Disclaimer: I do not own.

Note: This is confusing, as many of the middle scenes were initially intended as a supplement to the story after having read many chapters… but I think that I catch you up quickly enough. Bear with the confusion, please.

Also keep in mind that my two OCs are minor in this story. They are important in their own way, but beyond this chapter they are mostly in the background. However, I feel it imperative to give them meat. Don't let their introductions turn you off. This story is about Harry (and Tom!) overall. However, these people are the biggest factors to why Harry is as he will be portrayed in this story. While I refuse to spend 10 chapters elaborating on every moment of Harry's tenure away, I would like to give a base for why he is... who he is.

That said, there's some HarryOMC in this chapter (and only this one). More poetic dribble than citrus.

Paraselenic

Mylläkkä // chaos and disruption

Twenty-five year old Harry Potter groaned as he was unceremoniously pinned to the ground, a forearm digging into his throat hard enough to create little bursts of light behind his eyelids.

"I give, damnit!" he rasped out, gasping for air as the arm was finally removed. He glared up at the feline blue eyes that hovered over him, the shine to them the only thing that gave away the owner's amusement. Harry blew a chunk of his sparring partner's golden hair from his face and planted his foot in the blond's abdomen, throwing him several feet away. "Damnit," he cursed again.

The blond stood gracefully, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. "I apologize, Mylläkkä, but you will never defeat me."

"Whatever." Harry snorted. "Considering I have a decimal point of your experience, I think I do well enough." Harry snatched up his daggers from where they had been lost in the fight, strapping them into their customary places on his person - one on the thigh in plain sight and one held with a spell at the top of his back, his long hair covering its existence. Harry couldn't help another groan as he stood, wincing when several joints popped.

Dante Pierce might have had the reputation as the most trained fighter in Sceaduwe Citadel, but he was also the most ruthless. He had trained around the world for almost a millenium picking up fighting styles of the ages, but his teaching style mostly consisted of beating the utter crap out of his student until they picked up enough to fight back. He had taken only two pupils in the last hundred years despite his highly sought-after status, and Harry knew to be grateful for the opportunity afforded to him. Nonetheless, any training session he had with Dante left him bruised, beaten, and sore for days in muscles he had forgotten he had.

"If you would simply acquiesce to a full Change, Mylläkkä, you would have much less difficulty in battle. It is your need to breathe which I am always able to use against you."

Harry glared again at the perfectly unruffled blond who was picking at his nails, looking for all the world as if he had not just kicked Harry into the ground. He cursed to himself, damning vampires and ignoring the fact that he was technically one as well.

He was not a vampire in the traditional sense, as his sparring partner had kindly pointed out. Normal vampires had no need for air and most certainly did not feel like they had been run over by a muggle lorry after an hour-long spar. Harry had imbibed the blood of the Citadel's lord, which graced him with many vampiric qualities.

He required blood, but with that came the famed capabilities for vampiric speed and strength, something he had concentrated on honing in the last years. He had been disappointed to find that such abilities were not natural with vampirism, though he had taken pride in training in the last years. Even with the changes to him, though, he managed to remain mostly living in the most literal sense. His healing was barely more than that of a human's and his need to breath did hamper his efforts to surpass his instructor, but he was rather fond of the daylight and had not wished to give it up, which all vampires had to for the first several hundred years after their Turning.

His partial Changing had been the only way he could come to Sceaduwe. Only those of Immortal blood could enter the shadowed realm that the citadel resided in, and it had been a compromise on Valerian's part for him to remain only as something of a halfbreed. Valerian had wanted to Change him on the same day he'd met him, but Harry had been very disgruntled with the idea of staying in his malnourished fifteen year old body for eternity.

Harry shook his head. "No, I am happy with how I am. This will be enough for what I have to do."

Dante let out a small sound that would have vaguely resembled a snort had Dante had the ability to do something so plebeian. "Whatever you say."

"I have to get out of here though, Valerian is waiting for me in the solarium. I leave tomorrow."

The blond cut his eyes away. "You will return?"

"Perhaps," Harry said, drawing out the word as he shifted his weight. He honestly did not know if returning would even be an option when all was said and done, let alone if he would be given the choice. He loved living in Sceaduwe, but no one could predict what would befall him in the mortal realm. Harry liked to think he would survive the coming conflict, but could be guarantee it? No. Maybe it was his stunted childhood talking, but he'd never put much stock in fairy tales. "But I will keep in touch once I catch up with this time… definitely."

As Harry exchanged one last look with Dante and left the room, he let out a quiet laugh. How had he come so far? He could hardly remember his former life anymore, and here he was about to be thrown headfirst back into it. Harry skirted around a group of dwarves, nodding to one of them with a ready smirk. His life was so monumentally different now. He would never regret his choice to follow a man he had never met off of the streets of Surrey, even if that man could have had his death in mind for all Harry had known.

