This fic will be very dark. I warn you now, there will be mass genocide, torture, some graphic sexual situations (there will be warnings – though I am loath to put them in as it ruins the flow of writing), concepts borrowed from other areas such as comics, manga and games like spells, combat scenes and techniques, tools and the like. I will endeavour to give each chapter the correct declarations at the bottom of the page.

Pairing: Voldemort/Harry

Summary: He didn't know why or what he was doing, but he was trying to save her, he was just doing it the wrong way. Hary Potter survived the end of the world and went back to show him the way. Dumbledore could go hang. Even if all the magical world were to hate and revile him, he would help Voldemort destroy Muggle-kind, before they destroyed Mother Gaia, again.



The dark citadel loomed up in the darkness, startlingly there where as a moment before it had not been through the sheets of hammering grey rain and growling dark clouds. A vicious and bitter wind lashed against the proud stone as if to wear it away through sheer savage rage, yet the stone gave no quarter and remained defiantly jutting up into the sky, its multi-pannelled windows foggy and glowing with torch and candle light within. Promising warmth and shelter to those splashing their way through the treacherous forest and half hidden paths, perhaps a glass of wine and a hot meal should the evening's news prove good. To those naïve enough not to know who resided within.

Lucius Malfoy glanced over his shoulder to make sure his silent companion was still following him, the figure in the heavy dark green cloak was following silently, his feet barely making either sound or imprint on the rain soaked mud. Perhaps a little hysterically, the twenty-three year old wondered if he was using a spell to stop his feet from getting dirty and resolved to look for it if he survived the night.

Two weeks ago, his Manor Wards chimed in the middle of meeting with his now Fiancée's father, one of many that he had attended in order to convince the man of his desire, intentions and eligibility to marry his youngest daughter Narcissa Black. Alarmed that someone had managed to penetrate his Father's Warding, never mind the fact that the Warning had contacted Lucius instead of his father which could only mean one thing, he had hurried home, wand at the ready. There, in the parlour, stranger had been sat quite calmly, his wand on the lacquered teak coffee table two feet away from him, writing a letter on his finest parchment with an albino peacock feather quill, a parchment which he then promptly handed over to Lucius when the blond demanded to know why he was in his home and how in Merlin's name he got there. The stranger never spoke, not told his name or where he came from, he just insisted, again and again, that he needed to speak with the Dark Lord. Fed up to the back teeth of the man, and his surprisingly alive father's snide commentary regarding his presence, Lucius had written to his Master to inform him of the stranger's vehement desire to meet.

The stranger produced an odd silver locket encrusted with emeralds that positively reeked of dark magic and added it to the youngest Malfoy's missive before vanishing again. The blond had somewhat hysterically wondered if the stranger was attempting to seduce the Dark Lord before brushing the idea off as purely ridiculous.

Barely a day later a response was dropped into Lucius's morning tea, the Dark Lord wished to meet the Stranger and any actions he took would be on his, Lucius's, head.

"Hurry up! The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting," the blond hissed as he stalked towards the citadel, receiving the distinct impression that he was being given a Look of some kind from under the cowl of that cloak, the cloak he had not yet seen the stranger remove. He unsettled the Malfoy Heir, unsettled him so very badly, more than his Master ever had. There was just a... a taste to the man's presence that made his insides twist with discomfort, his posture and mannerisms only compounded that unease, he never spoke, he was silent, kept his face and hands covered, Lucius had never seen him eat or drink, he came and went like a shadow in and out of the Mansion and never once triggered a Ward or a Trap or an Enchantment save for that first one which the Pureblood now knew to have been invoked on purpose to catch his attention. His attention. Not his father's, not the man who had been in the study on the second floor writing yet another missive to his Mistress in Bulgaria who had not even noticed anything amiss until he encountered his son drinking rather freely from his finest collection of Scotch Whiskey.

Flicking his Wand, Lucius accessed the Wards and announced his presence, allowing it to taste his Dark Mark before the heavy oak doors with their wrought iron bars swung open, granting himself and the stranger entrance into the Porch. Sighing gratefully to be out of the despicable weather, Lucius lowered his sodden hood and shook his long hair out, flicking his wand out to cast a variety of cleaning and drying Charms upon his person and glancing over his shoulder to the silent Stranger, twitching slightly at his clean and dry appearance despite the fact he had not moved nor spoken since they entered the Citadel. This man was bad for his health.

