Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort belong to me. Nor do any other characters you recognise (or don't recognise but know are canon). I'm simply dabbling in the wonderful magical world Rowling has created, and experimenting with what its characters can be like when put in situations differing from canon.

The plot and a couple of concept that will actively run through this story are mine though, so I'd appreciate if you didn't copy them into your works without permission.

Summary: An "ordinary" Death Eater, Harry hides his true self to survive in this world ruled by the murderer of his parents. On his way to revenge, he schemes, kills, uses unwitting people, plays games with people far superior in social standing. He doesn't have anything to lose, and the path he is walking looks clear and uncomplicated.

Until the Dark Lord himself takes an interest in him.

Parings: HPLV main, but there is quite a lot of teasing with other parings and characters. RWHG, PPDM, BZTN, and plenty of other inconsequential parings that won't be that important (or even mentioned). If you have a particular side paring you want to see, state it in a review – I might as well include it if it doesn't disrupt the plot.

Warnings: SLASH. Please, if you feel that this kind of stuff is not for you, close the door from the other side. I will be glad not to have to ward off flamers whining that males can't kiss an' grope each other.

AU. And I mean it, people. Although, thankfully, no OCs (there might be only the inconsequential ones, usually some meat for battles and the like, but they don't affect the plot in any way).

Dark/Intelligent/Manipulative Harry whose goal in the end is to aid the Light side. If it doesn't make sense, read on and eventually you'll understand what I'm talking about :)

Also, there will be quite a bit of fighting, blood, torture, killing, and the like (not too graphic though, you can breathe out).

Author's Notes: Hello, everyone. I'm happy you've clicked on this story, and hope it doesn't disappoint you. I didn't have my computer for about a month, thus haven't written anything new for this time (yeah, I do remember all my re-writes! And you probably won't have too long for them, too). But this chapter has been on my computer since the beginning of NaNo, so I thought, "Why not? Might as well put it up." So, you'll probably have to wait a couple of week for an update.

Another thing: This chapter is short, but it's kinda a prologue, and in the subsequent chapters the word count will boost up a bit. This is not a permanent thing, don't worry ;) Also, in the first chapter we don't see much of Harry's intelligent and manipulative side, but in the next one we'll already see a glimpse of how sneaky he can be.

Chapter 1. I'm Not Broken, But You Can Try to Fix Me Anyway

Screams. His father's.

They accompanied them all the way to Harry's room, into which his mother barged with him in tow. Looking around wildly, she scuttled to the half-open wardrobe and slammed the doors closed after them. They didn't have the protection of magic; a frighteningly grinning man had wrenched the wand out of Harry's mother's hands earlier.

Harry felt his Mummy's heart beat wildly against his ear as he pressed himself to her with all his might. The wardrobe was stuffy and too cluttered and small. Claustrophobically small. The walls pressed in on them, and Harry wished with all his strength to get out of there.

Alas, they couldn't. Not yet.

Not when the bad men his Mummy had talked about had barged in and started razing to the ground the normalcy in the Potter household.

Harry had difficulty breathing; his mother's long dress got in his nose, so he whimpered to show his distress. His mother, Lily, rushed to clamp his mouth shut and embraced him tighter, rocking them both back and forth as much as was possible in the tiny space they were stuck in.

"Hush," she whispered tearfully, clutching him tighter. Harry would have missed the words if he hadn't been so close to her, his ear right next to her mouth and funnily tingling when she spoke. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Just stay calm, please, we- We will pull through. I promise you."

"Where is Daddy?" Harry asked and didn't understand from where the drops falling on his cheeks had come. Locks of his mother's brilliant red hair descended to his face, shielding his eyes from the tiny creak in the wardrobe doors that was the only source of light and air.

"He- He will come soon. He must."

He frowned at her tone. He had never heard his proud, strong mother sound this tearful and crushed. It felt wrong, somehow.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, small forehead scrunched up in puzzlement as he reached with his arm to wipe away her tears. "Don't, Mummy. If you don't stop, I will be sad, too."

"I love you honey," she murmured instead and pressed a tender kiss against his knuckles.

