Note: There is a "Lord Voldemort" in this story, but he's not very active right now. There is a Tom Marvolo Riddle. He's a very high-end politician in this world. (This story is currently being re-edited. It will be a slow process, but I hope to get to all the chapters)

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP (much later on). Dark/bitter/cunning/OOC/smart Harry.

Summary: Raised hating Muggles, Harry arrives at Hogwarts a bitter boy. Unusually intelligent, he's recruited by both the Unspeakables and the Death Eaters. His loyalty is not to the Ministry or the Death Eaters, but to himself. Not only does he struggle to balance Unspeakable work, Hogwarts, and Death Eaters, but he also finds himself woven into the mystery of his parentage.

Edited: 3.2.2013


The redheaded woman held the newborn tightly against her bosom, waiting breathlessly for the orphanage door to open. Logically, she should have left the baby on the doorstep before fleeing. But something made her legs heavy and her heart even heavier. She found herself frozen in place, unable to react even when the door opened.

This wasn't like her. Usually, she was sharp-witted and quick.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was warm enough, Lily noted instinctively with a hint of gratefulness. She clutched at the baby, clearing her throat when her voice was caught. Opening her mouth, she faltered once again as her emerald eyes took in the woman before her. The elderly female had brown hair tied to the nape of her neck with graying temples. Smile lines creased around her mouth and eyes. Outwardly, she appeared kind enough, gentle enough, to raise her son.

Lily bowed her head, a deep hood covering her features from the Muggle woman. She took in the small baby that slept peacefully in her arms, unable to sate her marvel at the purity, the beauty. The baby, no more than a few weeks old, was a precious and painful sight. She couldn't keep him, not… no. It was too dangerous for both the child and herself.

Her arms extended stiffly. They felt like weights as she handed over the baby to the Muggle woman. If Lily was aware of how much she trembled, the woman had to be just as well. "H-here," she whispered hoarsely. "Please, please take him. Take my baby."

The Muggle's eyes widened. Quickly, she took the newborn child from her arms when she observed how much Lily was trembling. With skilled hands, the elderly woman nurtured the child's neck and cradled the silent bundle closer. "Are you alright, dear?"

Lily remained silent, staring at the small newborn now in the Muggle's care. She knew this was for the best, yet it was painful to see her child in a stranger's arms. Her son was so small, so angelic. How could she have committed this act?


"Izar…" Lily struggled in a hoarse whisper. "His name… Harrison…" Her lips quivered from beneath her hood and she felt a small part of her die as the Muggle cradled the black-haired little baby. This pain, she wanted to feel it. For what she had done, she deserved every bit of emotional cruelty thrown at her.

"Izar?" The woman questioned, a frown creasing her lips at the foreign name. "His name is Izar Harrison? Is that it?"

No. Harrison was the middle name and Izar the first. However, Lily only nodded erratically, backing away with small, jerky steps. "Take good care of my baby," she whispered in despair before turning and running. Tears burned her eyes, blinding her path.

"Wait!" The Muggle called after her.

Lily knew she wouldn't follow, not with a small child in her arms: A child that she bore and gave birth to, but that was no longer hers.

It was for the best.

Chapter One

"Freak." Lips parted and spit flew.

Izar flinched away from the droplets of saliva, trying not to let the larger boy bother him. His shoulders were drawn up defensively and his eyes were directed toward the swings and away from the bully. A soft growl escaped his lips and his fingers curled inward into fists.

"You're a freak, a freak!" The boy laughed, shoving Izar nearly hard enough to snap his neck.

The dark-haired boy stumbled, trying to gather his footing. The toe of his boot hit the rocks and he went down hard, scarping his knees and palms. As the children laughed, Izar laid there motionless, staring blankly at the blood on his skin. His pale charcoal and green eyes watched the crimson trail of blood as it dripped down and around his wrist. No tears fell when the larger boy kicked him hard in the ribs before turning to leave.

Tears had stopped long ago.

Instead, the pale eyes turned from the blood to the boy's back. His lips thinned and fury burned inside his chest. Izar's breathing wheezed as he struggled to sit up. Around him, the world spun and he was more than aware of the other children watching him from afar. No one ever approached him. They were either too afraid of him or they were afraid of being targeted by Louis, the orphanage bully.

