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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!
Written pre-OotP. And no, I did not pick out the name of this fic after I heard the title of the 6th book.
This means a character is either speaking Spanish or thinking to themselves
"I was afraid this would happen," a raspy, somber voice said. "We should have gotten him sooner."
Harry didn't move. In all honesty he didn't t hink he could, even if he tried. His body felt like it was on fire. Where was
he? The bed underneath him felt softer than normal. He felt cool but there were blankets covering him. What the hell?
"You shouldn't blame yourself Remus. I take it as my sole responsibility for Harry's condition."
Remus?! In excitement Harry opened his eyes-- Then promptly closed them. Pain shot through his entire skull. He felt
like a bunch of tiny, little gremlins were playing Quidditch in it. He moaned in pain. Well, that was stupid.
"Albus, I think he's awake." A crisp yet concerned Scottish voice rang through his mind.
"Yes I see, Minerva," said Dumbledore, his school headmaster, in that annoying, calm voice he always had. And right now Harry
hated that voice. He wanted the voice to die. He felt a hand touch his arm. "How do you feel, my boy?"
"Ow," was all he could muster in response. The gremlins were still there and he could have sworn he heard one laughing. Wait,
that wasn't the gremlin. That was Dumbledore! Bloody bastard.
"Yes, you've been through quite an ordeal," the old man said suddenly serious.
*Ordeal? Harry thought with his eyes still closed. Then it hit him all at once, in a flash of realization. His uncle
had... Oh God. He opened his eyes in horror. He honestly didn't care if it hurt. He just stared at the ceiling, not
really looking at anyone. When he tried to sit up a firm grip kept him down.
"Harry, relax." There was that voice again. "You mustn't exert yourself. You may very well have a concussion."
Well shit. He stopped struggling and finally looked at everyone. There were three people in the room. Albus Dumbledore
was sitting on the bed with that twinkle he always had in his eye. Another thing he hated about the man at that moment. Minerva
McGonagall, the transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, was standing at the foot of his bed looking concerned and a little angry.
Then there was Remus Lupin, sitting in a rather uncomfortable looking chair at his side seeming just a bit frightened. Harry
gave him a reassuring smile even though it hurt like hell. Lupin relaxed though only slightly. He smiled back but it looked
tense.
He must have been worried sick, Harry thought grimly. Don't know why; it's not like I haven't had worse. He
started to take in the man's appearance. Lupin's clothes looked a little shabbier than their last meeting and he didn't look
healthy at all. The bags beneath his eyes had seemed to deepen exponentially. The poor guy looked like he hadn't slept or
eaten in days.
Harry didn't realize how lost in thought he was until Dumbledore piped up. "Ah! Right on time!"
Confused, Harry turned his head as far as it could go (which wasn't very far) and didn't bother hiding a slight scowl as a
tall, black-robed man swept into the room. Severus Snape wasn't exactly a sworn enemy but he was pretty damn close. The potions
professor absolutely loathed Harry. It was then that he noticed where he was. It looked like a room at the Three Broomsticks.
But it looked brighter. Why wasn't he at Mungo's. Or even... Harry stopped that train of thought before he could delve into
any unwanted memories.
"I have brought the potion you requested, Albus," replied Severus Snape in his usual dangerous tone. "Although I still don't
see the reason for it."
It was then that he noticed the boy. Harry could have sworn for a moment, just a moment, there was an emotion akin to worry
in the potion's professor's eyes. Nah, He thought closing his eyes against the harsh light of the room. Like he
even has a heart to worry about his own mother, let alone me.
"It's quite simple Severus," Dumbledor replied jovially as if he were discussing the weather. "There really is no need to
alert Madame Pompfrey. The dear woman has her hands full as it is."
This brought Harry out of his revelry. "Did something happen?" He cracked out.
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