be. For Hermione, it was the loss of something she had had for years and suddenly was without. Harry gave Ron a small smile, approving of his tactics.

Harry was really quite impressed with Ron. Even only a year ago he had been so dim that he wouldn't have even noticed anything was wrong with Hermione, likely sticking his foot in his mouth as he stumbled insensitively around their grieving friend. It was times like this that Harry really regretted the imminent loss of his friends, as he saw just how far they had come.

"What about 'Bonnie Ronnie'?" Neville asked slyly from Harry's left, spearing another bite and stuffing it into his mouth to hide his expression.

"Oi!" Ron said, turning steadily redder. "Let's not get into that, huh?"

"Oh this I've got to hear," Harry said with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the brunet to his side. "Well, Neville?"

"Well, when we were in primary school - yeah, we went together; Gran wanted me to interact with others and we didn't really have the money for tutors. Well we were… I don't know, how old were we, Ron? Seven?"

Ron stayed quiet and poked at his food, though the tips of his ears were an angry red.

"Anyway," Neville continued with a grin. "Ron showed up to class one morning with his lips bright red and blue eyeshadow caked on… turns out he had gotten into his mum's cosmetics and as punishment she had refused to spell them off. So he was stuck for three days in it, and the name stuck for two years."

Harry couldn't help but laugh and was pleased when he heard Hermione giggle as well. Ron seemed to have noticed as well, for the very real annoyance he had been showing morphed into a mild chagrin. "Yeah, well, you just watch out Nev, 'cos once the twins figure out that spell, I'll do yours in front of the whole Great Hall."

Neville turned pink. "No need for that, Ron."

"We should get up to the dorm, boys, we have Potions first thing in the morning," Hermione put in, already standing. Harry stood as well, smiling amicably. The spring term had begun, and things would only pick up from here.

Harry smirked as the seats filled from his hidden vantage point, a notice-me-not charm layered with a disillusionment charm to keep him from being detected, as he wasn't willing to reveal his invisibility cloak. The room was steadily filling, people dividing themselves by house and settling into the seats the room had provided. Most kept a large space between them and Snape, who stood near the front of the room with a forbidding look that was part annoyance at Harry and part aversion to revealing his true alliances to anyone. The majority of those entering the room were, of course, Slytherins, as they were the most easily detected in their leanings, but Harry was surprised by some of the people who entered.

Zacharias Smith entered alone, a confident swagger in his walk and shrewd eyes darting across the room's occupants. Harry didn't remember much other than the boy was a Hufflepuff, though with the way the young man walked it was obvious that he might have ended up a Slytherin. It was a strange combination, but no stranger than an obvious Gryffindor who would have done well with the snakes.

Padma and Parvati Patil came in clutching one anothers' hands, faces drawn. Despite their nervous appearance, though, they walked resolutely and took seats near the middle of the room, jaws set identically. Harry wondered what had happened to turn the two girls to Voldemort's ideals when they had been so silly and immature in his memory.

A small group of fifth year Ravenclaws came next, three of them, nameless to Harry, with who Harry thought was Lisa Turpin leading them. They didn't seem especially nervous, though they eyed the Slytherins and chose a seat where they could keep an eye on them.

His eyes scanned over the group of Slytherins, Draco holding court over them per usual. Though the blond was in on the workings of the meeting, Harry had specifically told him not to give anything away. He would back up Harry if necessary, and Harry thought it would be, but would stay a part of the group until then. Harry's eyes caught dark ones and paused.

Blaise Zabini was staring directly at him, a cold look on his face. Harry was taken aback by the hatred that was conveyed in the look, nearly enough to not realize that the black boy should not be able to see him. He tensed, immediately on guard, and concentrated on how Zabini could be strong enough to see through the layered spells rather than on why the Slytherin held such hatred towards him. He was silent in his observation, for now, so Harry relaxed minutely.

He could recall very little of Zabini, as he had mostly stayed in the background in Harry's early years. Even in the most involved of his confrontations with Malfoy, Blaise had been an observer, someone noticed only for, perhaps, the exotic slant of his eyes and the depth of his gaze. He also vaguely recalled from his political tutoring that his mother was something of a black widow, but that answered little of his questions.

Harry put aside his questions as he noticed most of the seats were filled and it was five minutes after the time Harry had specified the meeting to be. He made his way to the door followed only by Zabini's eyes, ready to set the privacy wards he and Dante had worked out as soon as Severus made the introduction. He didn't have to wait long.

