I know… I shouldn't be starting a new fic until I bring in some closure or at least something to older fics, but I can't… Sorry not sorry. So. Here it is. My first Tomarry/Pottermort/Harrymort fic. Honestly, I wasn't too into this until I read Aftereffects by JonjouSlashGirl, then Vistor by GeMerope. So, then this happened and I'm giving it to you. Please, TRY to enjoy this? I have absolutely no idea where it's going, so we'll see. :)

Now, for clarification on the timing. I'm screwing the entire chronology of the series… Voldie has already been resurrected by Wormtail, he gathered all the necessary materials while Harry was young, not quite a boy but not quite pre-teen either. This first chapter, at least I'm not sure how I'm going to be working the timing, is set just before his first year at Hogwarts. He hasn't meet Hagrid and therefore hasn't received his letter of acceptance so he has no idea of his magical blood.

Now that that is settled, here is the wild-ride of a story.

~ Satan

"Stop right there!" There is a single command shouted throughout the hall and the crowd of unidentified people quiet. The men and women, though gender is indistinguishable due to the black flowing robes and silver masks, freeze, looking amongst themselves to find the individual who had angered their lord. "Pettigrew! Come." The man who closely resembles a fat rat freezes completely, a look of terror coming over his face before turning to walk toward the man with slits for a nose, abnormally pale skin, and a frail figure. It was almost ridiculous to see this 'Pettigrew' trembling in fear of this red-eyed figure clad in a dark green robe lined with black and accented in silver. As the short, fat man with a suspiciously silver hand and horror plain on his ruddy, dirtied face made his way to the Dark Lord, the thin man dismisses the rest with the exception of one tall man in similar, yet different, black robes as well as no mask covering his features. His arms were curled around the seemingly unconcious body of a prepubescent boy with pale skin and a very light smattering of freckles you had to squint to see, dark black hair, way too baggy, worn out clothing, and an old beat up pair of rounded black wire-rimmed glasses. The shorter man's voice, much like his appearance, had a strong similarity to a rat, with how squeaky it was, though it might have just been the terrified undertones that made it seem shakier and higher in pitch.

"Y-yes Master..?" He cowers before the taller man, trembling hands before his face.

"What, pray tell, was going through that puny head of yours while you decided that using the Cruciatus Curse against this boy," He gestures toward the the young Potter boy, unconscious in the arms of the Potions professor at Hogwarts, while hissing at Pettigrew. "Was one of your least idiotic courses of action?" Pettigrew fidgets, somehow even more nervous than he was just seconds before.

"M-My lord, I apologize. I had not realized that you wished for none other than yourself to bring upon punish-" The shorter man is cut off with a screech from the taller, the murderous aura around him becoming ever stronger, exuding through any sort of erected barrier and straight to the bones of all beings within proximity.

"PUNISHMENT! Was I not explicit enough for you while saying that no harm was to come to Potter?" He surges forward, wand drawn and aimed, with the appearance of intending to strike the man down. "Crucio!" The stouter of the two falls to the ground, a shrill shriek erupting from his mouth as the magic from the still standing man courses out of his thirteen and half inch yew and phoenix feather wand and collides against the man seeming to be in excruciating pain.

The unconscious boy stirs a bit and the black haired, black eyed man holding him speaks softly.

"My lord… The boy is awake." Which, though wasn't a lie, was not exactly truth either as the boy was far from awake, he was simply no longer asleep. The man, still aiming his wand at Pettigrew sighed, he remained in his position for a bit longer before drawing the sliver of yew back toward his body, no longer pointing at the man so desperately gasping for air. Turning his back to the man who posed seemingly no threat and no longer held the Dark Lord's interest, he comes forward to the Potions Master and the young teen. Laying his hand across the boy's forehead, his palm covering the jagged scar in the shape of the killing curse, he winces as the sharp pain jolts through his body, the boy's body arches up his mouth opens in a silent scream, nothing but a small hitched gasp of pain coming out. Removing his hand once more, he flicks his wrist, making a gesture that the man seems to understand as he makes a swift exit out of the room. Once the door is shut again, the Dark Lord turns back to Pettigrew. "You best not touch him again. Is that clear?" He enunciates each word, when the man sobs and nods his head, almost hysterically, he flashes his wand towards him one last time, saying the incantation for a spell created by one of his men, Sectumsempra, a severing spell. The man, if you could call him that, groveling on the ground screamed once more as, not only the silver hand was cursed off, but the whole of his right arm clear up to the elbow. Sweeping out of the room, the man calms greatly as a giant serpentine creature slithers up to him.

"Nagini." He speaks in a hissing, harsh language in what seems to be a tone of greeting. "It seems as though it has been awhile. Where have you been?" The snake, Nagini as this man had called her, simply curls herself up his body, resting her heavy head against his shoulder.

