Title: Running Away

Summary: Strong, darkish, HOT, Harry! It's time to get rid of this pitiful Gryffindor mask, and become the Slytherin I was supposed to be. This is the re-write! WARNING SLASH HPTR.

Warnings: SLASH (male/male) pairings, swearing, violence, Evil! Slytherin! Harry!

Pairings: HP/TMR ?

Disclaimer: What are u looking at me for? I don't own it!

Previously:

February – 1997

Raising his claws to Harry's face he drags a line down curling it inwardly, hot sticky blood followed soon after.

"It will be painful, but I expected you already knew that Mr. Potter?" Lucius says softly as he licks Harry's blood of his clawed fingers.

Nodding Harry's eyes turned a bright crimson.

"So it has begun." Whispers filled the room as Harry laid down waiting for the ritual to commence.

February – 1942

Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was pressed into a stone floor; the smell of blood filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes when the excruciating pain had started and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him was swaying like the deck of a ship.

To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching – the smooth, warm handle of his wand and a letter. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edge of his brain if he were to let go of either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of warm sticky blood, waiting...waiting for someone to do something...something at the least to happen...and all the while the rune that he knew to be on the side of his head burning dully.

A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; panic slowly seeped into his cold bones when a thought crossed his mind.

"What if it didn't work?"

There were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams...but still he remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it was a nightmare that would soon pass.

Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over.

He opened his eyes.

He was looking up at the starry sky of the great hall, and a younger looking Albus Dumbledore was crouched over him.

The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed around them eager he presumed to know who he was, what had happened to him, where he had come from.

Then Dumbledore's face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer.

"It will be okay now my boy, your safe." Dumbledore murmured into his ear.

Dumbledore bent down and with extraordinary strength for a man his age and so thin raised Harry from the ground.

His head was pounding. The rune on the side of his head pulsed again in pain. The crowd around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him.

"Who is it?"

"What's happened?"

"What's wrong with him?"

Whispers swirled around in his ears.

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Headmaster Dippet was saying loudly. "He's ill, he's injured Dumbledore."

"I am well aware Headmaster; I shall take him to the hospital wing myself." Looking down at the bloody boy that was in his arms he watched as his eyes flickered back and forth.

Stepping carefully around the pool of blood, Dumbledore moved quickly threw the eager crowd leaving them in their own state of curiosity and shock.