Severus drew himself up, his presence commanding attention as much as it did in Potions class, black eyes roving slowly over the students. He spoke in a low tone that Harry wanted to applaud for its poignancy. "You have been called here today due to a perceived proclivity towards serving the Dark Lord." His eyes narrowed. "If you did not understand the intent of the letter you received, you may leave now and forget you ever came to this room. If you stay and are too imbecilic to perform the tasks assigned to you, I will take pleasure in Obliviating you of all thoughts pertaining to this meeting. Are we in accord?"

Snape waited for any who would take his out, though no one moved a muscle. The Potions master nodded to Harry who lifted his wand to dispel the enchantments placed over him. He was on the brink of silently releasing the spells when the door to the room flew open, making a dozen wands swivel immediately to train on the doorway.

Apparently completely oblivious to the attention, Luna Lovegood meandered into the room with a vague smile. She paused just inside the door and tilted her head before locking eyes with Harry and smiling. "Hullo."

Harry blinked at the blond, intent on asking her just what she thought she was doing when another familiar form entered the room. Harry's eyes widened as he took in Neville, outward confidence belied only by the slight shaking of his hands, who walked up to Luna and put a hand on the small of her back. "Let's sit down."

The room's door closed on its own and Harry shook himself from his daze, lifting his wand and tapping himself on the head with a silent Finite. Immediately, all attention that had been on the odd pair swung to him, even that of the odd pair themselves. Harry raised an eyebrow when he realized neither was shocked to see him, as opposed to most of the rest of the room who was gaping or clutching their wands with fearful expressions.

Harry chuckled and turned his back, confident none would recover enough to curse him in the next few moments. He slit his palm with a fang and pushed his bloodied hand against the wall, injecting the intent of secrecy into his slowly awakening Vampire magic. A blue glow fanned out from his spread fingers and quickly covered every dimension of the room - floor, ceiling, walls and door. Harry stabbed his wand into the glowing wall and chanted a long string of words in Latin before the glow could fade, sealing the spell into the occupants of the room and anchoring the enchantments for the next few hours. He wouldn't need that much time, but better safe than sorry.

He removed his wand with a jerk and turned to watch the blue spell-light rain down on the heads of the room's occupants, finalizing the spell. Harry strode towards the front of the room with a confident gait, eyes trailing over the still shell-shocked students. "You have chosen not to back out, but this precaution has been taken regardless. The spell I just cast on this room will keep you from uttering a word of what you learn here outside of this room unless you are in my presence or I unlock your ability to do so. Even Legilimency will not be able to pry anything you learn here from your mind." Harry didn't mention that Veritaserum could bypass the spell; he didn't want them to have the out.

He leaned against the wall and smirked at the room. "You are here because Severus thought you showed an inclination to the Dark. You want to be Death Eaters someday, then?"

The Slytherin's mouths were clamped tightly shut, obviously unwilling to say anything that could be used against them to Harry Potter of all people. Padma and Parvati were deathly pale and the younger students looked damned near ready to piss themselves. Harry could practically read the thoughts currently running through their minds - 'We've been had.'

It was Luna who stood, airy smile replaced with a small curve of her lips. "Yes, Harry-who-isn't-quite-Harry."

"Why?" Harry couldn't help but ask. He wanted to ask how and when and a million other questions, but the simple why would have to do.

"Because we'll follow you to the end," Neville said quietly, fingers twisted in his sleeves but voice steady. "Dark or Light or what have you… we're with you, Harry."

Harry nearly smiled, but settled on a jerky nod to his dormmate. He would find out how they knew of him and the meeting later. For now, he moved his eyes over the rest of the room. Zacharias Smith was the next to speak out, a cocky tilt to his jaw that screamed his lofty opinion of himself. A few memories from Harry's fifth year presented themselves and told him that the boy in front of him was quite often a royal prat. Harry raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

"Potter, seems we were all wrong about you. I would be proud to be a Death Eater."

The statement seemed to shake the listeners from their stupor, as murmurs began to raise from the Slytherin section of the room. The betrayed looks being flashed at Severus and the malicious ones towards Harry increased, and Harry lifted a hand. "Draco? If you would?"

"Yes… my lord."

Harry could tell the honorific was slightly forced, but Draco stood and bowed slightly nonetheless. He turned to the room with a raised eyebrow as all sound stopped and eyes centered on him, and Harry rolled his eyes as the blond puffed up under the attention. They had already gone over the attitude he was not allowed to have and between his natural Slytherin tendencies and his strong sense of self preservation, Harry anticipated no problems.

"I wasn't thrilled to begin with either," Draco addressed his peers. "But, like it or not, he is the legitimate. I have seen him with the Dark Lord myself. I've also been… entertaining… him at my home over the Yule holidays."

"Impossible!" Lisa Turpin put in suddenly. "He was here at Hogwarts for the whole break!"

