Warnings: Dark! Harry, Manipulative! Dumbledore, slash, character bashing, OCs and quite possibly death.
Pairings: Harry/Voldemort, Draco/Blaise, Ron/Hermione, Fred/George, Neville/Theodore
Disclaimer: I own...a mouse...actually I don't, it's just currently running wild in my living room
Red Sun Rising
'Red sun rising,
Drown without inhaling,
Within, the dark holds hard.
Red sun rising,
Higher than hope my cure lies.' - Higher than Hope, Nightwish
Harry Potter, or Aryn Vesper as he now called himself, was no ordinary wizard by any means. He was small and slightly undernourished, like most children who've spent time on the streets are, but that didn't hide the air of effeminate beauty that surrounded him. He had long, wavy black hair that tumbled untidily to his waist and surrounded his slight frame, and he had large, emerald green eyes. Hidden behind shaggy bangs, though, was Harry's most unusual feature. It was a lightening bolt shaped scar.
This, of course, was no ordinary scar, it was a curse scar that was given to Harry by the Dark Lord Voldemort. When Harry had been just fifteen months old Voldemort had come to his house in Godric's Hollow and murdered his father, his mother, and tried to kill Harry too. But, for some reason, the curse had reflected and killed the Dark Lord instead, leaving a baby Harry alone in the ruins of his home.
Then, not three days later, Harry had been found in an alley, deep in the heart of London's slums by the man that he now regarded as his father; the vampire Jericho Vesper. Jericho had, of course, done what any decent person would have done, and took Harry in to raise as his own. He had refused to make Harry a vampire and, despite his foster father's dubious occupation and living quarters, Harry had had a pleasant and happy childhood.
On the morning of his eleventh birthday, Harry could be found behind the counter of Jericho's Potions shop, that also served as an Apothecary. It was one of the semi-respectable businesses in the area and it was situated on the corner of Gallow Lane, where it joined onto Knockturn Alley.
He was reading a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet and sipping at a mug of strong, black coffee, when the bell rang and a tall figure wearing a long, black, hooded cloack entered the shop.
Harry looked up at the man and nodded in greeting as he prepared to put on his fake Cockney accent. He didn't really have an accent, but he could imitate those of other people remarkably well.
"Mornin' Guv'nor", he called. "Wot can ah getcha?"
"I'm looking to purchase a dragon's egg", the man said in a soft, yet cultured voice. "I was told that you might have one."
Harry grinned and hopped off his stool, indicating that the customer should follow him as he stepped into the store room.
"Roight ths way, Guv'nor", he drawled. "Lookin' for a partic'lar kind, are ya?"
Half an hour later when the customer had left with a fine Norwegian Ridgeback tucked into his pocket, Harry received an owl. This was by no means an irregular occurance; he often had customers ordering ingredients and potions by owl, sometimes even paying for them by owl too. But what was unusual about this owl was the name and address that ws written in bright green ink on the front of the envelope it held.
'Mr Harry Potter,
JV Potions and Apothecary,
Harry froze. Nobody he knew except Jericho called him Harry, and even then it was in private. Frowning slightly, Harry opened the envelope and read the contents. As he did, his frown deepened and by the time he finished he was scowling at the parchment murderously. He flipped the letter over, grapped a quill and some ink, and he wrote on the back in his neatest handwriting a simple reply and sent it back with the owl that had delivered it.
That evening, amongst the replies that she had received, Minerva McGonagall only found one that was memorable, and therefore, worthy of notice.
There on the back of Harry Potter's Hogwarts letter was the neatly written phrase:
'I am NOT Harry Potter, so sod off.'