Alright, so here's my idea of Harry actually having 'died' but not really. The Killing Curse did hit, and as he's technically a Horcrux, something must have really screwed around with his soul.

Summary: In an effort to further torture Harry after his Godfather's death, Voldemort let's Harry in on a little secret. He is his Horcrux, a mere item and possession, but as Harry muses on the thought, things don't exactly turn out the way Voldemort expected.

Warnings: Gore, Rape, Slash… stuff. So you don't like, no read. Here are the warnings, so don't flame cause you don't like.


It was a particularly gloomy summer night that young Harry Potter, just shy of sixteen, curled in a sweaty and heaving ball on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Private Drive. The thin blanket that barely provided any sort of warmth or comfort covered the ailed boy as he slept fitfully. Forehead matted with sweat that kept the normally untidy hair planted firmly in place was a significant clue that Harry was having a nightmare. Not just any nightmare, of course. What with the sudden death of his only Godfather, Sirius Black, and then the possession and the increase in mysterious and powerful bond with a Dark Lord, how could Voldemort not mess with the young savior's mind?

Flashes and images moved in and out of Harry's mind like the flicker of candlelight. It was fast, but just slow enough for Harry to see all perfectly. There he was, in that nightmarish room that housed the veil, the very thing that took away Sirius. Harry could see the flash of red light from the Stunning spell that hit Sirius, followed by his agonizingly slow fall into the veil. He moved in slow motion, and Harry could not for the life of him understand why he could not have moved in time to save him if Sirius really had fallen so slowly.

All your fault, a silky voice hissed softly in the back of his mind.

Harry cringed as he rolled around on his bed, covers entangling his body like rope that soon hindered his constant unconscious movements. Whimpering as his nightmares took a different turn, Harry no longer saw his Godfather falling through the ethereal veil, but instead he saw himself standing over the dead and mutilated bodies of his friends. He was covered in their blood, a wide and very deranged smile upon his face as he chuckled darkly. Red eyes had replaced his emerald green, making him almost look like a carbon copy of a much younger version of Tom Riddle, especially since he was without his glasses.

Harry moaned once more in his sleep, body nearly teetering off the edge of his bed, but a snag on the weak blanket had caught on a wire at the edge of his mattress and kept him from falling for the moment.

See what you've done, my pet? the voice continued hypnotically.

The body, or at least the remains, of Ron Weasley was literally in more places than one. His entire torso and head lay at Harry's feet, but his arms and legs were scattered about the room, and with each stub he bled slowly so he would not die slowly. His naked body was covered in purple and yellow cuts that were clearly infected from a painful curse. And, to make matters worse, little worms with tiny, but rather vicious and sharp looking, teeth ate at his skin and slithered into his cuts. Ron's dull eyes stared up at with a silent plea of help. Tears trekked down his cheeks in betrayal.

Hermione Granger was next, and she looked even worse than Ron. She too lay naked. Legs were spread wide and twisted in an uncomfortable way that allowed decent entry into her very visible privates. Aside from blood covering her body from many deep gashes, semen covered her body as well, and from the hateful and betrayed look, Harry knew that this monster version of him had done the unthinkable. He tried not to look anymore, but it was as if he had no sense of will in this nightmare. As his eyes betrayed him, his sight traveled the rest of the way of Hermione's body. Her breast's had been cut off, leaving oozing holes of blood while one of the missing appendages lay by her side while the other had been stuffed into her mouth. Jaw obviously broken, Hermione could only weep silently.

Such an imagination, childe, the voice said, clearly pleased.

"N… no…" Harry whimpered, finally covering his eyes with his hands in a desperate attempt to escape the scene, only to gasp as a spidery fingered hand grasped at his hair, eliciting a cry of pain from both his scalp and scar. Crying out, Harry's hands clawed at the one in his hair in an effort to be free, but a rough jerk had his head twisting painfully around to stare into the demonic eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"Can you see it, Harry?" Voldemort asked calmly, easily holding the squirming boy in place. "Can you see their betrayal and understand it to be true?"

Harry snarled with a renewed vigor as soon as he set eyes on the Dark Lord. "This betrayal is nothing but a dream!" Harry screamed, nearly wrenching a chunk full of hair off as he escaped Voldemort's grasp. "It's all a lie, and I would never do such a thing!"

Red eyes became half lidded in an almost lazy manner as Voldemort sized Harry up. Lifting his hand, and allowing a pleased smirk to grace his face, he made a 'come here' gesture with his finger. Harry went rigid, eyes wide as his body walked over to Voldemort without his approval.

"Sit, my pet," the Dark Lord said delicately, pointing to the ground at his feet. Harry fell to his bottom with an enraged growl, body trembling as he fought with every fiber of his being to deny the orders of his hated enemy. Emerald eyes darkened with hatred as they glared up at the Dark Lord. "Just a simple order to sit, Harry, and even though you fight me every step of the way, you still obey my command." Voldemort's thin smile widened a bit, stretching the skin on his face into a hideous look that made Harry grimace. "Do you know why that is?"