"Not that it's any of your business, but that was a golem." Harry didn't think the whole truth was necessary. "You all may have heard of Mylläkkä, yes? Well, that is me. I may be Harry Potter, but I am not the Golden Boy you all have seen these last years. If my identity is going to hamper your service, you will never be a Death Eater."

Muttered denials sprung up around the room, and Harry just stared until they stopped. "You have no obligation to assist me, but if you truly aspire to be Death Eaters you will have to learn to work under me. Trust me… anything you deal with now will be a doddle compared to what you'll do once Voldemort gets his hands on you."

One of the unnamed fifth year Ravenclaws was watching him closely, finger tapping his lower lip. "Father told me about you."

"Oh? And who is your father?"

"Armand Selwyn."

Harry vaguely recalled the man as one of the many minions of Voldemort's that spent an inordinate amount of time at the Manor. "Ah, yes. And you are…?"

"Alec. Alec Selwyn. You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Gasps echoed in the room and Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am. That is not common knowledge, so I'd thank you to keep it to within privileged circles."

"Of course, my lord," Alec said quickly.

Harry nodded to the young man and then let his eyes fall onto the Patil twins, who were paler now than they had been before. "Padma? Parvati? Would you like out now? You don't seem comfortable."

Harry could practically see Parvati summoning her Gryffindor courage. "No Har- my lord."

"And why are you here?"

Padma spoke up, knuckles white. "We will be Death Eaters."

Harry tipped his head in a small nod. "Alright then. For now, the only task I will set forth for you is to gather information on others who might be swayed and plant doubts in the minds of others. Since I will not be here next year, you will have more tasks then, but for now I only want you to observe. Soon I might require other help in research and the like. I will approach you if I am in need of you. You will come to Professor Snape or me with any questions or if you believe a person qualified to work with us. Draco would also be able to get messages to me, wouldn't you, Draco?"

Draco nodded. "Yes."

"Then that is all. Does anyone feel this is too much for them?"

As it turned out, one of Slytherin sixth years, Daphne Greengrass, and three of the fifth years, a Slytherin and the two unnamed Ravenclaws, were Obliviated by Snape. Harry was actually reluctantly impressed that they were mature enough to know they were in over their heads.

As the group began leaving the room, Harry beckoned over Malfoy. "What do you know about Zabini?"

Draco raised en eyebrow. "I've known him since we were children; quite a lot I'd think."

"I want to know why he could see me regardless of the enchantments I had concealing my presence."

"He has Necromantic blood."

This actually explained a lot, and Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? That is… rather interesting. So he's known I was a vampire all year, then?"

Draco scowled suddenly. "I suppose he did." The blond looked disgruntled. "Traitorous little…"

"I would also like to know why he was looking at me like I would make a good cadaver."

"I wouldn't know. I can find out though."

"Do that," Harry said with obvious dismissal, waving his hand. "You should go now, I can tell your cronies are all dying for answers that they wouldn't dare ask in front of me. You'll lend me the memory, won't you?"

Draco snorted. "As you wish, Potter."

"Good, good. Have a good night, Little Pretty."

"Ronald! You're being foolish, just listen to me, would you?"

Harry sighed as he watched his friends argue back and forth, both steadily becoming more red faced and irritable as the squabble escalated into a full-blown row. Harry was rather disappointed to see the two growing apart as much as they had over the last months; last year he had been sure they would marry someday, but as the weeks had passed it seemed less and less likely that the two would do anything more than remain friends. They simply clashed too much.

"Hermione! Shut up already! Just because I'm not doing it your way doesn't mean it isn't right!"

Hermione virtually snarled, and Harry stared in shock at the ferocity. He had never seen Hermione's temper so short; he feared she was taking the death of her parents worse than she let on. Harry watched with trepidation as her fingers curled around her wand, the look on her face vicious.

And then she was dropping her wand in shock, staring in confused silence at her own hand before spinning on her heel and bolting out the portrait hole.

Harry's arm jerked involuntarily as the silver snake around his forearm heated, not out of any pain but out of surprise. How much worse could the timing be? He had not been expecting a message so soon after his return to Hogwarts; it had only been a week since the second term had begun. He wondered wryly if something had gone wrong… again.

He made an excuse to Ron about going after Hermione and patted his pocked to be sure his potions and invisibility cloak were there before taking off, tapping the snake as soon as he was alone.

//Potter, the raid planned on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement must be carried out tonight rather then next month due to some unforeseen complications. I need you here so our statement of a united front is established. You have half an hour.//

Harry cursed. If he ran across Hermione on his way out of the castle, so be it, but if not, he would have to come up with a detention as an excuse. This raid was meant to be an important turning point in the way the Wizarding world viewed the Dark Sect, and Harry wanted to know what had happened to make them have to drastically move up their timetable.