Merlin, was he so glad he had.

Fifteen year old Harry Potter followed the tall man, the Marquis Valerian was what he went by, through the complicated labyrinth of hallways. Sceaduwe Citadel was nothing so impressive as Hogwarts, but it had a magic flowing through it like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. It was ominous, almost; it hung thick and heavy in the air. He wondered if it was his newly enhanced senses that made it seem so, or if it was the new reality he found himself in for the last week. He was hardly used to it.

"Come, pet, we must harvest the ingredients for the potion if you ever intend to return to the mortal realm."

"Harvest?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Valerian turned back with a smirk that showed a fang. "Oh nothing, pet."

A warning chill ran up Harry's spine.

"Ah, here we are. Pet, meet Dougal Fraiser," he said imperiously, waving his hand at a tall redhead. "He is our resident Potions Master and will be harvesting the needed ingredients to be sure you can return to your life when your training here is done."

Harry eyed the man warily. Being fifteen and five foot four was hard enough as it was, but looking at the hulking man that towered over him at what Harry supposed to be nearly seven feet, he felt positively tiny. "Um, nice to meet you?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head. "You do not say 'um' like the hoi polloi! Again!"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said again through gritted teeth. This had already become common in the last weeks, and he had already learned that it was useless to argue with the elder vampire. He knew he would lose if only be the sheer stubbornness of Valerian.

"Good, pet."

Harry hated the nickname; it made him feel like a child. Glaring, he turned to say just that when he caught the wicked glint in Valerian's eyes. He backed away a step. "Um, wh-why are you looking at me like that?"

Valerian's grin widened and he held up his hand, showing the small ceremonial blade he held in it.

Harry's eyes went round. He didn't know what the 'ingredients' were, but he's be damned if he didn't know it was going to hurt.

"'Harry' is bland."

Harry had been in Sceaduwe Citadel for nearly six months now, and after being continuously referred to as 'pet' or not at all, he had finally asked why. The sixteen year old scowled. "It was the name my parents gave me."

Valerian rolled his eyes. "I do not care. Perhaps amongst the mortals it is fitting, but here it is as dull and lifeless as a corpse. You need a new name, and I shall be the one to give it to you!"

Harry swore that he twitched.

The pompous vampire paced the space in front of his desk, finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What language to choose from, though, hmm? Perhaps French? It is the land of my birth, after all."

Harry had visions of being called Chouchou for the rest of his life and shuddered. "No thank you."

"Italian, then, perhaps? I spent a few decades in the last century there, it is a lovely place."

Harry tilted his head. "Like what?"

Valerian flapped his hand at him. "Shush, you. No, Italian does not fit you." He circled Harry like a bird of prey, narrowed eyes scrutinizing. "You remind me of my lover from the late fifteenth century. A proud man, but caring of those he deemed worthy. And he was a revolutionist, oh goddesses was he. His wish was to change his country, to free his people…" Valerian sighed wistfully. "Such a man."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nearly looked away. "Um, what does this have to do with naming me?"

Valerian snapped out of his reverie, grinning sheepishly. "I apologize, pet. I was reminiscing. As I was saying, you remind me much of him. And he was called Mylläkkä, Bringer of Chaos. It fits you as well, as I am sure chaos will be what you will bring upon your Wizarding world. Finland is such a beautiful place, really, I spent the longest there that I have ever spent in a country: three hundred years. I consider it my home, truly."

Harry's eyebrows rose, he hadn't expected such a dignified name from the flighty man. A slow smile spread across his face. "Mylläkkä. I like it."

"Hello Mister Peirce, Valerian said you agreed to teach me physical fighting?"

Valerian had told him that the man in front of him was known as one of the best fighters alive, having trained famous victorious fighters over the centuries. He was excited to learn the more physical fighting styles; dueling was all well and good, but he had always thought wizards were too lazy. Dante was not as tall as some, perhaps an even six feet tall, but his poise made him seem bigger somehow. Golden hair fell to his shoulder blades and brilliant blue eyes held slitted pupils. The compelling eyes were currently examining him like an especially disgusting bug. "Hn."

Harry shifted. "Well, would you like to work out a schedule?"

The blond blinked.

"Or perhaps we could start right away? I would like to learn."

Dante picked at his fingers, ignoring him now.

"Can you even speak?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you? Valerian said you had agreed, but if you'd rather me leave…"

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to answer me or not?!"

"Hn."

"Arg! You are infuriating!"

"You will be in this room at four o'clock in the morning. Every morning."

Harry paused in his frustrated growling, paling slightly at the cold command in the blond's voice. "Oh. Alright then."

"Sir."

