Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warnings: rape, torture, self-harm, violence, adult language and content, pre-slash and disturbing content.

Note: yes i was shedevil628, in order to help this story become better feel free to comment/ ask questions about description ect.

Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone

Chapter One

"What have I told you about that freakishness boy?!" Uncle Vernon screamed in the tiny malnourished five year olds face. Harry said nothing, staring back at his uncle silently. Vernon slapped him and threw him into the cupboard. The door slammed and the lock clicked into place with finality.

The darkness was oppressive; but to Harry it was home. He sat there watching the shadows dance across the wall, light came through the slits in the cupboard door. He pulled a small pen knife from beneath his mattress and began his usual hobby of carving. Some people carve wood, some even carve stone, but Harry…Harry carved himself. Pretty pictures were sliced into his flesh. Most small children didn't enjoy pain, but Harry liked the scars, he liked the feel of cuts pulling when he moved. It made him happy, and so, he carved. He was quite good at it really. Maybe someday he'd have someone else to be his canvas? Ah well, if not, he always had the best canvas in the world, himself. He figured it'd be hard to turn someone else into artwork; they'd probably squirm a lot. He'd have to make certain they were properly restrained. He trailed his fingertips through the blood on his pale stomach and licked it up happily. He thoughtfully sucked his fingers for a while wondering as he often did what other peoples blood tasted like. Was it metallic like his? Did other people have different flavors? What did peoples insides look like? Should he find out? He placed the blade carefully just above the junction of his hips and tried to cut in; the knife wouldn't go more than a few centimeters. Was more force required? Or perhaps the knife was simply too dull? He'd have to retrieve another. With this thought in mind he returned the knife to its home and rolled over, running his nails over the cuts, enjoying the delicious sting as he drifted into slumber.

The next day Harry went in search of a proper knife, he wandered the store while the Horse woman and the Fat Man tried to get Fatty Jr. to stop throwing a tantrum in public. He found what he wanted in the hunting section; it had a wicked silver blade and a black handle. For skinning game, it said. Game…prey? So…hunting is a game. Animals were prey. Humans are animals, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He turned and looked at a woman arguing with her teenaged daughter. Yes…yes they are. So, hunting humans is a game. Isn't it? He took the knife and carefully hid it in his clothing. Yes. Yes it is. "Boy!" Fat man hollered. Harry walked calmly over to him, following silently as they went through the rest of the store. Fatty Jr. looked happy so he assumed the Horse had given in to whatever demand it had made. No he, Dudley was a he. Wasn't he? Maybe not…animals are prey. Humans are animals. Animals are its. Humans are its. So….human prey was it. Fatty Jr. was an it. He nodded to himself, yes that made perfect sense. He ducked the Fat man's smack, expecting it for daring to do something strange, like nod in response to an internal question. The Fat man's reaction only cemented the thoughts in his mind. Animals are stupid, prey is stupid. Humans are stupid prey.

He lay on his mattress; his new knife held in a steady grip, he let the knife dive into his lower stomach, no reaction to the pain registering on his face. He drew the blade up, slicing himself open from hips to collarbone. He knew most humans died from such things but he had come to accept that he was not most human. No, in fact, he wasn't even sure he was at all human. He set the knife aside and poked curiously at the squishy stuff inside of him. He craned his head up trying to see inside. It was difficult, another reason to find someone else to…experiment with. How many squishy things could a normal human live without? He picked up the beating squishy thing, heart, he remembered, and held it carefully. It beat very very slowly. Beat…beat…beat. One beat every few seconds, was that strange. He licked it and replaced it to his chest, could a normal human live without that? Probably not. What about that? He poked at one of the bag like things, breathing in and watching as they both expanded. Interesting. He was unconcerned about being caught; everything he did to his body was always gone when the sun rose. He counted the bones in his chest, ribs and poked around a little more before finally licking his knife clean and returning it to its sheath. The knife was slipped away for safe keeping and he crossed his arms under his head, falling asleep quickly.

He walked through the leaves, stepping carefully around them, he didn't like the sound they made when he stomped the life out of them. The October wind tore right through his light sweatshirt, he only had it because the school had complained to the Horse. Today he was walking the four blocks to the public library. He had much he wanted to discover. At school he'd learned that library's had books on everything. Harry wanted to know everything, so to the library he went.

"Hello there, can I help you sweetie?" the woman behind the desk had a strained smile on her face.

"I want a book on people. I want to learn what's inside of them."

"On their souls?" she asked smiling nicer now. Souls? What was a souls?