Still, Izar despised those other children. They were weak. They were too afraid, too stupid.

He glowered, holding his bruised stomach as he stood up and escaped the courtyard. It was his fault anyway. He knew better than to go to the courtyard at this time.

He stalked through the orphanage, his home for over eleven years. Nothing changed; it never improved and only worsened. It was old and worn down, not dirty, per say, but there was updating to be done. Potential parents who visited the orphanage either felt pity for the children's current living conditions, or they felt uncomfortable enough that they left without visiting in length with the children.

"Are you alright, Izar?" one of the caretakers murmured, her expression carefully expressing her lack of concern.

Good, he didn't need their pity. The caretakers learned not to comfort and coddle him, especially when he had furiously pushed them away so many times before. He hated them. Even if they knew the situation, they never helped matters. A few slaps on Louis' wrists were hardly ever enough to discouraging him from continuing his assaults. Izar was better than they were. There was no need to be so worked up.

Izar passed her without a word, hurrying up to his room that he shared with a younger boy.

Nursing his scraped palms, Izar entered his room and collapsed on the bed. The thin mattress groaned as it collided with the rusty springs. Paying no heed to the blood on his hands, Izar picked up the side of the mattress and took out the bit of parchment he had hidden there.

Staring at the letter, he allowed a small smile to cross his lips. Hogwarts.

Cradling the letter to his chest, Izar closed his eyes, imagining a world of witchcraft and wizardry. Blood stained the parchment, but he didn't notice nor care. He was imagining a world where he was like all the others, a world where children wouldn't tease him because he was different. And most importantly, he was starved for all the knowledge he could attain in this new world. Even at his young age, Izar knew the importance of intelligence, of knowing things the other children couldn't possibly retain in their simple minds.

Most of all, Izar was aroused at the chance to prove himself. He wanted to make a name for himself in the Wizarding world. He didn't want to be just an orphan, or the small boy everyone could pick on, no, he wanted to use his special powers to his own advantage.

Ever since Izar was young, he noticed he wasn't like the other children here. He could manipulate things to his own liking. There were times when he concentrated really, really hard, he could move toys or other mundane objects across the room. There were also other times where accidents happened, accidents that Izar always found fascinating even if they were morbid.

One time, when Izar had been especially angry with Louis, the boy had suddenly fallen to his knees, unable to breath. The bully's breath had come out in short, raspy gasps. Just thinking about it made Izar's fingers tremble with excitement.


Izar flinched, stuffing the parchment under his pillow and turning toward the door. Another caretaker he was familiar with, Andrea, stood near another woman, an older woman who was unfamiliar to Izar.

"A Professor McGonagall is here to see you."

Izar straightened up from his lounged position, curiosity sparking. With sharp and observant eyes, he watched as McGonagall nodded stridently to Andrea before entering the room uninvited. Izar examined the way the older woman, McGonagall, walked. She had an uptight stance, clearly suggesting a stern and professional demeanor.

"Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure to meet you. I assume you got your Hogwarts letter?" McGonagall questioned once Andrea had retreated from the room.

Izar stared calmly at the woman, his eyes surveying her closely. She didn't look anything special. He couldn't sense anything… abnormal about her like he could with himself. She appeared the same as any normal human being, the same as all the others in the orphanage. Disappointment licked at Izar. He had thought that wizards and witches would carry themselves a bit differently from everyday men and women.

"Yes Professor," he whispered respectfully as he continued studying her with rapture.

The professor seemed to stiffen and her eyes narrowed as she took him in. She was observing him just as carefully as he was observing her. Izar didn't mind the scrutiny. He remained expressionless, allowing the woman her time to assess him.

Suddenly, something in her posture shifted. Charcoal and green eyes zeroed on her stiffening spine and her disturbed expression. The unsettlement crossed her features just briefly before she masked it expertly. Izar raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

"I am here to assist you with your shopping, Mr. Harrison," she continued, her voice hard and stern, yet her eyes tried to take on a gentler gleam.

"Shopping?" Izar asked naively. He assumed she meant shopping for school supplies, for wizard supplies. His pulse jumped at the prospect of that, but he sobered quickly. "But I don't have any money, Professor."