Harry gulped, taking in the utterly emotionless face of the man-- no, vampire. He had met a lot of people who were able to conceal their emotions, but never to this extent. He was used to seeing a sneer in place of a laugh or a scowl instead of raving in annoyance, but this was ridiculous. The man looked like he was made of stone, for Merlin's sake! While with many he would have made a snide comment, with this man he felt lost as to how proceed. He couldn't read him at all.

He gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."

Though the blond's face didn't twitch, Harry got the distinct impression that he was smirking.

Valerian growled at the young vampire that challenged him. Harry was breathless as he watched Valerian angry for the first time, seeing the palpable swirls of color that danced around him. Tanned skin glowed bronze, golden eyes blazed. The young vampire was obviously a fool, Harry mused, as he stood cockily through the display without cowering. Even the shorn reddish-brown strands swaying in the force of Valerian's power didn't seem to deter the young upstart.

"You've lost your touch in your advanced years, old man. Obviously new blood is needed. You're too soft, letting the werewolves into Sceaduwe and letting that human concubine of yours roam around like he rules us. Sceaduwe is for Immortals, not pale imitations!"

Valerian smirked, a menacing twist of his lips that made Harry freeze in place. "Come at me then, Childe."

Harry watched in awe as Valerian merely ducked the attack aimed at him, putting no visible effort into the move. He slid fluidly like water around, dancing around the younger. It was so unlike the usual irreverent Valerian that Harry could hardly breathe. He was the picture of what the textbooks at Hogwarts had described Vampires as, menacing and all tightly controlled power. This was what Harry wanted for himself, this command of himself. He could see now why the other Immortals in the citadel deferred to Valerian so easily. It explained the way people would stare resentfully towards Harry but never raise a complaint against his presence.

Valerian flipped back away from the relentless attacks of his infuriated challenger, startling Harry out of his reverie. The tightness around his eyes was pronounced as he pulled a knife from his belt and slashed it across his palm, jaw tense. Even the challenger halted his movement with wide eyes as a drop of Valerian's blood fell to the ground. The hand was slammed his palm-down on the ground, bolts of pure magic shooting up from the tips of Valerian's fingers. A spectrum of color coalesced at Valerian's side as he straightened.

A pure black fox stood by Valerian's side with its back level with Valerian's waist, teeth bared and eyes a bloody red. Harry's mind saw Voldemort's slitted eyes mirrored in the feral fox. With a flick of Valerian's wrist, the fox leapt at the challenging vampire, sinking its teeth intohis neck with a sickening squelching sound before he could even move. Harry's stomach rolled. At seventeen years old, he had seen death before… but this was the most violent by far. There was a profound difference between the clean deaths he had seen until this point and the bloodbath Valerian had just incited.

Nonetheless, Harry couldn't help being amazed at Valerian's abilities. This was what he could become?

He was still waxing poetic on Valerian's finer points when the elder vampire dragged him into the shadows and instantly transported them back to their rooms. Valerian had put off his questions with a shake of his head and pointed Harry toward the bathroom, insisting he shower for dinner.

Food was served slowly, and Harry fairly vibrated in his seat as he waited for it to be polite to talk. Quail tonight, Harry noted with a faint frown. Too extravegant. At least the company was good, though. He and Valerian had dined together every night for the last year, and Harry was constantly amazed by how well they got along. He had never been much for socializing, but Valerian was stubborn enough to wrench him out of his shell by force. Most days, Harry was thankful for that.

Finally the servants ducked from the room, leaving Harry leaning over his plate with a grin. "Good Merlin, that was brilliant today, Val! How did you do it? Can I learn that now? You fight like a genius! You didn't even need a wand, how did you manage that?"

Valerian chuckled lightly. "It is Vampire magic, pet, Blood magic. Considered Dark and rightfully so. No, you cannot do it right now, it took me over a century to manage a summon. You will have quite some time left until then, and I was a prodigy. Expect atleast two hundred years. No, I will not teach you to fight, your body needs at least several decades of training to be able to harness the strength, speed, and agility I possess. Though you now have a much higher threshold for such things, a vampire does not automatically gain inhuman ability. They must work for it. And so you shall. However, I am glad you were impressed; I was showing off for you." He winked and picked up a knife from the table, balancing it in his hand as he picked a fork.

Harry scowled and ignored the faint heat he could feel creeping up his neck. "So... err... no cool animals?"

"No," Valerian said with an amused scoff.

"No cool shadow-movement?"

"No, pet. You've got many years to go."

Harry pouted. "Well, fuck."

Valerian leered around a laugh, cutting himself a bite. "Offering, are you pet?" He only grinned wider as Harry promptly flushed.

