I've always wanted to have a go at a Dark Harry story, since there aren't enough around where he's not all dead and angsty. Ok, he's a little like that in this story, but not too bad. I wanted to experiment with what my mind would come up with if he had met Voldemort when he was a kid. And how he would react. This is not a one-shot, it will hopefully be a series. Please read and review :)

Harry Potter does not belong to me, unfortunately. All characters associated with him and his world belong to J.K. Rowling.

I first met the Dark Lord when I was just six years old.

I was a scrawny, quiet bookworm of a kid. I rarely talked, but when I did, it was usually something sarcastic and laced with swear words. I guess that's why most Muggle kids avoided me. Not that it bothered me, of course.

Anyway, I lived with my disgusting relatives. My parents died when I was young, you see, so I was an orphan. My relatives were…not nice people. My uncle had a habit of hitting me for no good reason. He had a horrible temper. My aunt was just a bitch, who strived too hard to be 'normal'. And my cousin…well, although he was influenced by his parents, he was still a pig of a boy.

My story starts the day my relatives took Dudley to some play-gym for his birthday. I was left with Mrs. Figgs, but she fell asleep shortly after my arrival. I already had it all planned out.

I had watched a scene from a film a few nights before, while cleaning the mantle. Vernon was watching it. A man had shot himself in the head, in a desperate bid to escape whatever pressures he was under. He died quickly. I knew where Vernon hid his gun, and I knew what I had to do.

I was going to kill myself.

I sprinted across the street, up the stairs and into Vernon's bedroom. I kneeled beside his beside locker and ran my thumb over the lock. It opened with a click. Yeah. Did I mention I could do strange things? Well, I could.

I wretched the drawer open, shuffling the random letters and papers until my hand fell on something cold. I lifted out the silver handgun with a slightly dazed smirk on my face.

Numbly, I walked out into the garden. If I was going to die, I'd do it outside. It had always been a more favourite place of mine. It usually brought snakes, which were excellent conversation…well, until Vernon or Petunia killed them, of course.

I stood in the middle of the garden, and sighed. I closed my eyes, tilted my head to the side and pressed the cool barrel of the gun into the side of my throat. I pulled the trigger and…

The gun was wretched away from me. Just like that. My eyes shot open, a rare moment of absolute fury and despair set it. My mask fell back into place when I spun around and saw what had ruined my plan.

A man. He was standing on the other side of the picket fence, idly twirling the damned gun in his long, slender fingers. He was pale, and his face was gaunt. He looked ill. His hair was pitch black, and shoulder length, but tied back in a loose ponytail. The strangest of all, though, were his eyes. They were a deep, crimson red. With snake slits for pupils. Go figure.

I blinked, and he started to talk in an annoying drawl.

"That was an incredibly stupid way to attempt suicide, child." he chided me, a mocking glint in his eye. "Not only could have survived if someone had heard the gunshot and called for help, but you would have slowly and painfully bled to death. There are much more efficient ways to achieve death."

I stared at him long and hard for a moment, then set my jaw. "And how do you know so much about suicide?" I asked in my emotionless voice.

He raised an eyebrow at my strange tone, but answered nonetheless. "I am an intelligent man."

I snorted. "Clearly." I muttered sarcastically, then met his eye again. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" I walked over, standing before him at the opposite side of the fence. He was really tall.

He looked stunned for a moment, then looked like he was about to laugh. Then his face smoothed out once more. "I am Lord Voldemort." he proclaimed, rather grandly might I add.

I stared at him for a moment, no comprehending. "Is that supposed to mean something 'cause it's French?"

He stared at me, then shook his head. "Surely you know of me?" he asked incredulously.

I shook my head in mimic to his. "Nope. Should I?"

He muttered something among the lines of 'filthy Muggles', which confused me to no end.

"What are Muggles?" I asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Unbeknown to me, he had just spoken in Parseltongue. His face was a picture of shock.

"You…you are a Parseltongue?" he asked, blinking several times in surprise.

I gave him an odd look. "What's a Parsleytongue?" I questioned him, getting mixed up on the new foreign word.

"It means you can talk to snakes." he replied, studying me very closely, eyes moving to the messy bangs that covered my jagged scar.

"Oh. Yeah, I can talk to snakes. How'd you know?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes at him from behind my glasses.

He snapped out of his studying, and gave me a cool smirk. "I can too. It's called Parseltongue. Tell me, what do you know of magic?" He had a strange, knowing look in his eye that told me that he already knew the answer before it came.

"It doesn't exist." I replied in an automatic and dull voice. I was quite used to using the response to my uncle.

Lord Voldemort raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he questioned in mock surprise. He flicked his wrist, and the gun in his hand appeared in my own. "Then what was that?"

I blinked, but put on a determined face. Surely this was a trick? "A coincidence. Or your just really fast. Listen, I'm not as stupid as I look. Now that I've got the gun back, I think I'll-"

He cut me off. Rudely, might I add. "Are you honestly saying you have never done anything unusual?"

I stared at him, and slowly frowned. I had disappeared once, and reappeared on the school roof. I had turned the teachers hair blue. I had grown my own hair back to it's normal length after a particularly…bad haircut by Petunia. I had made a kid at school fall to the ground screaming because I got mad when he took my book. And my injuries seemed to heal quicker each time I got hurt.

I slowly nodded. "Yeah…I've done some unusual things. But magic doesn't exist…right?" I wasn't so sure myself, now.

He gave another cool smirk, although this time it seemed a little…triumphant. "It does. I'm a wizard. You're a wizard. There's a full community of our kind." he explained casually.

I cocked my head to the side. "Then why am I living here?" I asked slowly, feeling pretty unsure and…a little abandoned.

He straightened up, and dusted imaginary dirt off his…dress? Whatever. "A story for another day. I'll be back. That is, if you don't go through with your little…suicide idea." he commented dryly, gesturing to the gun in my hand.

I glanced down at the gun, then shook my head hesitantly. "Nah…I think I'll wait."

But when I looked up again, he was gone. So that's what the crack was…

I waited around for a few more days. He didn't come back. Eventually, I began to wonder if our encounter had ever really happened. Or if it was just a dream.