"Yes." He nodded and she stood bringing him into a section around a corner.

"These books might be a little too advanced for you but I guess you can give them a try." She took a few from a high shelf and handed them to him. "You can go read over there if you want." She pointed to a few large armchairs.

"Thank you." he said walking over with his heavy load. The cover of the first book said God and You, in big letters. What was God? He opened the cover carefully, and began to read. Two hours later he'd finished all four books and come to a new conclusion. He had no Soul, Soul is something good people have. Good people go to church and do good people things. Harry was not a good people. He was a bad people. Bad people go to Hell. He returned the books to the woman and asked for help finding books on other things inside of people. She brought him to the medical section and left him to his own devices. After five minutes he found a book on Taxidermy. He returned to the library every day.

Books filled with languages and numbers. They fascinated him; he ate up every word, memorizing everything he saw. He read everything he could get his hands on.

Sin. It means to do something bad. There are seven deadly Sins. Harry, by age 9, had committed every, single, one.

The night was cool, a good night for death he thought absently. The full moon cast shadows across the pavement and Harry made sure to only walk in the darkness. The voices plaguing him could only be silenced by one thing. Homicide. It was so easy, almost too easy to kill. To drive the knife in deep, to pull the trigger, to wrap a cloth around someone's throat. He stalked the night, searching for his next victim. Age, gender, race, all were irrelevant, all he cared about was the loss of spark in their eyes, the crimson blood spilling out. He wandered into the park and found what he wanted, a teenaged boy was roaming, talking on his cell phone about a girl he wanted to fuck. So easy. He slipped slowly up behind the teen just as the boy shut the phone and slammed his blade into his back, severing the spinal cord, a strong hand over his mouth to silence the resulting scream. He bled out slowly, but once he was dead Harry took him deep into the woods so he could cut him open. Slicing open a corpse was always interesting; he learned something new every time. He could just learn from books but…Harry was more of a *hands on* kind of guy.

The lighter was a nice toy; he flicked it open and shut, open and shut, several times before finally lighting the cigarette. They'd better be worth the effort he went through to get them. A deep drag gave him his answer, they were worth the effort.

He sat quietly in Dudley's second bedroom, it was his now. The book in his hands was an old favorite, Sun Tzu's The Art Of War. He knew every word, cover to cover, he wasn't really rereading it…no, Harry was waiting. His window was open so he'd be able to…enjoy the results of his efforts, ah, there, a scream of utter horror. The neighbor across the street had checked her mail and found a human heart instead. There was nothing quite like terrorizing someone to brighten his day. Not long after that the police arrived to hear her frantic and hysterical explanation, they'd never know it was him, after all these years he was simply too good at covering his tracks.

The water was cold. He stayed in it anyway; he'd stay in until he mastered this. He'd read of the mechanics of swimming and was determined to figure it out today. He dove under the water and sat on the bottom for a while, contemplating how best to tackle this challenge. He'd discovered only a short time ago that he did not require oxygen. All living things needed air; therefore Harry was fairly certain he was not among the living. Neither was he dead, so, undead it must be. He surfaced shaking the water out of his dark hair, his green eyes blinking away droplets. He would get this. Today.

He braced his arm against the wall, tan inside facing up, he pressed the knife to the inside of his wrist and began his design. A twisting winding fluid design. When he'd finished he put his knife away and licked the blood up thoughtfully, he plucked out a cigarette and lit it, leaning back. What to do now? So much daylight ahead of him before the sweet darkness would again bless him with its cool touch. The blinds were pulled shut and still the sunlight tormented him. His kind, vampires, were not meant to walk by day. But it seemed he had to. Life truly was unfair.

His boots left imprints in the soft muck, the hole was deep but it only took him one jump to get out. He shoved the corpses in and poured some gasoline over them, tossing his half smoked cigarette in, lighting the inferno. Once his mess was ash he refilled the hole walking away calmly, so ironic, let the dead bury the dead.

The librarian smiled at him as she always did. "Anything new?" he asked and she smiled happily.

"Yes just a few mind you, over on that shelf."

"Thanks." Several books that were useless and a few on law and psychology. He grabbed the interesting ones and went to his favorite chair. He'd already read several psychology books, enough to know there was something seriously wrong with him. So he was fucked in the head? Everyone had their little ticks. A little girl tripped and fell against him on his way back over to the shelf and he caught her, righting her gently. Fucked in the head didn't mean he didn't like kids. He needed something new to read, but he'd read every fucking book in the library. He needed something new…not just a new book, a new place. He was bored of this.