"Val!" a twenty year old Harry screeched, stomping through the halls. He passed a contingent of elves in the narrow hallway and ignored them as they jumped back out of the way. He had been in the citadel for five years, and by now everyone knew to avoid him when he was angry if only to avoid offending him and angering the Marquis. As a close friend and the rumored lover of the Lord of the realm, he was able to literally get away with murder. He was slowly gaining respect of his own amongst the groups, but he was still considered little more than a hanger-on to Valerian. Not that he cared much usually. But this...

Green eyes blazed, a palpable aura of fury dancing around him. Harry stormed to Valerian's office and threw the doors open. "Val!"

Valerian blinked rapidly at his charge, tilting his head and setting down his quill. "What is it, pet?"

"Hurly-burly. It bloody well means hurly-burly!"

"What are you talking about, my dear?"

Harry scowled darkly. "I met with the European werewolf delegation like you asked me to. I was introduced as Mylläkkä and they laughed at me! You said it meant chaos!"

"It does," he paused for a long moment, eyes clouding over. "Well, it did in the fifteenth century. Why, what is wrong?"

Harry let his head fall onto the desk before lifting it and letting it fall again. "Now I look like an idiot, running around with a name that translates to 'a minor disruption'. I want a new name!"

Valerian cuffed him. "No. Mylläkkä is who you are!"

"Mylläkkä is now wimpy! I don't want to run around to people snickering at my name! I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into going by anything else!"

"It is a strong name, was known as a strong name in the past, and so long as your adversaries do not speak Finnish, it will continue being a strong name! Now stop whining, you silly boy."

Harry let his head hit the table again.

"I want to cut my hair," Harry said as he pushed the lengthening strands over his shoulder, cursing as they fell back towards his plate.

Valerian glared at him over his goblet. "No."

"Come on Val! It's totally impractical to have hair this long when fighting. It gets in the way no matter what I'm doing and I look like a bloody girl half the time."

Valerian ignored him with practiced ease, brushing his fingers through his fringe and rolling his shoulders. "Don't call me that, pet. The length of your hair is indicative of your status here, and you will grow it out to at least the small of your back. I will not have my heir running around with the shaggy mess you came here with."

"I don't want it that short again, I just want it shorter than this! Can't I just keep it at the length Dante does? It's heavy like this and gets in my face."

"I will teach you a spell to keep it out of your face, but you will learn to deal with it. I have had mine this length for five hundred years, so I know you can manage with it. Dante is not a noble and is already respected for his prowess in fighting as well as his dignity. You are a rageful childe who is cozy with several powerful figures. It would do you well to make that known that you are more than that, and not just someone who coasts along on your connections."

Harry propped his head on his hand. "You're so difficult, Val."

"And you are impudent, pet."

"Ah, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

A dramatic sigh. "But how could I not, Mylläkkä my pet?"

Harry smiled. Though he supposed they were not in love with one another, they each held much affection and a healthy dose of lust between them. He knew their arrangement was temporary, but he truly cared for Valerian. He was unlike anyone Harry had ever met… to manage a mix between playful, arrogant, and totally madcap was extraordinary. At twenty two, what more could he ask for?

"So I can't cut it off?"

A glare was his only response.

By twenty three, Harry thought that he had perhaps found happiness for the first time in his life, and he wouldn't give it up for anything short of the world. And now, at twenty five, he would be expected to follow through on that. The world was exactly what was expected of him, wasn't it? Harry shook himself from his reverie, speeding up his steps. No matter how sentimental he became at the last moment, he would be returning to 1995 in only a few hours. It had been the plan from the beginning, and if he backed out now his pride would cease to exist. He couldn't let his attachments hold him back.

When Harry entered the room, Valerian grinned in greeting with shining eyes, causing a small smile to curve on Harry's lips unwillingly. Valerian flipped his hair over his shoulder and began standing. "Ah, Mylläkkä, my pet. I was worried you had forgotten me."

"You know better. Dante decided I had been slacking in my training… and proceeded to kick my arse in consequence."

Valerian threw him a rakish grin as he made his way towards him, circling Harry with unconcealed amusement. "I see nothing wrong with you. No bleeding wounds, no obvious deformities… much better than even a year ago, pet."

Harry gave him a genuine smile. "I just hope it will be enough."

Golden eyes closed off and Valerian sighed, motioning to the couch and taking a seat himself. After procuring some brandy for both himself and his protégé, Valerian stared into his glass and swirled it. "You will leave, then?"

"You know I have to."

A bitter laugh, unfamiliar and out of character. "Ah, yes. Savior of the Wizarding world and all that, no?"

"Ah, so I am." Harry sipped his drink, throat constricting from the strength of the aged alcohol. "But just who will I be saving?"