"Because I'm in your mind," Harry spat, teeth bared like a wild animal as the skeletal hand carded into his hair and began to pet him in soothing circles that only brought pain to his scar. Harry groaned in agony as the tip of Voldemort's finger brushed just above his scar. "And bec… because of the possession," Harry whispered weakly, shaking before allowing a sigh to escape as the finger moved away.

"Not entirely, pet."

"My name is Harry!" Harry spat, twisting his head away from the hand that brought so much pain. He made to snap at them with his teeth in hopes of at least causing some damage with his immobile body but an angry hiss and harsh slap to the face stopped any pathetic attack Harry had hoped to make. Cheek stinging from the slap, Harry could barely keep the wince back as Voldemort roughly grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up.

"My poor, poor, pet," Voldemort mocked, sharp nails creating welts on Harry's cheeks as he squeezed Harry's face. "I have allowed this farce to go on for far too long, a farce that I admit I did not know of until recently," Voldemort said with a slight hiss of discontent to his voice. It was obvious the man was not happy when something of grave importance was not made known to him. "Tell me, pet, what do you know of Horcrux's?" Voldemort asked, watching Harry intently.

Harry's face, which had been full of rage and hatred, faltered into a look of confusion. For a moment, a glimmer of remembrance sparked in his eye before blinking out so quickly that anyone who had seen would be sure that they had simply imagined the sight. Harry bit at his lip as he moved his head back, only feeling slightly better as the long fingered hand slipped away from him and with it the pain from his scar. He glanced up at Voldemort and was surprised by how intense the older man was looking at him. He was being judged in a way that was completely foreign to him, and it made him wary.

"I don't know," Harry said, body tensing for a moment as Voldemort raised his hand once more, but instead of caressing him, Voldemort placed his hand under his chin as he stared down at Harry with a contemplative look.

"You may or may not be aware that I spent many years traveling the world," Voldemort said softly after a moment of silence. "Gaining power, followers and, most important of all, information on immortality."

"Dumbledore said there's no true path to becoming immortal," Harry put in, only to yelp as a fast spell hit his body and created numerous cuts. None were deep, nor were they horribly painful, but there were many and they stung. It was more of warning than an actual attack.

"Do not interrupt me," Voldemort breathed dangerously, wand out and aura pulsing much like in the graveyard. It was powerful and suffocating, and easily made Harry wilt under such stress. "Dumbledore is a fool," Voldemort hissed, traces of anger still noticeable. "There are such magic's in this world that senile fool has no clue of, and even if he should have his suspicions, his blindness clouds his mind. Horcrux's, my dear Harry, is such a magic that has led me on the course to immortality." Harry scowled at the use of his name. It sounded like such an insult, as if he didn't even deserve a name. "As you have no knowledge about Horcrux's, shall I sate your curious mind with information? It would be impudent to ignore what I am about to say, pet, especially in view of the fact that it has much to do with you."

Harry frowned at the horrible name Voldemort had deemed him with but still managed a wary nod. He was curious to know what a Horcrux was, especially if it could truly allow the mad man a way to immortality.

"A Horcrux is an item that holds a piece of a soul from a wizard of power." Harry started at that. A piece of a soul? "Ah, I see I have obtained that insatiable curiosity," Voldemort said, pleased. "I remember I was much like that at your age, my pet." Thin finger's once again found their way to Harry's face and began to caress him, uncaring of the blood drops from the welts given earlier. "Such a fiery curiosity. I recall many times wishing for more, wanting knowledge even the darkest of places, but at school all I had was the Forbidden Section of the Library, a place I'm sure you have ventured into as well."

"What's your point?" Harry asked rudely, glaring at the light smack he received for his tone. Honestly, what did the man expect from him? Harry absolutely loathed him.

"Our similarities are no coincidence," Voldemort said, eyes glowing brightly with power that seemed far too smug for Harry's liking. "I'm sure my younger self in the diary you destroyed said just as much. Both with the same grudge carried on by our childhood, both can speak the noble tongue of Slytherin and, of course, we look very much alike."

"Dumbledore said there would be some side effects when you cast the killing curse," Harry spat quickly, not liking where this was going. Honestly, what with the topic of Horcrux's and similarities, you'd think snake face thought that… "You can't honestly think that I have a piece of your soul stuck to mine!" Harry yelped, drawing back in shock.

"No, pet." Red eyes narrowed mockingly. "Your body carries only my soul. Harry Potter is dead. I killed him the moment the Killing Curse hit his little body and you, my pet, are the accidental remains of what happened when Lily Potter's curse activated."

There was a moment of complete and utter silence before Harry burst out laughing. "You've finally lost it, haven't you!" Harry exclaimed loudly, both sadistically gleeful at Voldemort's apparent lapse of judgment and warily. "You really think I'm you?" The thought was more than enough to send Harry into another fit of hysterical giggles.