"What do these people want with you?" Harry asked. Despite his age, he comprehended that no people broke into other people's houses, caused ruckus there, and waved their wands around threateningly. Wands were serious business, his father had drilled into him time and time again.

"Your father and I... We decided to do what is right instead of what is expected," his Mummy whispered into his hair, clutching him tighter with every word spoken. "Remember, Harry. Always follow your heart, no matter the cost. This way, you will never fall victim to their manipulations. This way, even if they twist your heart and mind, you will find the way out. To the Light. To the loyalty and goodness."

She traced a finger across his narrow chest, pointing it right at the place his heart was beating against.

"I don't understand," Harry mumbled, feeling his eyes droop. He was getting sleepy, and yet his mother didn't show any signs of leaving their refuge.

Refuge. What a frightening word.

Harry didn't understand. He understood nothing in the whole situation, and the fact swung him into the pits of despair, which only deepened at his father's continuing absence. They didn't hear him anymore, too far away from where they had left him, from where he had shouted at them to run.

"Someday, you will-"

She didn't get to finish the sentence. A loud explosion interrupted her starting speech and she brought him closer. Harry held back his breathing. A premonition churned in his stomach uncomfortably, just like those explosions. Neither of them talked, and red hair was still clouding his vision.

Red, red, red.

Everything he could see, those red ruins of broken reality.

"Where the fuck are they?" a rough voice growled. Its animalistic quality reminded Harry of Uncle Remus, the quieter friend of his parents. He shivered. "Don't tell me we came 'ere for nothin'!"

"Shut up, Greyback," another male voice snapped, this one milder and softer. "You got to kill the man. Now you can boast of having murdered the famous Head of Law Enforcement Department."

Harry's mother trembled violently against his body, and he took her hands in his as covertly as possible, giving her comfort. The tumultuous thoughts in his own mind were all blending together in a tornado of barely comprehensive scraps of conscious.

Surely, those men weren't talking about his father?

"Should'ave tortured him," Greyback grumbled. Steps resounded throughout the room. Why did the echo sound so ominous? "Think the woman's still 'ere?"

"We have warded the entire house. Neither Apparition nor emergency portkeys function here. Crabbe and Goyle are at the door, so she can't have escaped this way either."

"Crabbe and Goyle... Blasted skrewts are smarter than those two put together."

"Don't sweat it. Where do all people usually hide while in their rooms? Where is the place that a woman could stuff both herself and the child in?"

"Under the bed?"

"No, you nitwit! Here!"

"Prepare, Harry," his mother murmured to him just as hurried steps neared them. The doors swung open and the sudden burst of light hurt his eyes.

"Ha! Found you!"

But Harry didn't pay attention to the insanely wide grin on the thin lips, nor to the blinding light. His whole world was concentrated on his mother's breathy words smashing straight into his soul with the infallible conviction lacing them.

"I won't let them take you away. I promise."

With that, she charged.

Harry's hand sprang up to grasp thin air. A scream died down in his throat. Not for the first time, Harry thanked Merlin for his vast knowledge of silencing charms. This area of magic had become a faithful friend to him throughout his Hogwarts years, and even during the many cruel instances of dreamless nights before the school.

"Not again," he groaned, covering his face with both his hands. Thin limbs didn't stop shaking, but no tears fell from exotic green eyes. The tears had abandoned him long time ago, when the nightmares had fallen into normality and didn't wobble his world anymore. "Father... Mother... Why can't you stop haunting me, after all these years?"

The question was rhetoric. The cold grave that didn't even exist, for traitors deserved no burials, couldn't give him answers.

In his heart, Harry knew the solution.

Their spirits craved blood, rare blood of a certain murderer, and Harry had made it his life's ambition to fulfil the unspoken promise and provide it.

Harry pushed himself up, opting to mindlessly sit in his bed for a few more minutes, to gather his wits and slip on the solitary mask of nonchalance and blankness. The everyday procedure.

Moving to put his slippers on and go to the bathroom, Harry winced at the pain that pierced through his leg like a lightning bolt. Late private trainings to boost up his duelling prowess could do that to a person, he knew. Practising duelling spells and battle tactics all night long, till the early hours when he had absolutely no choice but to sleep if he didn't wish to feel like an inferius, had been a mistake.

