Unexpected, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, only the plot and my original characters.

Summary: They all lied to him. They told him he was the only one who could stop the Dark. Well, that was true, but not in the way they all thought. Rated M for swearing, suicidal thoughts and actions, and graphic scenes of torture and sex.

Warning: Story contains evil Dumbledore, Dark Harry, character death, rape, molestation, beating, child abuse, boy love, male pregnancy, and girl love. Don't like, don't read.

Language key: Parseltongue, 'thoughts', letters, "speaking", "spells", mindlink.

(Harry's POV)

A lone wizard walked toward Hogwarts Castle. His body was far too slim for his age bordering on anorexic. His shoulders were slumped with defeat and grief. Just three days ago, his godfather, the only true family he had left, had been killed in battle. And now he was being forced to go back to his so-called relatives' house for the entire summer.

"For my own good, my arse," Harry muttered, but other than a brief plea on uncaring ears he didn't argue. After all, Dumbledore knew what he was doing, right?

Two months later, Harry stared out his barred window. He had gone from being skinny to downright starved. He knew he was dying. He chuckled weakly to himself. Oh, if the Wizarding World could see him now; the great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, killed by starvation and his daily beatings from his uncle.

"BOY!"

'Speak of the devil,' Harry thought wryly. He didn't even try to fight as his uncle unlocked the nine locks on his door and finally opened the door before going in and grabbing Harry by the collar.

"Time for your treatment, boy!" Vernon sneered. Harry didn't even cry out in pain as Vernon slammed him against the wall. The boy let his mind go blank as the beating began. He was vaguely aware of a piercing agony in his side as Vernon punched him there, cracking a rib. But as his head was smashed against the wall again, he couldn't stop himself from succumbing to the pain and finally blacked out.

Harry groaned weakly as he slowly came to.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, not even looking down at himself. He knew how bad it was, just by feeling the trickles of blood sliding down his body.

'Guess Uncle Vernon decided to bring out the knife again,' Harry thought disjointedly. He didn't even care. Not anymore. After all, why should he? No one else did. Not his so-called friends, who now seemed only to care about the upcoming OWLs and avoiding the fact that they liked each other. Not Ginny, who seemed only to care about wooing him into her bed despite the fact he kept insisting he was gay. Certainly not the professors, who only looked to Dumbledore for answers. And not Dumbledore, who had left him with these monsters in the first place.

'The only person who cares if I live or die is the one who wants me dead most of all,' Harry thought to himself. For some reason he found that immensely funny and sniggered, then hissed in pain as the action made him very aware of his broken ribs.

Panting shallowly, Harry slowly made his way to his desk. Trembling, he grasped a quill and dipped the tip in ink. He paused, and then began to write on a small piece of parchment.

To the Dark Lord,

Well, this is it. You've pretty much won the war now, if what they say is true and I'm the only one who can defeat you.

You're probably wondering what in bloody hell I'm talking about. Well, to put it simply, I'm dying. In fact, I have to wonder if I'll even be alive by the time this letter reaches you, wherever you are.

Now, I've decided I don't really give a rat's arse about the Wizarding World. Why should I? They don't really care about me. All they see is the Boy-Who-Lived to be famous for something I don't even bloody remember! First I'm a hero in first year, then I'm a second Dark Lord because I can speak Parseltongue (thank, by the way for that. I rather like snakes and they are good friends), then I'm a hero again in third year, then a self-righteous prat who's looking for pity (which I never wanted! Why would I want even more attention?), then I was a liar and/or crazy for saying you were back in town, and now I'm suddenly The Chosen One…..ugh.

Anyway, my point is the Wizarding World doesn't care about me, so why should I risk my life for a bunch of bloody wankers who hide their heads in the sand and send a boy to war?

Moving on from my ranting, I wanted to say good luck in your hostile takeover. By the way, Number 12 Grimmwald Place, London is where the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is. Go ahead and destroy the building, if you want. Sirius hated it.

If I can make one last request though, please spare Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Fred and George Weasley. They're the only true friends I've ever had. Everyone else though…..good riddance.

So….have fun being the ruler of the world. One other favor, though. Can you please take care of Hedwig. She was my very first friend and deserves to have the good home I could never give her.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

P.S. Tell Snape I'm sorry for what my father did to him. He may have been my father, but he was a narcissistic prat. Snape didn't deserve the treatment he got.