"Foolish item," Voldemort hissed, shutting Harry up immediately at the sound of such a derogatory name and term for a human. "You are a piece of my soul. You truly believe a baby could survive such an onslaught of magic? Harry Potter died, but a baby is the closest thing, aside from a Thestral, with contact to the spiritual world of the dead. A Horcrux is created when a powerful being kills," Voldemort whispered, hand drawing away at last as he gazed at Harry with a look of disgust, almost as if he weren't good enough to be looked at. "What a wondrous Horcrux it would have been," Voldemort continued, eyes glazing with hatred as he thought of the night of downfall. "The supposed savior of prophecy would have died by my hands to help me create the perfect Horcrux to ensure my survival, but instead I'm left with you." Voldemort sneered. "A defect. So you see, my pet, I will call you what I will, for you are nothing but an object, my object, and everything about you has been a lie."

Harry shook. He had never been one to believe a word Voldemort said, even if the visions Voldemort sent to him and seductive whispers in his head occasionally made him falter, but now, for some reason, a piece of his mind was accepting these accusations. A small piece, but it was still his mind, mind you, and that was a dangerous thing to start believing in.

"No," Harry whispered, looking down. He narrowed his eyes in hopes of trying to find some sort of hope, but with only Voldemort in front of him and he at the Dark Lord's feet, it was a dark moment. "I'm no item," Harry hissed, despite the coldness creeping in on him. "I'm Harry, Harry Pot—"

"Pet," Voldemort interrupted coldly. "Pet, Item, Toy, Possession, Thing, Horcrux," Voldemort hissed out quickly, naming all sorts of names to fit with the thing he truly thought Harry was.

The question was, did Harry did believe it?

"You're lying," Harry spat.

"Ever the stubborn one," Voldemort said fondly. "Just like me as I stood against all those I hated. I had that same dark look in your eye…" Skeletal fingers snatched Harry's glasses, bringing the boy to blindness. "A default, as it is Potter's body and not my own," Voldemort mused, watching Harry blink blearily. "Think on this, my dear Horcrux, and even if you attempt to speak with Dumbledore about this… I wonder, will he even be willing to speak with you?"

Harry looked insulted. Of course the Headmaster would!

"Have you already forgotten last year's events?" Voldemort asked smugly, drinking up the look of rejection and horror on Harry's face. He flicked Harry's forehead that sent him falling back from the force of magic. "Goodnight, my pet."

And with that last word, Harry's dream world dissolved and Harry woke up with a startled gasp. Suddenly aware of what position he was in, Harry let out a startled shriek as he fell off the bed, snag from his blanket finally ripping. Struggling with the blanket, Harry barely made it to the bathroom before he lost the contents of his stomach. Leaning against the toilet and panting, Harry just allowed his body to relax for a moment.

"Tha… that liar," Harry snarled as he glared at himself in the mirror through bleary eyes. What he had heard and what had been done to him was fueling his anger, and the longer he glared at the mirror, the harder it became to restrain it.

But, finally, Harry left the bathroom to obtain his glasses. He couldn't stand not being able to see, and from the dull ache covering his body, and the feel of blood, he knew that whatever had transpired in the dream had carried onto his real body. Hand fumbling on his drawer, and stubbing his toe a few times, Harry exasperatedly put on his glasses but instantly felt better as his vision cleared. Rubbing his eyes to get rid of the sleepies, Harry winced as he brushed his abused cheeks just a bit too hard. Glaring half heartedly at the blood on his hands, Harry exited his room and back towards the shower.

Along the way, however, he ran right into Dudley. The obese boy had gotten over the nightmares and shakes from the Dementors quite a few months ago, and the suspicious glint that had shadowed his eyes had disappeared, but as soon as he came into contact with Harry, that dark glint crawled back into his eyes like a creeping snake. His piggy eyes widened in suspicion as he let out a terrified squeak. Scrambling back, much to Harry's amusement and shock, Dudley flat out ran down the stairs.

"Like Emily Rose," Dudley whimpered just barely loud enough for Harry to hear before he was gone.

Shocked, and not entirely sure of what to make of the situation, Harry just stared at the empty space for a moment before, with a long suffering sigh, entered the bathroom and locked the door. Turning back to the mirror with clear eyes, Harry could understand why Dudley was startled by his sight. His face was covered in small cuts, and the lightning bolt scar on his head was red and bleeding, looking as if it had just been created rather than being on his head for nearly fifteen years.

Not seeing anything that could really help him with the moment, Harry instead took off his clothes and hopped into the shower. He was intent on just relaxing for the moment. He needed a clear mind to think over what had been said, and with the hot water pouring onto his scratched up body and the steam settling around his body, it came rather quickly. Sitting on the smooth floor with the shower head above, Harry began to gently wash the cuts on his body, and to his irritation, the cuts were absolutely everywhere. He probably looked like a doll that had been taken apart and then stitched back together rather messily.