Ha. As if I don't feel like an inferius every second of my life anyway.

The bitterness was nothing new. Neither was the surge of anger, hopelessness, hatred, and resentment, all mixed in the intertwining strands that made up the foundation of his ideology and searing desire to see the man who had torn away his peaceful life dead and six feet under.

But soon, Harry's subconscious whispered as the teen washed the tiredness off his body under the streams of soothing cool water, soon. They think me as pliable and submissive as the rest, but the Death Munchers, along with their deranged leader, have a nasty surprise coming.

Passing by a mirror, Harry stopped to flick a glance in its direction. Waist-long blackest hair imaginable. Expressive Killing Curse green eyes. Average height and a thin, deceptively inconspicuous layer of muscle.

Harry supposed he was beautiful. It was a pity that whatever relationship he could have, failed the moment the other party found out about his being a lowly halfblood whose parents had betrayed the Dark Lord. His official state as an orphan and the charge of the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange herself – Harry's eyes flashed at the remembrance of the woman – didn't add him any charm either, in this society built on money and power, and on the blind worship of their supreme ruler.

A sneer twisted the young man's features. He balled his fists. Fools, all of them.

His heart burned with the hatred for this violent monster, whom their sheep-like Wizarding World followed like they would a shepherd. Their bedazzlement reached as far as to turn wizards into similar beasts, void of compassion and proudly arguing that emotions were only for the weak. People glorified the tales of murder and misery, adored the foul play, and sneered at whatever precious grains of light still existed in the world.

The older wizards passed this mindset on to their children, and each time the future generation grew crueller than the one preceding it.

"And I am a victim of this rotten environment," Harry whispered, bringing his hands to touch the smooth, cool surface of the mirror. His face leaning in so much that his nose was almost touching the mirror, he felt a bitter smirk tugging at his lips.

No, it felt wrong to victimise himself. Harry was more like a child of the Dark Lord's regime, his generation being the first real product of Voldemort's conditioning. His innocence had long been lost to the whispering darkness of the Lestrange Manor he lived in, to the cruel red of the last memory of his parents, to the scorching hatred that exploded inside him every time his eyes caught the glimpse of the supreme murderer who reigned over them with a metaphorical crown on his thick brown mane.

Harry took a step back from the mirror. Nose wrinkled in irritation, he reminded himself that he hadn't come here to watch his own reflection.

It starts tomorrow. He closed his eyes and exhaled. No, it's today already.

A grimace twisted his face.

The branding.

Oh, joy.

We will be branded like cattle, forced to bear his claim and act on his wished and submit to his every whim. Here, Harry's eyes flashed and he shot his mirror reflection a grin full of teeth. Would he allow it? To be a plaything in the immortal hands of a God-wannabe with over-inflated sense of self?

No.

And I Vow, Dark Lord Voldemort, right here and now. I have already sworn my devotion to my goal, but it's time I renew this oath: For the death of my parents and everyone else you butchered in your fits of hysteria, you will pay with your life, and I will drag you down to the wizarding Hell myself if there is no one else to do it.

After thinking the words, Harry walked back into his bedroom and came to a halt in front of his bed, bending a bit to retrieve his faithful wand from under the pillow. (And yes, it was paranoid to keep it there, but the mistrust in the privacy wards Bella had placed was founded).

Now, it's time to take the real Vow, I think?

"Verum Promittere," Harry murmured the words with reverence, his green gaze never leaving the wand. Bright grass-coloured eyes greedily drank in the sight of silvery wisps escaping his wand, all twisting around his wrist in an invisible handcuff, one that would no doubt avenge Harry's wavering from his beliefs, if such a thing ever came to pass.

And yet he had nothing to fear.

Harry was convinced that no matter what manipulations the Dark Lord would dish out to haul Harry to his side, once he realised the teen's true worth, they wouldn't change his mind about killing the abominable maggots-for-brain maniac whose morals had passed away long ago not bearing to live without sister sanity.

With a deeply held belief in his heart, Harry started preparing for the day.

Certainty is good. Certainly gives my mind a break after all the turmoil in my life.

Slytherin Manor was vastly different from Lestrange Manor Harry had grown up in.

