Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little bit…

Information: The story starts at the beginning of fifth year. After that it gets AU, even if I try to follow the plot for a while.

This is a Slytherin!Harry story! There is also time-travel involved (Founders and other) as well as manipulative!Dumbledore. I try not to bash him, but it might come of as slight bashing…

I'm still not sure what to do about Ron and Hermione.

Important: Words written in italics andbold are from Rowling's chapter 'Dudley Demented' in OotP. I needed it to start of the story.

My mother tongue isn't English, so sorry for my mistakes.

PLEASE HAVE PATIENCE WITH THIS STORY – I DON'T USE OC'S AS MAIN-CHARACTERS, SO EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU RECOGNISE THE PEOPLE, THEY'RE STILL PART OF ROWLING'S WORLD!

And now, let's go on with the story…

Beta-ed by Lyrrl and Tsukiyomi Cecilia. Thank you very much!

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PROLOGUE

DEATH

sss

Hestood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right.

The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up – he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, starring blankly around, unseeing.

It was impossible… they couldn't be here… not in Little Whinging… he strained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them…

Dudley was whining, so he told him to shut up. He had to listen; he had to listen to know…

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths.

Again Dudley was whining.

"Dudley, shut-"

WHAM.

Dudley's fist made contact with his head, making him dizzy enough to lose his footing and fall. Pain radiated through his head, his sight swimming.

"You moron, Dudley!"He yelled, while trying to overcome his dizziness. He heard his cousin running – running in the wrong direction. Towards danger, not away from it. He tried to stop him; he yelled as loud as he could to tell him to stop, yelled so he could to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

But he knew, it wasn't enough. They needed help. There was no way to survive without…

His hands were searching in the absolute darkness surrounding him. Hard asphalt made his hands bleed but he had no time, he had no time…

"Where's - wand- come on- lumos!"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search – and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand – the wand tip had ignited. He snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.

His stomach turned over.

A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came.

Stumbling backwards, he raised his wand.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, he retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic and pain fogging his brain – concentrate –

A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled his ears.

Once again, a rush of dizziness threatened to overcome him. His head throbbed with pain and his thoughts seemed unclear and fogged.

"Expecto patronum!"

His voice sounded dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand – he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell.

There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him – think… something happy…

But there was no happiness in him… the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat – the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: "Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…"

His fingers went limp, his grasp loosened – concentrate –

But there was nothing, nothing but the darkness, the cold and pain filling his head. His hand was numb and it could have been empty, though it mattered not, the last chance to survive was gone.

Happy thoughts- happy thoughts - happy…

His mind went blank. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do anymore. No happiness, nothing but death.

"Bow to death, Harry." The voice whispered again and a deep, black, endless hole came down on his mouth.

Weathered skin were placed the eyes should have been. His body bowed to death. His wand escaped his grasp.

Clattering, it hit the ground.

And then there was nothing but the endless darkness of the black hole, the Dementor pressing its non-existent lips onto his own…

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

As suddenly as the darkness had come, it had gone. He fell to the earth, unable to do anything but lay there and wait for death to come. His limbs wouldn't move, his head throbbed with overwhelming pain.

His vision went foggy, but he could still see the flaming figure of a phoenix, gliding through the air. Bright like the sun, golden and warm, full of fire, life and happiness.

The Dementors cried with pain, as the golden light of the phoenix hit them.

The darkness fled where the light had hit.

The cold withdrew, leaving his limbs lifeless yet warm.

The alleyway was bathed in light, it was so bright it was as if it was imitating the sun.

Red flames danced through the air, burning the black cloth of the Dementors, turning the cold to warmth.

High-pitched screams escaped the lip-less, endless holes, while claw-like death-hands dispersed into ashes.

It took him a moment to understand that the phoenix was a Patronus.

Dumbledore? Hope filled his heart when this word filled his thoughts. Dumbledore?!

"Dumb…" he began, but he could not finish his word – not Dumbledore?

The bright daylight that came with the phoenix was not the Patronus'. Although, the happiness he felt was that of a Patronus. But was it Dumbledore's?

The answer came a moment later, when a figure emerged from the darkness of the alleyway. Its black cloak billowed in non-existent wind, a cloak made of shadow and fog, black like the endless hole of the Dementor-mouth, shadowy like the grim, coming for its prey.

It was barely five feet tall, but the magic surrounding it gave it a presence like Harry had never seen one before.

The wind was caressing its black hair that seemed to swallow the light and its eyes glowed with death in the darkness, promising a soundless Avada Kedavra, more beautiful than Voldemort would ever be able to produce, promising green lightning to anyone brave enough to cross its path.

Not Dumbledore.

Not safe.

Rescue - had to… rescue himself –

His hands chafed at the rough asphalt, searching for his wand again – do not give up –

There was nothing but asphalt, dirt and darkness. His hands began to search faster and faster. His breathing hitched. He could not give up, not now, not after he could finally think clearly again.

And while his hands were searching frantically, his eyes never left the deadly eyes in front of him, daring the figure to stay away, to let him go. But there was no way to escape this born predator…

Pain shot through his head, dizziness filled his mind – can't give up –

The figure drew near. Its hood prevented its features from being seen. Just its deadly green eyes gleamed in the light.

It bowed down to him, eyes of death meeting eyes of Avada Kedavra-green.

"Bow to death, Harry!" The voice was oddly warm, like a summer wind in autumn, tingling through the air like the unearthly voice of a High Elf. "It will be painless. I know, I have been there. Bow to death and move on!"

A gentle hand cupped his head; the other hand moved to draw runes on his forehead and his scar.

"Sleep well, precious child. May you never live again."

And suddenly there was light all around him.

His hands, still bleeding, scraped at the asphalt beneath him, lighting up with symbols he had never seen before.

His chest ached as it began to glow through his shirt.

His eyes hurt as his face started glowing from within, as if from underneath his skin.

And then the Phoenix-Patronus returned. It stopped a few inches from his chest, a thrilling voice singing a song filled with death and resurrection. A phoenix-song.

He tried to move, he tried to flee, but the hands had a tight grip on him and his limbs were limp. Even if he had tried, he could not move a muscle…

Then the fingers on his forehead stopped moving and the hands vanished.

He'd have sighed in relief if that hadn't been the moment the Phoenix-Patronus chose to act. Before he could react, the phoenix crossed the last inches to his chest and entered.

Fire.

A burning sensation filled his senses. Where his skin had glowed a moment before it suddenly was literally on fire.

He cried with pain.

His body was turning to ash.

He could feel it.

It felt like he was being sucked through the eye of a needle and then he was gone.

He lost consciousness.

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I hope you liked my beginning.