Just as Harry broke out of the Entrance Hall, he had to dive to the side to avoid a hex streaking towards him. He raised up his wand in answer to stare in shock at Hermione Granger standing over him, eyes wild and manic grin on her face.

"Did you know there are two hundred and six bones in the human body? Did you, Harry? Did you? How many of yours do you think I could break before you lost consciousness?"

Chapter Text

Harry kept half his attention on the wand in her hand. He had seen her drop hers in the common room, so the question of whose it was came to mind first. Most of his attention was drawn, though, by the glint in her eyes and the nearly hysterical note to her voice. Something was off. Seriously off.

"Ron is the most fatuitous individual I've ever met… don't you agree, Harry?" she babbled. "Always whinging about the exertion he has to put into his work; as if he does anything on his own! He's been constantly using me as a stepstool since first year! He'd have failed out ages ago if not for me! But no, he continues to moan and bleat as if anyone cares what he has to say! Don't you agree, Harry? Don't you?"

Harry surreptitiously tightened his grip on his wand, trying to decide if he could manage to get her before she fired anything off. "Of course I do, Hermione…"

"He makes me so… so…" Her breathing was accelerating and a hand gripped hard in her bushy curls, yanking at it as if it would help alleviate her annoyance. "Have you ever looked at him and wished he were gone, Harry? I have. My head starts pounding and I just want to make him feel the pain he inflicts upon me and watch him writhe! Do you understand me Harry?" And suddenly her attention was all on Harry again, wand jabbed under his chin. "You agree, right? If not, I would be happy to show you how delicious it can be. Then again… it won't be you who will be happy in that case, will it?"

The wand, Harry thought it might be hawthorn or apple wood by the golden tint to the pale wood, traced over his jaw near lovingly, and had Hermione's grin not been so disturbing, Harry might have been uncomfortable. As it was, he was looking for an opportunity to stun his friend so he could figure out just what in the hell was wrong with her. Instincts in the back of his mind screamed for him to tear out her throat with his teeth and cast the corpse aside, but Harry ignored it. It had told him several times to do the same to Voldemort, even, and he had yet to listen to it then.

"The zygomatic bone is rather fragile… I wonder how many splinters I could break it into?" Hermione breathed, wand trailing over his cheekbone. "But then that might ruin those pretty eyes of yours, and we wouldn't want that, would we? No, no… that would be sinful. Tragic Boy Savior must have the soulful eyes… can't have a blind hero, now can we, Harry?"

Her nose was crunched in thought and her focus on somewhere around his ear, so Harry used that short moment of thought to send a silent 'Stupefy' at her. The red beam of light made her eyes roll back in her head and Harry roll to the side to avoid her falling body.

Harry didn't know what to think. Something was damned wrong with his friend, that was unquestionable. A million possibilities ran through his mind… the Imperious was out simply because of the way she had been acting. There had been nothing vacant or hesitant about her actions. A possession gone wrong wafted through his mind as well. Could someone have broken into her mind and done serious damage? Harry cursed that he did not have the knowledge necessary to find out what was wrong with her.

Harry quickly weighed his options without considering his feelings for Hermione. This raid was terribly important to the speed of the rest of the war and to showing the force and power they commanded; there was no way he could miss it. It had perhaps been fifteen minutes since he had received the summons from Voldemort and it would take another ten to get to the edge of the wards if he couldn't fly, which he wouldn't be able to if he was magicing his friend behind him. On the other hand, if he just left her and she awoke from the stunner and did damage to anyone, someone would very likely notice Harry's absence.

Harry sighed and chose the obvious first option, pointing his wand toward the collapsed form of his friend ready to cast Mobilicorpus when he spotted a crumpled mass of black and white-blond. Draco. Harry cursed and gritted his teeth… it seemed everything was out to slow him down.

Harry thanked the fact that the new moon had been only nights before and that winter nights were so dark so early as he quickly made his way to Malfoy's limp form. His own vision allowed him to see well enough but would make their identification from any of the castle's window difficult to impossible. He quickly cast an Ennervate at the Slytherin and impatiently pushed at his side with foot. "Malfoy! What the hell happened?"

Draco looked up at the barked command, silvery eyes wide for a moment before narrowing, a snarl forming on his lips. "That mudblood bitch Stunned me! I demand she pay for…"

Harry cut him off with a glare. "Tell me everything Malfoy. Now."

Draco shrank away a bit, face closing off. "I was patrolling the corridors when Granger ran by me, nearly managing to knock both of us down the stairs. She ignored me when I had words with her and proceeded to run out the front doors. I chased after her. She started screaming and gripping her head and then attacked me with no provocation! She took my wand, as well! Where is it?!"