And today, for the special occasion of traditionally branding all the sixth – future seventh – years at Hogwarts, it was lavishly decorated with outstanding artwork, tables, on which countless delicious dishes resided, and dark carpets and drapes with elaborate ornaments.

Done in pleasantly soothing greens and blacks and silvers, the ballroom would have delighted Harry, if not for the small fact that the mansion was home to the notorious Dark Lord.

In a muggle neighbourhood.

Little Hangleton, the name was. Or something of the kind. Harry had never centred his attention on this small detail.

It was another proof of the man's twisted logic. Honestly, who would choose to stay at a place so close to the beings you abhor and kill off on a regular basis?

Well, I suppose he does have something to occupy himself with in between planning genocide and world domination, Harry thought, sarcasm dripping. And what can be better than snatching a couple of ignorant muggles from a midnight stroll, show them to the private dungeons, and have a few hours of fun with shackles and his wand-

Ouch. I don't want to even think about how perverted it sounded.

The logical explanation for Voldemort's desire to live in such a place, the one most people came up with, was that the house was believed to have some connection to Salazar Slytherin himself. In reverent whispers, they rationalised that considering Lord Voldemort was a Parselmouth and the Founder's heir, he had inherited the familial manor and settled in it, and thus the mansion in Little Hangleton had become a symbol of how a pureblood household should look like.

Harry believed it to be a load of croak.

Salazar Slytherin? Living in a muggle neighbourhood? Pfft. Don't' make me laugh. The chap would have probably released his mysterious chamber-of-secrets monster on them or slit his own throat to avoid the misery.

Harry didn't know how people could actually be so foolish as to believe the tall tales the Dark Lord weaved around his former life. Were his fellow wizards so blinded by the twisted splendour offered by the man, or was there something else, some underlying puzzling reason transparent to everyone but him.

Harry didn't know. Couldn't tell. And, frankly, didn't even wish to.

He had long ago lost the will to believe in the existing hope for mankind, but some scrapes of it had stuck to the inner walls of his mind and belief, and the young man didn't want the remnants of that optimism completely abolished, thank you very much.

"Firewhiskey, Young Master Harry?" a trembling house elf offered, extending a tray so Harry could grab the tumbler.

The young man threw an absent-minded glance at the creature, thought for a second, and stretched out his hand to scope one. Merlin knew he would need it this evening.

No other way he would get through the meeting with the Dark Lord of all monsters without strangling the bastard.

Or, well, attempting to. No one cancelled the Inner Circle and the bunch of random Death Eaters who would protect their master in any scenario.

"Thanks, Twiggy. I'll call you if I need anything else," Harry tossed, manoeuvring through the crowd of guests, all ostentatiously dressed and as snobbish as they were wealthy, towards the round tables covered with delicacies-full plates. On his way, he bumped into a dancing couple, and when a flicker of his eyes told him one of them was Malfoy, didn't waste time in purposely stepping on the blonde's foot.

"Potter!" the dancing teen hissed. Harry raised a shapely eyebrow. "Trust a blood-traitor to be a bumbling elephant even today!"

"Oh? And today is special how?"

Malfoy gritted his teeth but remained pureblood-stiff, not letting Harry's deliberate dumb act get to him and smash his carefully nurtured pureblood bearing into pieces. Harry took a casual sip from his tumbler, noting the warmth spreading in his stomach at the liquid. Getting too drunk isn't a good idea, though. I'll need my awareness today. Even if all I want is to throw the caution out the window and get so mindlessly drunk that Bellatrix Avadas herself out of shame for her charge.

Bellatrix.

Without his will guiding them, Harry's eyes darted to the arched passageway behind which the crème de la crème mingled.

To waltz in there... That, he was too much of a coward to do.

Besides, he had some company.

Harry's eyes widened at the realisation before he berated himself and stuffed the poison of conflicting negativity back into the bottled-up state it was jam-packed in. He allowed no emotion bleed through his cool, if vaguely amused, exterior after that.

Bloody hell- Malfoy! And the damn ferret is attentive, too. Oh well, it's not like he cares. I should probably have some fun with him before I hurl him back to his date.