Harry knew he was no longer the Light scion he had been tempered to be, and he was completely prepared to take the Wizarding world by storm. A vampire by choice with an affinity for obscure Dark spells and a lust for a challenge, Harry was far from the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' he had once been. He was no longer blinded by the optimism of his youth, nor was he afraid of what anyone would think of him; the world could go fuck itself so far as he was concerned. The only reason he was even bothering to return to the mortal realm was because of a damned prophecy and his doubly-damned pride. And beyond that, he knew without a doubt that Dumbledore had to be stopped.

Oh, he still couldn't really see the old man as evil, per se. He was morally good and righteous and had wonderful plans for wizards and witches everywhere… but that was the problem. They were his plans and his dictation of right and wrong, and no one else was allowed to have their own definitions. A different opinion meant you were Dark, which in the minds of Dumbledore and his party was equated with evil immediately.

His plans, doubtlessly well-intentioned, took no consideration to what they might inflict upon others in the end. Why had Sirius been allowed to be imprisoned without a trial? Dumbledore had been on the Wizengamut for decades, surely he could have demanded a truth spell of some kind be placed on the man? Veritaserum had not yet been invented at the time and even so was easily subverted, but there were still plenty of ways to ascertain if a person was lying. There was no need to get the story from him and check the truth of it, only to ask yes or no questions. Easy. Yet it had not been done.

Voldemort was a madman, that much was true. He was quick tempered and easily antagonized, megalomaniacal and cruel. Even ignoring all that, Harry was more than wary to join forces with his parents' murderer. What would they think of him now? A vampire, setting out to destroy the man they had followed, about to join forces with their murderer. But Harry knew he stood no chance alone. He was a no one in the Wizarding world as he was now, and beyond that he would be feared as a vampire and shunned as the former child hero of the Light who had 'abandoned' them. He needed support and the only place to get that was through Voldemort, no matter the consequences.

Beyond all that, though, there was the simple fact that he agreed with Voldemort's philosophies more than Dumbledore's. There was a lot there that needed work, but wizards and witches did need to stop procreating with muggles; it would end up leading to the death of magic. It was like allowing a prized purebred dog to run around with mutts... in a few generations, the pure blood would be gone, and with enough of that the race would die out. However, Voldemort's logic was flawed in his supposition that this had to mean the eradication of muggleborns. That was foolish and only stamped all the new blood from their race. But he digressed.

Dumbledore's path would end up ruining the Wizarding World… and Harry intended to be sure that wouldn't happen. It seemed his oft-mentioned hero complex and Gryffindor loyalty was unable to be smothered.

He sighed and met golden eyes. "You still won't come with me, then?"

"You know better," Valerian said softly. "I must watch things here. You are my successor; it is not as if I could leave this place in your hands if I was following you. And if I leave for any period of time, the upstarts will mob together and attempt to take over. We cannot have that, the safety of too many rests on us."

"You're right, I know you are. But..." Harry sighed, shifting his eyes to the floor. "There are so many unknowns in this. As far as I know, I could be dead long before I get back to this time--"

Valerian scowled. "Do you think I would allow you to go back and do this mission of yours if you were dead in this time? No."

"I know, I know. You know all, you are omnipotent, woo..." Harry wiggled his fingers and gave Valerian a sarcastic grin.

He was surprised to see Valerian's face stay in its scowl, brows drawn tightly together. "I am far from omnipotent, pet, and I thought I had taught you that by now. In many ways, you have far more power than I do. I am bound by the laws of my position. The Fates only grant me such overbearing power so long as I abide their law, so my hands remain tied when I most wish to move them. They will not allow me to share what I know of the outside world, nor can I use my power to save any they deem should die. I cannot meddle with the affairs of mortals if it would alter their weave. I am still under heavy watch for having taken you away, as you know. They were angered with me for my interference. I fear another such instance would cause me to be stripped of my position, and I cannot fathom the turmoil that would cause. Do you not understand, Harry?"

Valerian never called him Harry, and that he had now sent a chill down Harry's spine. He turned his eyes up to the garden window, artificial sunlight soaking into him as his cocky smile melted away. "I know that Val, really I do. But still, we can't know how things will turn out..."

"That we cannot. Even I could not hope to. But even though discussion of Mortal happenings is forbidden here, I am well aware of everything that happens outside, in the mortal realm as well as others. I would not send you to die, Fates be damned."

Harry kept his eyes on the window and put his hand over Valerian's, linking their fingers. "Even you can't know the future, Val. The past perhaps, the present of course, but the future is anyone's game."

"It is good, then, that you plan to travel to the past, isn't it?" Valerian stood and met Harry's eyes, smirk twisting his lips as he fell into a familiar stance of overbearing annoyance. "Come, let's be off to dinner. I must give you a wonderful last meal to remember us all by."

"Alright, sounds good." Harry stood with a smile overtaking him despite his brooding. "Thanks, Val."

Valerian paused, turning back and raising his eyebrow. "First you really must shower; you smell like a dead animal."