To his surprise, as the time passed, no pounding at the door came or thunderous demands interrupted his time. Still, not one to push his luck, Harry turned the showerhead off and exited the shower. Patting himself down until he was completely dry, and with one last glance at himself in the mirror, Harry exited the bathroom. Glancing around, Harry frowned. His relatives weren't around, but he could hear them downstairs eating breakfast. It was disconcerting not being woken up by a shrill voice to make breakfast or by loud bangs on the door to get out of the shower. And what had Dudley meant earlier by calling him Emily something? Nose wrinkling when he could think of nothing, Harry quickly entered his room and dressed in his oversized pants and long sleeved shirt. There was no need to show off all the cuts on his body, even if they looked better now that they had been washed off.

"Hedwig, are you up to a quick journey?" Harry asked his snowy owl as he settled onto his bed. A rolled up parchment was held loosely in his hand with a quick letter to the Headmaster. It held no information, but was a simple request to talk as it was important.

Hedwig, as soon as she heard her name, stopped grooming herself and turned to look at Harry with a small hoot. Eyes immediately landing on the wrapped parchment, she held out her leg obediently.

"Thanks, girl," Harry murmured as he pet the snowy owl. With a comforting coo, Hedwig lifted her majestic wings and flew out the window with a single beat of her beautiful wings.

Smiling thinly as he watched her disappear, Harry felt it was time to face the music and finally go down stairs. Even though he had been affected by Voldemort's words, he was still hungry, and his stomach made sure to voice its disapproval at being denied food.

"Yea, yea," Harry muttered as he patted his stomach and glided down the stairs on silent feet. To his annoyance, he realized that tiny scratches were also on his feet in places he hadn't seen in the bathroom. "Bugger," Harry sighed as he opened the door to the kitchen.

It was immediate. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as he walked into the kitchen that something was wrong. All noise had come to an abrupt stop, and his relatives weren't even looking at him. In fact, they even made sure they moved their heads or bodies away from him as he walked toward the fridge.

"Er, morning," Harry said uncertainly, only to blink as Dudley flinched, Aunt Petunia made a muffled gasp and Uncle Vernon purpled.

"There are chores on the table!" Vernon barked out without even looking at anyone. His sentence didn't even make sense, but before Harry could get anything out, his purple uncle hastily grabbed his briefcase and stalked out of the house.

There was a tense silence.

"Right then," Harry said quietly, unable to stay in this tense room. Grabbing a few strips of bacon and the list of chores on his table, he left the kitchen, but not without seeing his aunt and cousin tense when he moved. As soon as the door shut behind him, the two began to whisper. Harry, needing to know what was going on, leaned in close to the door.

"…what if it's true?" a voice hissed. "He could kill us all!" The high voice was more than enough for Harry to know that was his aunt speaking.

"Possessed…" the other voice whispered in horror. "Knew he was a freak." Obviously Dudley there.

Harry's heart froze as soon as he heard those words. How did they know? Did Dumbledore tell them? And if he did, why! Bacon and chore list dropping to the floor, Harry all but ran out the door and towards a certain bush where he knew his watcher's watched.

In the house, both Petunia and Dudley Dursley jumped as they heard the bang of a door slamming. Both looking outside, they could only blink stupidly as the freak of the family began talking to a bush. They had always known the boy different, but being insane was not something they could deal with. They loathed the old professor that had dumped this boy with them, and they could only hope that if they said nothing or didn't even look at him, they would be left alone by the demon child. After all, what were you if you were possessed?

"Hey!" Harry all but snarled at the bush. "I need to talk, its important."

The bush rustled but no one removed themselves.

"Hey!" Harry hissed again, hand reaching out to grab the invisibility cloak. The bush moved again, and he could feel the cloth as the person moved away. "What is wrong with you?" Harry asked, hurt that his own watchers wouldn't even talk to him. "I really need to talk to someone."

"Wotcher, Harry," a voice whispered sullenly. The tone was sad and depressed, as well as wary, but Harry knew it was Tonks. "Sorry, kiddo, but no talking. Technically, I'm not allowed to be here without orders from the Ministry. Being a part of Dumbledore's Order makes what we do a bit illegal…" Tonks trailed off, clearly realizing she had begun rambling but stopped as soon as she could.

"But wai…" Harry trailed off as well, and before he knew it, he was already walking back into the house. As soon as the door shut behind him, Harry blinked in shock and ran a distressed hand over his face. A Compulsion Charm had been put on him to get him away all because he had wanted to talk and she wasn't allowed to.

Moving up to his room, Harry allowed a distressed cry to be heard before curling up into a ball on his bed.

"What did I tell you, my sweet Horcrux?"

Harry flinched at the sound of Voldemort's voice. Ghostly hands wrapped around his throat and pulled him against an invisible force. Harry's breath hitched as he realized that he was being held by a phantom Dark Lord on his bed. Making to break free, two invisible arms wrapped around him tightly and pulled him close and a hand covered his mouth as tears began to leak out of his eyes.

"No help will come, pet. All you will have is me. But really, is that so bad? We are the same person, are we not?"

Harry couldn't make sound, nor could he move other than the rough jerk of a quick struggle before being held down. He knew that Voldemort really wasn't in his room and was instead sending out magic thanks to his scar, but it was still frightening, and Harry knew he was all alone to deal with this.

But as the other phantom hand began to pet his chest and stomach, Harry screamed within his mind for help.