Just to watch Malfoy's reaction, Harry brought his hand up to his mouth and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his simple green dress robe. The gesture covered the sly smile on his face at the horrified grimace that momentarily split Malfoy heir's features. The blond's date – some plain pureblood girl Harry wasn't acquainted with – wasn't that far behind.

"I thought, Potter, that even in your stuck up hole of the world the news has reached you. If you're really that far behind the times, I enlighten you: tonight is the great date for all of us, the very peak of our lives-"

Malfoy's usual drawl morphed into animated tone as wild gesticulation helped him convey just how important this night was, and to emphasise how paltry Harry's whole existence was in comparison. With a bored expression and sipping on the firewhiskey – and oh bugger, I think I need another one if he drones on like this for another minute – the green-eyed teen was sweeping the vast and elegant ballroom of the Slytherin Manor with a fed-up look.

Does he ever shut up?

"-today, we will finally receive the marks of our loyalty – the Dark Mark itself, and don't you dare ruin my flawless performance in front of the Dark Lord, Potter, or I swear I'll-"

Malfoy's date was nodding along to every word the blond uttered, even as he launched into a tirade on the kind of fate awaiting Harry if the orphaned boy indeed dared spoil Dray's Big Day.

I guess I'll have to help him fight off the verbosity. Seriously, obsessing over the old fossil with megalomaniac tendencies can't be good for health. Where is Lucius looking? Harry asked himself even as he bolted down a rush of resentment for the blond.

Malfoy's life was so easy in comparison to his, so much lighter and happier... Those concerns of his – to have the Dark Lord's regard and respect – were childish and naive and idiotic and a thousand other derogatory adjectives Harry could think of, but there was one thing they weren't: hopeless and cynical.

"I get it, Malfoy. You can save your praises for someone who actually listens," Harry drawled. He looked into the tumbler where only a second ago the firewhiskey had been splashed, but the blasted thing was dreadfully empty now. "You know, I always find it strange how you superiorly strut around the place with your nose permanently up the air and this annoying my-daddy-has-the-money attitude, but always turn into a worshipful ingénue when this Lord of yours is concerned."

Harry was jealous. If only his problems were restricted to finding his father's and Lord's acceptance... But noo, that was too good to be true for the son of a mudblood and blood traitor.

Malfoy's face contorted into a dark scowl, and his cheeks coloured with two ugly splotches of red. Harry noted that the colour contrasted greatly both with the baby blue of Malfoy's fancy robes and with the dark green colours the ballroom was decorated in.

Harry's lips stretched into a dark smirk as he caught sight of the blond's shaking hands.

Malfoy seemed to take this as a sign, and, in the bat of an eye, sprang forward to grab the collar of Harry's dress robe.

Harry's hand released the tumbler and it broke. The splinters sprinkled across the black marble and fell into whimsical shapes.

A quiet gasp sneaked out past Harry's lips, but the teen pulled himself together in a jiffy and raised his calm gaze to clash with Malfoy's hot one.

The date gasped, the sound muffled in the polite din of the ballroom, and Harry glimpsed a few dancing couples halting their smooth movements to stare.

Malfoy turned away for a moment to wave them away.

Everyone got a hint and minded their business.

"Oh. Feisty today, are we, Dray?" Harry almost purred. "You are such a stiff at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Good to see even you can pull a stick out of your arse once in a while and join us, mere humans."

What am I saying? Harry vaguely realised that his thoughts were tumbling away from him and no matter how much he grasped for them, they escaped his reach like a leprechaun would a desperate gold-seeker's. I'm never this bloody careless in public...

And then his gaze fell on the splinters of crystal scattered across the floor, and the realisation rushed at him like a tsunami wave.

Bugger! Shouldn't have drunk so much firewhiskey. They do say the stuff is highly alcoholic.

Well, no other options but grit his teeth and hope it would pass.

Not to mention Harry had another problem on his hands at the moment.

"You dare?" Malfoy snarled, and while his voice held no ounce of Severus Snape's velvety danger or Malfoy's own father's silky promise of painful social death or Rodolphus Lestrange's assurance of physical death, Harry realised that he was playing Russian roulette here. "My father is a hand-reach away. Should I call him? Will you be so brave in front of him, too, or hide your tail between your legs how it happened in our childhood?"