Harry promptly flipped him off.

Harry's hands tightened in black hair, a gasp escaping his throat. He would miss this, this strange connection the two of them shared. Every brush of lips ignited fires under his skin, every sure stroke of scarred hands sent chills.

Golden eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, their golden luster highlighted with different angles. Harry arched languidly against the familiar touch, rising up to let his teeth scrape against the bare shoulder before him. This was their last night together after seven years in their strange relationship; somewhere, deep inside of him, Harry knew that he would not be returning. And with every brush of skin against his, every whispered endearment in a dozen languages, Harry knew that Valerian knew it too. Someday he would try to come back, but that would likely be many, many years in the future.

Valerian and he had never had a normal relationship, from their unconventional beginning through to the present. They were complements to one another in many ways, able to fulfill parts of the other left untouched prior. They had an intimacy between them for as long as Harry could remember, from the very moment they met. It had been strange to the other inhabitants of the fortress, as Valerian was not known to take close companions. Lovers, yes, friends even… but no one had ever been allowed so constantly near as Harry.

Beginning with Valerian deciding to liberate of him of his virginity sometime after his seventeenth birthday and continuing whenever the mood struck one of them, their relationship had not been one of love. The sparks between them were an inferno, burning through them harshly before leaving them in a quiet contentment found between the closest of friends. If they were to try to make it into more than it was it would consume them, burn them to a crisp.

Chilled in the night air, goosebumps rose across Harry's skin behind lightly trailing fingertips. His breath came in gasps as he was filled to breaking, muscles clenching as he sought to push himself closer yet to Valerian. He'd often wondered why neither of them could bring themselves to call what they had a relationship, why they didn't seem to ever fall in love. Why it never deepened to something more. He wondered if years in the future he would come back, finally agree to a full Change and stay beside the regal man in this strange distortion of a relationship they had. He would be happy, he thought. Happy enough.

But he wanted so much more in his life. Harry knew there was more out there. Something like a fire that never faded to embers, never burned so intensely that it left the participants turned to ash.

Climax came swiftly, pouncing on Harry without warning. His hands yanked his lover down against him, fingernails raking across his shoulders. He could feel Valerian shuddering against him, and Harry's tightly clenched ankles loosened around his waist.

Harry didn't know what the future held, but it didn't matter. He had that moment to live in, staring into golden eyes.

If there was one thing that had become clear to Harry in his decade-long tenure in the Sceaduwe Citadel, it was that there was a huge difference between living and surviving.

Survival was simply existence. It was the state of one's body not ceasing to function, of their mind being clear. It was managing to live through another sunset and nothing more.

Living, on the other hand… Harry longed to truly live. The last ten years had been the closest to the meaning of 'living' that he had ever experienced, and he craved more of it. The prospect of actually enjoying existence was an ideal Harry coveted, and something he knew he had yet to fully experience. He nearly pitied himself for having to go back in time again.

He sighed and put a hand into his pocket, fingering the vials within it. The potions Valerian commissioned from Dougal Fraiser laid in small unbreakable vials containing the finished product created all those years ago when he'd arrived at Sceaduwe. Once they'd taken a rather disturbing amount of his blood and a section of flesh, they had explained how the potion would work. With only a drop on his tongue of the murky black potion, aptly named 'Regression', he could appear as the age he was when the ingredients had been harvested. A second potion, fluorescent orange and named simply 'Reversion', would put him back to his natural state. The catch was that the Regression potion only lasted a week at a time, and he had to keep track of when he used it. He had enough for perhaps hundred transformations each way, and hoped he would not be forced to use it that often. He'd done a test of it already, and the transformations hurt.

Now he stood in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, hood drawn to hide his features as he awaited any known Death Eater to cross his path. He needed an easy ticket to Voldemort, and this had seemed the best course of action. Harry was not worried about being recognized in this form; no one expected Harry Potter to be a five foot ten adult with nearly waist length hair and inhumanly bright eyes. Even someone who knew him would be hard pressed to recognize him like this, and the Wizarding public at large only ever recognized his scar, which had faded without aggravation and was covered by the long fringe he had flattened to obscure half his face.

He was, instead, weary of anyone recognizing him for what he was, which was sure to cause him problems no matter what Alley he was in. Vampires generally kept to themselves and wizards harbored an innate fear of them, born from a denial of not being at the top of the food chain. Simple human nature.

He had twenty four hours until the moment his younger self had left Privet Drive, and it was beginning to look like he would need every moment of it. He had already been reclining against he same decrepit wall for nearly an hour, no luck yet in finding a Death Eater. Had they all gone into hiding after the Department of Mysteries? He bloody well hoped not! With a sigh Harry made himself comfortable; this might take a while.