Harry growled. "That was no answer at all. If was not in such a hurry…"

"Is there a problem, Mister Potter?"

Harry turned to face Severus, who had just exited the castle's doors. He was already unshrinking a set of robes from his pocket that Harry recognized as Death Eater regalia, "You were Called, then?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "Now, why is Miss Granger unconscious and what is Mister Malfoy doing out here?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't have time for this shit, Tom needs us there in less than ten minutes now."

"What's going on? The Dark Lord is summoning you both? I want to go!"

Snape turned a disdainful sneer on his student. "Mister Malfoy, you are acting like a petulant first year. You are not a Death Eater and therefore this does not pertain to you." Severus turned and addressed Harry. "If the Dark Lord requites our presence, why are you dawdling here, Potter?"

Harry growled and straightened, "Something is wrong with Hermione. She fled the common room in a panic and apparently attacked Malfoy before I arrived and she attacked me as well. If I leave her here and she is discovered, my absence will be obvious."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, but he didn't snap back. Instead he cast a silent spell to levitate Hermione's inert form. "Mister Malfoy, return to your dormitories; I think your patrols are complete for the night."

The blond took on a resemblance to a bird whose feathers were puffed out in outrage. "Why can't I come as well? I think I have every right…"

Snape opened his mouth to contradict his student when Harry raised his hand. "Let him come. The boy needs a wake up call anyway."

Severus' pale lips thinned almost to nonexistence, but he inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord."

"Good. You take him and I'll take Hermione. Tell Tom I'll meet him in his office or his rooms or… well, I'll meet him somewhere between his entrance hall and his bedroom."

Severus looked pale. "My lord allows no one above the first floor of the manor, are you sure it is wise…"

Harry snorted as he flicked his wand at Hermione and took over the 'Mobilicorpus' spell. He began at a fast pace towards the nearest edge for the wards, tossing a smirk over his shoulder as he replied. "I don't have time to revert to my natural form right now and I don't have a suitable change of clothes on me. His clothes are only a bit long on me, easy to fix."

Harry ignored the incredulous expressions the two Slytherins gave him and laughed as silently as he could.

"What is this Severus tells me about you bringing your mudblood into my manor?"

Harry glanced under his arm at the serpentine Dark Lord before turning his attention back to getting his second foot through the leg of Voldemort's leather pants. He had Reverted directly after leaving Hermione in Voldemort's office under a strong sleeping hex and was now trying to dress as quickly as possible. Harry shivered as he felt crimson eyes on his bare back. "It was either leave her there to be discovered and have my cover blown or bring her along and put her under a strong sleeping spell, Tom. I didn't get much information out of Malfoy, but something is obviously wrong with her. She attacked me and was acting… well… like an Azkaban escapee, really."

Voldemort tapped his long fingers on his crossed arms. "We'll discuss that later, then. May I ask why you are wearing my clothing?" The sarcasm was apparent as Harry rolled too-long sleeves up to his forearms before pushing through the wardrobe for an appropriate robe.

"Because I wasn't expecting to be called away," Harry retorted with a glare, pulling out a nice black set of robes with crimson detailing and pulling them on. "May I ask why you suddenly moved the raid up from next month?"

Voldemort leaned against the doorframe and spoke in a bored tone. "One of our people in the Ministry got word that this would be the last full Auror meeting for six months; they have devised a new way to get word through their ranks. If we wish to take out as many as possible, this is our last chance."

Harry sighed and walked for the door, stopping a foot away from his partner. "Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do, then. Do you have the portkeys?"

Voldemort nodded and pulled out several trinkets to hand to Harry. "Only you and I will have them; choose wisely. The higher in rank the better. We each have three."

While they would be killing as many Aurors as they could in this raid, they also wanted information. Voldemort had easily solved the problem by suggesting a few one-way portkey trips to his dungeons to await interrogation. Harry pocketed the random pieces and nodded. "Activation command?"

//Morsmordre// he hissed, and Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Voldemort. However, he couldn't deny the chill down his spine and suddenly wished he could hear how Parseltongue sounded through the ears of a non-speaker. "Now, care to tell me why the young Malfoy arrived with Severus?"

"The brat needs a dose of reality if he is to be of any use to us ever. He'll be coming with us."

"He will be a liability!"

Harry crouched down and picked up his invisibility cloak. "Not really. He'll have orders to stay against a wall in this. Let him see a real battle… let him witness death and blood and pain. He will come out better for it."

"You do know Lucius and Narcissa won't like this… as it is, Lucius was glaring something terrible at Severus."

