Sumharry: What disguise could be better than that of an average Gryffindor with anger management issues? Well, not really "average," since he is Harry Freakin' Potter and everything he appears to be is a lie.

Disclaimer: The see me Rowlin', they hatin'. *coughs* Not mine.

Warning: M for slash (HP/TMRLV), Post-GoF, slightly insane and definitely dark Harry

24 June, 1995

Monlight illuminated the muggle cemetery where a group of robed and masked figures encircled a bound black-haired boy and a tall serpentine creature.

The creature raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to the boy's cheek.

Harry Potter didn't flinch. Instead, his emerald green eyes met his captor's bright crimson ones in a silent staring contest. Lord Voldemort, used to people cowering in fear in front of him, felt his curiosity piqued. He arched one brow – where it would be anyway if he wasn't in his scaly form – questioningly. The-Boy-Who-Lived merely lowered his eyes and pursed his lips. The entirety of the exchange was hidden from view and the Death Eaters were too scared and nervous to notice anything amiss.

The Dark Lord was a bit wary now, seeing his supposed "enemy" acting so strangely. But he was on a roll and he needed to finish the show he started.

"…but no matter," he continued, like he didn't even stop in the first place. "I can touch him now."

Harry felt the cold tip of a finger touch his forehead, his scar, and thought his head would burst with the surge of raw power. Magic was influenced by objectives, often categorized into Dark and Light, but this, this was simply magic - pure, unprocessed magic. Overwhelmed, a guttural groan vibrated in his throat.

Voldemort laughed in his ear, breath fanning over the sensitive skin of Harry's neck. Then he took his finger away, and continued addressing the Death Eaters.

Harry lost himself for a while. He was startled at his body's reaction (to a mere touch!) and a small part of him couldn't help but wonder at how a more intimate contact would feel like. He bit down on his lip, forcing himself to focus. He was on a tight schedule and he needed to settle certain matters. But he knew that it wouldn't help his cause if he interrupted the Dark Lord's speech. He needed the man to be in at least a decent mood before he sprung his proposition.

So he waited.

Voldemort spoke of his years of disappearance and explained why, in the first place, he disappeared.

Harry couldn't help but be ensnared by the tale and before he knew it...

"... and here he is... the boy you all believed had been my downfall..."

Harry saw Voldemort raise his wand. Somehow, he knew that he was seconds away from receiving one of the Dark Lord's infamous Crucios.

He figured that this was a good time to start talking.

*Lord Voldemort, I have a proposition to make,* he hissed in Parseltongue.

It worked. The Dark Lord slowly lowered his wand and the Death Eaters gasped. They had heard rumors but it was still a shock to see someone else beside their Lord speak in the tongue of snakes. Voldemort stepped closer to Harry.

They stared at each other, both unwilling to back down. Crimson clashed with green; the Dark Lord probing, searching Harry's mind. He narrowed his eyes when he only found an empty box. No occlumency barriers, no false memories.

Just an empty box.

He quickly retreated from Harry's mind. He had never encountered anyone who could build a nearly-empty mindspace before - except from himself. He was beginning to doubt the stories he had heard about Harry Potter. A Gryffindor and Dumbledore's man through and through, they say. Average and impulsive, the Harry Potter he had formed in his mind was seemingly a far cry from the boy in front of him. This boy was powerful and he was hiding something.

Lord Voldemort loathed not knowing.

*You intrigue me, Harry Potter,* he lowly hissed back. Then he turned around and faced his Death Eaters.

"I hope I have satisfied your curiosities, my friends," Voldemort said in English. "I will call you again." He waved his hand and some of the Death Eaters looked a bit lost and confused while the smarter ones disapparated immediately. Soon, it was only Harry, the Dark Lord, and his "loyal servant."

"Untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand," Voldemort said, his gaze never leaving the Avada-green eyes of his "enemy."

The-Boy-Who-Lived just stared back and smiled in reply.

Once Harry was armed with his wand and unbound, the Dark Lord clutched his left arm in a tight grip. Then, the both of them vanished in a swirl of colors, leaving Peter Pettigrew in a deserted cemetery in Little Hangleton.