Harry learns through a series of dreams that reality is far from what he believes. Does he stick his head in the sand or does he take the chance that what he dreamed is really the truth?

Canon up until the end of fourth year but Harry learns in a series of dreams that his reality might not be what really happened. It'll be explained as we go along why he's having these dreams.

There will be abuse, especially in the first couple of chapters. Major Dumbledore bashing and good Voldemort and good Death eaters. I'm pretty set on it being slash but not with Voldie. So far no Weasley bashing but that night change as Harry defects.

Warning, this is completely AU. So don't bother reviewing just to tell me that its not like in the book or its wrong. It's deliberate!

Also some of the dates and ages will be wrong. I will be running a timeline at the ends of the chapters to help you keep track.

Ps, the worst of the abuse is in this chapter and its not long.

"Let's go you ungrateful freak." Vernon growled grabbing the kid by the scuff of the neck and dragging him through the train station. He glanced behind him fearfully, looking for the freaks that always clustered around the boy before picking up his pace. The sooner they got back to the car and the normal world the better.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the grimace off his face as he struggled to keep hold of both his trunk and Hedwig's cage. He could feel the stares coming their way and prayed none of the muggles would speak up. The last thing he needed was his uncle anymore upset than he already was. He bit his lip as he realized the man's anger was no more than he deserved considering. He had gotten Cedric killed not even a week ago after all and did deserve some punishment for that.

Cedric's lifeless blue eyes flashed through his mind and it took everything he had to keep from sicking up as guilt swamped him. Blood filled the inside of his mouth as his teeth slashed through the tender flesh. The metallic taste only added to his raising sickness.

Vernon's grip tightened painfully as he felt the kid stumble, the meaty fingers leaving large oval shaped bruises on the pale flesh. "Don't you be trying any of your tricks now." He warned gruffly. "You've got plenty of work waiting for you the minute we get home and there'll be no excuse for you not getting it done."

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry answered as he swallowed deeply. 'Don't think about it, don't think about it.' He chanted inside his head.

His uncle released him with a sharp shove that had him hitting the side of the car with his chest. "Put your stuff in the boot before I decide to leave it here. And make sure you keep that wretched bird quiet."

"Yes sir," he mumbled, opting to put Hedwig in the backseat before dealing with his trunk. He wouldn't put it past the man to drive off before he was done and while he might be able to jump through the open door Hedwig would have been stuck in her cage.

"Should have let you fly home," he murmured to his first friend as he got her situated. "Or better yet had you stay at Hogwarts. It's not like anyone's going to want to write to me this summer anyway, not after what happened to..." He trailed off with a grimace as the snowy owl gave a quiet hoot. "I know, don't think about it," he agreed, backing out and staring at his trunk in trepidation.

The thing was bloody heavy and the lack of food in the last week had his arms as limp as wet noodles. He doubted he could lift it into the boot as instructed and knew one scratch to his uncle's car would no doubt get him a beating. 'Don't know why I'm afraid of that,' He muttered mentally. 'Maybe, just maybe, it'll ease up some of this guilt I'm carrying around so that I can actually breath a little. Not that one beating will make up for Cedric's death but it would be a start,' He decided, sliding the trunk up the back end of the car. He took perverse pleasure in the long scratch that appeared on the bumper.

"Boy, quit lollygagging and get in the car." Vernon hollered from the front seat.

Harry slammed the lid down and rushed to climb through the open back door, managing to get his torso and one leg in before the car peeled out of the lot. He bit back a yelp as the door swung shut from the acceleration catching his other leg hard enough to break the skin.

The hour long ride was taken in silence with the teen going back and forth between elation that he would finally do some penance for his horrible sin and mind numbing fear about the beating he was sure to get. He barely noticed when they pulled into the driveway but his uncle's outraged yell had him scrambling out of the car.

"You unnatural freak." Spittle flew from the angry man's mouth as he advanced on the terrified boy. "You wretched excuse for a human being. You've ruined my car."

"I'm sorry Uncle Vernon." Harry pleaded through bloodless lips. He held his ground, knowing that backing away would only anger the man further.

"Did you think I wouldn't see it? Did you think you would get away with it?" He raged, his hands reaching for the boy's neck.

"Vernon." The sharply spoken word came from the doorway. Harry could see his aunt standing there making nervous gestures toward the neighbors.

'Of course.' Harry thought bitterly as his uncle turned away. 'Mustn't do anything where anyone could see. We don't want the neighborhood to know what you're really like,' he growled as he reached for Hedwig's cage. He quickly flicked the latch on the cage and motioned for her to take flight. He didn't trust his uncle not to hurt her just to punish him.

Turning he watched as the big man lifted the trunk out of the boot without any trouble. 'If you'd done that the first time around your precious car wouldn't have been scratched,' Harry wanted to shout but clamped his lips over the words as his uncle hissed at him to get inside.

Going through the door he found his aunt glaring at him in displeasure while his fat pig of a cousin danced gleefully in the background.