"There is a fund Hogwarts takes out for orphaned students, Mr. Harrison." She offered him a smile he didn't return. She wouldn't realize Izar hated being reminded he was an orphan, abandoned as a mere baby. Her smile wavered into that of a stern line. "Would you like to accompany me today?"

"I would enjoy that very much, Professor."

For the first time, in a long time, he offered another human a smile. From the look of McGonagall's expression, Izar assumed he needed more work.

Death of Today

Izar pulled at his robes, straightening out the small, nonexistent wrinkles. He walked the length of the platform, still in silent shock at everything around him. Outwardly, he appeared disinterested and collected. Inside though, he was having trouble keeping everything he learned in memory. There was so much of it. He hated not being caught up with the rest of the children. From what he learned from McGonagall, most of these children were raised in this magical world.

They knew more than he did, he was already so many years behind. Nonetheless, Izar would try to remedy that as soon as possible.

After getting over the initial shock of Diagon Alley, Izar had followed obediently behind McGonagall as they navigated through the village. Together, they purchased the required objects on the list and only the required objects on the list. There were more books Izar would have liked to purchase and a few more Wizarding robes. Reluctantly, Izar realized he was on a budget, especially being an orphan who needed to borrow like some beggar.

Clearing his throat, Izar aimlessly wandered toward the train. There were students and parents everywhere, seeing their children off to another year at Hogwarts. He eyed the parents, watching as mothers kissed their children's reddened cheeks and fathers proudly clasp their son or daughter's shoulders. Izar liked to pride himself on being independent, but he was only eleven, and watching the loving exchanges gave him a brief sting of bitter discontent.

Unexpectedly, one handsome couple caught Izar's interest. A father and son, by the looks of their similar blond hair and pointed features, were saying farewell in their own particular way. They stood stiffly, separated a good distance away. They almost appeared formal in their departure, neither of them showing any signs of being affected by the upcoming absence. Their attire appeared spun in the finest silk and material. Even the buttons and stitching looked luxurious.

Izar's feet subconsciously brought him closer to the two family members. The entrance to the train was just near the two, so it wouldn't appear too odd for Izar to be walking closer.

The father, his majestic form standing apart from the crowd, glanced at Izar dismissingly before turning away. It wasn't until the man gave a double take when Izar became rigid. He found himself under the inspection of frozen grey eyes. For the first time in ages, Izar found himself feeling vulnerable to another.

Neither McGonagall nor any of the other adult witches and wizards in Diagon Alley had made him feel defenseless. Izar's expression fell for just a moment before he quickly constructed his mask back in place. The longer he found himself under the stare of the older wizard, the stronger he felt himself become. This unconventional situation would be good practice for other wizards that may take Izar off guard.

This… this blond man possessed a bit of power and allure that Izar had hoped every wizard had. When he had met McGonagall, he was disappointed by how much she resembled every other non-magical man and woman. He had thought that every wizard and witch would be the same. Nonetheless, Izar noticed this man was different from them all. He wasn't ordinary. He was powerful.

"A First Year?" The blond boy whispered to his father after noticing his guardian's averted attention.

Izar approached the two quicker, eager to get on the train and away from the older man's stare. He passed them, keeping his eyes on the man's grey ones. Once he passed completely, he heard the man's voice, a deep, silky baritone.

"He will no doubt be a Slytherin, Draco. Stick close to him and help guide him through his first year at Hogwarts."

Izar's shoulders sagged as soon as he locked himself inside an empty compartment. Slamming the back of his neck against the glass compartment door, he gave a shaky breath. His hands were trembling and his pulse was beating at its highest.

He didn't understand why he was reacting in such a way. Yes, he felt defenseless and vulnerable around the blond man, but there was more to it. Izar had almost felt the static around the older man. It was similar to both electricity and heavy air. It was almost as if Izar had sensed the man's magic. But that should be impossible, shouldn't it? Even for wizards that wasn't normal. Was it?

Still, he couldn't help but allow a smile to stretch his lips. Finally, he had seen a real wizard, a real magical figure that stuck out from non-magical folk. Izar only hoped he was like that blond man. He hoped he wasn't like McGonagall or the other adults and children here. He didn't want to be like non-magical people, like those at the orphanage. Just thinking about being normal like them made Izar's pulse race quicker. He did not want to be ordinary, but extraordinary.