Harry looked over the letter, rolled it up, not noticing the dark splotches on the edge of the parchment. Slowly, painfully, he made his way over to the window where Hedwig's cage was. He smiled sadly as he opened the cage door and fed her the last of the owl treats.

Sensing his despair, the snowy owl hooted gently and nibbled on his fingers lovingly. She looked sharply at him when she tasted blood on his fingers. Harry simply smiled and stroked her feathers weakly, seemingly unaware that he was leaving streaks of crimson in her white plumage.

"There's a good girl. My lovely girl. I….I'm going to miss you," Harry whispered tearfully. Then he sniffed them back and gave the gorgeous bird a watery smile. "Don't….don't come back, Hedwig. Stay with the man who opens this letter. He'll take care of you…I hope."

Then he opened the window and shooed her out.

Once she was gone from view, he slid down onto the ragged blanket in the corner of the room that was supposed to be his bed. He chuckled weakly to himself.

"Bet that will give Voldie a nice shock," he murmured. He glanced at the clock and saw that it read 12:02. "Happy birthday, Harry," he whispered, then trembled and blacked out again.

(Hedwig's POV)

The snowy owl flew as fast as she could. Master was counting on her. She had tasted his blood on his fingers, and it worried her. The fat man had hit Master again. Every time he did Master grew weaker and weaker, like a chick that keeps falling from the nest. It didn't help that Master shared his own food with Hedwig.

The fat man didn't allow her to go out to hunt very often, so Master shared his own meager amount of food with her. She tried to refuse it, wanting him to eat it, but he had caught on and, despite the fact that he was starved, refused to eat until she gave in and started eating first.

And now…now Master didn't want her to come back. She knew it wasn't because he hated her, but rather because he loved her.

Master was dying, and without Master, the fat man would kill her too.

Now Hedwig was on a mission. She wouldn't let Master die. She knew who the letter was going to. Master had sent the snake man a letter once before, asking why he had chosen Harry to kill that night so long ago. The snake man had been so confused…Hedwig had found it rather funny. But Master hadn't wanted an answer, so she left before the snake man could write a reply.

The snake man could save Master. He was a powerful wizard; Hedwig has smelled it on him. A power so dark and deep, it made her think her feathers were turning black even as she felt it rolling in the air around her.

But she had to hurry. Master wouldn't survive long. He was bleeding too heavily. Even now Hedwig could smell his blood in her feathers.

She pushed herself to fly faster despite the burn in her muscles and wings. Pain she could handle. She would give up her own life to save Master, if she had to.

(Voldemort's POV)

The great and powerful Dark Lord Voldemort was doing paperwork when he heard an incessant tapping on his window.

'Now what?' he thought crossly.

He looked up and was startled to see a familiar white owl pecking at his window. Standing, Voldemort went to the window and opened it, allowing the snowy owl to swoop in.

Hedwig, as he had learned the owl's name from his spies, landed on his desk and dropped the letter, hooting tiredly.

"Not going to fly off in a great hurry again, eh?" Voldemort sneered, then paused as he noticed the crimson stains on the bird's feathers. Had someone attacked Potter's owl?

Shrugging, he picked up the letter and began to read.

To the Dark Lord,

Well, this is it. You've pretty much won the war now, if what they say is true and I'm the only one who can defeat you.

Voldemort lifted an eyebrow, newly grown, at this. So, Potter had figured that part of the prophecy out, did he? But why would the war be won? Was the Golden Boy of the Light surrendering?

Voldemort froze at this. Dying? That couldn't be true. He doubted that Dumbledore would kill his pawn before the supposed Savior could complete his task as the vanquisher of the Dark. And if Potter wasn't lying…what could cause such fast and destructive damage as to kill him within the time it took his owl to deliver the letter? Said letter giving him more questions than answers, annoying the Dark Lord intensely.

So Severus had been wrong. Potter hated his titles, the attention that being the Boy-Who-Lived brought him.

Anyway, my point is the Wizarding World doesn't care about me, so why should I risk my life for a bunch of bloody wankers who hide their heads in the sand and send a boy to war?

'Because that's just what Dumbledore wants you to do,' Voldemort thought acerbically.

This information startled Voldemort, so much so that he wasn't even upset at being surprised.

