I can't believe I am starting another fic. I will try to keep it shortish. I am thinking about 15k or so maybe less maybe more who knows? Also why hasn't anybody written this pairing yet? This will be a dark story. Harry/Tate with a happyish ending. Also, I am going to seriously mess with the timeline here. Just…don't question it.

Over powered Harry here people.

I do not own Harry Potter or American Horror Story

Chapter 1

"I used to come here…when the world closed in and got so small I couldn't breathe. I'd look out at the ocean, and I'd think…"Yo. Douche bag, high school counts for jack shit."-Tate

"I don't see why you think about it so much." Harry admitted, "You only have about two years left. Then it's over. You can leave this place, this town."

Harry continued to run his fingers through Tate's blond hair. Tate turned his head in Harry's lap and continued to stare at the ocean.

"You don't understand." Tate sighed.

Harry's hand stilled.

"You're right. I don't. I'm only ten. I have at least eight more years of schooling." He teased.

Tate turned his head and frowned up at the ten year old boy.

"I guess you're right. I just get so angry sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I can barely breathe." He sighed and Harry continued stroking his hair.

"I'm here for you, Tate. I promise."

Harry had moved to the neighborhood with his horrible family a year ago. They had met on the beach one night and bonded immediately. The ten year old boy was the only one Tate could talk to. The only one he could confide in without feeling like a freak. There was something wrong inside of Tate. He was wrong, but Harry made him feel sort of normal. Harry made him look past those horrible feelings and urges inside of him.

Tate loved him deeply.

Tate stared up at him while Harry looked at the dark ocean. Tate studied the younger boy's soft features, and emerald green eyes. He viciously squashed the stirring inside of him. Tate was many things, but he was not one to touch a child.

He could wait.

-One month later-

"Tate. I'm sorry." Harry apologized.

"You were supposed to be here for me! You were supposed to stay with me!" Tate yelled angrily. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Harry looked down and blinked away his own tears.

"I don't want to leave, but I have to. My relatives want to return to England."

Tate's shoulders sank.

"I want to stay with you. I really do." Harry grabbed Tate's hand and stared into tearful black eyes, "Please believe me." He begged.

"I do." Tate said quietly. He sank to his knees and hugged Harry around his waist.

Harry ran his fingers through Tate's hair. He knew it would be many, many years before he would be able to again.

"I will come back when I am of age. I promise." Harry pulled back from Tate. Tate let go reluctantly.

Black eyes opened wide in shock.

Harry pulled away from the chaste kiss.

"I love you, Tate. I will be back one day, I swear."

Because Harry loved Tate just as much as Tate loved him.

He would be back one day.

Tate's sanity rapidly dwindled after Harry's departure. The drugs helped.

On normal days Adelaide and Beauregard held him together. When his mother verbally abused him or when he had a shitastic day at school only Harry's promise kept him together. Harry was the glue to his fractured mind.

Then Beauregard was killed.

Tate couldn't take it anymore.

His mother's lover burned and Tate prepared for the noble war.

It wasn't until it was all over and he was dead that he regretted it. Harry would have been so disappointed in him.

Tate did many things that he regretted over the next few years. He killed people. So many people.

Time passed and Harry didn't come. Tate would wait. He could wait. Harry would come back and fix him, make him sort of normal again, love him again.

Tate waited for eight years. Harry would have been eighteen, old enough to come back to him.

Tate waited three more years. Maybe Harry needed some time to get the funds? Maybe he was held up by college? Harry was pretty smart.

Tate waited two more years.

Tate waited and waited and waited.

Had he heard that Tate had died?

Why would he come by the house if he had? There was no point in flying across the world to visit the house of a psychotic, dead teenager.

Tate waited, but as time passed he grew more certain that Harry was never coming back.

Tate stopped waiting. The Harmons moved in soon after.

They would dearly regret it even in death.

Harry's life was one extreme after another. Every year he nearly died and only the thought that Tate needed him kept him from giving in to the pressure. The wizarding world needed a savior. He had to fix everything that the older generations had fucked up.

And then he died.

Harry had chosen death, really. He had chosen it not for the wizards, not for the people who thought they were his friends. He had chosen death for Tate.

If Voldemort lived what life would Tate, a muggle, have?

So, Harry sacrificed himself for his beloved.

And came back to life.

Came back to imprisonment.

The wizards had betrayed him, fearful of his powers. Those that had cozied up to him turned their backs on him. Ten years. He spent ten years imprisoned, his magic siphoned off, and his body useless.

They thought he was sleeping, but he was oh so aware.

Ten years later one of them killed him. A hateful, spiteful man suffocated him.

Freed him.

Somethings inside of Harry had fractured, but he couldn't bother to figure out what.

Dumbledore had always said that death was the next great adventure.

Harry's magic flared brightly.

Cold, menacing and oh so deadly.

No one in the building would survive. Those who had betrayed him were slaughtered mercilessly. For Harry was Death and Death had no mercy.

The Harmon Family had been dead for just over three years when Harry turned up at the infamous Murder House.

Tate may be dead, but Harry always kept his promises.

AN: Review! Review! Review! I am serious.