Harry snorted. "Be that as it may, I say the boy comes. Let Lucius argue with me over it. It isn't like I'm having the boy take part in the fight; he's just going to be a spectator."

Voldemort inclined his head and turned on his heel to start out the door. "My Inner Circle is gathered. We leave now."

Harry nodded at the man's back and let out a mental sigh. Voldemort's attitude was distant and cold; he was obviously still pissed off at him from the week before. He would have to rectify that before the night was over. Something inside him twisted violently at the thought of the rift between them and made Harry have to will back the urge to wrap his arms around the Dark Lord until he was forgiven. He was not a teenaged girl and he would not give into these silly impulses.

But he could not deny the pain the cold crimson eyes invoked.

It was disgustingly easy to break into the Ministry of Magic.

Harry had thought that perhaps they had learned their lesson after Voldemort had been in the Department of Mysteries, but apparently not. They were able to enter without interference only an hour after normal Ministry hours while over half of the Aurors in Wizarding Britain were in the same building. It was nearly laughable that so many put their faith into such incompetents.

Harry walked alongside Voldemort through the empty Atrium and past the empty desk where the watchwizard should have been. In Harry's fifth year, he had thought it was foreboding that the desk had been empty, but apparently it was regular procedure. Harry sneered in grim amusement. Oh, the things they would change when they had control. No longer would the British Ministry of Magic be a laughingstock amongst other territories.

There were still a few memos flying here and there erratically, the only sign that the Ministry was not utterly abandoned. Harry and Voldemort paused at the lift to allow their Death Eaters to catch up with them, as the phone booth only comfortably fit two at a time. Harry folded his arms and reclined against the lift doors, green eyes settled on the side of Voldemort's reptilian face. The man had yet to respond to Harry's usual banter, instead giving curt orders and giving of an aura of frostiness that had the Death Eaters wary.

Harry, of course, was immune.

Harry knew this battle was important for several reasons. First of all, it was his going to be his first fight alongside the Inner Circle. Though perhaps he had Lucius and Severus softly swaying to his point of view, that still left all three Lestranges, Dolohov, and Macnair that were now aware of his identity and were present. Since the revelation of his true identity, he needed something concrete for them to see that he was not to Golden Boy they had encountered the summer before, he had to show them that he was well capable and qualified to be the partner to their leader.

Secondly, this was a chance to take out their most organized opposition. The Aurors were foolish to have meetings that put almost all of their higher ranks in one place. Though there would still several dozen Aurors remaining after this battle, most were inexperienced or inept. This would take away their structure and send morale into negative numbers. After the massacre of their numbers on Halloween, this assault would nearly cripple them.

And thirdly, the Wizarding world would know after this battle that the Dark Sect was not to be toyed with. They would see that their precious leaders could do nothing to save even their strongest fighters, twice now in a matter of months. They would see the incompetence of the influential and doubts would take root in their mind as to the outcome of the war. It would perhaps not convince them, but it would surely go a long way to making the misgivings take hold.

Harry watched as Voldemort stared at the entry where the last of his Inner Circle, Rookwood, Dolohov, and Macnair had finally entered the Atrium. He wanted to say something- anything- to make the man break out of the cold, aloof persona he was currently exuding, but the words seemed lost to him. It was hardly the time, he knew, to start a conversation like the one they needed to have, but Harry couldn't stand the sudden fissure that seemed to have opened up between them. So he had forgotten about the stupid second prophecy. So what? He hardly put stock in the things to begin with, why did it really matter? Prophecies only came true because of those involved making them do so. It was silly for Voldemort to be so frigid in response to something so petty. They had been doing nearly well before then…

"Move out of the way, Potter," a sudden sneering voice said, making Harry blink his eyes rapidly. He had apparently been a bit more lost in thought than he'd realized. Bellatrix Lestrange stood before him with a haughtily raised eyebrow. "Or do you plan to block the lift all night?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he took a step towards her, pleased to note he was actually taller than she was. His height was eternally a sensitive issue with him. "What's that Bella? Did you say something? Because all I heard was, 'Cruciate me, my lord, because I'm an insolent bitch.'"

The dark-eyed woman drew herself up with a rage-filled expression only to back down immediately as Voldemort stepped up to his side. "Stand down, Bella, and show respect to your superiors. Shall we, Potter?"

"We shall," Harry said with a dark grin. He looked forward to the massacre to come. They boarded the lift and Harry made his way towards a scowling Lucius; the man's scowl didn't lessen as Harry approached. For a moment, Harry couldn't place why Lucius would bet hacked off at him, until he ran into an unseen obstacle.

"Omph!"

Harry started before a crooked smile settled. "Oh, I'd forgotten about you."

