DISCLAIMER: I'd really love to battle a Boggart. Just saying. But, no, I don't own Harry and Co.
A/N: Somehow, when I posted this story, I managed to spell Lucius' name wrong. :S So, so, so, SO sorry! Thanks a ton to CassandraTheSeer for pointing it out!
~Ari
Harry Potter stood, wand at the ready and pointed at the old, scarred, wooden trunk, and looked up at Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, both of whom smiled.
"Whenever you're ready, mate," Sirius said quietly.
Harry remembered vividly the first time he'd faced a Boggart, preparing to find himself with the image of a rather nasty Dementor.
This time, instead of Lupin's old office, he stood in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, and had volunteered to help out with the Dark creature for the practice of it.
"Ready," he declared confidently.
He was in no way prepared for what he saw when the two men heaved open the lid. Harry stumbled back a few paces and stared uncomprehendingly as a boy of fifteen with unruly ebony hair and round glasses stepped out.
Harry was gazing at a carbon-copy of...himself.
But...he wasn't. It was the eyes. The same emerald green as he had inherited from Lily Potter, but they were...colder. Indifferent and hard and...evil.
The Boggart-Harry radiated a certain frightening power, overwhelming strength.
Wand trembling as he raised it, angry and horrified, Harry cried, "Riddikulus!"
Boggart-Harry stumbled and fell, hands outstretched to catch himself.
Because strength is not infallible. It always has some weakness.
Harry's laugh was half-forced, cool. With a pop, the Boggart was gone.
Two men and one far-too-grown-up teenager stood facing each other.
"That was..." began Remus, but Sirius finished: "You!"
"No!" Harry's reply was so fierce, so forceful, it came out in a ringing yell. The lights flickered, and his hair ruffled with the sweep of his magic that rushed through the room. "That was what I don't want to become. That was not me."
Lord Voldemort wore a cold, mirthless smile as two men who's names were not worth his time to find out levitated a dusty yet ornate cupboard into the room.
"Good," he said softly, taking no time to marvel the level of detail in the woodwork, to gaze upon the beauty of the object, as it was only that: An object, with nothing magical or special about it, nothing to warrant his interest save it's contents.
Dumbledore, the meddlesome old fool, would disagree.
"Leave me!" he ordered, and the two men dashed out.
He would find what he feared most, and he would conquer it. Death was no longer of any consequence. His steps toward immortality remained quite...effective. He gave a chuckle that held no humor.
His long, alabaster fingers stroked the carved handle of his uncommonly pale wand lovingly.
"Open it, Lucius!" he ordered the trembling man behind him.
Lucius Malfoy scurried forward like the rodent he was and gripped the silver handle. At a nod from his master, he yanked abruptly and the cupboard's doors popped open.
The blood-red eyes that previously had been narrowed to slits now shot open as Voldemort's back stiffened and the hand on his wand went rigid.
Because from the cupboard had stepped a very familiar person: Himself.
Except...it wasn't. It was Tom Marvolo Riddle, young, handsome, cunning...
And oh so fragile. So naive. So weak.
Voldemort snarled at his younger self before snapping, "Riddikulus!"
He watched the boy before him morph, grow, and become the true him: Sly, cold, powerful.
Voldemort let out a harsh, high, cold laugh of morbid pleasure that twisted his already-distorted features, and the Boggart was gone.
All was silent for a moment as Lucius stared at his master, utterly bewildered.
"My Lord - My Lord, that was...was that...you?"
He choked on the last word as though loath to believe it.
"Crucio!" Voldemort hissed, his temper breaking over his servant. The curse was brief, due only to Voldemort's desire to be left alone. Lucius steadied himself against the wall, panting.
Voldemort regarded him icily.
"That was not me, Lucius. That was anything but what I am now. Do you understand?" he whispered, his voice silky and dangerous.
"Y-yes, Master," Malfoy gasped, though he did not.
Voldemort laughed darkly and dismissed him with a careless flick of his long, spidery fingers.
When the door had closed silently behind the other man, Voldemort swept to the center of the large, circular room, surveying it imperiously.
He was no longer weak, he reminded himself. He would never again be the fool he had once been.
He had nothing to fear,
He whispered once more, "That was not me."
A/N: Hiya everyone! I've been surprised at the pace at which I've been able to put fics out, even without my own computer. (Which I will be getting SOON! Yay!) So, tell me what you thought of this odd little one shot that came and attacked me out of nowhere! :)
~Ari