Later that day, when at last the invisible phantom of Voldemort's magic disappeared, Harry left his room in a hurry. He didn't even care to put on socks or shoes; he just bolted out of the room as if it were covered in roaches. Harry ignored the flinches of his aunt and cousin as he passed them and ran out the door to who knows where. Harry didn't bother to wonder why Voldemort's magic had finally left him alone but figured snake face was probably busy taking over the world with another attack.

As Harry fled the house, he knew his watcher was following. With the sense of eyes on his back and the "Bloody hell!" from Tonks as she stubbed her toe, it wasn't that hard.

Harry fled to the one place he knew would be abandoned, even though it was summer. Dudley's little gang of miscreants had damaged the park beyond recognition. Grass had been ripped and burned, the chains of the swings lay on the ground and the slide had been spray painted. It was pitiful, and it was a wonder why the town had yet to fix it. Still, it managed to serve its purpose and provided a place of solitude, even if Tonks was trailing him.

Harry settled on the base of the slide and hunched forward, hands on his head and knees in his face. "Tonks," he whispered pleadingly. "Please, I just need someone to talk to."

The only answer he received was the rustling of a robe.

Harry glared into his hands, anger beginning to bubble. "Fine," he bit out, "then I'll just talk." He lowered his hands and threw an acid look at the spot he knew Tonks stood. "Voldemort gave me another visit," he said nastily, unable to hide the sadistic joy when he heard a frightened gasp. "Yes, gave me a nice vision as well, the bastard. I was standing over the decimated bodies of my friends, enjoying their pain. Can you imagine it, Tonks, being the one to mutilate and betray your friends?"

There was no answer.

"Oh, I'm sure people have had dreams like these before, but have they ever been sent to you by a Dark Lord bent on killing you?" Harry asked bitingly. He smiled grimly. "And I couldn't do anything but obey him in my dream, Tonks. I was his puppet, his… thing to control, and he constantly threatens that he can control me in the real world." He glared hard at the spot. "Yes, he tricked me into going to the Department of Mysteries and because of that Sirius died."

"Stop it," came a soft whisper that could have easily been missed, but Harry had been listening carefully.

"Why?" he asked bluntly. "Voldemort is supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards alive, so what's to stop him from controlling me and killing someone? He teases me with that," Harry told the invisible spot angrily. "Can you not see why I need to talk?"

"Be quiet, Harry," Tonks said harshly.

Harry pursed his lips. "What's to stop him from controlling me and even killing yo—"


Harry's face darkened to a look of absolute loathing. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Clicking his mouth shut, he stood up fluidly. With one last glare, Harry left the park, no longer caring about the presence behind him.


Living with the shame of family is never an easy thing, especially if you are a Black. Generations upon generations of Blacks have had far too many mess-ups that have darkened the family name with shame. Nymphadora Tonks, niece of Bellatrix Lestrange and cousin of Sirius Black, has had it hard.

When she was young, people would do all they could to make her angry. Testing to see if she would snap like her dear aunt. When Tonks learned to stand up for herself as a child, it wasn't so bad, but when she became a near adult, Sirius had been arrested, which only further darkened her family name. She was distrusted, but that wasn't what hurt. What hurt was that the one person in her pathetic family that stood up and loved her had been taken away for betrayal.

It was heart wrenching. She was overcome with grief, but then year's later hope was given when she learned that her cousin was innocent. It had been a blessing to be able to speak to her favorite cousin and get to know him again. Tonks and Sirius had grown very close, but when he had been taken away again, this time for good, grief once again overcame her. Now, at this moment, she was mourning her dead cousin and, even though it was completely unfair and she knew it, she blamed Harry.

Part of Dumbledore's orders was to not make it obvious that she was guarding him, but if he made to talk then she could speak back if the situation was safe. However, she just couldn't speak to him. Again, it was horribly unfair and even childish of her, but when he began to tell her that the Dark Lord had talked to again, it sent dark shivers down her spine. It sounded like the boy was listening to whatever it was bloody wanker was telling him, but didn't Harry know how dangerous it was? Just look at what happened last time!

Tonks wished and prayed to not be here, even as her heart cracked at Harry's heart broken and lost look, but when he threatened her, she could not allow that to slide. The boy who had gotten her family killed would not speak like that to her.

It was hard to remember that Harry really was a child, but there was just something about him that screamed leader and adult. When Harry acted weak, one could not help but feel the same, and it was frightening. Tonks couldn't deal with that, not now, maybe not even once she had time to heal, and it had pushed her over the edge. She had done something unforgivable.

She had forcibly silenced a child who was reaching out for hope… and it hurt, but she would still do nothing.

It was several hours later that the charm had worn off, but Harry's anger had yet to burn away. He stalked through the neighborhood the whole day with an uncaring attitude. Even as the neighbors edged away from him and his feet began to grow sore, he still trudged on until it was dark. He didn't dare go back to the Dursley's. He couldn't stand to look at them, nor could he go into his pathetic room where he withstood the torture without help.