"I have your rod dad," he shouted as his father came through the door. "Knew you'd want to get started right away."

Harry paled at the sight of the weapon, a length of unyielding wood an inch in diameter that did more for breaking bones than leaving welts.

"Don't get any blood on the carpet," Petunia warned as she retreated upstairs. She didn't begrudge her nephew his punishment but she didn't like to witness the violence if she could help it.

"On your knees boy." Vernon snarled as he accepted the stick from his son. He smiled in pleasure as he watched the freak submit. It's where all freaks deserved to be, on their hands and knees before normal folks, he decided as the lashed the rod down.

Harry sucked in a breath as the first stroke hit just below his shoulders. 'I deserve this,' he reminded himself. 'For Cedric,' he vowed hissing as the second hit cracked a rib.

The third stroke was aimed at his ankles, the edge of wood catching the bony protuberances. Before he was through Harry knew his uncle would have targeted his elbows, his wrists, lashed his hands as they lay flat against the floor, and ensured his back was a mass of bruises. His uncle would do what it took to exert the maximum amount of pain possible.

Vernon watching with mounting pleasure as the back bowed in, as fingers turned sideways, limbs trembled until finally giving out so that the limp body was splayed against the floor. He was pleased to note the worn tee had spots of blood seeping through, though none fell to the floor.

"Lock your stuff up in the cupboard then get the lawns mowed. Be quick about it. If the neighbors complain I'll have another go at you," the man warned before throwing an arm around his grinning son. "Let's get your mother down to make us a snack." He said leading the boy into the kitchen. "I've worked up an appetite."

Once alone Harry pushed himself up carefully and took stock of his injuries. "Wasn't that bad really,' he thought as he scooted to his cupboard. His ankle hurt something fierce but didn't appear broken. The rest of his lower half seemed to have escaped injury. Two of his fingers were broken, he noted. Averting his eyes he pulled and prodded until they lay straight before wrapping them with a piece of cloth he'd pulled from the cupboard. He kept a stash there, knowing most of his beatings occurred the minute his uncle walked through the door.

He tentatively felt along his ribs, finding three that moved where they shouldn't. 'Hurts like a bitch to breath but I'm not coughing up blood and that's something,' he reasoned as he wound another cloth around his chest.

He grimaced at the stickiness on his back. He knew any external wounds would be healed by morning. It was just the way it was and had been since he was five and the social worker had shown up inquiring about bruises. The Dursleys had managed to explain it away and then almost killed him for bringing suspicion upon them. He guessed his magic had kicked in to make sure it didn't occur again. The downside to the lack of visible bruises or lasting scars was the amount of time it took for the internal injuries and broken bones to heal. He wasn't a doctor or a healer but it seemed the more wounds he had on the outside that healed overnight the longer it took for everything else to heal.

He let these thoughts float around as he stumbled outside, blinking in the late afternoon sunlight. 'At least they didn't let it grow a foot high this time." He mumbled as he eyed the lawn. He wondered as he always did when he got home for the summer who took care of the yard when he wasn't there.

Shrugging he pulled the mower out of the shed, his wrist popping suspiciously at the activity. He was irritated to find the fuselage empty and fearful that there wouldn't be any petrol available. His uncle would be furious if the yard wasn't done that night.

His relief at finding the spare can full quickly turned to agitation at the time lost while he hunted it down. "The neighbors will have kittens if I'm mowing after dark," he muttered as the machine roared to life. Taking quick steps and heaving short gasping breaths he steered the mower back and forth over the large space.

"At least the front is mostly flower beds," he reminded himself as he kept an eye on the rapidly sinking sun. He could feel his ankle swelling and noted that his wrist had an odd shade to it. "Should have taken the time to wrap them." He sighed knowing the aches would keep him up most of the might.

It was full dark by the time he pushed the machine back into the shed. Removing his grass stained shoes on the stoop he eased through the kitchen door.

His aunt eyed him sternly from where she was scrubbing down the kitchen counter. "Up to your room quick before I change my mind and give you something to do."

Harry nodded gratefully and hurried up the stairs. A quick trip to the bathroom showed his uncle had managed to hit his kidneys this time. If he was lucky he'd only be pissing blood for a couple of days. If he was unlucky he'd bleed out during the night. Perhaps that should be the other way around? He gave a grim chuckle at the thought as he striped off his sweaty clothes and climbed into bed in equally dirty boxers and his rag bindings.

Harry didn't think he would have been able to sleep, hadn't slept in over a week. Not since that night he'd spent in the graveyard. But either the exertion of mowing or his injuries were talking a toll on him, causing his eyes to slide shut of their own violation. He was quickly sucked into a dream not of his own making.

Harry opened his eyes and looked around. Somehow he knew it was a dream, just not a regular dream. It felt almost like the trip he'd taken in Dumbledore's pensive the year before and into Riddle's diary his second year.