So….have fun being the ruler of the world. One other favor, though. Can you please take care of Hedwig? She was my very first friend and deserves to have the good home I could never give her.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

P.S. Tell Snape I'm sorry for what my father did to him. He may have been my father, but he was a narcissistic prat. Snape didn't deserve the treatment he got.

Crimson eyes widened in absolute shock as Voldemort re-read the letter, just to make sure he wasn't imagining it. Potter was dying? Voldemort narrowed his eyes. This had to be some kind of trick. Perhaps a ploy of Dumbledore's to find the Dark Lord's hideouts, or lure him to the supposed headquarters of the Order.

He turned on the owl and quickly cast a spell to scan her for any tracking spells, as well as scanning the letter. He found….nothing.

It was then that he noticed the smears of blood on the parchment. He glanced over at the owl, Hedwig, and noticed the blood on her feathers was not her own, but rather….

"Potter's," Voldemort breathed. He stood in shock for a moment, and then whirled into action.

"Tally!" he shouted. With a pop a house-elf appeared and bowed to the Dark Lord.

"Yes Master? How can Tally serve Master?" the elf, a female, asked eagerly.

"Care for the owl. See to it that she is well-fed and cared for. I want her in perfect health by the time I return," he ordered. Tally bowed even lower before hurrying over to the owl and gently picked her up, and then disappeared.

Voldemort strode from his office and into the entrance hall of his private manor. He focused his power, and then summoned his Inner Circle. Within a few moments the few wizards and witches he felt he truly trusted had Apparated into the entrance hall. As one they bowed, but Voldemort quickly waved that aside. Time was of the essence.

"Snape, you know where Potter's summer home is?" he asked the Potions' Master. Contrary to Dumbledore's belief, Snape was truly loyal to Voldemort. He knew Voldemort had given Lily a choice. It wasn't his fault she had chosen to die for her son. A noble death, and fitting for the beautiful and fierce Lily Potter.

If Snape was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Of course, my Lord. Potter lives with his relatives in Little Whinging at Number 4, Privet Drive," Snape said quickly.

"My lord, I beg your forgiveness but….I thought you had wanted to leave Potter out of the war," Lucius Malfoy said hesitantly. In this setting he wouldn't dare question the Dark Lord, and so phrased it as a statement, but it was a question all the same.

"And I still do, Lucius. But if we do not make haste, Potter won't make it to see first light of his birthday," Voldemort said distractedly. He was trying to get a sense of Potter's condition through their connection….but it was useless. Either Potter was unconscious, or….

He refused to think of that. He would know if Potter had already died. He was sure of it.

"Prepare for anything. I'm sure Dumbledore must have guards posted around Potter's house," Voldemort said, before Dis-apparating, is loyal Death Eaters following close behind.

Focusing their power, Voldemort and his followers Apparated into the suburb silently. It took only moments before the Order guards were knocked out.

"Only two? I would have thought they cared more about the safety of their precious weapon," Malfoy said quietly, a little disturbed by the lack of security.

Voldemort led the group to the house. He felt a brush of magic that was the blood wards, but nothing that could substantially hold them back. That got his attention. Blood magic was among the most powerful types of magic. Wards to protect one's home were almost impossible to break through. It was why the Dark Lord had brought the letter with Potter's blood on it. He would have to investigate the issue with the wards later. Now, he had to find Potter and keep the boy from dying.

"Oooo, my Lord, please let me be the one to wake the nasty Muggles," Bella cackled. Even in this she could find humor. Voldemort made no sound, but he nodded.

Bella cackled again before blasting the door open. Voldemort strode into the house, followed closely by the Death Eaters. There was an angry shout from upstairs, and Voldemort turned to look as a fat walrus of a man stormed down the stairs, shouting incoherently at the top of his lungs. Voldemort merely stunned him before stepping around him and heading up the stairs; somehow knowing Potter was in that direction.

With Malfoy, Snape, and Bella close behind him Voldemort rounded the top of the staircase. A skinny horse-faced woman clutched her whale-like son and dragged him back into the master bedroom. Voldemort almost chuckled as he heard the tiny lock click into place.

"My Lord…..look," Malfoy said shakily, drawing Voldemort's attention to another door. If he had been cautious at first, this shocked him into believing the letter. Nine locks; nine, on one door. And on the other side of that door simply had to be Harry Potter.

Voldemort strode forward with determination.