Lucius Malfoy was Not Happy, capitalized. His brush with Azkaban had left him shaken, his reputation in tatters, and his assets frozen. How dare that Potter brat out him like that? If it weren't for his connections in the ministry, he would still be in some Merlin forsaken cell wallowing in his own filth! It was inhumane and absolutely disgusting, and of the many things Malfoys did not do, disgusting was one of the first on the list.

He walked regally beside his son as they wandered Diagon Alley, his head held high despite the obvious stares and whispers. He was shunned from high society now but damn if he would show it. These people were but bugs beneath his boots, and he would not give them the satisfaction of showing his fall from grace. Let them talk; when the Dark Lord ruled them they would cower at his feet.

He left Draco at Madam Malkin's to get measured for his new set of robes, intent on visiting Borgin in the interim. The rotund shop owner was looking after his Darker objects for the coming months, keeping them from the Ministry's prying eyes. There was a particular tome he needed from his own collection for a task set by his master, and no matter how Not Happy Lucius was at the moment, he preferred it to be himself than the Dark Lord.

When Voldemort was Not Happy, the world felt his wrath.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak as he entered the dark walkway connecting Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, still keeping his inner monologue and ignoring the rest of the world. He never felt the eyes that followed his every move, didn't feel the instincts of prey under the eye of a predator. In fact, Lucius had no time to react at all when he was pinned to a wall, his wrists above his head and a shorter body pressed against him. The face of his assailant was hidden as he purred in Lucius's ear, a laugh suffusing his voice. "Well hello, Lucius. Forgive me my terrible manners, but you came along and I need an audience with your master. Now."

Lucius sneered in the general direction of the person that held him, coming up with his face pressed into long black hair. "As if I would obey your command simply because you assaulted me? Unhand me, you filthy cretin."

A low chuckle was his response, the hot breath ticking his ear and making it very difficult not to shiver. "Ah, but Lucius… you wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little heir, now would you? I think it is in your best interests to take me to the Dark Lord, and quickly… before I lose my patience with your posturing."

Lucius did shiver this time, but it was not from any form of pleasure. To threaten him was something he could worm his way out of… but his son was the future of the Malfoy name, and he could not have anything unpleasant befall him. And even more than that, Draco was his son, and he would be damned if he'd let anything happen to him. Though self-preservation was foremost on any Slytherin's mind, as a father his son always came first. Despite that, though, the Dark Lord would surely have his head. His sneer became a black glower. "I will see you dead for this."

"Ah," the mysterious man said in a low voice, pulling slightly away and locking unnaturally bright green eyes with mercurial silver. "We shall see about that, hmm?"

Lucius set his jaw and Apparated them both to Riddle Manor.

Harry was pleased. Not only had he finally found a Death Eater to take him to Voldemort, but said Death Eater had been Lucius Malfoy. Harry pushed back his curiosity over how Lucius had managed to evade Azkaban, amused with making Lucius squirm. He really couldn't stand the prat -- he thought far too highly of himself and his ideals were warped into obscurity -- but damn if he wasn't pretty. And Harry always thoroughly enjoyed toying with pretty things.

But now he had business to deal with, so Harry shot a silent Petrificus Totalus at the pretty Lucius to keep him in place before yanking up his cloak's hood and moving into the Manor proper. He knew better than to believe the blond would not have retaliated against his rather unbecoming tactics to gain entry to the Dark Lord's base of operations, but he hadn't had any other choice in the matter. Killing his Death Eaters probably wasn't a good way into Voldemort's good graces, so this would have to do.

Harry rubbed at his forehead before he realized what what he was doing, responding to the tingling itch that had started up. Being a vampire had seemed to negate the connection, sealing him away from any visions or pain, but it seemed that they were still linked however faintly. He let the sensation lead him, down one dark hallway and then another, past a room teeming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Some rushed papers from one hall to another, others stood in groups and chatted as if it were some social event, being at the Dark Lord's place of events. Just what was the cumulative intelligence quotient of this group? Harry sighed to himself, skirting along the edge of the room towards the previous bane of existence. Here he was just another black robed figure, and he never even got a second glance.

He wasn't sure how he was going to do this, really. On one hand, he could reveal himself for who he was. He had all sorts of bad premonitions about that, seeing Voldemort cackling as he pushed Harry forward like a trophy. His only other choice was to offer himself as a powerful vampire seeking an alliance. However, as much as he was loathe to be treated as a prize, he knew no one short of Harry Potter himself would would have a chance at an equal partnership. Harry would be damned if he would ever kneel to anyone. Even as he approached the ornate oaken doors, he still had no real decision in mind. He was very bad at planning and preferred action to it, anyway.

It was a Gryffindor thing.

Voldemort's study was spacious and light, the sun streaming in the wide windows that spanned one side of the room. It was much different than the dank little hole Harry had expected. What better for a snake, after all? But this wasn't what he would have expected, nice though it was. It was very much a surprise.