However, while Harry planned on not even returning to the house that night, his watcher had other plans. For the first time since she silenced him those many hours ago, she spoke, telling him in a wary tone that he needed to go back to the house.

"Bugger off," Harry snarled, easily giving Tonks the look of loathing he usually reserved for Snape or Voldemort. He would never forgive her.

"You need to go back to the house for your own safety," the voice of Tonks persisted.

Harry ignored her. That was another thing he was angry about. Despite what she had already done, she didn't even have the decency to reveal herself to him. It was almost as if she were too afraid. Well, if she was, served her right, but why she was afraid he would never know.

There was an audible sigh and then a rustle of robes. "Damn," Tonks sighed tiredly, sounding as if she couldn't deal with this.

"You bitch!" Harry roared, lunging at the spot he knew Tonks was standing. No way would he give her a chance to cast another spell on him. Arms out and grabbing frantically at the fabric of the invisibility cloak and body weight crashing into the smaller form of Tonks, the two went sprawling on the ground, but Harry was at least on top. Ripping the cloak off to reveal Tonks' face, Harry grabbed her throat, too overcome with anger. In the back of his mind, as he glared down at Tonks' pasty face that had dark circles around her eyes and a haunted look, he could feel Voldemort taking a peek, even edging him on. "What is wrong with everyone?" Harry spat brokenly, trying hard not to blink as he felt tears swell up in his eyes.

God, all he wanted was to talk, to get away from those who loathed him, but when someone was going to actually force him, he was not going to take that.

"Choke her, my pet. Kill the filthy mudblood that dared touch my possession," the dangerous silky voice whispered.

Harry choked on a sob, tears finally falling and landing on the female aurors face. His hands shook as his grip tightened unconsciously. The young woman beneath him grasped at his fingers, wand forgotten by her side and blue eyes wide with fear, shock and even a little guilt. Her spiky hair changed colors so quickly it was just a blur, but Harry wasn't aware of any of this. His eyes were closed, breath caught in his throat, and he was afraid.

"Stupefy," came a sharp voice.

A bolt of red light blasted Harry off Tonks and onto the side walk in an awkward sprawl. Even in unconsciousness, Harry displayed erratic breathing that signified heightened fear. Tonks, who was still inhaling large mouthfuls of air, jerked up with wide eyes.

"Well, well," said a dangerously silky voice. Severus Snape stalked over to the fallen auror, wand pointed at Harry's unconscious form with an ugly smirk. His black eyes darted between the two forms for a moment before landing on Tonks. "Having a little problem with handling a teenager, Nymphadora?" he purred.

"Shut it!" Tonks hissed as she massaged her throat. "Don't call me that."

Snape's eyes narrowed in agitation. His lips thinned out, creating a very nasty smile as he studied the frazzled metamorphagus. Ah, now he could see it now. Instead of snapping at him for mocking her for being unable to handle a child, she snapped at him for calling her by her first name because she was in mourning. It was a defensive move that was often used by those who were depressed when they made a mistake, but Nymphadora was an adult, and she had been given an important job to guard the spoiled golden boy. Severus did wonder what caused the child to snap. His eyes moved back to Harry, taking in his form.

"How did the boy receive so many cuts?" he demanded with an annoyed hiss.

It was frustrating to see the woman dart her eyes over to the boy in surprise. Tonks bit her lip before looking away quickly, almost as if she couldn't bear to even look at him.

"Now isn't this a treat," Snape said mockingly. "For too long has the golden brat gone on without a good scolding for his actions, but I am surprised," he said, eyes glittering sadistically, "that a grown woman is actually foolish enough to sink to a child's level and blame the boy for her cousin's death."

Tonks opened her mouth, face already scrunched up to let out an angry retort, but Snape interrupted her.

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "You may know deep down that it is not truly the boys fault, but you still can't help but loath him for allowing Black into a situation that took him away from you not once, but twice." Snape glided toward Tonks and hoisted her up from the ground in a painful grip. "Listen closely, girl," he sneered. "Whether or not Potter is the one at fault for Black's death or attacking you, you as the adult are responsible for handling the situation with care. I saw you look at the boy in astonishment when I mentioned the cuts."

Tonks groaned as Snape dug his yellow nails into her skin hard enough to bring small droplets of blood.

"Couldn't handle the mere sight of him, could you?" Tonks glared up at Snape's sneering face. "Couldn't handle the sight of a murderer."

"You are such a bastard," Tonks spat. "If anyone's the murderer, it's you!" Snape tightened his grip, dark smile lengthening as he heard her cry out.

"Very mature, Nymphadora. Resorting to name calling like an outraged child. I'm sure Black would be proud." Tonks glared acidly. Her sunken eyes held hate and despair, and it was disgusting to look at. This woman knew nothing of true despair, nor did her hate hold any truth. He threw her back onto the ground. "Get out of my sight."

Opening her mouth to argue, but soon realizing that this was what she had wanted all day, Tonks apparated away in an instant, but not before she looked away with a look of despair.