"Is it not enough, Tom, that I am here once again?" She responds minutes later. "Have you finally done away with that blasted Pettigrew?" Tom, it would seem, sighs.

"Nagini, you know I cannot simply kill those that have done me a great service." She seems to roll her eyes at this statement.

Dearest Tom… You can. You merely choose not to.

Sitting in his room of a broom closet, Harry sighs, brushing a small chunk of black hair from his green eyes. Wishing that for once something would happen, not even a miracle, just one small difference in his life. One tiny detail changed from the everyday dull of waking, dressing, cooking, cleaning, eating, beating, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, beating, cooking, cleaning, beating, sleep. Shaking his head, he tugs off his cracked, twisted glasses, pulls the bead cord to turn the light off as he settles into his sad excuse for a bed.

Halfway into the night, he is awoken by a sudden frigid cold against his skin, still mostly asleep, he attempts to pull on the thin cloth to provide him some heat. He soon realizes his efforts are in vain as his hand collides not with a hard cot, but instead soft earthen ground, recently dug up. Now fully awake, he looks around, taking in his surroundings. He's laying in a patch of fresh dirt, but that's as far as he can get in his mental inventory as his eyes come across a strange looking man, fat and dirty with stringy hair and a great semblance of a rodent. The man was looking down at him with a stick, about nine inches long, and carved to be waved at the end, whereas the part he was gripping was swirled up, around itself. He hears only one word, "Crucio." and thinks it nonsense until a sudden pain infiltrates his every nerve. The pain is made more intense as he has barely woken and is caught off guard. Screaming, he curls into a ball as small as he can manage, having had much practice courtesy Vernon Dursley. The pain stops and he sucks in as much oxygen as he can, grateful for it's disappearance. This… This pain was something else, something new. His beatings seemed like mere discomfort in comparison. Once his breathing returns to normal and the pain hasn't returned, he relaxes a bit, not as curled around himself as he once was. The man murmurs again, he couldn't make out the words before the pain returned. Harry writhes and screams, and somehow even manages to beg with the man to please stop. As he begins to believe he can no longer handle the pain, it stops. Similar such events continue until he finally, blessedly, passes out.

When he comes to, it's not due to a drop in temperature, or to pain, but rather to the loud, screams of excruciating pain. Not truly caring one way or another, he doesn't bother to check, he's too tired, so he simply relaxes once more, trying to sleep once more. But the screams continue, longer, louder with each passing moment. As he's about to give up on his blessed unconscious state, the noise stops. There are slight footsteps, a brush of skin against his forehead, a soft whisper he can't make out, pain. He tries his best to scream, but he can't seem to force it past his raw, dry, throat. And then blackness once more.

A sudden pain envelops him as he is calling upon his followers for a meeting. A pain that could only be one thing. Gesturing over one of his best men, one of the first there, he speaks lowly to Snape. "Find the boy Severus, bring him here." The man nods and Apparates out of the room. In front of the house marked as number 4 on Privet Drive. He knocks calmly on the door, not minding the early hour. He waits a moment before knocking again louder. After another moment's pause, he hears loud swearing and the door being unlocked before flinging open.

"Vernon Dursley, I presume?" His voice is as dry as always when the large, purple faced man pops his head out of the crack in the door. "Might I speak to one Harry Potter?" The man becomes a darker shade of purple.

"At two in the morning? I think not!" He moves to shut the door once more as he angrily spits out the last piece.

"Mr. Dursley. The boy now." He glares at the man, and if one wasn't looking close enough, they would be left to assume that was what caused the man to step back and grow pale, but in actuality, the fourteen inch ebony wand with a core of Dragon's heartstring had much to do with the blood draining the man's face and the sudden cooperation. Once he makes his way inside, he sees the man was covered by scarcely more than a bathrobe he can hear the shrill voice of a woman calling out.

"Vernon? What is it?"

Severus ignores the woman in favor of following the now pale, living boulder to a small door beneath the stairs. The puny slab of wood swings open, creaking the whole time, revealing an empty cot that had obviously been slept on and not much else. The larger man splutters, in both rage and horror. "H-he was here! I swear!" The Potions professor ignores him, walking toward the small amount of empty space available. Finding a trace of magic, Apparation of course, he follows it to the small clearing. Finding only the small boy, with freezing skin, a pale complexion, dark hair, and a worrying amount of bone poking out. He picks up the relatively weightless boy before Apparating once more directly behind the man who had ordered him to do so. He whispers but one word, "Pettigrew." The man before him clenches his teeth, but manages to continue on relatively unchanged.

Only a moment later is he yelling out, across the hall. "Stop right there!"

And, that's all. For now. I hope you enjoyed this little prologue, expect more from this eventually!

~Satan