The Porch was a small space with a high ceiling, a flight of stone stairs leading up to the first floor were the prominent feature, the walls had brackets and hooks for hanging up cloaks and torches lined the walls providing light. It was cold and impersonal and Lucius felt his anxiety rise exponentially as he hung his cloak up on the hooks provided and started to climb the staircase to where the Dark Lord would be waiting. The soft scuffing sound behind him gave reassurance – though he wasn't sure this was the right word – that the stranger was obediently following close behind.

The corridor of the first floor lead along the side of the building, another flight of stairs leading up and two doors on the inside wall, again, torches lined the high walls as the windows provided no light. Knowing full well the Dark Lord would be in the throne room, Lucius ignored the doors, one leading into the kitchen and the other to a third flight of stairs that led down into the bowls of the Citadel into the Dungeons.

The second floor had the dining room and the drawing room and were summarily ignored as Lucius continued on to the third flight of stairs which would take him to the Library, the Library was two floors large so he carried onto the fifth floor which was the Throne room and paused at the top of the stairs.

"The Dark Lord is within this room," he explained to the stranger who came to a stop silently and was now listening expectantly, "I do not like you but any actions you take within that room shall reflect upon me and be my responsibility so I shall warn you of this now: the Dark Lord is not patient and he is not merciful, should you insult him, your life is forfeit where as mine shall be torturous. You will behave in his presence, you will bow upon entering and not speak unless spoken to, you will not argue or backchat, complain or brown nose," the blond listed sharply, "Do not fidget, and above all else, do – not – lie. The Dark Lord always knows when he is being lied to."

The stranger nodded solemnly and Lucius could only guess that it would be the best he would get out of him, huffing anxiously, he turned on heel and continued to the Throne room, knocking politely upon the door and waiting to be acknowledged by his Lord.

"Enter Lucius and Guest," a sibilant voice commanded from the otherside of the wood and, swallowing against his dry throat, the blond pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

Patience had never been one of his virtues and he had very few of them in all honesty that he took a small measure of pride in the ones he did practice. It would surprise his Followers if they knew how familiar he was with the Muggle Religion of Catholicism, the ever devout Mrs Cole, the Matron of his childhood orphanage, had industriously attempted to lead them 'into the light and love of the Lord', and on occasion, beat the fear of God into them.

Seven holy Virtues to oppose seven deadly Sins.

His only Virtues, Diligence and Chastity, facing against the six of his Sins, Pride, Wrath, Greed, Gluttony, Lust and Envy. A cruel smirk played upon his skin pale lips, how Mrs Cole would weep if she knew, a shame that the foolish bint was long dead and buried. He would have enjoyed witnessing her fear, how she begged him, not her precious God, for mercy and salvation. And how he would mercifully grant her that salvation with a flare of green light and two softly spoken words. Lost in thought, the Dark Lord almost missed the sound of harsh whispering outside his throne room, arching a thin eyebrow, he straightened in his throne, shaking off thoughts and fantasies of things best not aired in front of the minions, tapping his cheek with a long finger as he listened to the young Malfoy Heir's hissed instructions.

Yes, he smirked. Yes, Lord Voldemort always knew when you were lying.

A knock on the door spurred the Dark Lord into making himself a little more comfortable on his throne, arranging himself to look suitably intimidating and powerful, "Enter Lucius and Guest," he commanded once he felt he had achieved a suitable position.

A breath and then the doors opened, Lucius Malfoy stalking in and bowing lowly, his white blond hair gleaming with gold and red highlights in the glow of the torches that lined the cold and impersonal chamber. But it wasn't the Pureblood Aristocrat that had his attention. It was the thin, silent figure in the heavy green cloak stood slightly behind him, straight backed, awaiting acknowledgement. He did not bow and Lord Voldemort felt more than a little twinge of anger at the blatant disrespect he was being given from this stranger who had been so determined to gain audience with him, determined enough to hand him one of his Horcrux, the one he felt had been protected the best out of all. Whoever this stranger was, he, or she, knew of his activities if they were sending him such things along with a request to meet, and knew it would get his attention.

"So this is your mysterious Guest, Lucius. They do not seem like much," he hissed, allowing disappointment to colour his tone and watched in vague amusement as the blond tensed, no doubt expecting the Crucio he feared his Master would bestow upon him for wasting his time in such a fashion.

