Summary: Long ago, a war began between two demon clans. From this war came tears, blood, and a child. Now the remnants of one of those clans have joined forces with the most dangerous wizard alive, Lord Voldemort. Harry must fight his way through a maze of fear, hate but most importantly love. Can he be true to himself before it's too late? Or will he succumb to the mind-numbing darkness? Only one way to find out...

Disclaimer: If I owned HP would I be writing this crap? Lucien and the Portillo-Martinez family are mine; ALL MINE! MWAHAHA!... Okay, I'm done now...

Warnings: This story contains yaoi. Meaning there's some hot M/M action in here somewhere. If you have a problem with this...I do NOT care! My suggestion to those who do is this: Go take your homophobic ass to the nearest bar, drink yourself silly, and then promptly jump into your crappy ass car and drive off a bridge. Do the world a big favor. You have been warned...

Criticisms are welcome, flames are not!

And no, I did not pick out the name of this fic after I heard the title of the 6th book.

This means someone is speaking Spanish or thinking to themselves

It was 12 o'clock at night in the small town of Little Winging, Surrey. The night sky was filled with dark clouds that drenched the street in an almost surreal kind of darkness. It seemed all decent people were asleep and resting comfortably in their soft fluffy beds located in their similarly square houses. All except one; a 15-year-old boy living in number four Privet Drive. He had unconsciously flung off his covers in an attempt to cool his sweat-drenched body. His jet-black hair stuck to his forehead but not enough to hide the strikingly familiar scar. That night, like so many nights before, the young wizard Harry Potter was having a nightmare.


He had to hurry or they would find him. Find them. The low branches cut into his face and tore at his light-brown hair but he hardly noticed them. All he knew was that he needed to run faster, hit harder, and be smarter than The Others. He thought that it was all over. The Others had promised! They had- Suddenly he ran into something hard but soft, a human body. "No!" He cried out in fear and despair as he shielding the bundle of cloth in his arms from any possible danger. The stranger grabbed his arms seemingly trying to hold him still. Only when he heard his name did the boy look up. He stopped struggling and just stared.

But it couldn't be. He was dead! He saw Them murder him! Not waiting for a response the other man pulled him in for the sweetest kiss he had ever experienced. Without realizing it tears started falling down the boy's dirty, scratched cheeks. They were together again. He never wanted those strong arms to let him go.

Without warning he felt something grating his insides coming through right below his package, propelling him forward into the other man's chest again. The look in his lover eyes made him want to comfort him. To tell him it was all right. He had only seen that look once before and he had promised himself that he would never cause it again. Those were his last thoughts as darkness consumed him.


Harry woke up with a start. He had to cover his mouth so he wouldn't scream. The tears came quickly enough. They always did, after all. He leaned against the headboard in resignation. Why was this happening every night? After the year he had, he'd expected to have disturbing dreams but not these. He had expected dreams about... someone else.

He cried harder and hugged his knees to his chest as the memories came flooding back. He remembered what had happened, where he was, and most importantly, where he was not. He wasn't at the Burrow playing wizard chess with Ron Weasley. He wasn't studying a ridiculously hard potion with Hermione Granger. But most importantly he wasn't at his school. Hogwarts School of witchcraft and Wizardry. That's where he and his friends learned to make it in the real world as true wizards and witches. Whatever the hell that means. He wanted to be in any of those places more than anything. But he was here, in a house where his own family didn't even want him.

Not that this was anything new. Vernon and Petunia Dursley had always detested him. The only time either of them showed him any kind of consideration was when his aunt had demanded he stay with them after he had all but hexed them both. They had deserved it mind you but that was beside the point.

The only amusement he had had all summer was when his annoying cousin Dudley kept running out of the room when he walked into them. And it was especially cool to see Dudley try to keep his friends from going down any street where he saw Harry walking. This had happened on more than one occasion in the last month. The overly fat teen hadn't even invited his friends over yet. Harry guessed he thought the boy would attack them all thinking his new best friend, Mad-Eye Moody, would blow them up or turn them into a horse or something if they didn't let the young wizard hex them senseless.

These memories cheered him up slightly to where he wasn't crying anymore. He hadn't even noticed he stopped. Once he trusted his legs enough, he thought a midnight snack was in order. Being as quiet as possible, Harry made his way down the stairs and into the anally clean kitchen. For the last few weeks he had been doing most of his goings-on at night when the others were asleep. Everyone seemed happier with the arrangement. Harry didn't really mind. It was just quieter this way.

As he looked through the ridiculously expensive refrigerator with more attachments in it than a Japanese sports car, his mind once again turned toward the dreams. Every night he saw more and more detail and every night he got closer and closer to the ending. This was as far as he had ever gotten. Questions were reeling through his mind. Who was the Runner, as Harry had come to call him. What had he been carrying? Was that man really his lover? Who were "The Others" he was running from? And what had "They" promised? Harry knew he wasn't going to have answers any time soon but that didn't make the dream any less puzzling or disturbing.

