Section: Harry Potter
Pairing: Voldemort/ Tom Riddle Jr. X Harry Potter
Genre: Romance/Supernatural
Summary: The summer after his fourth year Harry gets the memories and abilities of two different people who lived in different times. When he makes sense of them, realizes that his life can never be easy.
Warning: Reincarnation, Slash, Incest, Necromancer! Seer! Harry, Mentions of Mpreg, Mentions of abuse in this chapter.

Chapter One

The morning sunlight filtered into the large bedroom through the gaps between the two expensive curtains. The room was quite large with a king-sized four-poster bed on one side. A door opposite was slightly ajar, enough that we could make out a bathroom. The door leading to the hallway opened silently and a tall figure entered. It was a man who seemed to be in his mid to late twenties. Dressed in an old-fashioned butler suit and with his neat dark black hair the man was quite beautiful. He silently glided to the large windows and pulled the curtains open, letting the light fully in.

A soft moan sounded from the bed and the blankets shifted slightly from the middle. A small tuff of black hair popped out, soon followed by a head. Think, long black eyelashes fluttered as bleary, brilliant green eyes blinked before they focused on the room's other occupant. With a yawn, the small body sat up in the middle of the large bed and stretched.

"Good morning, young master," said the man as he went back to the hallway, pushing a cart inside the room.

"'Morning, Xanthus," mumbled the boy as he ran his fingers through his waist-length hair.

"Today I have prepared for you a traditional breakfast à la Française," the man, Xanthus, said as he showed the boy the food on the cart. "There are tartines, brioches, croissants, pains au chocolat and pains aux raisins. There are also some breakfast cereals, fruit compote, fromage blanc, and yogurt. What would you like?"

"A pain au chocolat, half a brioche and some yogurt."

As Xanthus prepared a plate for his young master, he added, "for drinks I have prepared your favourite Earl Gray tea, but if you wish I also have hot chocolate and coffee."

"Tea," the boy hummed as he bit down on his pain au chocolat. As he ate, he could not help but reflect on the past two years. His life had changed dramatically since that day when he had remembered his two previous past lives. For one, he no longer used the name Harry Potter. To the world, the Boy-Who-Lived was dead.

He remembered waking up in the same room by the same person after he had summoned Death and fallen unconscious. It had taken him a few seconds to know what had happened. Being a Seer, he saw how Death arranged for him to be removed from the Dursleys, leaving behind a fake. The powerful entity had always had a soft spot for him so He had used his immeasurable power to create another person, identical to him for the muggles to find.

He remembered having asked Xanthus for a Prophet, knowing that the man was no human but actually a shadow shifter, one of Death's servants, whom the entity had left behind for him. What he had found though had actually managed to surprise him. He knew that Death had planned to make 'Harry Potter' die, but he had not expected the 'how'. Being Death, he could only see what the entity wished for him to see and Death had wished for it to be a surprise for some reason.

The Prophet had made a complete U-turn from what he later learned they had been publishing about him to the public. They had been slanting his name, calling him a liar, an attention-seeker and crazy. Then, it was found that Harry Potter was dead, killed by his own relatives. He was not ashamed that his living circumstances became known to the public. If he had still been the naïve little Harry Potter then, he most likely would have been. A vindictive part of him felt smug at having the Dursleys pay for all those torturous years living with them.

It would seem like Death really did know him so well. The fake He had left behind had still been alive until Vernon came up to his room in a fit of rage because of all the owls hooting. The beating he gave 'Harry' was harsher than the ones he usually gave him. In the end, 'Harry' ended up dead, beaten to death by his own uncle. It just so happened that a neighbor who had just moved in Privet Drive had called the police after hearing all the screams.

He had laughed so hard tears had fallen from his eyes when he saw how the muggles of Privet Drive took the news of child abuse taking place right in front of them. Oh, he remembered how those same muggles had been contemptuous towards him all because of the false accusations spread around by the Dursleys. To then find that the same 'normal' Vernon and Petunia had been abusing their poor nephew, who instead of going to St Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, actually went to private boarding school for the higher class. And instead of his mother having been a prostitute as Petunia had been saying, the woman had actually been a genius who had been accepted in the same school with a scholarship and had then married a real Lord. Then to find that the Dursleys had been stealing from the Potters, the same aristocratic family, and from Vernon's Firm for years! Even Marge, Vernon's sister, had been stunned! To think that the boy she had been degrading was a real aristocrat and not some good-for-nothing brat of drunks!

Priceless. Utterly priceless! Death had really outdone himself that time.

And that was only in the muggle world.

The Magical World had been in complete uproar for months. They had literally been demanding for blood. They wanted the muggles who had taken their savior from them to pay. The Prophet ran stories about poor little orphan Harry Potter who had never known real love. And then people started to question the Prophet since they had been the ones saying how their savior had been living like a Prince and was arrogant because of his wealth at the beginning of the summer. It had been complete chaos.

