Summary: What if things happened differently that night in the graveyard? What if Harry decided to finally take his fat into his own hands and make a deal with the devil? What happens when good and evil become impossible to separate and Harry is caught in a conspiracy more vast and terrible then the dark lord himself. AU.

Warnings: Creepiness, gore, psychological torture, slash, het, and flying llamas. I'm kidding about the last one. But seriously, if you prefer your stories to follow a la Disney that search elsewhere….like on the Disney channel shudder now that is torture.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't want it.

In that moment his life seemed to flash before his eyes. As Harry James Potter lay sprawled on the ground of a distant, dark graveyard with the Dark Lord Voldemort standing over him, time paused.

He saw his friends, he saw them standing above him looking down at him with sympathy and pity and worry and all those nasty awkward emotions he was sick of seeing on other peoples faces. He saw his Professors looking down at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, they never knew what to do with Harry Potter, the boy who lived who seemed to be incapable of living a normal life.

And then he saw his childhood, ten miserable years of abuse and neglect that everybody just seemed to dismiss as 'normal'. Unless he was mistaken, Harry was sure that being smacked and then tossed under the stairs wasn't a bloody normal way to spend ones childhood.

Harry saw his years at Hogwarts, the basilisk, the damned three headed dog, buckbeak, Sirius, and Remus. The only two people who'd ever actually understood what it meant to be different, what it meant to be an outsider. They were the only family Harry had. And even though he didn't know them as well as he knew Ron or Hermione, they meant something more to him.

Possible futures shifted before his cloudy eyes like stars in the night sky. He saw himself finishing out Hogwarts, smiling and laughing at graduation. He saw Harry Potter as a handsome grown up Auror, telling tales of how he killed cruel Death Eaters. He saw himself as a mighty champion who killed Voldemort at great personal sacrifice, Harry Potter the savior of the wizarding world.

And then he saw himself as a crazy old man who people whispered and gossiped about, telling of how he'd killed everyone he ever loved. He saw himself lying in a sturdy wooden coffin, lined with velvet, being lowered into the ground. Harry saw himself as he was dueling Lord Voldemort for the last time, watching as Voldemort threw an Arda Kedarva curse at him; and then Harry died.

As Harry lay there he gradually became aware that time was slowly beginning to move again. A realization dawned on him, as bright and welcome as the sun rise after a night of to little sleep, he was going to die. If he continued to go to school and play along to the wizarding worlds plans he was going to die. Voldemort would kill him eventually, if not this year then the next.

And honestly even if Harry did get out of this bloody graveyard alive he would probably just leap out a window when he got back to Hogwarts. In fact Harry couldn't really think of any reason not to just die, it would make life so much easier. The only thing keeping him alive was a stubborn, dogged desire to keep trudging along.

And a desire, burning deep and dark inside of his chest for revenge. A hidden, ignored urge to hurt someone, hell anyone. Someone had to pay for destroying his dreams of a family and a normal life. Someone ruined his life and Harry wanted, he really, really wanted to make them bleed.


The one bastard who kept him from having a family and a nice, normal safe life. If Volodemort were gone then maybe, just maybe Harry could finally be happy. And if he were happy then he'd want to be alive. Then he'd have a reason to be alive.

"Well, Potter, get up and fight me!" Voldemort hissed, pale eyes blazing, robes billowing around a too slender figure and flattened nostrils heaving.

He didn't want to fight, he was sick of it all. He wanted Voldemort to go away, he wanted Dumbledore and all the other wizards to leave him alone. He just wanted a few years to live, on his own, in peace.

Harry wanted to sigh, he felt like a weary fifty old man, not a teenager. But then again, he hadn't ever really felt like a teenager, or even a child. He'd felt tired and weary for such a long time.

But despite this bone deep weariness, he wanted to be alive. He wanted to make someone suffer for hurting him. He needed to take matters into his own hands, if he continued to follow dumbledore's orders he would die. And it was too early for Harry to die.

"Get off me!" Harry snarled, pushing the foot on his neck off.

Voldemort actually did move his foot and watch as Harry coughed and sat up right. "I want to kill you myself, I want to watch the light leave your eyes!"

Harry sighed and looked up at The Dark Lord, terror of the wizarding world and he managed a smirk, a tired, sardonic, painfully jaded smirk. There was no light of naiveté or wonderment left in his eyes. "The lights already gone,"

Voldemort, who thought he knew Harry so well, was startled at the teens new course of action.

The boy who lived, himself, was actually startled by his new course of action as well. He was supposed to fight Voldemort. But he didn't want to fight Voldemort, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to cut out Voldemort's heart and feed it to him on a silver fucking platter.

"Tom, let's be honest with each other. You look like shit. You can kill me if you want, but your 'grand come back' is still going to suck cause you look like a bleedin' squid."

Even the Death Eaters were surprised by the audacity coming from the youth. Actually they were more shocked that the teen wasn't trembling with fear.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't torture you till you beg for death?" Voldemort hissed, clearly a bit miffed about his appearance.

"Cause, it won't make you happy."