He shivered from the cold and realized he had been standing in front of the fridge for quite some time. He rummaged through the thing, pushing aside grapefruits and health bars and grabbed some V8. His aunt bought the drink religiously for Dudley ever since she saw that stupid American commercial. The entire fridge was full of them. Harry loathed the foul concoctions but the only thing left to drink was Uncle Vernon's beer.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table facing out the window and shuddered again. The consumption of alcohol was a new nasty habit his uncle had picked up a few days after Harry's return from Hogwarts. For the most part all the over sized man ever did was yell but it still made Harry nervous. In all honesty it made everyone nervous.

Petunia was more worried actually. Harry didn't blame her. He secretly wondered if Vernon would turn that anger physically toward him. He found when his uncle was at his worst he verbally took out his frustration out on Harry. Harry put up with it knowing he would get in serious trouble if he got caught using magic outside of school.

Harry was just glad he had a way out if things ever got that bad. He always had the option of having Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody come storming into the house and getting him the hell out of there. That reminded him that he needed to write a letter and chew them all out for not coming to his rescue in a blaze of green flame. He was tired of this. They had been telling him for some time to keep quiet, stay low and that they would be by to pick him up soon. Well Harry didn't understand their definition of the word soon but it sure as hell wasn't a month. He was starting to get the distinct feeling of deja vu. Where the $@&% were they?

He had decided to use that exact wording when he got upstairs to his writing supplies when he heard a semi-loud thump and curse behind him. He stood and swiveled around to find a disheveled and very inebriated Vernon Dursley. He was still wearing his business suit. A horrid sickly-yellow outfit that seemed to be at least one size too small. It gave Harry a headache every time he looked at the damn thing.

Harry quickly glanced at the clock to see that it was 11:40 at night. What the hell was an uptight asshole like his uncle doing getting home at this hour? When he looked at Uncle Vernon again the man had pulled out his whiskey flask that he never seemed to be without anymore and was looking at Harry in a feral sort of way.

"You..." He said it so quietly the boy almost missed it.

"Me..." Harry replied, completely confused. What was going on?

They both stood there for what, to Harry, felt like an hour before he finally mumbled a peeved "Whatever," and tried to walk past. He was almost to the door when he felt a fat hand grab his forearm to throw/push him into the counter across the room.

"Son of a-" He didn't get a chance to finish the insult or collect his bearings, as he felt a pain along the entire left side of his face. He opened his eyes to find he was on the floor. Vernon Dursley had backhanded him. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He reached up to touch his lip and his fingers came away bloody. Quickly getting over his initial shock, Harry frantically reached for his back pocket and froze. He had left his wand upstairs!

"Shut up, you little faggot!" The large man slurred out, staggering slightly. Before Harry could do anything Vernon knelt down and curled his fat hands around Harry's slightly muscular neck. "You deserve this and you know it! You went too far this time you little sod! Do you think I would let you stay here after you pulled-"

He was cut off by Harry's foot impacting his round stomach. The fat behemoth fell back with a loud "oomph" giving Harry a chance to get by. What the hell was going on?! The man had gone crazy! Harry ran as fast as he could toward the staircase. He had to get to his room. Once he got his wand this would all be over.

Just when he was about midway to the top there was a hard tug on his pant leg. He fell back to the bottom of the carpeted stairs hitting his head on the way down. He tried to get up but all he saw was stars. Harry deftly heard Uncle Vernon yelling but the man seemed so far away. Unfortunately for the young wizard, he was not.

"You've gone too far!" The fat man yelled again as he started bringing his hands down hard on any part of flesh he could find. "How do you expect me to take care of my family?! I'm the only one with a job! You think Petunia can work! Well?! Do you, you faggot?!"

Harry had a feeling he wasn't talking to him anymore but he didn't really give a shit. All he knew was he had to get this man off him. He was a wizard for crying out loud! He was Harry-fucking-Potter. But right then, that didn't seem to matter much to his uncle. He tried to shield himself from the on-slot only to hear a sickening crack as Vernon successfully broke his right arm. The pounding on his chest and legs was pushing his back into the staircase. It felt like he was being attacked from every direction and he was having a hard time breathing. He heard a woman's scream from somewhere above him. He was also vaguely aware of the fact he was yelling for help. If he had a moment to think he would have been mortified with himself. But all he knew was that he was in pain and he wanted it to stop.

And without warning, it did. He started to hear yelling again but this time it wasn't coming from him. There was a flash of light followed by a scream that would have terrified him if he had not been paying attention to the ominous donging of the hallway clock. It was midnight. In the recesses of his mind, the part unconsumed by pain and fear, Harry realized that it was 16 years to the day of his birth. Happy birthday to me, he sang silently to himself as another flash resounded the room and then nothing.