Hello everyone,

Ok this is the new and improved first chapter. I went through and changed some things that my beta caught. I hope you enjoy it! For you first time readers: this fic is rated M for violence, sex, mention of torture and rape, and language. If you cannot handle these things do not read it. Thank you!

I do not own Harry Potter.

Enjoy!

~Angelia Reader

Prologue

Harry's POV

Sparks flew through the air - reds, greens, and golds colliding in mid-air in a lovely and terrifying dance of magic. The battle raged on around him as the remaining Death Eaters tried to fight after their Dark Lord fell. A masked figure rushed him, wand raised, preparing to kill. He saw his enemy's lips for the words, but he was faster, killing the man with a flash of green before moving on. Even as he fought for the light, he could still feel the man whose soul he harbored inside his head, stronger, so much stronger.

The battle was slowing as the last of the Death Eaters died or fled, making him notice the searing pain in his scar. He gasped, sinking to his knees as agony ripped through his body. "You are mine now…" a voice hissed through his soul making him scream.

"No…"

He could feel hands on him, touching his face, his chest, "Harry…" his closest friend cried.

"Mine…"

"No."

He was being lifted by magic, writhing in the air as another's power tore through him,

"Forever…"

"NO!" he screamed, bolting up in his bed, sweat soaking his sheets. Harry fumbled for his glasses, jamming them on his face as he clicked on his lamp. He was safe in his room at 12 Grimmauld Place - not back on the battlefield after killing his greatest enemy. His head pounded as he huddled on his bed, trying to catch his breath as the dream faded. It was still dark. Rather than break up the darkness, the lamp he had turned on only deepened the shadows. It's golden glow barely reached beyond the foot of his bed. An irrational fear possessed him, and he was on his feet and across the room before he was even conscious of moving. He threw back the curtains, allowing the light of the full moon to penetrate the shadows. He went about the room, turning on every light in the room, including the ones in his private bathroom. When he was satisfied that there was no shadows, no darkness, he collapsed into the comfortable armchair that he had pulled up to his desk.

The room was large, and furnished in heavy antiques. If he was correct in his assumption, they were as old as the house itself. A wardrobe stood across the room from the large bay windows, all of his clothes didn't even take up a fourth of its space. The bed was enormous and sturdy. Dark green curtains hid the piles and piles of soft pillows and warm comforter. A small sitting area was perched just under the windows, complete with antique settee and a beautiful glass table with matching end tables. As there was no overhead lighting. The nightstands on either side of the bed as well as the desk held lovely lamps that cast a soft glow over the entire room. The upholstery was done in the traditional greens and silvers of Slitherin and Black house.

'I should be used to them by now…' He had been plagued with nightmares for the past year- due to the war and the slaying of Lord Voldemort. A full year and he had barely had contact with anyone. He could barely step from his home without being bombarded by reporters after a story or fans begging for a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter. He had locked himself inside his inherited home, and refused to come out. At first fan mail and interview requests came in floods, but now they were fewer now. People seemed to get discouraged when they were ignored.

Harry glanced at his clock; it was four in the morning. Sighing, he climbed out of his four poster bed, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants - there was no way he was going back to sleep now. He padded softly down the stairs of his home, feeling the emptiness and loneliness press in on him. His room was on the top floor. He had found it only a few days after settling in here permanently. It had once been the bedroom of the head of the Black family when he came for a visit, but it had been abandoned long ago. He paused at Sirius' Room, lightly tracing the nameplate. He had tried to stay here, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. It hurt worse than he cared to admit, trying to interact with something from before.

There was something dark on the edge of his vision, standing just out to sight beside the stairs. His wand was in his hand before he could think about it. He stalked forward, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. For one wild moment he was sure that it was a Death Eater, but as he neared he saw it was only a cloak, hanging old and moth eaten on an even older hook. He forced himself to relax. 'Just a cloak…'

The house was a still and silent as always. He had expected what was left of the Black family to retaliate, and demand the house back, but thus far no one had come. Not that they would have won the case anyway. The family had all but been obliterated, and those that were left were discredited by the numbers of them that had joined the Dark Lord, and he was (after all) Harry Potter. He could likely get away with outright murder and no one would love him less.

He continued on his way. The kitchen was empty when he wandered in. It was dirty, as if it hadn't been cleaned in an extended period of time. He made a beeline for the fridge, ignoring the stack of unopened letters from both friends and fans alike. He hadn't felt like talking to anyone since the battle for Hogwarts and the end of the war. They were like the others, impressed by his slaying the Dark Lord, star-struck, not understanding what that battle had done to him.

He sighed again when he opened the near empty fridge before moving to the dirty coffee pot which he cleaned with a wave of his wand, and started the coffee. He had been sustaining himself on little else, much to the chagrin of his house elf. The creature felt worthless when Harry didn't eat, and even more so when Harry had refused him to clean anything. He hated relying on Kreature when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself if he wished to. He supposed it was left over instincts from his time with the Dursly's. He was used to cleaning and cooking, and hated having it done for him. While he waited, he heard a soft tapping at his kitchen window. He glanced at it and saw a large, tawny owl hovering with a beak in his mouth. He went to the window to open it, prepared to throw the letter with the others, when he saw the seal. It was a letter from Hogwarts.

Mr. Harry James Potter,

I am pleased to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be opening this coming school year. We would be overjoyed if you would join us for this coming term to complete your final year with us.

We understand your wariness to be seen by the public, but we assure you that we will take all measures to make you comfortable should you return to us.

Please do not bother writing back. I will know if you will be attending.

Enjoy your last week of summer,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Harry stared at the letter in disbelief; they were actually asking him to come back. Could he go back? The very thought of returning to the place where war had been waged made his stomach churn. He didn't know if he could handle walking the same corridors he had watched people he had loved fall got him. His fist clenched around the letter. He couldn't do it. He just wasn't strong enough. He made to throw the offending scrap of parchment in his hands away, but the site of the destroyed kitchen stopped him.

It was as if he were seeing it for the first time. The place was a disaster. Dishes were piled in and around the sink, crusted with what he supposed had once been food but were now indistinguishable mold. The entire kitchen smelled of something long dead and rotted. It was truly revolting. The white of the walls were stained brown. Harry caught his reflection in the window. He looked awful. As if he hadn't seen the sun in…well a year.

"Kreacher." He called out numbly. There was a pop at the house elf appeared in front of him.

"Yes, Master Harry." The elf bowed low, his ears touching the ground as he did so.

"Will you please lay out my clothing? I am going to Diagon Alley," he said, looking over the list of books he would need.

The elf gave a squeal of delight "Yes, Master Harry, Sir," he replied, bouncing on his heels before leaving to complete the task. His excitement was infectious, Harry couldn't help but smile. It felt strange on his face. When was the last time he had smiled?

'I can't believe I'm going to do this…' He thought, hardly daring to breathe. But maybe it will kill this loneliness…' He had been alone here for far too long, and it was time he got out of the house. Perhaps he would allow Kreature to clean up. The elf seemed to enjoy having something to do. He couldn't believe that he had allowed himself to get in such a state. There was a time when he would had braved the world, the stares, and the adoring fans without a second thought. He felt downright ashamed of the way he was acting.

A feeling of confidence flooded him. There was nothing he couldn't handle. He had been on the run for nearly a year before leading an army into battle. He could deal with going shopping. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, clinging to the frail confidence that welled inside him, he went upstairs to change.

Thank you for reading Everyone! So better? Worse? Leave your opinion in a review!

~AR