He ignored the people around the table for a minute to exam his surrounding. He was in a fairly large dining room. Luxurious but not obstenious. The warm jewel tones kept it homey and relaxing as did the numerous plants and art. Garden scenes that not only brought out the colors of the room but brought in the flowers that bloomed outside the numerous windows.

"What do you think Tom?" One of the men gathered asked, capturing Harry's attention.

There was a low chuckle from the head of the table. "Getting impatient are we Reginald?" The dark haired man asked. Harry gasped, shocked to see an older version of the sixteen year old Riddle he'd met in his second year. He'd put the man about twenty years older than the boy but there was no mistaking they were the same person.

"Lestrange is always impatient." Came a voice from the right. Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Malfoy look a like.

"Now Abraxas." Voldemort, or was it Tom Harry wondered, his eyes going wide as the man smiled at what he guessed were his friends. "You were once impatient when you had a warm and willing witch waiting for you."

"You'd best be speaking in a more pleasing tone when speaking of what's waiting for you." The lilting irish tone was preceded by a golden beauty with rich blue eyes.

Harry grinned along with the men at the table as they burst into loud laughter when Tom winced. "Would I speak any other way to you?" he asked charmingly.

"You would and I've heard it," she reminded him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head that had Harry goggling.

She turned to stare firmly at the first man that had spoken. "Reginald Lestrange, might I remind you that Rudopholus will be leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow. You should at least spend some time with him before he goes."

Reginald grimaced and hunched his shoulders under her steely glare. "The boy's going into his third year. He doesn't need me holding his hand. Head's in his books most time anyway." He continued to mumble. "Wants to be a healer."

" A fine profession," Tom interjected. "And one we'll need if our plans continue."

"Be lucky you have a son and not a daughter." A dour man said from the other end of the table. "I've got three and all have the Black stubbornness."

"I'll be talking to you soon then. I'm afraid Rudo needs a stubborn woman to keep his feet firmly on the ground." The baffled father shook his head. "And now Ranee is clambering for another. Can you imagine having one this late in the game?"

The beautiful blond smiled, one hand on Tom's shoulder, the other laid across her belly. "I think it's lovely. They can be playmates, your bairn and the one we'll be having this spring."

Tom smiled proudly as he reached up to grasp her hand. "Which brings us back to our discussion. Bringing the British Wizarding World back to the standard we once held amongst our neighbors." His voice was confident, his eyes warm as they watched his wife slip out the door.

"We've gone stagnant," came a voice from further down the table.

"Mulciber's right," the man with the three daughters painted out. "Ever since Grindlewald's defeat we've not had one decent improvement in our way of life. Nobodies inventing, or experimenting or if they are they're afraid to come forward with it. We'll be in the dark ages before we know it."

"It's Dumbledore's fault," the older Malfoy pointed out. "It'll be worse now that he's become headmaster of the school. Our standards of education are already falling and he's content to pass the time instead of hiring decent and competent professors."

"The areas he does stand up for he only puts in half an effort," an unknown man pointed out. "He talks a big game about bringing in the muggleborns but does nothing to educate them so they fit in better or understand our laws and ways."

"He wants them to be outsiders," Tom agreed. "They'll feel discriminated against and will revolt against us, gathering behind Dumbledore as their leader. That's his whole purpose with his agenda, gaining power. He doesn't care about them."

"Nor does he want them here." Reginald pointed out, his Belgium accent coming out stronger. "He denies us the advances muggles have made in entertainment, fashion, art and sports while blaming it on our pureblood values. Let me tell you my wife and I enjoy taking in a show but I'll be damned if I have to go to Paris every time I want a bit of fun."

Tom nodded. "We need to stop our government from cutting us off from the other wizarding worlds. The French, the Americans, the Chinese, they are all years ahead of us culturally. They laugh at us when we're not around."

Eyes shining bright he continued, his voice strong. "We don't turn away the other species. We welcome them, we learn from them and we teach them."

"Dumbledore's messed up there," a man leaned forward out of the shadows, flashing sharp teeth. "He talks about wanting equality but turns his back on the little ones that get bit and turned out of their homes. I'm the one finding them families and packs. He covers by saying I'm the one biting them, that I have a taste for children. The packs know the truth and are gunning for his head."

"That'll work in our favor," Tom nodded. "He hasn't garnered any favors from the vampires either and doesn't even consider the dementors to be viable entities. We can use that."

'He'll try to stop us," Mulciber pointed out.

"We'll go to war," Tom answered with conviction. "We start a revolution of change, for our culture, for our children."

"He's got a glib tongue and he's still in favor from Grindlewald's defeat. He'll turn people against us," the unknown man warned.

"They can whisper and call us names. We'll stand by our convictions and they'll prove we're right."

Start of the timeline

1926-Tom Riddle is born and placed in orphanage.

1938-Tom Riddle starts Hogwarts

1945- Tom Riddle graduates Hogwarts.

1956- Tom begins making a name for himself politically. He and his supporters (friends from school) arouse opposition to their plan.

1963-above meeting takes place.