Yo! This is the first yaoi/slash fic I ever began writing, but I didn't get very far before deciding to post it. Please forgive any oocness-that's something I'm fixing with time as I get used to the characters and plot. Timeline here is the summer after fifth year and before sixth year, just before HP turns sixteen.

A warning here. There will be mentions of abuse, which I don't at all condone. I've never suffered from abuse this bad, so this is just my imagination at work here. POVs switch around a bit, but should be obvious and clear. Hopefully.

Character bashing: Albus Dumbledore, the Order as a whole rather than specific characters, and Molly, Arthur, Percy, Ron, and Ginny Weasley. Hopefully nothing too major, I don't know. I'm debating on whether Hermione will be bashed, but I'm not sure yet. It might be temporary if it does happen.

Planned pairings: TMRxHP, RWxHG, LMxSS. Sorry about the long AN!

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

Harry Potter was a rare sort of teenager. He hated summer vacation, and he was fully aware of how weird that sounded. After all, what student didn't love a long break from school? Well, not him. But it wasn't his fault. It was solely the fault of his 'loving' relatives, the Dursleys. Harry had been stuck living with them ever since his parents had been killed when he had been a baby, and unfortunately, with time, things were really only getting worse for him.

He had told Dumbledore in his very first year at Hogwarts about how the Dursleys had been treating him, but the Headmaster had made it abundantly clear that he was simply overreacting. And no matter how many times the teen went back, no matter how much he told the man or pleaded, Dumbledore never changed his stance. In fact, when Harry had been at his lowest point, just after having lost his godfather, and told the dreaded prophecy, the old Headmaster had even called him ungrateful for the care his family had been so generously providing him with.

And it was at that very moment, that Harry found him no longer able to trust Albus Dumbledore...

"BOY!"

The fifteen year old flinched before he could stop himself, and then sighed. He listened for the deadbolt, and the moment he heard it pulled back, pushed the door to the little cupboard open. Ever since Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to inform the Dursleys of Sirius' death, Harry had been back in his old cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys had waited a few days, wanting to see if the Order would follow through with any of their threats, but when they hadn't, the three Muggles knew they had nothing to fear anymore.

Harry stumbled into the main hall, trying to keep himself on his feet, despite the fact that his legs had fallen asleep, since he had been unable to stretch out in such a small space. When he looked up, he cringed inwardly. Uncle Vernon did not look pleased. "Yes, uncle?" he inquired politely. The politeness wasn't really going to change much of anything, but it was better than acting angry or annoyed, because that would just make things worse for himself.

The teen was a little lucky though, because his uncle merely thrust a rater long list of chores at him. "If this list isn't complete my the time I get home, boy-" He didn't even have to finish his sentence for the threat to come across clearly.

Pleased it was just chores, and not something worse, Harry kept his tone of voice polite, and replied with a simple, "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

The beefy man glared at him for a moment, before nodding once, and then turning away. He stomped down the hall and out the door, which slammed shut behind him as he headed off to work. Once he was gone, Harry allowed himself another sigh, this one in relief. That had gone much better than expected.

He remained where he was for a moment, shaking one leg, then the other, trying to get some feeling back in them, and at the same time, listened for his aunt. He could hear her in the sitting room, gossiping away (likely on the phone, since he couldn't hear any other voices). Dudley, he knew, would still be asleep, and likely wouldn't be up until after lunch, which was normal during the holidays.

With yet another sigh, Harry looked down at the list in his hands. As always, it was a compilation of chores that he was going to have to spend all day doing. He already knew he wasn't going to be fed today. He'd never be able to complete the list in a single day otherwise. Just like nearly every other day. It was only another excuse for his uncle to hurt him...not that he really needed an excuse.

Stretching, Harry shoved the list into the pocket of his too large jeans, and headed to the kitchen to begin his chores by washing the dishes. After that, he swept and vacuumed the floors and carpets and rugs, and dusted everything too. He cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, then paused in front of the door of Dudley's second bedroom.