"My Lord, he is not without skill. He was able to enter into Malfoy Manor without triggering any of the Wards," he explained anxiously and the Slytherin smirked, practically tasting his terror and revelling in it.

"And yet he had neither spoken a word nor removed his cloak. Did you even try to uncover his identity or did you hope he would be able to dispose of me?" the Dark Lord purred maliciously, the blond looked up in horror, his silvery grey eyes wide and sheened with terror, "Crucio," he intoned, flicking the Torture Curse at his young follower and enjoying the way he shrieked and writhed across the cold stones of the throne-room floor. He was fully aware that the blond held no such intentions, but he still held the man under it long enough to get his point across, to see that famed Malfoy flawlessness thoroughly shattered and dishevelled before cancelling the curse and flicking his wand at the door, opening it, "Get out of my sight Lucius. Return to the hole you crawled out of," he sneered, watching as the blond bowed low and retreated from the throne room as if the hounds of hell were nipping his heels. He did so enjoy destroying beautiful things, he idly wondered in the back of his mind how long it would take to destroy young Lucius's beauty.

Throughout the whole exchange, the stranger had not flinched, nor had he moved, leaving Lord Voldemort to study him as the doors swung shut with a shuddering bang behind Lucius's retreating back. The chamber was bathed in silence as the two sized each other up, or rather, Lord Voldemort glared at the hooded stranger, trying to get a feel for how much of a threat he may be while the other figure merely waited for him to finish.

"Speak your piece, stranger, before I decide you aren't worth the second hand air you breathe," the Dark Lord sneered.

There was a moment of silence before the stranger reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object, too small to be a wand, and idly threw it at the Dark Lord's feet. The heavily scuffed gold gleaming in the torch light while the cracked face of a black stone bearing a curious triangle with a bisected circle crudely carved upon it mockingly winked up at the Dark Lord. Red eyed observed the stone before lifting coldly to the stranger who held out a rolled parchment, again wordlessly.

He wrestled with himself, contemplating just murdering this man in front of him, he knew too much already and yet he was returning the objects, Horcruxes intact, and was not yet holding them over his head. Yet he had not spoken a word.

Flicking his wand, he summoned the roll of parchment and at the same time conjured ropes to bind the stranger who barely reacted, simply looking down briefly to assess the spell before brushing off any concerns. Grudgingly, the Dark Lord felt some respect for his cool headedness, at the same time as it utterly infuriated him.

Testing the paper for potions or charms or curses, the Dark Lord uncurled it and began reading the plain black ink missive – again, written on young Lucius's best stationary.

Dark Lord Voldemort,

There are a number of things that could have happened if you are reading this right now, one of which being that I have handed this paper over along with two of your Horcrux, or you have attacked me and I have fled and left this behind to warn you that I have two of your Horcrux within my possession and know the locations of all the others and their means of destruction.

He looked furiously at the stranger, his magic lashing out into the visible spectrum as a seething broiling crimson aura, the man merely shrugged a shoulder as if to say 'well it was a possibility'. Biting his tongue and his homicidal impulses, Voldemort turned his attention back to the missive.

If the latter is the case, I would like to arrange a meeting with you, alone, in which to discuss the current problems with the world at large and how best to solve them between us. Do not misunderstand me, this is much bigger than Muggle-Borns and Blood-Traitors and much more dangerous that anyone has yet to realise. Please meet me at the Dungeon club in West Kirby, Liverpool, on Thursday eighteenth of October nine O'clock in the evening, the barman Kaleb will have set a room aside for us. Don't worry about dress code, the Dungeon is a Magical Establishment though I would suggest not looking like a Dark Lord unless you want Aurors and the Order of Flaming Turkeys descending upon us.

Turkeys... he would have to remember that one for the next time he encountered Albus, the man's face would be rather humorous upon hearing that rather... apt description of his pathetic little group of freedom fighters, Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors. However, this news of something much worse than them and more dangerous, made him uneasy. He eyed the stranger again who was now attempting to scratch his ear through his cloak using his shoulder, a hairless eyebrow rose at the sight before he shook it off and returned to the letter.

If it is the former and I am currently stood in front of you, may I have your permission to use my wand in which to communicate? Some pleasantries between myself and a branch of the muggle Government have rendered me mute through the removal of my vocal cords.

