Yo! Yes, yes, another new fic, I know. I've been wanting to do something like this for ages now, and finally have a decent idea, so here we go. Please read through the warnings because there are a couple of things in there that will affect some of you. I'm currently in the middle of writing chapter eight, so I've got a bit of an idea on where I want this to go, but nothing extremely detailed. But knowing that, you should also realize that any immediate questions you'll have are likely to be answered in those upcoming chapters. Those questions are likely to be, 'What about Harry's belongings? What does Voldemort look like? What kind of creature is Harry?' and other such things. I assure you, all of those are answered within the next two or three chapters. Then again, I'm sure a number of you will skip this AN, and ask those questions regardless.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse-nothing detailed. Self-harm, both vague and detailed (I won't be using trigger warnings, so make note of that if it's something that bothers you in any way). This is a yaoi/slash, creature, harem(ish) fic. The main pairing is LV-TMR/LM/SS/HP. Other pairings, should there be any, will be mentioned once thought of. If there's any bashing it won't be anything too major, and should be of AD, AW, MW...and maybe Ginny-haven't thought that far ahead yet, so that's something else that, along with other pairings, should be clarified later on. Oh, and this begins summer after fifth year-everything up until the beginning of this fic is canon unless stated otherwise. End of fifth year (the entire Ministry thing) was different and will be explained.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...

Harry was desperate to get away from the Dursleys. He didn't care about security, didn't care about the Order's stupid rules or that there was a Dark Lord out to kill him. All he knew right now was that he desperately had to get away from this place, just for a little while. Before he exploded and ended up in trouble for using underage magic again.

He didn't bother to hide himself in any way and just walked out the front door as his aunt yelled at him. He would think about how he was going to regret the future punishment later, once he had to go back.

He barely noticed that no one stopped him as he nearly stumbled over to the park not too far away, before collapsing onto one of the swings. He was glad no one seemed to be around, and was aware that had as much to do with him as it did the gloomy weather. All the parents in the area who believed in the Dursleys' lies were aware that the 'Potter delinquent' often frequented the park during gloomy, rainy days, and had begun keeping their children away.

But that was fine. Harry was actually glad for it. He preferred to be alone, almost always had, really.

When a dog from somewhere down the street barked, Harry choked back a sob, mind immediately going to his godfather. Sirius was dead, and it was his fault. He knew it was. He had tried to blame anyone and everyone for it, but deep down, he knew the truth. It was his fault because Sirius had died in an attempt to save him.

He shouldn't have fallen for the trap. Such an obvious trap too! Why hadn't he listened to Hermione!? Why hadn't he listened to the desperate plea in his own mind!? Why hadn't he remembered the mirror and used it to assure Sirius that he was okay!? Why did no one know that there was a traitor in the Order!?

There were so many things he could have changed, so many things he could have done that wouldn't have resulted in his godfather's death. But he hadn't done any of them. He had done possibly the worst he could have done. And now Sirius was gone and couldn't come back and it was his fault and he was all alone again.

Forcing back tears, the teen pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans, wrapped in a wrinkled tissue. It was the blade of a razor.

Dudley had an entire pack of disposable razors, since he used them so often. Aware his cousin was hardly going to notice, Harry had taken one of them and broken apart the plastic to take the two blades out. While very sharp, they were also quite small, which made it easy to keep them hidden away from the eyes of anyone other than him.

He hadn't had them for long, only a year really-just since the last summer when he had been dealing with the guilt of Cedric's death, and his increasing anger, but already he was sure this had become an addiction. He couldn't fathom stopping, even though he knew what he was doing was wrong.

Rolling up the overlarge left sleeve, Harry braced his arm on his knee to steady it, and brought the blade to his skin, the sharp edge pressing in gently. He kept still and stared, breathing deeply, trying to regain control of himself.

It didn't work.

There was another bark from the dog, and the sound pushed the teen over the edge he had already fallen off of a handful of times over the past month. There were three more cuts on his left arm, joining the still healing scabs, and the many old scars.

Gritting his teeth, angry at himself, he stared at these neat lines, old and healed, recent and healing, and new and bleeding, and hissed as the first few drops of rain landed on the fresh wounds.

As the rain began to fall in a steadier rhythm, he tilted his head back, blade held loosely in his fingertips, breathing harshly through his nose, jaw clenched so tight it was making his teeth hurt. And when the dog howled almost mournfully, he forced himself to pretend that the rain was the only thing streaming down his cheeks...

He was startled abruptly when the blade was gently pulled out of his grasp. Lowering his head, Harry blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision, not that it mattered very much thanks to the raindrops on the lenses of his glasses. All he was able to make out was grey and silver.

For one bizarre moment, Harry thought he was looking at Draco Malfoy. Then he blinked again and realized with a start that he wasn't looking at his school nemesis, but rather, his father, Lucius Malfoy. That was actually even more bizarre.

Harry wondered if he was hallucinating at first, wondered if he had lost his mind. What was Lucius Malfoy doing in Little Whinging, kneeling down on the wet sand in front of him in this Muggle children's playground, a soft look of concern on his face?