Even Dumbledore had been questioned as he was the one who had placed the child with the muggles. The poor old man had never really even known what had truly been happening in that house, having left a squib, Mrs. Figg to watch out for him. He had placed his trust in the wrong person as the old woman had only ever been concerned with her cats and so long as she saw the boy gardening everyday then she did not bother to see deeper.

Harry was not really one for revenge; he was more of a passive person really, but even he had his limits. Just for once he indulged himself. He had been ecstatic to see all those who had wronged him in this life pay their due. It had been the perfect birthday present from Death. And he had made sure the powerful entity knew just how thankful he was when He next visited him.

Death had even created a completely new background story for him. He became Hericles Black; the bastard son of Sirius Back and Maricela Feim – a pureblood girl from an old family Sirius had had a one-night stand with. Maricela should have died when she was young from a fall down a flight of stairs but Death had kept her alive just for this. The woman had known and had disappeared off the radar a couple of months after she really did sleep with Sirius in 1979.

He had even met the woman or her ghost anyway. She had died a good decade earlier but she had stayed in the mortal plane as she had wished to meet Death's favored and the one because of whom she had been able to live longer. Maricela had been a nice woman and he really would have liked it if she had been his actual mother; she would have done a really good job at that. She had stayed only for a couple of months, to help Hericles adapt, but then she had had to leave for The Beyond.

Even his appearance had changed slightly. Death made it so that his previous Slytherin and Black heritage became more dominant while his Potter genes became dormant. His previous green eyes with a hint of brown that he had gotten from Lily Potter became a luminescent green, practically glowing - they actually did glow when he used a lot of concentrated magic. His previously messy dark brown hair, much like James Potter, became straighter and silkier, and went to a darker black. He let it grow with time until it reached the familiar comforting length of his first life. His features softened and he regained the built of a bearer (a male capable of becoming pregnant): small and lithe, with the grace and agility of a cat.

Though, now that he thought about it, it was no longer common for males to be bearers as it had been a thousand years ago. It was more of a myth now; the prejudices that had entered the Magical World when the mundaneborns had entered their world had made the magic rebel against the natural flow of life. He had nothing against the muggleborns really, but he could at least admit, if to himself, that those prejudices had made the wizards and witches reject a good part of their heritage, forcing the ambient magic to close in on itself. If it continued, the purebloods would be right; magic would destroy itself and all because the muggleborns had come to their world and had imposed their views and values where they had no place. After all, magic was about will and if they willed for a part of magic to not be practiced, then magic would collapse.

For two years Hericles lived in that manor, away from civilization with only Xanthus and Empousai, a female servant who was actually a daemon, as company. The manor was right in the middle of a very dense magical forest, full of all sorts of creatures. Both were behind strong wards – stronger than the Hogwarts wards as they had been put there by Death Himself. The manor had once been built – it had actually just popped out of nowhere – by Death for his favored, thus Hericles; not that he was complaining.

For two years he brought his magic back to what it had once been, after all it would not do for him to walk down Diagon Alley only for one of his pretties (a corpse brought back to life) to burst from the ground because of his lack of control. Or even for him to get a massive headache as visions came to his mind at all times of the day. He had had to get control of his visions and his Death Magic, and it had taken him two long years of hard work. One good thing was that he was too busy and sometimes too exhausted to think too much about his soul mate. But now that he had complete control of his magic again, it was time for him to get back into the game, hopefully gaining back the love of his life – or lives, whatever.

Tom, or Voldemort as he was known, had remained in hiding since that fateful day at the graveyard: his resurrection. Meanwhile, he had put the Wizarding World into a false sense of security while his followers infiltrated the Ministry. They had all completely dismissed Dumbledore's warning of his return, further cementing their views of the old man's supposed madness.

Hericles was not sure he could ever really bring himself to join his beloved. Oh, he did want to be with Tom – Salazar – again, but he could not torture or kill someone. Ever. He may be a Dark wizard, a Necromancer at that, but that did not mean that he would – or could - do such a despicable thing!

There was also the fact that the Dark side and the Light side fought each other. He had friends and family in one faction and people equally dear to him in the other. Moreover, they each fought for either Light Magic or Dark Magic. If either won, it would be the end of Magic. It was as simple as that.

Thus, Hericles had to make a plan just for him. Someway, somehow, he would make the two factions make a truce and he would have to rebuild the Magical World from scratch. It was a lot to do already, and if he had been anyone else, it would have been impossible; but he had something no one else had; he had Death's complete assistance and faith. If he needed help, he knew whom to go to.

"Xanthus?"

"Yes, young master?"

"Have you sent the letter to Hogwarts?"

"Of course, young master."

"Good." Hericles took a sip of his tea and looked out the window, a small smile playing at his lips. 'Here I come, my Beloved.'

Let the games begin.

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