Author's Note :

I have made some… changes to this chapter… meaning that it is completely different than the original chapter three. If you have read the original chapter, forget everything you know concerning that chapter!!! Pretend it never existed!!!!! If you have not read the original chapter 3, PLEASE DISREGARD THE PREVIOUS STATEMENT! I REPEAT PLEASE DISREGARD! Concerning the new chapter 3, it will doubtless shock and amaze you unless you read the original because I kept the big ending surprise in there, but I added new information about Harry's mystery woman, some clues about the big DEATH at the end, and, of course, information on Voldemort's past. If you're not pleased with the suspense in this chapter, you will find that things get more exciting in the upcoming chapters, but you have to admit that the shock value does not get much higher than the sequence at the end. Once again, if you have not already read the original chapter 3, PLEASE DISREGARD THE PREVIOUS STATEMENT! If you have read the original chapter 3 and you found the surprise too bland and predictable, you are just as cynical about Harry as a person as I am. I mean really people if you didn't see this coming based on chapters thirty-six (The Only One He Ever Feared) and thirty-seven (The Lost Prophecy) of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, you have far too much faith in Harry's ability to control his rage. Oops… I think I have given far too much away already. 

Disclaimer: The rights to Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling. IN essence, it's all hers, except the plot to my story and the characters I invent, which are all MINE.

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Murder in the First Degree

The figure glaring down at Harry was Shyler Shango, a sixteen-year-old girl who lived in the neighboring village. She had violently bright blue hair that had a certain glow about it and shimmering silver eyes. Harry felt the odd sensation that the planet was being invaded by wild-haired, pointy-eared aliens the first time he saw her, and he was quite certain that he had seen one of those aliens in a 50's science-fiction movie once before. Shyler, who was usually unphased by anything, had a concerned yet stable look on her face, which was pale and sickly in appearance. Anything that worried Shyler had to be momentous and possibly lethal.

"They told me you were here, but I don't know why you're here," Shyler said, pulling him to his feet with one tug of her muscular arm.

"Who told you?" Harry asked, wondering how anyone could know where he was and had been since he fell asleep on the Dursley's chesterfield when he did not know himself where he had been or how he ended up there.

"The Mugs you grudgingly call relatives. They didn't seem too worried about you though," Shyler said her Transylvanian slang and thick accent becoming more evident. That was one important thing about Shyler: she never tried to hide what she was for anyone, no matter how much they despised who she truly was. Harry didn't hate Shyler's true self, on the contrary, he loved her honesty about herself, although he wasn't certain exactly who he was anymore (that's the general mindset of neglected orphans, but Harry was a special case by anyone's standards).With that final sentence, a thought struck Harry's mind, a thought that came to him often, a thought that she had not intentionally awakened. No one loves. No one. All the people that ever loved me are dead all because I'm stupid enough to fight Voldemort. By just being born, I marked my parents for death while I get to go on living this miserable existence. It's all my fault that all of these people around me are dying, he told himself silently.

"What'd you expect from them anyway?" she continued. "Listen, you have to get out of here. Its two days until the full moon. We can't take anymore chances, Harry. You remember vat happened when you came in, and I vas batty, right? We can't let anything like that happen again. It's too dangerous."

"I'm not here because..." Harry began, but he reconsidered due to where they were at at the time, it was not safe to talk about such things in the open in a muggle-infested area or anywhere for that matter. "I'll be more careful next time..."

"And considerate too," Shyler said finishing his sentence, only that wasn't remotely what he had meant to say.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"It's witches' night at the Hanged Man, and we were supposed to go... together... as a couple, but you've been locked away for a week. I figured that you were hiding from me," Shyler said, looking up the hill to the Riddle House.

"No, I wasn't hiding. Listen, I can't explain what happened here. Let's go up to the Riddle House. No one'll here us there," Harry said, grabbing her and beginning to pull her up the hill.