He loved that sound. Crack. Crack. Crack. The methodic swing of the aluminum bat, the Crack! of bone beneath it. Swing, crack. So many bones to Crack, Crunch, Shatter. The splatter of blood, it made such pretty pictures on the walls. Silence. He hated the silence. The stillness. He loved to kill, loved the movement, the feeling, but after…the silence…all it told him…was that he needed a new victim.

He was like a ghost, haunting the night, his blade would flash, and that would of course spell the end of some poor fools' life. Every kill was sweeter, every drop of blood made him ache for more. More blood, more death. He wanted more; he needed more…and so, more he would have.

The morning dawned like any other, downstairs he went and out for a run, he returned and did a few sets of push-ups before showering. Then he sat to eat with the Dursleys, as he was unfortunately required to. Normal families eat together after all. The quiet morning was the prelude to an equally quiet day. "Get the mail Dudley." Vernon said around a mouthful of toast.

"Make Harry get it." Dudley whined.

"Get the mail Boy." He rose very slowly just to annoy the walrus and did as he was bid. The mail was sitting in a neat stack on the door mat just waiting to be grabbed, and…a letter addressed to him. Strange. He'd never gotten mail before. He picked up the heavy envelope and slipped it into his jeans pocket walking back into the kitchen and handing Vernon the rest of the stack. The fat man muttered what might have been a thank you and returned to his food. Harry nodded and walked to his room calmly, as if it was nothing but a normal, quiet day.

Hogwarts School

Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, as well as directions to where to get them. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

He very slowly folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. If this was real…it could be. He'd already discovered he was undead so an undead wizard wasn't too much of a stretch. Well…he'd wanted something new.

Vernon was raging. Screaming. Bitching. Throwing things. He'd seen the letter. Harry had asked them what it meant. Curiosity. He'd wanted to know if they knew. They did. And that pissed him off. The fat man moved to hit him and Harry caught his wrist in a vice like grip. "Let's get something straight fat man, you never ever hit me again, I eat what I want, when I want and I won't kill you all. How's that sound?" The fat man turned red, purple and finally green before nodding stiffly and waddling away. Harry smirked, this could work out rather nicely. "You," he turned to Petunia, "Do you know where I can get these things?" she nodded slowly. "You will bring me there, and you will pick me up when I am done." She nodded again, fear clear in her eyes.

"W-when will we be going?"

"Not until next week." He walked away.

Diagon Alley was interesting, Harry walked through every shop with care, and bought all that was on his extensive list. He'd already been to the bank, Gringotts, and was heading for the book store when a tiny blond collided with him. "Oh!" the blond fell back onto his rear and Harry cocked a brow. "I…I'm sorry." He said, looking fragile and weak. Harry glanced him over…afraid…an odd feeling came over him. He reached out a strong tan hand and grasped the blond's tiny pale one, pulling him to his feet. "Um…I'm Draco." The blond said.

"Harry."

"Will you be my friend Harry?" he bit his soft lower lip.

"Yes."

"Yay!" Draco launched himself into Harry's chest hanging on tight. Harry wrapped an arm lightly around him. "Oh thank you thank you!" Draco kissed his cheek several times and Harry felt something strange in his chest. He took Draco's hand and pulled him along toward the book store, the blond skipped along willingly chattering. The store was nearly empty, quiet and it had an air that he recognized from the library. So very many books…one of each then, he would read every single one. His eyes scanned the shelves, how best to do this? Go shelf to shelf, aisle to aisle? "I already got my books." Draco said softly and Harry nodded. He let go of the blond who whimpered and immediately latched onto his bicep and walked to the first shelf, systematically retrieving every single book.

"Would you like a basket son?" The man behind the counter asked and Harry nodded taking the offered green basket. He settled the 28 books he'd already picked up into it and was pleased to see they all fit with a lot of extra room. Good.

"Harry why are you getting all of these books?"

"To read." The blond bit his lip once more, he seemed to do it often.

"Um…there are more book shops." Harry stopped moving and turned fully to the boy. The blond lit up at having his full attention and hastily straightened up more.

"Where?"

"K-knockturn, but…it's dangerous down there and-"

"We'll go when I'm done here." He returned to collecting books. He carried his enormous load to the front counter and handed over his Gringotts charge card. He stacked them all into his trunk and returned it to matchbox size slipping it into his left back pocket. His right one was occupied by his wallet. "Draco," he asked when they stepped outside, "Where is Knockturn?"

"Um…this way."

