Prologue: Little doll, little doll, what is it that you want?

Harry Potter

He felt lied to, betrayed, in the deepest way a human being could ever feel. It was supposed to be over! He should have been dead and rotting in the bloody dirt, buried alongside his parents at the fine, grand age of seventeen like he had always secretly hoped he would be. Harry had gone along with whatever the hell fate had wanted him to do, went along quickly and quietly like a good trained puppy –and what did he get?! –life, he was given a second chance at life.

Harry felt like crying.

It was such a cruel parody of what he had wanted that Harry could seriously laugh long and hard if he thought about it too long.

So he didn't think, didn't feel, didn't do a single bloody thing except waste away silently in the presence of his friends and fans. Smiling and giving false speeches for all those foolish wizards and witches that couldn't see beyond their own inflated egos and face the bitter truth: their hero wasn't even human anymore.

A vampire. (And there was also the tiny detail of being the Master of Death, but hey, that's a problem for another day).

A magical creature that was known for its dark beauty, its thirst for blood, and for its immoral lifespan, but really, when it came to Harry, things were never as simple as they seemed. Every vampire, no matter their status of blood, had a mate –and only one mate; and unfortunately for the vampire, if their mate was either dead or rejected them, said vampire would have to face the consequences. That is exactly where Harry finds himself today, only a month after the fall of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

His mate was already dead.

There would be no getting to meet the one person in the world who had been destined for him, no awkward moments between two strangers, no falling in love or getting rejected…nothing, just nothing.

And the worse part?

Harry would receive flashes, small glimpses of what his mate had been like, tiny facts that were like an attempted to soothe him, allowing him to know his mate even if nothing would come of it.

He saw the blackest colored hair and eyes the same color, smothering with a passion for something Harry would never know. Rough laughter would reach his ears –the sweetest sound Harry had ever heard –and pale hands would sometimes ghost over Harry's skin, a phantom touch of a person long gone.

And sometimes –if Harry was really lucky –he would catch a glimpse of one of his mate's memories, and though the memories would always be hazy and nothing but a bur to him, he would still be able to hear clearly, hear his mate speak about trivial things that meant the world to Harry.

The grass was underneath him, the sky a bright blue that signified the beginning of hot summer days and the wind blew lazily through the few trees around the small meadow hidden deep within a forest of ancient oak trees. A whispered conversation reached his straining ears, the words becoming etched deeply in his mind.

" –" His mate's name, Harry was never able to hear his name.

"What is it – ?" Every name spoken in the memories would be blocked out; causing Harry to wonder why the fates were so cruel as to give him something to remember his mate by and yet deny him the knowledge of who exactly his mate had been.

"I was wondering if you like to come to Diagon Alley with me to get our school supplies, I mean, we could do something else after that –eat some ice cream or something like that. So, would you?"

The rough laughter Harry loved to hear was the only answer, and Harry knew the answer was yes.

"Thank you – !" The witch apparently knew that as well.

It hurt, and every time Harry had a glimpse, he would be over the moon at first, only for it to all come crashing down later when he finally came to his senses and realized that it wouldn't matter in the end.

The pensieve Harry received from one of the many grateful wizards and witches was put to good use after every such event.

And so it went, a month became two, two into three, four, five, six, seven….

Until time had moved so fast that fifty years had gone by.

Harry's friends were all over the age of sixty; each had married and had children, and later became grandparents to the children of their children. Their youth had ended nearly thirty years ago and yet, Harry was still young, hadn't aged a day, and was still the petite Gryffindor he had been during his seventh year of Hogwarts.

Frozen in time –Harry was only a shadow of who he once was, a sad little shadow of such a lively boy; he was only good for display now, dressed up in the finest of robes for the public.

Spending most of his days at Grimmauld Place, The-Boy-Who-Lived was visited everyday by his friends –friends who could do nothing but watch as Harry only seem to live in the past, his emerald eyes not taking in the sight of the wonderful future he had made possible. Their pleads and yells fell on deaf ears, for the doll-like Harry Potter never did anything in response –he was too broken.

….And then came the day when Ron Weasley could take no more, when his anger at the world, at the plain unfairness that penetrated every aspect of his best friend's life boiled over into one angry, hurt-filled question: "WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU WANT HARRY?! WHAT WILL IT TAKE FOR YOU TO BE OUR HARRY AGAIN?! THE HARRY THAT ACTUALLY HAD A BLOODY PERSONALITY! YOU'RE USELESS NOW! JUST A FREAKING VAMPIRE WHO WON'T DIED!"

Harry's pale face became lively; his rose red lips curving upwards into a small smile, emerald eyes lightening up with a childish happiness not seen in years, pale cheeks flushing red with excitement and raven hair escaping from the ribbon that kept it tame for so long, once again surrounding the boy's face in unruly strands.

"I want to die."

And then everything went black.