The train lurched to a start and Izar clutched the door for balance. He breathed against the glass, trying to calm himself. He was off to a new life, a new world, leaving behind his horrible orphanage until the summer holidays.

A sharp rap at the door had Izar straightening up quickly, neutralizing his expression when he saw the blond boy standing on the other side, accompanied by a few other children. Before Izar opened the door, he pondered on this predicament called 'friends.'

He had never had a friend at the orphanage. He had gone through five solid years before he realized he didn't need anyone that close to him. He had seen the workings of the orphanage, observed the other children and their friendships. Never once had he seen friends who stuck to the definition of loyalty. There was always a situation in which a friend stabbed the other in the back to climb up in the rankings of popularity or in hopes to gain something from the betrayal.

It was human nature to think and act for yourself and only yourself. There was no such thing as friendship to Izar.

However, he had to make a decision with this blond boy. Perhaps he could use the blond boy as an ally, not a friend. He would need to keep the boy at arm's length, only relying on the blond for information and the likes. Judging from the other boy's face through the compartment, Izar knew that the boy was thinking the same.

Reluctantly, Izar opened the compartment, allowing the small group of four to enter.

"Do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full," the boy drawled, sitting down without invitation. The girl sat down next to him, leaving the two larger boys to squeeze together on Izar's side.

Izar eyed the other boy, remembering how his father called him Draco. It was an unusual name, though Izar shouldn't pass judgment. He certainly knew his name wasn't traditional or conventional.

"Your lenses, where did you get them?" the girl breathed with reverence. "They're breathtaking."

Izar frowned at the dark-haired girl as she leaned forward and eyed him with an uncomfortable amount of interest. "My lenses?" He didn't wear glasses or contacts.

"Yes, your eyes are the most unique color, they must be lenses. Drake, do you see them? They are dark silver with flecks of green near the pupils. Slytherin colors. They're brilliant, where did you get them?" She repeated as if he were thick.

"They're my real eyes, but thank you for the compliment," he murmured darkly, irritated at her overwhelming presence. He turned away from her and onto Draco. The blonde-haired boy was clearly amused at Izar's irritation. "I take it you're looking to be Sorted in Slytherin?" Izar questioned lightly, proud that he remembered that fact.

He had read Hogwarts: A History after the trip to Diagon Alley. He knew of the four Houses and their qualities. Izar secretly wished he'd be Sorted into Slytherin. Everything sounded spectacular at the castle and his excitement had only grown after reading about it. Now, on the train to Hogwarts, he could barely contain his relief at being away from the orphanage and with his own 'kind.'

Draco smirked, his eyes becoming hooded. "I'm already in Slytherin. This is my second year at the school. Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle are both second years as well. All of our families have been sorted into Slytherin many generations back. How about your family?" Before Izar could clearly understand the boy's question, Draco continued. "Oh, I apologize. I haven't properly introduced myself yet. I'm Draco Malfoy."

A pale hand held itself out toward Izar. He looked at it just briefly before reaching out his own hand.

"Izar Harrison," he greeted back.

Before he could touch Draco's hand, the blond dropped his offered appendage quickly. Izar blinked, confusion breaking through his sturdy mask. What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten a Wizarding custom? Why was Draco's face slowly turning into a sour expression? He'd only been in this world for a few minutes and he'd already made a mistake.

"Harrison?" Draco repeated his last name, the scowl on his face turning into a disgusted grimace. "You are a Mudblood?"

"I'm unfamiliar with the term 'Mudblood,'" Izar repeated coldly, feeling his barriers rise at the dismayed glances he was receiving from the lot of Slytherins in the compartment.

"Of course you would be unfamiliar with it," Draco stressed, leaning back away from Izar. "Mudbloods, otherwise known as Muggle-borns, are raised in the Muggle world by Muggle parents." Seeing Izar's blank expression, Draco gave a tight laugh, his eyes taunting Izar's lack of knowledge.

Izar immediately felt belittled by this boy.

Draco deepened his tone into that of a superior drawl. "Muggles are non-magical people," he clarified slowly, taking special care to humiliate Izar's intelligence. "They are the pathetic lot of this world. I, a pure-blood wizard, am superior in the Wizarding world. We don't have a drop of Muggle blood in our family line. And you,a Mudblood, are the scum at the bottom of my feet."