"I've wanted to kill you for the past fourteen years!" Voldemort spat. "Of course I want you dead!"

"Yeah, but think about it Tom. Wouldn't it be better to use me?"

"What!" Voldemort gasped.

Harry was actually thinking a similar thing, not really believing the words that had just spewed from his cocky lips. He had no idea what he was doing, but he was praying that it'd turn out right, with him alive and Voldemort dead. "Use me."

"I can use you as a pincushion." The Dark Lord snickered. "Potter, I can't use you, because you hate my guts. I killed your parents and ruined your life. You hate me."

"And you hate me."

Voldemort nodded.

"But you've been obsessed with killing me for fourteen years, you know that's longer then most marriages last."

"…Are you suggesting that we're married?"

"No, but I'm informing you that you've been obsessed with me for quiet some time, and some people seem to think that hate is just a more intense form of love."

Voldemort suspiciously let his wand rest at his side and regarded the teen, "So now your insinuating that I'm in love with you?"

"No, no, really if that were the case I'd off myself now. What I'm saying is, that we're bonded pretty close together, you said it yourself two years ago in the Chamber of Secrets. We are both part of the same person, Tom."

The Dark Lord thought a moment, Harry Potter was a dangerous, dangerous tool. He seemed to have more lives then a cat. And yet the boy was clearly cunning, intelligent, and surprising charismatic with those bright emerald eyes and mused dark hair. If only he could use Harry. "I don't trust you. And frankly it's easier to kill you. In fact, I think I will."

With that Voldemort regretfully positioned his wand a few inches from the teens face and sighed, "Any objections, Potter?"

This was his chance. It was now, he had Voldemort interested, he just had to seal the deal. He had to prove he would be loyal, Harry had to win him over. He only had one chance. He had to do something absolutely perfect.

And so Harry Potter licked the tip of Voldemort's wand and said with a wicked grin, "None my lord."

"Wha-what did you say?" Voldemort whispered, taking a step back from the teen who he was now certain was not Harry Potter.

"I have no objects, my Lord, I would die seeing your will done."

"Really, boy. You'd call me your lord?"

"Yes," mentally Harry added, and I'll kill you as you sleep you son of a bitch.

"You would spy on your beloved Dumbledore for me?"

"Dumbledore's been using me. I'm just a puppet to him and the ministry."

Voldemort smirked, "Your smarter then you look, albeit it took you a while to figure it out."

"Use me, my lord, let me be your tool."

"And what would happen when you found out I was using you as well?" Voldemort asked. He'd always known Harry was a Slytherin at heart, it had took until now for the boy to finally live up to his potential.

"I'm letting you use me, my lord."

The Dark Lord thought a moment, "And what are your terms?"

"I want you to bring Cedric back. He hasn't been dead long, I've heard the stories, my lord, of you bringing you freshly dead followers back to life. Do it for Cedric."

The was unexpected, very unlike a Slytherin, yet very like Potter. "And once he lives?"

"I'll take him back to school, sob a little bit, warn Dumbledore that you've returned to power, and I'll be your spy. I'll help you win." Harry insisted, mind working at lightning speed. He'd pretend to be Voldemorts friend, he'd lull the bastard into a false sense of security.

And then Voldemort would pay.

"Anything else?" Voldemort smirked.

"Get a new body, yours looks terrible."

Voldemort nodded graciously, "Give me your hand."

Harry hesitated.

"Well? Don't you trust you lord?"

The teen winced, what had he gotten himself into? For a moment he wanted to take it all back and try and attack Voldemort. But that was what a child would do. He was an adult now. It was time to act like one. It was time to rule his fate.

"I trust you with my life, my lord."

Harry gave Voldemort his hand and winced, expecting the dark mark to appear on his skin. Instead Voldemort dropped his left wrist with distaste. "What did you do?" Harry asked. He grabbed the wrist and saw on the inside of it was a question mark set inside a Celtic cross.

"I marked you as an object belonging to Tom Riddle. The moment you betray me to Dumbledore it will turn blood red. That mark will follow you to your grave, it will always remind you of how you sold your soul to the devil."

Harry smirked, still clutching his wrist, he'd sold his soul. That was a pretty good name for the emptiness he felt in the pit of his stomach. "My Lord? If you see fit to kill me, then please, bury me with it."

Voldemort shot him a look of confusion.

"Bury what's left of my body with my wrist. I want to be reminded of my own fallibility, even in death."

"My, what a guilt conscious you have. You must feel horrible, selling your soul to the man who murdered your parents."

"You have no idea."

A single tear slithered down Harry's cheek.

"Take Cedric, once you touch him with your wrist he will breath again. Go to Hogwarts, play Dumbledore's little game. I will call on you when I see fit."

Harry crawled over to Cedric, crying softly, and gathered the older boys body in his arms. The boy who lived began to sob and he touched the portkey, transporting both he and Cedric back to Hogwarts.

And as the students cheered, Harry sobbed. And as Cedric woke up, Harry sobbed. And as Dumbledore soothed his softly, Harry sobbed.

A/N: reviews please? Should I continue or no.