The Riddles' old house belonged to the Dursleys now. When Grunnings, went under, the Dursleys were forced to give up most of their marvelous possessions, including their luxurious home. Vernon Dursley owned property and an old manor out in the country that he had inherited from his late father. His father had gotten the house when it was left to him by a close family friend and business partner who had died due to unknown circumstances. The villagers of Little Hangleton believed that he just kept the house for tax purposes, but he had actually kept it because he knew that eventually he and his family would have to flee Privet Drive and Little Winging all together. Vernon Dursley had been doing secret operations from within Grunnings, operations that were based in India and did not exactly deal with drills.

To Harry Potter, it did not matter why they had left Little Winging, even though it would eventually matter very much to him. Only two things mattered about the Dursleys leaving their former house: the Dursleys were poor (karma, baby), and he was living in the place where his archenemy's father had once lived. This house may have been inhabited by the Dursley's now, but it was still called the Riddle House, even by Harry, who thoroughly despised the sound as it rolled off his tongue. That is the impact that Lord Voldemort left on those walls and on the people in the village of Little Hangelton the night he murdered the Riddles.

It hadn't been Voldemort's first murder, but it had been his most triumphant. He had already killed murder, or ordered the basilisk to kill her rather. He Apparated in the house while the maid was out and there they sat all decked out in their fancy dining clothes in the drawing room. Voldemort's anger only intensified when he realized how well his father had been living while he suffered a poor existence in the orphanage.

"Hello, all. I suppose I should call you my family, but I wouldn't dare give you the honor of being deemed relatives of the Dark Lord Voldemort, Master of Magic, murderer of the unworthy," Tom Junior said, smiling widely.

"My word, who are you, boy?" his grandfath er asked.

"I am no boy! I am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard ever born," Tom Junior replied, thoroughly insulted. "Say goodbye to your wife! Avada Kedavra."

With those two words, Tom Junior's grandmother had died. She screeched in pain as the flash of green light ended her life. Then, Lord Voldemort turned to his grandfather and killed him as well. The order in which he would kill them had been planned out much earlier. Killing his grandparents first let their be a dramatic face-off between Voldemort and his father, like in the movies, although, you can't really call it a face-off since the person he was facing had no way of protecting himself or winning the duel. This didn't matter though because all the Dark Lord wanted was a nice story to tell about vengeance to his followers and pretty much anyone who would listen (Voldemort has always been a big fan of the dramatics, it's his trademark). For such a callous person, Voldemort certainly was a big-headed showoff.

"Any last wishes, Papa?"

"Its you, son?" Tom Senior asked, tearing up.

"It would appear so. Now, Do you have any last wishes or not?"

"Only one. I want you to listen to my side of the story," Tom replied.

"What's to hear? You left my mother because she was a witch!" Voldemort snapped, but he quickly calmed down. "Regardless, I shall hear your side of the story. It'll be a thrilling fantasy for me to tell my children about how grandpapa made up horrible lies about how he had to leave grandmumsy to die!!!"

"Your mother isn't what they told you at the orphanage," he explained.

What do you mean isn't? It's wasn't! Show some respect for the dead."

"She faked her death. She's still alive. I'm a..."Tom began, but Voldemort interrupted.

"No, she didn't! You're lying! She died and you wouldn't take me! I'm your son, your only son! You'd rather have me die than take just because.."

"It's not that simple. I loved you, but I couldn't take you. She wouldn't allow it. She wanted to watch me suffer. I hid from her in fear, but I knew you'd come back for me. You were driven by sadness here, not by anger. You always wanted a father and now you get the chance to have one, Thomas. Look into my eyes and you will know I am not lying, son."

Harry followed calmly behind Shyler, sleep still lingering on his eyes. The hill was steep and the only stairs were on the other side near the driveway. They risked being spotted by someone if they used the steps. Although, it was very unlikely that anyone would be out walking near the Riddle House on a rainy day, but Shyler knew you could never be too careful. After all, she had nearly killed a man being careless.