The smirk that curled Malfoy's lips dumped Harry off the cliff of his self-control.

The recollections of his, of their shared childhood all streaked through his mind.

His glassy eyes reflected his past flashing by in his mind, the way Slytherins – not only them, but considering they were his very own House, it had hurt even more – the very wizards who should have stood by him the entire time, had been treating him.

Their hurtful words used to dig into his soul deeper than a most powerful Slashing Curse would do. They enjoyed taunting his orphaned status, the fact that he didn't have anyone to stand up for him only further alienating him from them. They would clatter around him into a tight ring, and then he would know and hear and listen to nothing more than heavy stones of cruel words thrown at him by childish hands, and no matter how much he would attempt to shield his ears and just not hear, they would force him to, tearing his hands away and shouting, shouting, always shouting...

He found it unfair that in place of the bright memories of the time spent with his parents, Harry's earliest recollections were hazy shrouds of spiteful crows of laughter, jibes, and social ruin.

And Malfoy, ignorant of the reminiscence dwelling in Harry's mind, blathered on.

"This time, I will take over the punishment myself. All summer, I have been under the tutelage of Aunt Bella and Evan Rosier. Believe me, the scars will take a lot of time to heal now. Much more than they used to in our childhood."

Malfoy smirked.

A slit-eyed, enraged look was all the warning he got as Harry whipped out his wand and jabbed it right under the blond's neck.

"A word more," Harry breathed out. His Avada Kedavra-green eyes blazed with dangerous fire. "A word more from you, Malfoy, and you will find out why they call me the best duellist in our year instead of you."

The aristocrat gulped, and Harry dug the tip of his wand deeper as Malfoy's Adam's apple bobbed.

Harry pressed his lips into a tight line and tightened his fingers around his holly wand. Restraint. Where are you when I so need you?

And then the flames in Malfoy's own blue gaze shone brighter with unspoken challenge.

"Mudblood."

A second later, Harry felt disgusting wetness on his cheek, wetness that immediately tracked down the smooth porcelain skin.

Malfoy had spat at him. Spat at him. Literally. The realisation crashed home and whatever benevolent ideas Harry might have had this evening all vanished into stardust.

"Crucio," Harry hissed. No fury in his voice, no useless spittle. This cold calmness trumped any loud proclamations of vengeance and justice, and the fear reflected in Malfoy's face when the teen opened his mouth to fix his mistake only fuelled the bloodthirsty predator in Harry, the one cultivated by Draco's beloved Auntie Bella when Harry had gotten nothing but harsh life lessons from the woman.

The blond fell back. His whole body twitched and convulsed for a second before his voice tore through the pleasant classical music floating in the ballroom.

Harry's eyes widened. The people! How could he have been so careless? The firewhiskey and the painful recollections had addled his brain, it seemed, and now he had a teensy problem on his hands.

Namely, the watchful eyes of the spectators, all appalled and astonished and frozen in place, some remaining mid-step in the interrupted dance.

Draco didn't stop convulsing.

"What is going on?" the voice, cold as the glaciers of Arctic, rang through the room. No. It's not possible. He can't be here right now. He- "What are you doing with my son?"

Harry turned his head to the source of the voice. His memory hadn't failed him. Lucius Malfoy – bloody Lucius Malfoy! – was approaching him and- Oh hell. Was it Dark Lord Voldemort himself trailing not far behind?

"Answer me!" the blond demanded in a low voice.

Harry paled.

It all plummeted down from here.

Author's Note: Yeah, a bit of a cliffy, sorry. But the next chapter will be quite long (ab. 7,000 words) and I'll put it up by the end of the month, so I hope you aren't angry :)

I'm very busy this week, but the next one I'll be uploading some of the chapters of new fics (and rewrites) I've done, and all my stories interest me equally right now. So, when I'll have updated the first chapters of new stories/rewrites of old ones, I'll be mainly looking at the number of responses to them. If you are truly interested in this fic and want me to pay major attention to it and not to the other stories, it's probably a good idea to leave a review. They motivate me best, you see :D

But don't fret, even if I don't update frequently, I invest a lot in my stories, and will eventually complete each one of them. Eventually.