As soon as the woman was gone, Snape turned back to the unconscious form of Harry and strode over to grab him by the scruff of the neck and lift him up to see his face better. It was covered in cuts, though none were deep or too noticeable, but it still should have been obvious to the young auror that something was wrong.

"Idiot boy," Snape said irritably. Snape had always prided himself on having quick reflexes and a good sense for when danger is there, so he knew he would scold himself later when the term jumping out one's skin applied for him at this exact moment. Potter, whom had been completely stiff and unmoving, jumped to life; his eyes glowing red and a smirk worthy of the dark lord gracing his face as he gripped Snape in a tight hold on his arm.

"Take care of my property," came the hissed response from the boys' mouth before Potter once again became slack.

Snape remained frozen; some part of his subconscious mind thankful for the anti-muggle charms, and just stared at the young man. Remembering he had to breathe, Snape allowed a tense moment to allow himself to relax and go over what just happened. The boy had just been possessed (again) by the dark lord and had technically given him a command. Snape felt his teeth clench as he felt the brand on his arm slither about like poison on his skin. Despite the fact that it had been Potter's body, it was still the dark lord's voice and intent, and as his slave, Snape had no choice but to obey.

With a flick of his wand (which was more snappish than usual), Snape had the boy levitating beside him, arms and legs dangling like a rag doll as he floated alongside Snape and into the Dursley home. Upon entering, the large lump of a cousin fled and the sorry excuse of an aunt sucked in her breath as he stalked by her, her body trembling and knees buckling.

Eyes darting toward a rackety looking door (and was that a cat flap?) with a sharp glare, the door burst open all on its own. The white owl that was inside the room hooted indignantly upon his entrance, her large wings fluttering in agitation before fixing Snape with a piercing look. Snape barely paid the owl any mind. Instead, he gently placed Potter on the bed on his back so he could look over the boy more thoroughly. His lip curled with disdain, loathing each moment he had to spend with the wretch, but he wasn't a fool, and he wouldn't leave this child without giving and receiving some answers.

Snape raised his wand over Potter's body, stopping short as red eyes snapped open. He paused, more out of fear than shock, and carefully lowered his wand. "Good boy," his Master crooned, those evil eyes staring intently into Snape's black abyss eyes. With a smirk, Potter's body once again slackened and went back to its unconscious state, leaving Snape to glare at the un-possessed boy.

With snarl, Snape conjured a reasonably comfortable chair to sit on until the boy woke up, for at the moment, there was nothing for him to do. The warning had been clear; he was not to heal the boy. Whatever it was that Potter did or said, he would have to deal with the punishment given by the dark lord.

It was barely an hour later that Harry awoke with a painful groan. He stretched carefully, body sore before his eye lids opened slowly. He paused as he took in a sour potions master before sighing. "Professor," he greeted dully, sitting up and getting into a crisscross position. He yawned widely and cracked his neck, looking far too ruffled.

Snape waited impatiently as Harry rubbed his dark circled eyes. "You don't seem too surprised to see me, Potter," he said carefully.

Harry smiled thinly. "Just because I'm not in control doesn't mean I don't see what happens."

"Why has the Headmaster not been informed of this?" Snape demanded. If the boy was being possessed anytime the dark lord wanted then the Headmaster needed to know. Not just the boy, but his relatives and the Order guard were all in danger.

"He knows," Harry said, gazing at Snape in surprise. He blinked sleep deprived eyes and yawned again. "He told the Dursley's too." Harry looked away for a moment. "You wouldn't happen to have any secret potion or Occlumency technique that can keep Vold…" he trailed off at Snape's glare before saying, "the dark lord out of my mind, would you?"

"There is no potion in existence to do such a thing and if you had even attempted to learn Occlumency you would have learned how to keep your mind protected." Harry chuckled at Snape's waspish tone. "Something funny, Potter?"

"Your tone," Harry said, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed unblinkingly at his professor. "It's always the same with me… always so angry. Tell me, do you get off on taking out your childish rage on the son of James Potter?"

Snape's face, which held a neutral expression, turned absolutely livid as he gazed at Harry with murderous eyes. His right hand twitched, itching to curse the boy, but a flash of red in those bright emerald eyes gave him pause. "Who am I dealing with at the moment?" he asked harshly.

"Just me," Harry said with a small smile, pupils undulating with hidden, and very foreign, power. "He's busy right now. Something about a meeting, but since you're here I'm guessing you weren't invited, but I'm sure you're used to the kind of treatment."

Snape watched Harry with a newfound wariness. He might loath the boy, claim that the son was just as bad as the father, but he knew that this was not the young Potter's usual character. The boy had a childish and immature temper, and could have his moments of dull sarcasm, but he had never outwardly attacked Snape, nor had he ever spoken in such a way.

"Just as I'm sure you are used to being the dark lord's personal toy," Snape said softly, watching carefully.

Eyes flashed and fists tightened, but it was a natural reaction from anyone who was angry, especially a teen, but Harry only tilted his head in a curious expression before he yawned once more and looked away in an almost bored manner.