Lucius' displeased frown deepened. "I do not appreciate your sanctioning of my son's presence."

Harry sighed and opened his senses to be able to keep notice of where Draco was at all times as he made his way to Lucius, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man he considered something like a friend. "I am not asking him to take part in the battle, Lucius, and it is no offense meant to you, but your son badly needs a dose of reality. His petty grievances against me grow tiresome, and his belief in his superiority will get him killed. If he is to be of use to Voldemort or me, and if you expect him to live through this war, he needs this."

The frown had melted into a contemplative look by the time Level Two was announced. Harry cast a silencing charm on Draco to make sure he stayed hidden and gave the spot where the young blond was a serious look. "Stay behind us all and stay to a wall. Against one of the magical windows would be good, a corner even better. Keep your wand out and ready to cast shields at all times. Do not try to do anything other than that. Do you understand, Little Pretty?"

Belatedly, Harry realized the blond was silenced, but figured the blond was going to obey anyway. Harry nodded to him and walked towards where Voldemort was waiting with a blank look, crimson eyes empty. "Would you like to enter first or after the Death Eaters?"

Harry gave a coy smile and linked his arm through the Dark Lord's. "I'd say we make an entrance, dear Tom. Don't you think?"

Harry was pleased when Voldemort did not pull away, though the man did nothing but nod. "Alright then. Macnair, remember to set wards in place to keep any from escaping."

The two stood side by side at the closed double doors that separated them from over half the Aurors of the British magical world, the utter silence suggesting a silencing charm was in place. Voldemort raised his pale yew wand and without even an incantation the doors blew open in a suitably dramatic way, making Harry smile viciously.

The cubicles had been replaced by a long table, over three dozen Aurors surrounding it. Harry knew the odds were against them, but they had the element of surprise, skill, and no qualms against bringing about the deaths of those present. In fact, it was preferable. None would leave the room alive but for those he and Voldemort chose for interrogation.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise a he took in several unanticipated people around the table. Apparently the Order was more actively involved with the Ministry since they had finally acknowledged Voldemort's return, because Mundungus Fletcher sat very near the door. Other than the annoying con artist, whom Harry would enjoy killing and marked mentally off as his, Harry saw Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones, and, most surprising and mildly upsettingly, Remus Lupin.

Harry made a mental note that despite what the portkeys were meant to be used for, one of his was going to go to the werewolf. It would certainly be informative, and despite their relative disconnection to one another and his letter from months prior, Harry couldn't bring himself to willfully see him dead. Harry drew his blackthorn wand and smirked viciously at the startled, gaping faces of their soon-to-be victims.

Chaos ensued.

The Voldemort and Harry each picked raised their wands and cast Killing Curses randomly, taking out half a dozen of the opposition before they even managed to break their shock. When the volley began, Harry lost himself in the feeling of dodging and twisting to evade the bolts of light sent towards them, firing off curses left and right. Most of the Death Eaters were using the Killing Curse mainly, as they needed to take down the numbers as quickly as possible. However, he did notice Bellatrix holding some poor fool under the Cruciatus as her shrill laugh echoed over the din.

Harry was startled when a young witch tried to bodily tackle him, overly thick light brown hair falling haphazardly out of her ponytail. She cast a Body-Bind at him as she recovered, which Harry easily blocked with silent Protego. He fired off a Killing Curse and was pleased when the girl managed to evade it, heart-shaped face set with grim determination. She was willful and fiery, and Harry was amused by her immediately. He also had not fed that day, and the scent of blood and the panicked heartbeats of the room's inhabitants were beginning to effect him.

Harry had the young brunette pinned against him in a smooth motion, his back to the wall and his eyes peering over her shoulder and watching Auror after Auror fall to the elite soldiers of the Dark Lord. He laughed lightly and tightened his arms around her to cease her struggles. "Don't you see? You cannot win. You didn't have a chance from the beginning. Silly girl… you really thought you could fight?"

He relished in the painfully fast staccato of her heart, the quickening of her breath as she stuttered out what would be her last words in a rather brave display. "You may win here, but the Dark will never conquer the Light."

"Even in the brightest day, the shadows linger, my dear. But darkness… darkness is consuming and corroding. It swallows the light. As we will swallow up all of your petty resistance."

Her breathing hitched and muscles clenched as Harry sunk his fangs into her neck, both of them unnoticed in the heat of battle. Harry kept his eyes from sliding shut as he drank, watching the battle through a haze of bliss. It was so pleasing to feel the girl's heart rate drop and not have to pull away, to feel the very life pulled from her and into himself. He nearly cringed away from the thought of relishing in death as much as he was, but his mind was currently too occupied to dwell on it.

