Well. This has been a very, very large time gap in between chapters. I don't even really have a good reason. I just never seemed to get around to writing more. The only reason this chapter is even here is because I was writing it as an excuse to procrastinate studying for two of my AP exams tomorrow. So I did this instead of study. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. I will most definitely finish the story, though. It just might be huge gaps in between chapters.

Harry stepped out of the floo with his wand at the ready, expecting a battle. He was not disappointed, as upon stepping out he was welcomed by a red beam of light heading straight for his face. He smoothly stepped to the side, noting the culprit, a masked death eater. He flicked his wand in response. He was already turning to someone else as he heard the scream signaling his curse had met its mark.

He moved fluidly through the battles, only attacking when he was attacked. He was not actually trying to help either party. The fight was, after all, only a way to make sure that he could manipulate both Dumbledore and Voldemort to his liking. Perhaps not as subtle as it could have been, but he was sure that at least Dumbledore didn't know. Voldemort, knowing of his Dark nature, would certainly know, but that did not mean he would not still be able to make Voldemort do as he wanted.

He dodged another spell, slinging his own in return, and slipped upstairs from the living room, sure that no one had seen him. He quickly entered the first room, rifling through the drawers. Upon only finding pointlessly sentimental missives, he went through the room. He found nothing, and moved on to the next.

In the next, in the second drawer of the desk within, he found what he was looking for. It had been locked, but he had used a little-known unlocking spell to correct that quickly. He took out the invisibility cloak, reveling in the feel of the silky, slippery fabric against his skin once again. The cloak belonged to him, and no Order member, not even Dumbledore. He would not allow them to use it. The safehouse had been under Fidelius, however, and while he had been able to retrieve which safehouse it was in he had not been able to determine where the safehouse was. So he had used the fights to get him there with Dumbledore's blessing.

He tucked the cloak into an enlarged pocket in his pants, then turned and walked downstairs, still taking care not to be seen. The fighting was still going, although a few lay dead or unconscious on the floor. He found a suitable spot, sitting slumped down against the wall, his head lolling to the side as if he were unconscious. He wove an illusion around himself with his magic, giving him the appearance of one who had actually been hit several times. He had a few cuts on his cheek, along with sore looking bruises, and made it appear as if he had a stab-like wound in his abdomen.

He waited, then, until he heard the fighting finally stop. The Order had won. The safehouse went quiet, and all he heard were murmuring voices and footsteps.

"Where's Harry?" He heard the question voiced by Hermione. This was followed by more footsteps, these coming closer to where he lie prone, until he heard them stop directly in front of him. A voice, which he identified as Arthur's, called out, "I found him!"

More footsteps, until he realized they were all gathered around him. "Go get Madame Pomfrey," he heard Arthur order. More footsteps moving away from him.

"Oh, but what happened to him?" he heard Hermione asking, sounding worried.

"I would assume he got cursed," Sebastian's voice answered. He sounded as calm as ever.

"You aren't worried?" Hermione asked, her worry transforming into anger at Sebastian's blasé attitude.

"Why should I be?" Sebastian answered, and he felt arms lift him into the air. Sebastian was carrying him.

"Because he's injured! It could be serious! Where are you taking him, it could be dangerous to move him-"

"I am taking him to our own healer," Sebastian answered, "so if you would all kindly step away from the floo."

"You can't just take him-", Arthur's voice now, and a cacophony of voices joined him in agreement. Pravus could practically feel Sebastian's exasperation.

"I can take him as I like," he answered, his voice as smooth as ever, but Pravus could hear the edge in it that he was sure none of them would be smart enough to notice. "He is my husband, after all, and we had a plan in place for just such an event such as this. Now, if you will all move out of the way."

There was a woosh, signifying that someone had just arrived through the floo. Another woosh quickly followed. "What is going on here?" the voice belonged to Dumbledore, whom Pravus assumed had come through the floo.

"Sebastian is taking Harry Merlin knows where-", and the cacophony was off again, with everyone insisting they tell Dumbledore exactly what was going on instead of doing it sensibly with one spokesperson. Wizards, really.

Sebastian was moving again, and he felt the warmth of the flames around them and then a twisting sensation as Sebastian simply passed through the naysayers into the floo and left.

The moment Sebastian stepped out of the floo and into their rooms, Pravus stood up out of his arms, willing away the glamours with ease.

"I'm assuming you acquired the cloak?" Sebastian asked, and Pravus nodded, fishing it out of his pocket. He held it out for Sebastian's inspection, and he took it, running a hand over the silky fabric. "It is a fascinating object," he murmured, before handing it back to Pravus, Pravus took it, walking over to a trunk and placing the cloak inside.