"What really happened, Shy? The other day on the mountain" Harry questioned, as they shut the squeaking, side door behind them and sat down on the chesterfield where Harry had fallen asleep. He'd been asking her that same question ever since it happened, but she kept deliberately dodging his inquiries.

One would imagine that a half-vampire, werewolf outcast wouldn't have anything in common with an upper-class show off with an obsessive fan base, but nothing could be farther from the truth. He was destined to kill his parents' murderer or be killed, and she had given herself the task of murdering anyone who stood in the way of the vengeance she had dedicated her life to achieving.

"He deserved it, Harry, with his cross and garlic, waving it in my face like some lunatic on acid, calling me a daemon and reciting spells to send me to hell!" Shyler answered, her blood pressure rising.

"That was uncalled for though. That man could have died and started a vampire hunt."

It was true. There had been hunts before, but the most that had ever died was fifteen, including Shyler's father or so Harry had been told. Shyler had never had trouble lying to anyone before then, but the guilt of lying to Harry when he had entrusted her with his deepest secrets was more than Shyler had dealt with before that time. There was also the fact that their relationship had been a lie that weighed on Shyler's conscience, which until that point she did not realize existed.

"I'm perfectly aware of the corollaries."

"No, Shyler! I don't think you are aware of anything, except your own selfish revenge. You have no control over your powers or your emotions. After all the horrible things you've done, I'm baffled by the fact that you're still clueless as to why people are so afraid of you!" Harry shouted, losing his patience.

SMACK!!!!

"Well, I see you two are getting along nicely. Shyler, can you go fix Harry some tea?'" came a sweet, female voice, but not just any female.

As Shyler set off to the kitchen to make tea, strangely without questioning the request, Harry realized the sparkling, blue eyes, the pale complexion, the darling glint in her smile. This was the girl of Harry's dreams, the one he had seen speaking to Voldemort. Harry wanted so desperately to ask her who she was, but even more he wanted to kiss her. He had felt like this once before: when he had seen the veelas dancing at the world cup.

"I'm from the Order. Shyler too. They sent me to get you. Where've you been? You haven't written in a week. We thought you'd..." the girl said, drawing closer to him.

"I don't know. I can't remember. I fell asleep on the couch, and I woke up under the tree outside with no memory of the last week. All I can remember is seeing Voldemort..."

"And me. I know. I was trying to contact you. I'm a Legilimens," she informed him.

"Did it really happen? What I saw?" Harry asked.

"You sure are a bundle of questions, aren't you? I'll explain later, but not here. Let me see your back. Does it ache?"

"Yeah, but not as badly as my arms though," Harry answered, rubbing his left arm.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

"WHAT?!"

"Shh."

Harry reluctantly complied to her request. The ensuing scene would change both of them and possibly the entire world forever. There, upon Harry's left forearm, was the Dark Mark. This could only mean one thing. There was no other possibility, even if neither one of them would have admitted it.

"Put your shirt back on. Quick!"

Harry fumbled for his shirt and slipped it over his frail body just in time. As Harry finished straightening his shirt, Shyler came in from the kitchen.

"Is something wrong? I heard shouting," Shyler said in an unusually perky and calm tone.

"No, nothin's wrong here," the girl answered, trying desperately to hide Harry from Shyler and kept her voice seeming upbeat and steady.

"Okay," Shyler said, smiling. She got out of the doorway and began walking back to the kitchen, oblivious.

"Don't tell anyone. You hear me, no one. I'll find out what I can about this. Reean might know something so I'll ask her," she said once Shyler was out of view.

"Who's..." Harry began, but she interrupted him.

"Remember: tell no one. I'll be back in a few minutes," the girl said and with that quick sentiment and a loud CRACK she Disapparated.

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Post Script: Dun. Dun. Dun. Dramatic, isn't it? Please put reviews on. Good luck figuring out where Harry's been. It's not as straightforward as it may seem. Adios. I'm on a time crunch.