"Alohamora," Voldemort said, unlocking all nine locks at once and pushing the door open.

"Wakey wakey Pot-" Bella's chant was cut short as she stared in shock and growing horror.

"Salazar….who could do this? He's….he's just a boy," Malfoy whispered, his face even paler than usual.

Voldemort hurried into the room and over to the crumpled form that was Potter. The boy was far too pale, his scar standing out in stark contrast. Voldemort stepped onto the blanket, noting with shock how it squelched at the movement, soaked with blood. Potter's blood.

"My Lord, give him this," Snape said hurriedly as joined the Dark Lord. Voldemort quickly knelt next to Potter and pulled the boy into his arms. Potter didn't even stir as his head was tipped back and a blood replenishing potion was forced down his throat. Voldemort massaged the boy's throat, helping the potion to flow.

"Potter…I thought you said he was spoiled, Snape," Bella said angrily, for once not cackling in her sing-song voice.

Snape, who also was in shock, shook his head.

"I…I thought he was. Dumbledore always said he was raised in a loving family," the Potions Master said.

"Obviously, Dumbledore was misleading you," Voldemort said curtly as he studied Potter.

Just then Potter began to stir, and all four newcomers stilled as they watched the boy with bated breath.

"Unhh," Potter moaned, then slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, most likely from a severe concussion. His normally bright, green eyes, which Voldemort had always thought were an ironic Avada Kedavra green, were now dull and filled with pain. Those eyes locked onto Voldemort's own, first in confusion, then recognition.

"Guess….I should have known….you wouldn't just let….me die….in peace," he said weakly. Voldemort stared at the boy. Potter thought he was here to torture him before his body gave out and let him die?

"Potter-" Voldemort growled, but the boy interrupted.

"Well, it won't do you any good. I did a little research. Turns out, the Cruciatus curse doesn't work so well when the victim is already in loads of pain. Sorry Voldie, but….Uncle Vernon beat you to it," Potter said weakly, then coughed, his body spasming as blood dribbled from his mouth.

The three wizards and one witch watched the boy in horrified awe and shock as he finally grew too weak to even shudder in pain, and yet he kept talking.

"You know, it's kind of funny. Here everyone thought we could only kill each other and yet…look at me," Potter said wryly. "Even if the broken ribs, punctured lung, and bleeding out didn't kill me, I wouldn't last a day anyway. Starvation and all," he said, sounding as if he were merely speaking of the weather, rather than his life-threatening injuries.

"Potter, why are you telling me this?" Voldemort finally asked, his voice emotionless as he stared at the boy in his arms.

"Why? How should I know?" Potter asked in return. Then he looked thoughtful, a difficult expression considering his pain. "Maybe…maybe I'm just glad….glad that someone cared. The greatest gift, really, to be cared about. Even….even if you only cared enough to come and watch me die in person," Potter whispered.

Behind him, Voldemort could hear the three Death Eaters inhale sharply in shock.

"I….I have to thank you...Tom." Voldemort looked back at the boy at the mention of his birth name.

"What for?" the Dark Lord asked in shock. Potter chuckled.

"You offered me a choice. A long time ago….you asked me to join you. I refused….but you let me choose. No one else…has ever let me choose," Potter murmured.

"And if you had that choice again?" Voldemort asked, suddenly finding he needed to know the answer.

Potter chuckled weakly again, coughing up more blood.

"It's…..it's too late. But you should have known, Tom. You should have known…I would have joined you….if only to escape this prison," Potter whispered. Crimson eyes widened in shock.

"Potter….I'm going to save you," Voldemort said with sudden conviction. That part of his mind that tried to remain as evil as possible told him it was because Potter was only going to die by his wand, not by a disgusting Muggle. He held on to this thought, even though he knew it to be untrue. The boy gave a weak smile, shocking the Dark Lord even more.

"It's…it's too late, Tom," he whispered. Suddenly he began to cry, looking up at Voldemort as tears flooded down his face. "I don't want to die, Tom. I'm only just sixteen…..I don't want to die." Voldemort said nothing, astonished by the tears and unsure of what to do about them.

Harry shuddered, his dull green eyes fixed on Voldemort's crimson ones, and then he went limp in his worse enemy's arms.

Author's Note: To those who have read this before, this is the second version of this chapter, so there will be differences. I wanted to fix them before I posted the second chapter.