He watched Voldemort effortlessly cutting down Aurors on all sides, standing nonchalantly with his wand moving rapidly with bright green rays of death emitting from it. Curses were shot at him continuously but he had some manner of Dark shield surrounding him that seemed to absorb them. Harry decided he needed to ask about that; it would come in handy, he was sure.

On the far side of the room, Harry cringed as he saw the bloodied form of Rabastan Lestrange dueling against Remus Lupin. He knew the man was a talented wizard, and since the full moon was still nearly two weeks away he had none of his usual lethargy to deal with.

Harry tossed the girl to the side as he finished draining her and made his way towards them, killing those that got in his way. There were barely more than a handful of Aurors remaining and most of the Death Eaters were contenting themselves to play with the residual opposition. When Arthur Weasley appeared in front of him, Harry paused only momentarily to wonder why the man had been present… then he remembered that his department was linked to the Department of Magical Law enforcement enough that his office was not far off the main room. The man shouted a curse and Harry reeled back as it surprised him enough to leave a gash down the length of his arm. Harry hadn't thought the timid man had it in him.

Harry chuckled and fired off a Cruciatus, watching the man writhe and feeling little compunction for doing so. "Good job, Weasley," Harry said dryly as he released the Unforgivable. "That actually bloody well hurt."

"It should have hit your neck!" Arthur yelled shakily.

Harry laughed again. "Wow, I wouldn't have guessed. I'd kill you, but I think you have information we might seek. Feel lucky." Harry stunned the man before he could reply and placed the portkey on his neck. It would be activated once he had decided on the others he meant to be spared. While he really had no particular feelings toward the man, his friendship with Ron - even if it was strained - dictated that he didn't kill the man himself.

Harry continued back on his path towards where Rabastan and Remus were dueling, seeing Remus had managed to cast an Incarcerous on the Death Eater; he was the first to actually manage more than superficial damage on one.

Harry fired a Blood Boiling curse at the werewolf as he moved towards his captive, effectively turning his attention towards Harry. He saw the moment the man's senses told him that he was facing a vampire and smirked. "Sorry, wolfie, I can't let you do that."

"Expecto Patronum," Remus hissed, calling out his Patronus to help defend him. While they were only effective against creatures like Dementors and Lethifolds, they were a reasonable help against any Dark creature. They couldn't harm, but they were enough of a deterrent that it tended to buy time. It couldn't harm the caster, though, and Harry smiled pleasantly as he prepared to cast his own. However, he noticed the shape of Remus' Patronus and froze for a brief moment.

The silvery Grim was growling at him, hackles up and ghostly teeth bared. Harry remembered that for years he couldn't decipher the shape of Remus' Patronus, and now it made his heart clench. Years and years had passed since he had watched his godfather fall through that veil, but still it hurt. He counted Sirius as more of a loss than his parents had ever been; he had known Sirius, after all. Perhaps not well and perhaps not for long, but he had been a real, tangible being, someone who had hugged him and made Harry feel like he had a parent for the first time in his life.

Harry resumed casting, pushing away the painful thoughts and waiting for his Patronus to escape his wand. He expected the fox he had discovered it to have become after a few years in Sceaduwe and had no reservations about revealing it, but his breath caught in his throat as the shape was revealed.

His bloody Patronus had changed again.

And this time… Harry had no confusion as to why it had changed or what it was to represent.

The sleek panther stood proudly before him, ears pinned back and tail flicking from side to side. Harry was pale as he watched the ghostly apparition stare down the large dog before it, his mind racing. Damn. Damn. This was complicated, and he knew it. He was relatively glad that it hadn't become a basilisk or some other telling creature, and he was sure no one but him would know who the panther represented… but how often had he, in his mind, compared the man's gait and calculating ferocity to a panther, after all?

Harry just hoped Voldemort didn't notice or realize the symbolism.

However, whether Voldemort noticed or not was negligible. The problem was what the changing of his Patronus represented, and Harry was very much not willing to face that at the moment.

Harry's lack of focus led to Remus casting a full Body-Bind curse that Harry didn't block, and Harry swore fluently - and unfortunately mentally - at the werewolf for using his distraction to his advantage. But just as quickly as Lupin was able to get him with the spell, a furiously hissed Crucio resounded nearby and sent the werewolf to his knees.

His wand still trained on Remus, Voldemort waved a hand to release Harry from the Body-Bind and turned crimson eyes on him even as the werewolf screamed. Voldemort was glaring. "What was that all about, Potter?"

Harry glared back as the werewolf's screams broke long enough for amber eyes to swivel to him, obviously having heard the Dark Lord. "Damnit, Tom, you're going to have to figure out a better way to address me in public."