Disclaimer : I own nothing.

Hello everyone, here I am with another story. I want to thank my beta Alidala - without her this chapter wouldn't be what it is now. Thank Alidala !

This is my first time writing in English. I wish to apologize now for any grammar faults or other awkward things that could have escaped mine and Alidala's vigilance, don't hesitate to point them out, I only want to improve myself.

︴The Dark Phantom ︴

Prologue

He always envisioned his future with the darkest expectations in order to never be surprised of whatever sick happenings would come his way. But imagination has its limits, and when he realized this fact in Little Hangleton' cemetery, facing Lord Voldemort once again, it was already too late.

Harry Potter, fourteen years old, considered himself doted of a rare degree of bad luck. At one, his family was destroyed and the dark wizard responsible for it tried to kill him. Well, he lived. And strange enough said dark wizard disappeared. Then, Harry was tossed with some muggles from his mother's family and was abused for years. Afterwards, he entered Hogwarts and had to fight not only once, but two times against the same dark wizard. And all of this for the sake of saving people he didn't even fully connect to.

His bad luck was not only being singularized by a mad sociopath who would do everything to kill him. He was also condemned to risk his life in unusual quests wherever he went and whatever he did. Mostly everyone believed him to actually search for these quests, to desire for these exploits and to want to save people, as if he had some hero complex. Hell, he didn't even have a hand in throwing Lord Voldemort in oblivion! He was a baby at that time. Ginny and Sirius were other stories… but that wasn't the point now.

The point was that at fourteen Harry was tired, immensely tired of this much-abnormal lifestyle. He would give everything to live a single year of schooling without being preoccupied by a Dark Lord breathing down his neck or having to save his hide in any way.

Well, his fourth year at Hogwarts hadn't been easier than the ones before it. If truth be told, it was even worse. Currently being tied to an old gravestone and surrounded by Death Eaters was a good interpretation of his condition at the moment.

But the teen wasn't about to despair. His mind was spinning with theories and hypothesis as he tried to figure what was about to happen to him again. Certainly Fate wasn't ready to let him die. She certainly had plenty of ideas to put him through more suffering, again. His most prized conjecture was that Voldemort had planned to invade the school and would probably use Harry to get into it. That undoubtedly would put the teen in some sort of cruel situation to realize yet again a glorious feat where he would save everyone and defend the "good ideals". Not that Harry wanted such a thing to happen, or believed he could succeed at such a deed. But Fate definitely loved to put him in situations like that, and Harry's bad luck always made him triumph. He hated it.

Voldemort had just inventoried the handful of his partisans that cowered under his wrath and was spouting some nonsense about a protection Lily gave her son in sacrificing herself and that this "old magic" was the secret behind Harry's survival and the Dark Lord demise.

"But it doesn't matter because now I can touch him" said Voldemort, his hand within millimetres of Harry's cheek.

He felt the tips of the slender pale fingers trailing his skin and next thing he knew, he was alone with the Death Eaters. He blinked owlishly, searching for the menacing figure that hanged upon him a mere second ago. But the Dark Lord Voldemort was nowhere to be seen and his wand lay forgotten on the ground and all agony from his scar has vanished.

"My Lord" cried out a Death Eater. He sounded panicked.

Confusion reigned as they all took in what happened. But Harry didn't pay them much attention because something strange stirred near his side.

'Potter' someone called him in an ethereal voice.

He turned - well, as much as he could, being tied to a gravestone and all - only to face a red angry stare he knew quite well.

'What have you done again?' growled the high-pitched voice of Voldemort.

"Huh?" was all that Harry managed getting past his lips. In front of him stood in all his glory the Dark Lord but none of his servants seemed to notice him. Maybe that was because of the ghostly transparency quality of his body or the dim glow that surrounded him…

Voldemort leaned forward and grasped his wand. Or tried to - his fingers paler than white didn't seemed to grasp it, they went right through it.

"Oh my" blanched Harry. "What are you now? A ghost?"

Well, he absolutely didn't saw that coming.

Soon it became obvious that only Harry could see Voldemort and the Death Eaters couldn't. When they were quite finished yelling loudly after the disappearance of their Lord and calmed down, they turned to their prisoner, who was having a little chit-chat with said Lord.

'Potter, don't be an idiot' was saying the literally glowing Voldemort. 'I cannot perform magic anymore. You're the only one who can see me or hear me, so you have to hear me out.'

"But I don't have to help you nonetheless. Why would I? It's not like I'm debt with you or anything."

'You know that if you don't help me a little here, I will make your life a living hell.'

"What, you would make it worse than what it already is?" drawled sarcastically the black-haired teen. "I can't see how such a feat is possible."

The Death Eaters gasped and one of them ran to him and pointed his wand straight at his face. "What are you babbling about, you little piece of shit? Are you so barmy you talk to yourself now?"

Sometimes Harry had illuminations. He wasn't exceptionally clever or stupidly blind, but he knew how to put two and two together when his life was in danger - that bloody Slytherin trait - and now was one of those times. It didn't take a genius to realize that he would be killed by the Death Eaters in revenge for whatever he did to make the Dark Lord disappear - even if he believed it wasn't actually his fault. But then, how could they kill him if they knew that Harry was their only mean to get in touch - not literally - with their master? As much as he didn't want to help the red-eyed bastard, he didn't want to die either, thank-you-very-much.

"I wasn't talking to myself, I was talking to your Lord Voldemort" he stated in a calm, composed voice.