Knockturn Alley was dark and dank, it was clear why someone like Draco would be afraid, Harry however was perfectly calm. The little blond led him into Borgin and Burkes and then shrank against him while he pursued the shelves. Harry gathered one of every book, some were blood stained and he grabbed them anyway. Draco was shaking heavily, Harry ignored it, letting the blond hang on tighter. The man working the counter here seemed less than enthusiast to see Harry, but when the books were placed on the counter he cracked a disturbing smile. "Necromancy?" he muttered. Harry paid and left with Draco.

"Where are we going now?"

"Muggle London."

"Um, why?"

"Clothes." Draco looked scared. "I'll take care of you." Harry promised lazily.

"Today or always?" Draco asked. Harry thought about it for a while.

"Always." Harry walked into a sufficiently dark looking store and found himself several pairs of jeans and t-shirts. He also grabbed some muggle clothes for Draco before walking out and crossing the street to an art store. Several sketch books, markers, chalk pastels and oil pastels and of course some charcoal and they left heading back into the magical section. A blond man and woman were standing near the robe shop looking annoyed, Draco flinched and Harry pulled him over. "Draco, where have you been?" the woman snapped in clear irritation.

"W-with Harry."

"Harry?" The man asked.

"Harry Potter." Harry spoke and enjoyed the woman's slight flinch at his voice.

"Mr. Potter, I am Lucius Malfoy, this is my wife Narcissa. Unfortunately it's time for Draco to go." Draco looked about ready to cry, he clung tight and hugged Harry.

"Bye Harry, can I see you again soon?"

"Of course." He held Lucius' eye as he spoke, making the words a clear threat. Draco kissed his cheek and let go of Harry walking away and brushing at tears. Harry watched him go before turning and leaving the Alley himself.

He sorted the books into stacks, there were hundreds and he intended on reading every single one before school began in a month. He lifted the first one, A History Of Hogwarts and began to read. Hours later he was three stacks down and preparing to move onto the next one. He stretched and continued his obsessive reading. An owl tapped on his window and he opened it slowly, taking the folded paper out of its beak.

Harry,

Please come and see me today. Or maybe come and get me?

Draco.

Harry lit himself a cigarette and stood walking out the door and down the steps, he flicked his wand out and the Knight bus appeared. I need to get me some wheels… when he turned 16 he was getting himself a car. The ride to the country was quick thanks to the magic, and soon enough he was knocking on the Malfoys front door. A house elf answered and he cocked a brow at the little creature. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor, may I be helping you?"

"I want Draco." The elf looked afraid. "Now." It nodded and it's ears went flopping all over the place, it chattered to another elf and it raced off.

"We is having to ask Master Lucius." A few moments later Lucius Malfoy stalked over and Harry saw Draco peeking over the railing of the grand staircase looking hopefully at him. Tears were streaked down his beautiful face, rage sparked into an inferno within him.

"Mr. Potter, how nice of you to visit."

"Mr. Malfoy."

"You are here for…?"

"Draco."

"Ah…well I'm afraid Draco is busy today."

"Malfoy, you don't hand that boy over to me and I'm going to make you regret it." Harry dropped his cigarette on the ground watching as Malfoy's nose curled.

"Is that a threat Mr. Potter?"

"No Malfoy, it's a fuckin promise."

"Boy! Get down here!" Draco scrambled down the stairs and flew out the door and behind Harry. "Bring him back before 8 tonight."

"11."

"10."

"Midnight."

"11 it is." Lucius snarled and slammed the door. Harry started walking off and Draco rushed after him clutching his hand in both of his tiny ones.

"Um where are we going Harry?" He asked softly.

"Does it matter?"

"No, not if I'm with you." Harry smiled a bit and hauled Draco close for a kiss on the temple.

"So fuckin cute." He muttered, when they made it to the street he called the Knight bus again and soon enough they were back in Privet Dr.

"This is where you live?" Draco asked looking curiously and apprehensively up and down the muggle street.

"Yeah." He led Draco to the Dursleys and up the stairs, closing his door firmly and sitting with Draco on his bed. He lit a new cigarette and let Draco look around the room. The pretty blond looked to him for permission before standing and picking through his stuff. He looked through every drawer and it made Harry smile, it was cute, how…at home Draco was with him. He lay across the bed with his head propped up on his arm and blew out smoke rings. Draco bit his lip and came over sitting in front of Harry's stretched out form. "I like it." He said with a smile.

"Thanks."

"What are we doing today?"

"I dunno." He caught Draco's chin tipping his face to the side, the shine of sunlight from the window showed what he'd been certain he'd seen earlier. The shadow of a bruise on his perfect blond's face. "Who hit you?" Draco flinched. "Tell me now."