Ah, Snape could see what the boy was doing. Everything about Potter's actions spoke of hypocrisy from the previous action. This was a different game Potter was trying to play, but he was young and this was new to him. Potter had a dominate nature, but now someone was in control, and it was frightening to the boy. It was hard enough already knowing that a powerful madman was after his life, but possession was a whole new thing. Potter's life was starting to spin out of control, and it was taking his control and sanity with him.

"Potter, look at me," Snape commanded dangerously.

Scoffing, Harry turned his emerald gaze on black abyss eyes. "Yes?" he asked stonily.

Snape leaned forward, looking far more intimating than usual. His voice, which was a simple whisper, held a deadly seriousness that demanded nothing but the truth. "What has the dark lord been telling you?"

Snape leaned back after giving the demand, allowing the boy to feel a certain calm when having his own space. He watched with intent eyes, waiting to hear all the mental games the boy was forced to play. That would give him an idea of what he was dealing with.

Harry sighed as he gazed at his stern teacher, taking in the fierce face and folded arms. "Why does it matter what Voldemort said to me?" Harry asked, this time ignoring the warning glare for using the name.

"It matters, Potter," Snape growled, "because there are people risking their neck to protect you, and you, in your selfishness, are allowing him to manipulate you once more without a thought towards others. Now tell me what he has been whispering to you!" he barked.

Harry rolled his head back, reflecting on why Snape's usual intimidation was no longer working on him. He had always hated the man but had always held a certain fear and tenseness when he was spoken to with that hatred, but was he so used to Voldemort's poisonous whispers that Snape's waspish tone no longer had its desired effect.

"What has he said, what has he said," Harry mulled over, licking his dry lips while his green eyes stared at the ceiling. "Hm, yes, what has he said?" His lips upturned slightly as those brilliant green eyes rolled about, taking everything in before landing on Snape. A childish sounding giggle escaped him before he looked away as his eyes began to water. "Damn it," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes, but more tears kept coming. "Damn it, damn it!" Harry hissed, now running vigorously at his face. What was happening? He had much more control than this, especially in front of this bitter man, so why was he crying?

Snape waited patiently, eyes studying the boy in front of him. Snape had seen various minds unravel before him –pureblood, half-blood, muggle and muggleborn – and now he was seeing the supposed savior of the wizarding world crack, and there was truly nothing anyone could do about it. The dark lord had taken a personal interest, but something seemed almost off. The boy was not one to fall easily, but there were still so many things one had to equate. How long had the dark lord truly been speaking with the boy, what had he whispered, how much abuse had the boy suffered physically and mentally and, most important of all, what was it that finally made the boy tick?

Harry gave a deep sigh as he finally got control of his tears and just stared blankly at Snape, his mind wandering. "Yes, yes, what has he told me?" he murmured.

"Your insolent mind may be near its breaking point, Potter," Snape said softly, that deadly tone always present, "but we both know that you have yet to truly see even the edges of insanity and lunacy." Again Harry's lips quirked up, giving him the look of a deranged child that could see something the adult couldn't. "Speak, Potter, now." Ah, so the deadly tone had finally made its way to a threatening hiss. Nice to see that some things never changed.

"Speak," Harry mimicked, eyes glazing over.

Snape's face darkened and black eyes glittered dangerously. "Potter," he said sternly, watching for a reaction. There was none. Great, the boy had fled into his subconscious, and there just happened to be a dark lord there as well. Snape made a move to forcibly snap the boy out of his stupor, but before he could even fully lift his wand he felt a small sting from his dark mark. Ah, another warning.

It seemed that their master was playing favorite.

"Very well, Potter. It would seem that you are on your own." And with that, Snape disapparated.

As soon as the sullen man had left, Harry let out an annoyed sigh as his eyes retained their normal sheen and no longer held a dull, glazed look. Nicely done, my pet.

Harry shuddered and fell flat on his back, tears once again cascading down his cheeks once he felt Voldemort's presence truly leave. The man couldn't constantly be in his mind. He did have a world to try and take over after all.

"Horcrux," Harry whispered to himself, lifting a hand above him and rubbing his fingers together. He was trying to make sense of it, feeling himself and find out what was and wasn't real. "Who am I?"

Tom Riddle…

Harry jumped, nail accidently digging into his pinky and causing a tiny trail of blood. "No," Harry moaned, having thought he would have a little alone time. He waited impatiently for the sadistic snake man to say more to him, but when nothing came, Harry searched his mind and found no trace of the other. His mind was his own for the moment. "Speaking to myself, am I?" And just wasn't that sad? No, not the talking to one's self, that wasn't what was sad.

What was sad was that Tom Riddle sounded so right in his mind.


Wow. I've been working on this thing for months now, and damn I feel proud. Don't worry too much, to those who know me, this story won't be long at all. Three chapters (long chapters) in total, so it won't take me years to finish this. I expect maybe two months at the most since I do work two jobs and go to school, so again, don't worry too much.

About the character Tonks; yea, I know she's a little put of character, but eh - she's grieving.

I hope you all enjoyed this! Please leave big, juicy reviews!