Mute? The muggle Government was rendering Wizards mute?

He checked the letter and discovered that no more was written, not even a name, and yet this man obviously knew him well enough to not only know where he hid his Horcruxes, how to get through the enchantments, how best to contact him and garner his attention, and that having a wand bared without permission in his presence was just inviting a swift death. He was not sure he liked or appreciated being known so well, it was one of the reasons he never allowed a Death Eater into his personal council, aside from the fact that none of them were even close to his level.

He flicked his wand and banished the ropes, "You may use your wand," he told the ma who nodded briefly, scratching his ear with a dragon-hide glove.

Hm, a Holly wand? A wand well suited to protective magics, overthrowing old authorities, revolution and believed to bring success in business or endeavours, good against evil spirits, angry elementals, deadly poisons and lightning. He wondered what core the stranger had, it would reveal a lot about his character when combined with such a wood.

A simple flick conjured long red ribbons that twisted themselves into words in mid-air, ahh, so that was how he intended to communicate.

"Thank you," the writing stated simply, "What do you want to know?" it continued.

"What is this threat?" he asked immediately, waving the parchment as an example, the stranger nodded as if he expected the question and conjured more ribbons that twisted into words.

"The original source of all our problems. Muggles themselves," the ribbons explained and Voldemort laughed.

"Ridiculous! They're weak, ineffectu-," Whatever else the Dark Lord was about to say was silenced by the sound of a gunshot from the tip of the stranger's wand, the ribbons writhed within the air and formed new words.

"One would have thought you had more sense than Dumbledore," the scathing words wrote, effectively silencing the Dark Lord more out of rage than anything else, "You are familiar with the Hiroshima Bombing? You went there, observed the damage, felt the magic. Imagine what would happen if the Muggles dropped one of them in every city upon the planet?" All the blood drained out of his already bone white face, leaving it almost grey and transparent, his heart gave a lurch at the memory of how Hiroshima felt in the wake of the muggle bombing. "You remember." It didn't bare thinking about to imagine what would happen if the bombs hit the rest of the world. "Just as I remember."

"What do you want?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"I want your help in killing every last Muggle on the face of this planet," the ribbons told him, "Before they destroy this planet."

"How can you be so sure? Explain yourself."

The figure shook his head and stepped forward, "It would be easier to just show you," the ribbons twisted as he pulled a glove off and reached out, touching the Dark Lord's hand before he could pull it away.

His mind imploded.

Hogwarts in ruins, burning, bodies strewn across the blackened lawns. Children with their chests blown out, lungs dribbling from their mouths. Hagrid sprawled across the grass in several pieces, entrails stretched out in macabre wings. / Diagon Alley ablaze, genderless people in thick rubber suits with guns storming through the curtains of thick black smoke, the rattatattata of firing mechanisms tearing through the air, men, women and children screaming as their flesh bubbled and burned and charred, bullets preventing them from escaping. Gringotts - / A windowless metal room, cold stainless steel tables, a pure white horse laid out like a morbid butterfly, silver blood collected in vats as white hands picked through pale entrails, heedless to the still living Unicorn's twitching./ clouds, an orange sky, grey ash drifting down like air as the sky burned... / Silver descending down - "...can't use that Freaky Nonsense anymore..." - pain and a spurt of crimson, terror, magic, gurgling and then silence as he desperately clasped a hand to his gushing throat, trying to stop the blood. / Gaia screaming.

Hehehe, what do you guys think?

This is my first time writing a... well, a Harry-Joins-Voldemort story. I will most likely continue this, its been fun writing it so far. Those of you on my facebook who contributed to my rabid plotbunny, thank you. I've posted the results of our little brainstorming session. (Bet none of you saw Harry being mute did you? I think it adds an interesting dynamic to the story.)

Now for the rest of you, have you any ideas for the fic?

How should I handle the Death Eaters, the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix? What about Pettigrew and Snape? Trelawny? The muggles? How do we deal with the muggleborns? What kind of weapons will they be using? How to Voldemort and Harry work together? Heck, how should their relationship come about? Is Lucius going to break any time soon and rip out that pretty hair of his? What about Harry's parents? Dumbledore? Fawkes? What about the Basilisk and the Dementors?

Thoughts, feelings, opinions, scene ideas, plunnies, GIMME – GIMME – GIMME!