Izar sat there numbly, unable to believe something like this could happen here in this world. He thought every wizard was the same…

"Crabbe, Goyle, show this scum out of our compartment. I can't believe father was wrong in his assumptions."

Before Izar could comprehend it, two hands grabbed his arms, hauling him up from his seat. Izar stiffened at the contact, his mind flashing back to the orphanage when the children bullied him. He shut himself down as the two boys pulled him out into the hallway and pushed him to the floor. Izar landed on his knees just as the compartment door slammed shut behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he caught sight of Draco's revolted face before the blinds were pulled shut.

Izar stayed on his hands and knees in the dark hallway. No students were mulling about at the moment. Instead, he could hear their cheery voices coming from the compartments. He bowed his head, staring blankly at the carpeted floor. He finally had a name for non-magical folk. Muggles. Those children in the orphanage were Muggles, the very same ones Izar hated. Muggles… he hated them all.

Yet, apparently, he was just like them according to Draco. Izar was a Muggle-born, a child born to non-magical parents. The very same Muggle parents who abandoned him at the Muggle hell.

Izar hissed between his clenched teeth as his fingers clawed into the carpet. His shoulders shook in suppressed rage and sadness. Draco may be 'purer' than Izar. And pure-bloods may be the superior race, but Izar knew one thing. He would be the best damn Mudblood the Wizarding world had ever seen. He would surpass everything Draco did and he would be more powerful than any pure-blood. Izar wouldn't allow himself to be compared to the filthy Muggles, simply because Izar knew he was better than those vile creatures, those ordinary creatures. He wouldn't be ordinary.

"Er… are you alright, mate? Need a hand there?" Another pale hand was thrust into Izar's face.

His shoulders trembled once more before his head slowly arched up to stare the redhead in the eye. It was a boy about his age, with freckles and second-hand robes. He appeared friendly enough, but Izar wasn't fooled. This may be a pure-blood as well.

The younger redhead backed away hesitantly, his hand falling uncertainly to his side.

"No," Izar whispered, baring his teeth in a soundless snarl. "I don't need help. Not from you; not from anyone." He stood up and brushed passed the stunned redhead.

On his path to prove himself, he wouldn't need anyone. No friends. No help.

Death of Today

Izar still felt a bit cold and shaken as he waited for the hat to finish its song. Despite being bitter and moody, he had taken notice of the beauty Hogwarts presented. It portrayed a warm glow to the students, yet the shadows were also alluring, welcoming an escape to Izar if he needed it. There were probably several places he could find in this castle to hide away from everyone's notice.

He couldn't wait to explore. He couldn't wait to learn and to advance himself ahead of the students in his class.

Knowledge was power. Was it not? As far as Izar knew, it was. The smarter someone was, the harder it was to take him or her down. Intelligent people were difficult to be controlled. Right now, Izar was clueless about the politics in this world, about the magic, the spells, and the people. He didn't know anything about Wizarding traditions or how to interact with his betters. He had a lot to learn in seven years.

His fists clenched as he waited for McGonagall to call his name. He was more than aware of the eyes on his back. He knew they belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. However, Izar refused to let the blond-boy rile him up at school.

"Harrison, Izar," McGonagall spoke sharply, clearly.

Izar maneuvered his way past the unmovable forms of the other first years. He climbed up the wooden stairs and approached the tattered hat. Whatever would transpire here would alter his future. It would either change things for the better or for the worse. A House was a very important factor in the Hogwarts life. But the Sorting Hat was skilled in the art of minds and character. Only the Sorting Hat knew which House Izar would find a home.

Before he sat down on the stool, he met eyes with the Headmaster. It was the first time he had really looked at the Head Table. Izar paused in his advance, feeling the same sensation he had with Draco Malfoy's father, only this time, it was a great deal stronger. Izar swallowed at the sheer amount of static and hair-raising power surrounding the man. Those kind blue eyes twinkled back at Izar, making the man appear ignorant of his own power. The old man was pure power.

Izar continued forward after the Headmaster gave him a warm nod. He had to get a hold of himself. However, even his internal scolding didn't stop the way his body shook at the proximity of the old man.

Just as he sat, he caught a pair of black eyes looking back at him. Another professor, with alluring power similar to that of Draco Malfoy's father, was sitting near the end of the Head Table.

The hat covered his eyes a moment later.