"How long do you think we should leave them in a blind panic looking for us?" Pravus asked.

Sebastian tilted his head, adopting a thoughtful expression. "Around a week should be just enough time for the panic to transform into fear," he said.

Pravus nodded. "And what should we do in the meantime?"

Sebastian smirked at him, his crimson eyes flashing. "I can think of a few things, can't you?"

Albus Dumbledore was not pleased, not at all. For one thing, three safehouses were compromised, and for another, Harry Potter had disappeared a little under a week ago, and was still not back. He paced his office at Hogwarts agitatedly, Fawkes watching him with an unreadable gaze.

There was a knock on the door. He absentmindedly called out, "Enter," and footsteps signified someone had entered the room. He looked up, and immediately froze.

There, standing before him, was Tom Riddle, looking not a day over thirty. The man met his own shocked gaze with equanimity, his eyes calm and clear of the insanity that had been his undoing for so long.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" He sounded tired, even to his own ears.

Tom smirked, his eyes flashing maliciously. "Shouldn't you be asking 'How did you get past the wards, Tom'? Even after all this time, your priorities are skewed, old man."

"It does not matter how you got past the wards," he answered. "Because you have already done it. What matters is what you will do now."

"Oh, worried for the students? You shouldn't be. There are not many wizards or witches, after all. It is best to preserve what few we have."

"That is a different philosophy than what you have told your followers," Dumbledore pointed out.

Tom smiled, and something about it made Dumbledore uneasy. Surely there was no good thing that could make a Dark Lord smile like that. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

Tom held up his wand, and Dumbledore reached for his own, belatedly realizing that it was not there. Tom held up another wand, which Dumbledore recognized as his. "Looking for this?"

"Tom-,"

"Stop calling me that," he snarled, and in the same breath, "Avada kedavra."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, expecting whatever came in the afterlife in moments, but there was nothing. He head Tom should "You-!" and opened his eyes. They widened when he saw Harry standing in front of him, his own wand out and his eyes blazing. "You will not be the death of Albus Dumbledore," he growled, and for the first time since meeting this new Harry, Dumbledore felt his old fondness for the boy once again.

There was a moment where no one spoke, and then in a deadly hiss Tom whispered, "Harry Potter." There were many emotions tied into that one whisper, emotions too tangled for Dumbledore to truly grasp.

Pravus had no such limitations. He could smell the literal fear coming off of Riddle in waves, mixed with a curious concoction of excitement, dread, and anger. Unseen by Dumbledore standing behind him, he smiled at Riddle, the smile appearing to Riddle as more a baring of the teeth than anything resembling a smile.

"Leave." His voice was commanding, yet Riddle stayed where he was.

"You do not tell me what to do, Potter," he said angrily. He stiffened, though, when he felt a hand close around his windpipe from behind.

"I believe he said to leave," a very familiar voice purred into his ear. The hand tightened imperceptibly, and he fought to breathe, feeling true fear for the first time in a while. Without warning the hand loosened, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing and breathing in great gulps.

"Leave," Pravus ordered coolly, once again, and without a word Riddle turned and fled.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, watching the door Riddle disappeared through. "Why did you let him go? You could have finally ended-"

"Nothing. It would end nothing." Pravus interrupted him.

"How would it end nothing?" Dumbledore asked, truly mystified.

Pravus raised an eyebrow. "If I were to kill him, here, in front of no one but you, me, and Sebastian, then no one would truly believe us. The Death Eaters would just keep fighting in his name, believing he would rise from the ashes once again."

Dumbledore hated to believe it, but the words rang true. He sighed heavily, sinking into his chair behind his desk.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, we have places to be." And then both Harry and Sebastian were gone once again, before he could say a word.

Tom Riddle paced his office, running a hand through his already mussed hair. Of course Harry bloody Potter would be there. He had known the boy was supposedly back, of course, but that was not what had truly scared him. No, what had scared him was the boy himself. The boy was somehow a demon, and the oh-so familiar voice that had choked him belonged to Sebastian, the boy's supposed husband. Beyond that, the boy had somehow been his teacher. The knowing eyes of Pravus Michaelis suddenly became much clearer. Why the boy had not taken care of him while he was a child, he didn't know, but he was here. The worry he had felt since the realization that demons were toying with the war was magnified hundredfold.

Agitatedly, he ran his hand through his hair again.