He stared at the many locks and the cat-flap, wondering how he could get into that room. His Weasley twins edition lockpick wasn't going to work on all of these locks, and all his school things, including his wand, were inside. ...Then again, it wasn't like he would be able to hide them in his cupboard either.

When a loud, grunting snore suddenly came from Dudley in the room over, Harry flinched, startled, pulled out of his thoughts. Giving this up as a bad job he continued on with his chores, which he had to stop in the middle of to prepare lunch for his aunt, and breakfast for his cousin, now that Dudley had finally bothered getting out of bed...

It took ages, but once he was finished with all his indoor chores, Harry moved out into the backyard to take care of what he had to do there, namely the watering and weeding. Luckily, those didn't take particularly long, and before he knew it, the teen had made his way out front. He had more watering and weeding to do here, and he needed to plant some new seeds Aunt Petunia had bought, and mow the lawn, and paint the bench on the porch too.

By the time the small teen had begun his work in the front yard, it was already nearly four in the afternoon. Deciding to start by mowing the lawn, he brought out the mower, glad the Dursleys had bought a new one. It was much, much easier to use than the old one, which helped him work a lot faster.

When Mrs Number Three had bought the newest mower on the market and shown it off (because apparently even having a better lawn mower than your neighbours mattered, for some stupid reason), the Dursleys, who always wanted to prove that they were better, had had one imported from the States...or at least that was what they had said.

Still, Harry was glad, for the old mower had not only been ancient, but huge and heavy as well. Then again, after having begun mowing the lawn at the age of six, he had gotten used to using it. Quidditch wasn't the only thing that had helped him build some muscle over the past years.

Harry had only just begun with the mowing, when Aunt Petunia came rushing outside, the new, cordless phone held to her ear. "Oh, you're right, Sue. The new neighbours are moving in... Yes, we must pay them a visit before that snobby Mrs Sol-"

Harry tuned the woman out, and went on with his mowing, thinking about what he had just heard. It seemed Number Two, next door, was finally getting some new occupants. For some weird reason, no one ever really ended up staying in that house for very long, which was awfully strange for a place like Privet Drive, where people usually lived for their entire lives. ...Maybe the house was haunted?

Most of the people who had lived in that house had been just like everyone else on the street, nosy and annoying. But Harry had liked the young couple that had been there when he had been about nine years old. They'd been the very definition of 'cool', and had even given him candy once. He'd never even tasted candy before that, and he'd been happier than the happiest kid on the planet that day, which technically would have made him the happiest kid on the planet, really. The couple had never really mixed particularly well with the rest of those in Privet Drive, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was because the couple had consisted of two women.

Unfortunately, they had moved out before long too, and a new married couple had moved in right after, the woman almost as bad as Mrs Number Three, who was notorious for being the snooty woman on the block-even worse than Aunt Petunia, and that was really saying something. They lasted the longest in the house though, and now it had been sitting empty for a good year.

When the green eyed teen saw his aunt head back into the coolness of the kitchen, he wondered when she was planning on inviting the new neighbours over. She always did that, and it was when she went totally overboard with the cooking...that he did and she took credit for. ...Bitch. Then he shrugged mentally. Cooking was really the only chore he didn't actually mind doing...

Harry was only half way through his mowing, and he was already sweating profusely, not that all the work he had done earlier had helped, or anything. The sun was blaring down on him, blasting him with heat. He was fully aware that not having eaten anything all day wasn't helping the situation at all, not to mention the only water he'd gotten, was the quick drink he had taken from the bathroom tap while he had been cleaning in there earlier. He hadn't been able to do the same in the kitchen, because his aunt had been in there at the time. He was sure it was only because she had wanted to make sure he didn't pilfer any food, which Harry was smart enough not to do. ...Again.

The teen soon shrugged out of his large, and now sweat soaked grey tee-shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. His chest and torso were littered with bruises and cuts, and his back was covered with scars from all the lashings he had received over the years, a few of them not having fully healed yet because of how fresh they were. His front too, had scars, but less of them, and those were mainly just knife marks, really, from when Dudley and his gang were too lazy to punch or kick him.

