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

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

"Normal dialogue"

*Parseltongue*

In a small café in muggle London, two young men were quickly becoming the center of attention. Despite the lateness of the hour, many were still out and they can't help but eye the pair. One wore flowing black robes while the other was clothed in a slightly dirtied red sweater with a torn sleeve and black pants. The muggles merely assumed that they had attended a costume party.

They were sitting in a secluded booth in the corner. Both were tall, thin and had silky black hair. They looked somehow similar, like close relatives or even brothers at first glance, but if you studied them closely, you'd see the differences.

The taller one, looking around twenty, had a dark brown tinge to his slicked back collar-length hair when it caught the light. He had that proud, aristocratic look with his defined features: perfectly shaped eyebrows, thin, pale pink lips, straight narrow nose, chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. But what would really draw you in was his intense, brooding brown eyes that would look red when you weren't looking at them directly. Meanwhile, the younger one - who was probably still a minor - had a nest of adorable, rumpled raven-black hair that gave him a cross between a cute kid who just got out of bed in the morning and a devilish boy who, well, also just got out of bed after a session of… hair rumpling. The corners of his small mouth were upturned in a seemingly perpetual state of grinning, which drew notice to his dimpled cheeks. He winked at anyone he caught staring at him, his emerald green eyes twinkling in mischief behind his black square-rimmed glasses and sending the ones on the receiving end of his winks blushing. The elder boy remained stoic, frowning at the younger's behaviour.

Once they had decided on their order, the taller one beckoned the blushing waitress.

"A cup of black coffee," he drawled.

"And a glass of orange juice for me," the green-eyed boy added.

The waitress blushed even redder. "Would that be all?" she asked in breathless voice.

The taller one nodded irritably and waved her away before his companion could make the muggle melt in a puddle of goo.

When the waitress had left, he drew a long, thin stick from his sleeve. He made a sharp, swishing motion with it and the younger male in front of him immediately assumed a serious expression.

*Start talking,* he hissed menacingly.

The boy arched his brow, amused at the paranoia the Dark Lord showed but approving nonetheless. He slightly bowed his head and hissed back his reply.

*I ask to join your side, Lord Voldemort.*

Voldemort, getting used to the boy's tendency to do something unexpected, managed to maintain his expressionless façade. Underneath it all, though, his thoughts were spinning. Was this a trap? If not, what the hell happened to the dumb old bore's Golden Boy? What was wrong with Harry Potter? Or, in his case, what had gone right and made the boy a potential ally? He had a lot of questions and damn it all if he didn't receive answers soon.

Harry, upon sensing the Dark Lord's irritation, felt it wise to start explaining.

*Lord Vol -*

*Call me Tom when I'm in this form.*

The boy frowned but did what was asked of him.

*Then you may call me Stoirm, Tom.*

Tom tilted his head at the side at the mention of the alias. Harry merely smirked, as if challenging him to figure something out. But before Tom could say anything, "Stoirm" continued.

*You are, of course, aware of my antics of the past four years. Harry James Potter, otherwise known as The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Have-His-Fucking-Name-Hyphenated-And-Capitalized-At-The-Start-Of-Every-Fucking-Word: a muggle-raised boy, sorted into the House of impulsive idiots, Gryffindor. Thwarted the Dark Lord's early return by protecting the Philisopher's Stone. Re-discovered the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed the "evil" diary in his second year, along with the bloody basilisk. Third year - was hunted down by Azkaban-escapee Sirius Black, also, battled a horde of fucking Dementors. Now competing in the fucking Tri-wizard tournament despite being underage,* he paused and leaned forward for effect.

The Dark Lord, amused as he was at the young wizard's obvious love for profanity, remained still, refusing to get sucked into whatever game the boy was playing at.

Harry grinned and, even though he knew he was playing with fire, leaned closer still. Tom could now feel the boy's warm breath on his left cheek.

*What if I told you it was all a show?* he whispered in a slow and breathy hiss right beside Tom's ear.

A small part of Tom noticed how intimate they probably looked from afar. Harry was so close he could smell the mixture of sweat and blood and who knows what else on the boy's smooth, creamy skin and he was strangely tempted to bite down on the bared neck and trail kisses down to the peeking collarbones. He wasn't this easily-distracted and he blamed his technically newborn body. The murmured hisses didn't help either.

But the larger part of him, the rational part, had processed what Harry said.

"Explain," he demanded in English.

Harry noted the sudden change in language.

'I wonder,' he thought, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He chuckled lowly, thinking that perhaps he had finally lost the small amount of sanity left in him. He licked the Dark Lord's earlobe.

Voldemort's left hand moved in a blur. He grabbed Harry's chin gruffly and his eyes widened minutely at the unexpected static in the touch.

He had felt something in the graveyard earlier when he touched the boy, had felt something again when the boy bloody licked his ear. Both instances, he easily ignored at first, thinking that it was only his new body's excited nerves. But now, it was unmistakable. His arm felt charged and he was caught off guard by the sweet tingling he received from the direct contact. Surprise gave way to confusion and confusion gave way to anger. His narrowed eyes bled red as his eye glamour slowly dissolved.

"You are playing a very dangerous game, child," Tom growled. He roughly let go of his grip on the boy.

Red marks decorated Harry's cheeks but it made him no less threatening when his demeanor changed and a cold, chilling presence replaced his casual air.

"I may be a child but I can kill you. I'm not the only one playing a dangerous game."

He had hoped to at least broach the topic he intended to discuss with the Dark Lord, but it wasn't a conversation meant to be had in a bad temper. Besides, it was getting late. He still had to return to Hogwarts.

Harry stood up. He glanced at the Dark Lord and saw the barely controlled anger. He silently chided himself for his actions. He had been pushing the man on edge the whole time and he would be lying if he said he didn't take a sick pleasure in it. The Dark Lord was strongly affecting him, the man's magic addling his usually level-headed mind. But still, this was the man whose side Harry wished to join. He would need to act more carefully next time.

Harry gave a quick bow. He was in mid-step towards the exit when Tom stood up and gripped his chin again. Sharp nails dug into his skin and Tom grazed his thumbnail along Harry's left cheek, hard enough to draw blood. Harry's eyes fluttered, feeling the pain like a drug, overtaking his senses. Tom leaned down and pressed his lips on his cheek as he licked the wound, blood and all.

Then, Tom suddenly stepped away and disapparated with a mocking "Until next time, Stoirm."

It all happened in less than five seconds, and for a moment, Harry stood there, stunned, beside their table.

"Bastard," he cursed. There he was, left alone in a Muggle café, feeling extremely hot and bothered, with a crowd of equally hot and bothered muggles who saw everything and obviously required obliviating.

He (illegally) made a quick work of it and apparated (also illegally) to the now-empty graveyard in Little Hangleton. He expertly schooled his expression into one of shock and despair before retrieving the Tri-wizard Cup and Cedric Diggory's lifeless body. Immediatedely, they were portkeyed back to Hogwarts. The Headmaster rushed towards him, face filled with worry and concern and Harry fought down the laugh bubbling up his throat. The old coot was just so easy. Really, Hogwarts was losing its fun. He mentally sighed and hugged Diggory's corpse tighter.

Let the show continue.

A/N: I'm still experimenting with this genre so suggestions would be really nice orz

-Mischief Managed-