"My Mother. I sassed her so she slapped me." Harry pressed his lips very gently to the bruise and rose finding a few of the healing books he'd bought and pulling out the one on minor injuries. He sat beside Draco once more and pulled out his wand, Draco flinched again.

"It's alright." Harry said and cast a healing spell on Draco's soft pale cheek.

"Thank you."

"Sure." He stood and returned the book to its place. The wonder in Draco's voice made him livid, the young boy had grown up with magic and being healed was clearly a new experience for him. "You wanna go for a walk?"

"Okay."

Draco held his hand tightly, their fingers braided together. Harry held his cigarette in his other hand and let his thumb run a careful circuit along the back of Draco's. "After this you wanna watch a movie or somethin'?"

"A movie?"

"Yeah…I'll just show you aight?"

"Alright."

Harry messed with the small TV that sat in the corner of his room while Draco sat on the bed with his knees to his chest. "There." He flopped next to Draco and pressed play. 20 minutes later Draco was clinging to him and shaking, maybe it hadn't been the best idea to put a horror movie on?

"Please don't take me home." Draco was curled up against Harry's chest on the bed. The clock red ten thirty.

"Draco, you really want me to kill your father?"

"…No."

"Then I gotta take you home. C'mon." He stood and pulled Draco up with him.

"Don't leave me please." Draco had his face buried in Harry's chest, he clung tight. Lucius Malfoy looked very annoyed.

"I gotta go. Let go Draco I'll see you later." He kissed Draco's hair and peeled the boy off walking out the door, ignoring the sobs behind him. He'd met Draco less than a week ago and already the blond was so attached to him it was…Harry liked it.

The little blond was cuddled up close to him on his bed, he'd threatened Malfoy into letting Draco stay overnight. The moonlight came through the window and lit up the room, Draco shivered and Harry pulled the blankets higher up on the boys' body. He lit a cigarette staring up at the ceiling, his fingers were curled around Draco's shoulder, holding him close. What was it he was feeling? A strong protective desire for his pretty little canvas? Did he…did he care? If he did what would he do about it? He wasn't exactly afraid to be alone, he'd been alone all his life. But…it was intoxicating, to have someone so dependent on him. To have someone *need* him so damn bad. His grip tightened a bit…I am never going to let him go, not even if he begs. It was dangerous to catch the attention of a psychopath, and unfortunately for the little blond, Draco Malfoy had his full attention.

He woke as he always did, instantly alert, Draco was still asleep and for the first time Harry did not immediately get out of bed. When he did get up he wrote a note telling the blond he'd gone for a run but when he returned Draco was still asleep. He woke while Harry was doing push-ups and chattered about Hogwarts for a while. "And I want to be in Slytherin house. Do you Harry?"

"Sure."

"I want to play on the house team, I want to be a Seeker, do you want to play Quidditch?"

"Maybe."

"You get to hurt people, you can hit them with Bludgers."

"Maybe."

"Are you excited for school?"

"Not really."

"You don't get excited for anything do you?"

"No."

"Well…Hogwarts does have a really big library." Draco lay on the bed watching Harry, his eyes traced the visible scars, they looked like they'd hurt.

"Yeah."

"You're going to be in there all the time aren't you?"

"Mmm, least til I read every book."

"Are there any classes you think will be interesting?"

"No."

"I don't want to go home."

"Too bad."

"Don't you want to keep me?" Draco looked like he might cry again, Harry sighed, should he answer honestly?

"Yes, but you want your father to continue breathing."

"Don't leave." Draco locked his arms around Harry. They stood a few feet from the doors of Malfoy Manor.

"I have shit to do Draco, I'll see you in a few days."

"Please Harry! Don't leave me."

"I'll be back." The doors opened, Narcissa Malfoy stood there waiting impatiently, Harry closed his hand around Draco's wrist applying pressure until Draco let go with a whimper. He repeated the treatment on the blond's other tiny wrist and then began walking away. Draco clung from behind. Harry let out an annoyed growl and removed the blond again holding his wrists together in a tight grip and pulling him to his mother. She wrapped her arm around the blond's chest to hold him there and Harry let go walking off. Draco cried and screamed his name, Harry ignored him.

Draco lay on his bed crying long after Harry had left. The bruises around his wrists were in the shape of Harry's hands. It wasn't like they bothered him, he was used to bruises, but these bruises were special. Harry had left these ones and that made them important. Draco hoped the bruises never faded.