He smiled rather wryly at the thought that most in the Wizarding world were under the impression that the only scar he had was the single lightning bolt shaped one on his forehead, hidden beneath the mess of black hair. His close friends knew about the one on the back of his left hand, and the one inflicted by Wormtail the other year on his left forearm, and the one the basilisk fang had caused. But none of them knew about the rest of his scars. He pretty much always kept a glamour on while at Hogwarts-unconsciously at first, and then on purpose after he had learned the spell. Not even Ron and Hermione knew about any of this.

Here in Privet Drive, however, Harry didn't need a glamour charm. He usually always had his shirt off while he worked in the garden, weather permitting, and everyone had seen the injuries and scars that covered his tanned skin. And, as expected, no one particularly cared. Why would they? Wouldn't it be natural for a kid who went to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys to have injuries and scars like he did? He was a 'delinquent', after all.

Shrugging his stiff, bare shoulders, Harry went on with the mowing, then the watering, then the weeding, then the planting, then the painting, unaware that he was closely being watched by a pair of stunning grey eyes, that were quickly becoming red with anger...

Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, and most commonly referred to as either You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, never did anything without having a reason behind it. So, when two of his most loyal Death Eaters learned of his latest plans, they simply hid their confusion and encouraged their Lord to go on with it.

When Tom, the dark haired, crimson eyed man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, left the room, Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy exchanged a glance. Just what was their Lord planning, exactly? As he hadn't really bothered explaining it to them, they knew they had no choice but to wait and see what would happen.

"Do not tell him that I said this, but there are times I feel he is losing it. Again," muttered Lucius.

Severus smirked. "Perhaps you should keep that to yourself, my friend. ...No matter how much I may or may not agree..."

Tom Riddle had known of Harry Potter's address for quite a while now. He wasn't a genius for nothing, after all. He could have gone there any time, if only it weren't for those damned Blood Wards. Surprisingly, and irritatingly, it had taken him an entire year to realize that he could actually enter the wards with no problems at all. He had Potter's blood running through his veins now. The wards meant naught. ...So much for being a genius.

Though there were many easier ways to do this, Tom went ahead and purchased the vacant house next door to the one Potter lived in-Number Two Privet Drive. He even made a show of moving in-going as far as to use a Muggle moving fan. He was fully aware that he didn't actually need to do this, but he wanted to. He wanted to be seen by the neighbours...

Wandering his now fully furnished, temporary home, Tom glanced out of the window at the tall, horse-faced woman in the front yard next door. She was on one of those cordless telephones, staring his way. He had no doubt that she was talking about him. That must have been Potter's aunt. Strange that she looked nothing like her sister. A pity, really. Lily Evans-Potter had been a pretty woman, from what he could recall.

Leaving the house, he approached the wooden fence closest to Number Four. The woman had already gone back inside. Tom scowled. This neighbourhood was definitely not his type. Everything-the houses, the cars, the lawns-looked the same. Frankly, it was kind of creepy.

Ah, speaking of lawns...

Tom wasted no time in locating Potter. The teen was out front, mowing the lawn. Tom blinked when he suddenly noticed that Potter had no shirt on, and it only took him half a moment to understand that it was likely because of the heat. Still, he caught himself staring when he saw the cuts and bruises on Potter's chest and torso, and stared even more when he turned around, and the man caught sight of his back. Those...were definitely whip marks, weren't they?

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Tom Marvolo Riddle was confused. And from confused, he quickly became angry, grey eyes bleeding red. Who had harmed Potter like that? Because it clearly hadn't been him. Some of those lashes looked far too fresh for that.

Frowning slightly, Tom watched his enemy finish mowing the lawn, and move onto something else, after which he did something else, then something else, and then yet something else. Potter, despite clearly being exhausted, didn't stop to rest, not even for a moment, though he did take a quick drink from the garden hose after glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one was looking. All of this only succeeded in confusing Tom even more.

The man's Slytherin mind quickly formulated a plan...

Plot holes should be explained/filled later on. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!