Not a surprise, however, was the sickly pale, reptilian Voldemort who sat behind his desk, irritably hacking away at papers with his quill. Harry shivered just a little, his face in a moue of distaste. Nearly flat nose and waxen skin, pale skin deeply contrasted by his black robes. He made a frightening picture, hunched and snarling, the object of so many nightmares of Harry's life. And he was icky. However, Harry was not the child he had been, and he confident that he could at least hold off the powerful Dark Lord. A decade of intensive training by some of the best fighters and dualists in the Immortal realms had seen to that.

Hood still drawn, Harry was hardly a step into the room when he had thirteen and a half inches of yew trained on him, fiery crimson eyes boring into him. It almost provoked another shiver. "You impudent fool, how dare you enter without knocking?"

"Now, now, Tom, no need to be so rude," Harry said easily, slipping into his usual demeanor and pushing back his childish thoughts.

Voldemort bristled, his sneer transforming into a snarl. "Who are you?"

Harry drew down his hood and grinned at the glaring Dark Lord, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling the man's anger gave his scar. "Why not call me Mylläkkä for now, Mister Riddle?"

"Crucio!"

Harry stepped out of the spells range just before it hit him. "Now that was rude. Where are your manners? Do you treat all your prospective allies as such?"

Voldemort glowered, fingers tight around his wand. "Just what do you want here?"

"An alliance," Harry said with a purr, walking toward Voldemort's desk. "You want to rule the Wizarding world, right? I can help you achieve that. You just need to get your priorities in order, is all."

"My priorities are fine, you impudent little wretch."

"Are they?" Harry fell back into a high-backed chair across from the desk, kicking his legs over the arm and propping up his head on a hand. "Since your resurrection, your plans have included little other than to defeat one Harry Potter. You are obsessed with the boy, with his defeat. You let it blind you to all other goals."

"You're a fool to come in here thinking to--"

Harry cut off Voldemort's retort as he continued, green eyes meeting crimson with a smirk. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

Voldemort was furious now, Harry knew. Crimson eyes were ignited with rage, and Harry wondered for a minuscule moment if looks really could kill. But this was important, he couldn't be inane. This was the crux of what he brought to the table, and Voldemort was damned well going to hear him out. He stood from his chair, wand out and inches from Harry's face. "How do you know the prophecy?!"

Harry swallowed whatever fear he hadn't been able to train himself not to feel, continuing without breaking eye contact. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies."

Voldemort had stopped trying to retort, wand arm dropping and eyes narrowing. He looked toward the back wall for long minutes, and Harry could only assume he was processing the contents of the prophecy. He could understand the shock; he remembered his own. Harry stayed silent, amusing himself by watching the play of emotions over Voldemort's face. It was strange to see such relatively normal expressions on his face, thoughtful and contemplative. Voldemore sat back again with the air of someone very tired, running a thin-fingered hand over his face."Mylläkkä you said your name was? Only the old man knows the prophecy, how did you get it?"

Harry hummed in the back of his throat. "I'll get to that. Curiosity begs me to asks something, though. Assuming the prophecy I just told you is the truth, what will you do with your new information?"

"Kill the boy, of course. Did you think that informing me that the boy is the only one who could kill me would keep me from plotting to kill the brat?" Voldemort was sneering again, a much more familiar expression.

Harry feigned nonchalance. "Well, at least you are thinking more deeply into its meaning than I thought you would. I thought you might be like Dumbledore and immediately see it as one of you had to die."

Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "No, the wording is tricky but leaves plenty of loop holes. The use of 'survive' and 'live' is telling. I just must kill the boy before I can find a true semblance of life."

Harry nearly gave a true smile at that, swinging his legs around to sit up. "You're far less insane than I was led to believe you were. You are almost correct."

A dangerous glower was his immediate response. "What exactly do you think you mean by 'almost'?"

Harry leaned forward, sitting up in his seat now. "As you have assumed, living and surviving are very different things. But just because the boy has the power to defeat you, why kill him off? Would it not be smarter for your reign to have him as your equal and work together to learn to 'live'? If he is powerful enough to defeat you, surely he would be an asset."

"The brat would never see past Dumbledore's machinations. He is far too enamored by the Light."

Harry smirked, "Are you so sure, Tom? Say that he had wizened up…"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed now, and Harry was pleased to feel the figurative light bulb appear, "Just who are you?"

"I knew the genius Tom Marvolo Riddle would put the pieces together," Harry said with a genuine smile, "It's surprisingly good to see you again, Tom. It's been a while… for me at least."

Revised: 3/17/09 -- More clean up. Third edit. Yeowch. You'd figure that after enough pass-throughs this would not need it anymore... -__-