"Come, Harry," Malfoy spoke gently. "I'm going to take you away from here."

Harry hesitated for a very long moment, staring into the man's grey eyes, weighing all the pros and cons he could think of on the spot. And then he decided that he just didn't care anymore, released a shaky breath, and accepted the outstretched hand, allowing Malfoy to pull him up to his feet and off the swing.

"Come, Harry," Malfoy repeated, carefully pulling the teen close to him. "Hold on tight."

Harry obeyed, moving in close, practically burying his face in the man's chest, eyes shut tight, glasses pressed harshly against his own face. Seemingly uncaring of the blood now staining his no doubt expensive shirt, Malfoy turned on the spot, and the two vanished in silence...

Lord Voldemort, bald, pale, and noseless was currently seated on his elaborate throne in the large ballroom of Riddle Manor, his current...base of operations, his Outer Circle Death Eaters just having been dismissed.

No one had any new information for him, and that made him feel rather irritated, because he had been counting on new information to push forward some of his plans. If nothing new was happening, at least nothing he was being told of, those plans were only going to be delayed for longer than he desired for them to be.

Half wishing either of his two lovers were around (Severus was at an Order meeting, and Lucius was watching over Potter), Voldemort had only just begun considering summoning Wormtail to torture a little, when a knock sounded on the doors to the ballroom.

"Enter," he called out.

The large, wooden doors swung open on their own and it was, surprisingly, Lucius who entered through them, hand in hand with a rather despondent looking Harry Potter.

The first thing Voldemort noticed was the blood that stained the blond's light blue shirt. His crimson eyes roamed over the man, attempting to locate the origin of the blood, but seeing no injuries. It didn't take him long to realize that this blood had clearly come from Potter. He frowned.

The two moved through the room, and came to a stop before his throne, Lucius bowing his head slightly in a show of respect, while Potter merely stared at the floor in silence.

"My Lord," he greeted. "I found Harry like this in his neighbourhood playground. There were no Muggles about."

"The blood?" he inquired after a beat of silence, choosing not to comment on the use of the boy's given name.

"He did it to himself," Lucius replied. He moved to stand behind the teen, and reached around him to raise his hands, wrists out. The cuts had stopped bleeding by this point, but were still plainly visible on his left arm.

Voldemort could not help but stare at the wounds. To him, Potter had always come across as...happy. Clearly that wasn't true. The many scars he could see proved that much. "Heal him."

Lucius did so, yet Potter still had no reaction. He simply stood still, continuing to stare down at the floor, blinking slowly as if in a stupor of some sort.

"Take him upstairs," Voldemort half ordered once Lucius had healed the three cuts. "Get him cleaned up and in bed in the spare room next to your own."

Lucius did not argue and inclined his head, taking the teen's hand again. "Come, Harry," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. And with that he led Harry out of the room, leaving the snake-like man alone once more.

Voldemort wasn't quite sure what to make of all this. Potter had...changed. He frowned in thought. Or perhaps this was the real Harry Potter, that had been kept hidden deep down inside, concealed behind a mask of cheerful, rebellious bravery. If that was indeed the case, then that mask seemed to have finally broken, revealing the brutal truth.

Lucius' behaviour was off as well. Why was he being so caring towards the Boy-Who-Lived? It was very...strange. For that matter, why had he himself asked for the boy to be healed, cleaned, and put to bed? Why did it matter? Why not simply kill him and be done with it? Potter was highly unlikely to fight back in his current state. Why was the thought of killing him suddenly coming across as...distasteful? As wrong?

The Dark Lord was beginning to feel very confused. He didn't understand what was going on, and that was a feeling he greatly despised...

Lucius meanwhile, took Harry through the manor and up the stairs to the room the Dark Lord had specified, and then into the attached bathroom. With a flick of his wand, the taps turned on, water spilling out into the large tub.

He was, of course, entirely aware that he could simply summon a House Elf and have them bathe the teen, but for some reason he couldn't even begin to explain, he wanted to do this himself. He had no idea why that was.

"I'm going to undress you now, Harry." He wasn't sure why Harry harmed himself, didn't know what prompted it, didn't know how long he had been doing it, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. Stripping the teen down without warning was something he knew could definitely cause that panic, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs right now. There really was no telling what happened behind closed doors.

But Harry made no reaction, so Lucius began slowly and cautiously, eyes on the teen's face, watching for signs of distress as he undressed him. There were none. Anger at the Muggles growing, Lucius helped Harry into the tub, unsure of what he could even say in such a situation.

He helped Harry bathe quickly but thoroughly, Harry even helping him, though his motions seemed very mechanical and automatic, like he didn't even know he was doing it. And when he was clean, dry, and dressed again, Lucius took Harry back into the bedroom, and helped him lay down in bed.

And all through this, Harry still said nothing, his eyes remaining glazed, and his expression blank. All Lucius could wonder was if the Light had finally succeeded in breaking their Saviour.

Just the thought of that infuriated him.

That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!