"Tom," a cheerful voice called. He whirled around, and there the demons were. He fought the instant fight-or-flight response, striving for calm. Amused green eyes met his own, and he spoke as evenly as possible.

"Pravus. What are you doing here?"

Pravus adopted a mock hurt look. "What, you're not happy to see us again? And after we were so helpful, too."

"You stopped me from killing Dumbledore," he snapped, and in an instant the mock hurt look was replaced with icy green eyes suddenly an inch from his own.

"Watch your tone," Pravus hissed. "We wouldn't want a marvelous orator such as yourself to suddenly be without a tongue, would we?" What had started as a forbidding threat had turned cheerful once again by the end of his sentence.

"And to answer your question, we're here to help again, after it worked out so beautifully last time."

"Worked out beautifully? I accomplished nothing other than getting my Death Eaters killed," Riddle pointed out.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about that," Pravus said dismissively, and Riddle felt a flare of anger. "No, Sebastian and I accomplished our goal. Now it is time to accomplish the other."

"And what would that entail?" he asked carefully.

"The complete and utter destruction of the British Wizarding World," he answered succinctly.

Riddle had known that was most likely the case, but the confirmation did little to make him feel better. Destruction and chaos, after all, was what demons did.

"And why would I help you accomplish this goal?" he asked.

Sebastian answered, smiling pleasantly, "Because if you don't, you will die an extremely slow and excruciating death."

The Wizarding World, or him. "I'll help," he said. He had never liked the Wizarding World much anyway.

Severus Snape awoke in an unfamiliar room, an aching pain felt throughout his body. Potter, he thought savagely. How the man had managed such an effective torturing technique with his mind alone Snape didn't know.

Everybody has their breaking point. I know I had mine. The words echoed in his head. Had Potter been tortured? Was that why the boy had come back so different? It would explain his newfound cynicism, but his power was still a mystery. The boy had been a bumbling fool. There was no way he had acquired this power on his own.

Had Voldemort had him all along? Was he tortured for years by Voldemort, until he broke and agreed to serve him? Was the boy simply tricking them all into thinking he was on the side of the Light, when really he was on the side of the Dark?

He heard footsteps, and the door to his small room was opened, revealing Sebastian. The man regarded Snape with cool eyes. "Get up," he said, sounding bored, and Snape sneered. He struggled up, attempting to stand and collapsing back onto the bed when his muscles screamed at him for trying.

Sebastian continued to watch him as he attempted to stand several more times, before he finally said, "If you require assistance, ask."

Snape stared at him disbelievingly. It was obvious he need help, why did he need to ask? But that was obvious too, he thought bitterly. One thing Snape had never given up was his pride, and to ask for help for something so simple as standing up would be a major hit to said pride.

He said nothing, stopping his attempts to stand. Sebastian's eyes flashed, and Snape felt uneasy at the sharp gaze. Sebastian strode forward, yanking Snape up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour before turning and striding out of the room.

"Put me down, you idiotic miserable excuse for a human being!" he yelled.

Without ceremony he was dumped on the floor, and Sebastian looked down at him, regarding him with amusement clear in his eyes. Without another word he walked away, and Snape was left on the floor in the hallway with no way to move or even stand up.

He was left on the floor for he didn't know how long, staring at the ceiling and quietly damning Potter and his pathetic excuse for a husband.

Eventually he realized that no one was coming to get him. He would have to stand up himself.

He struggled determinedly to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and his legs trembled with effort. He took short, halting steps down the hallway in the direction Sebastian had gone. After what would be a considerably shorter journey if he could actually walk, he arrived at sitting room, where Potter was relaxing on a couch reading a book while Sebastian did the same, and Potter's head resting on Sebastian's lap. He felt his lip curl at the casual affection.

Neither looked up when he entered the room, and he was left with a dilemma. To step into the room would be to relinquish the wall, and he would most assuredly fall. He clenched his jaw, and took a step forward with his left foot, and then his right. With the right foot forward he had to release the wall, and he did so, barely remaining upright. He swayed in place, and as he did so, his eyes met Potter's, who had looked up.

Instantly he was back inside the confines of his own mindscape, with Potter standing in front of him, that unfamiliar malicious smile sending shivers down his spine.

"While we're here," Potter said idly, as if this were a perfectly normal situation, "I might as well ask you a few questions, hmm?" He looked at Snape, as if for approval, and Snape scoffed.

"Very well," Potter said, sounding exasperated. "Then I suppose I'll just have to do this the hard way."

Snape screamed as he felt his mind being ripped apart.