Summary:

Harry has it all. Recognition, power, knowledge, a father who cares for him dearly. Yet, what would you do if you learned that your entire life, even your very emotions, were a lie? Could you so easily turn away? Especially, if the father you thought you loved above all, was the Dark Lord.

The Perfect Gryffindor

By: TheBlackBook

Chapter 1

"Bring in the prisoner!" Lord Voldemort bellowed, his back straight, his face meeting the crowd commandingly.

The doors glided open. Two black clad men dragged an injured wizard in by his elbows. His hand and feet bound. The man was clad in scruffy robes, which might have been quite refined one time, but now bore signs of battle, captivity and injuries. He had dark hair reaching past his shoulders, and a pale but handsome face. When he looked up, striking grey eyes flew over the people gathered in the room, before landing on him, a small sad smile briefly went over his face, before one of the Death Eaters seizing him, pushed his head down.

He felt his own hearth sink.

Lord Voldemort stood regally over the prisoner, his snakelike eyes narrowing in disgust.

"Sirius Black. Born to one of the oldest families in Britain, an ancient family, with power and money most can only dream of… Yet, instead of standing by my side, like the rest of your prestigious family, you choose to side with the blood traitors. You choose to side with the mudbloods over your own family - those who raised you, cared for you…" at this, the Dark Lord sent a small glare in his direction, but as always, he kept his face blank.

"Tell me, Sirius Black, why do you even feel that you deserve to live?"

Bellatrix Lestrange looked torn between giggling proudly or glaring at her estranged cousin, before she stepped forward and fell to one knee before her master.

"My Lord! Let me take care of the traitor! I will wrench the flesh form his body! I will rip out his eyes-!"

"Bella," the red-eyed man hissed sharply, but not in displeasure. Instead he turned to her with an almost smile, his gaze as cold as ice.

"I know you have waited for it, my dear bloodthirsty follower, but have patience… You will have your reward shortly."

The crazed woman stared up at him in total adoration, her yellowing teeth gnawing at her cracked lips in anticipation as she bowed deeply.

Voldemort stretched his arms out in an all including motion, and as he turned to meet his followers, he smirked out at the crowd of mostly black dressed people - many with white masks decorating their faces, filling the enormous hall.

"You will all have an opportunity. This is just a taste of what is to come, my dear followers. Sirius Black is simply one of Dumbledore's pathetic Order, and he will be dealt with today!"

The man kneeling in front of the Dark Lord cast another look in his direction, but he would not let himself react, not let himself feel scared. They had both known the risk - Sirius had known the risk when he got himself involved with him.

"Harry."

The name was hissed in that almost parseltongue that made his skin crawl, but he stepped forward anyway. His feet never once faltering, his back straight and shin titled in classic superiority. The Death Eaters parted before him, some bowing respectfully, others badly hiding a sneer.

Falling to his knees before his Master, his Lord and protector. Harry kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"Yes, my Lord?"

He could feel the anger in those eyes, even without looking up. His scar was stinging fiercely, but he ignored it with practical ease. Even as Sirius trembled in anger some feet away from him.

"There have been questions, about your loyalties, amongst our dear followers…" The man looked down at him, and he titled his head up, meeting his Master's eyes. They were still narrowed in anger.

"Tell me, do you serve me faithfully?"

Harry could soon feel the spidery feeling of Lord Voldemort crawling into his mind.

"Of course my Lord."

Snakelike eyes narrowing even further. He could feel him searching, looking for just a flicker of deception.

"Will you do all that I ask?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Will you ever knowingly defy me?"

"Never, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort looked up at the man fighting his captors. Mouth forming words, a face stretched in fear and anger, a poisonous glare directed at the man holding him prisoner, but no sound would leave his mouth.

Harry could feel his gaze return to him just as cold, unyielding. He understood – had gotten it beat into him since childhood. It was either Black or him.

"Prove it."

Harry rose to his feet, his holy and phoenix feather wand shot to his arm with a small motion. He turned around and stared down at Sirius dispassionately. For a small second, the man stopped struggling to meet his eyes. A small simmer of hope filling them.

Harry's lips moulded into a sneer.

"CRUCIO!" he bellowed, his voice filled with hatred.

Standing in one of the mansion's many halls, Harry stared at the boy in front of him. He had the most peculiar hair he had ever seen, which he shared with the man who could only be his father, standing next to him. With his back straight, he let his gaze glide over the boy considering, never once giving a hint of what he was thinking. Lord Voldemort did not like it when he smiled or showed that he was scared, and he did not want the man upset with him today – not when he had so generously let him meet someone his own age. Mr. Gibson had never allowed that. However, he tried not to think about the old squib anymore.

It always reminded him of the choking sounds he made when Nagini ate him.

The boy seemed to be somewhat sulky, and a tiny bit nervous, if he read him right. He had pale skin and a couple of round grey eyes that right now were staring at the ground stubbornly. The man holding his hand, shared both his paleness and sleek white-blonde hair, but instead of nervousness, he seemed to give off an almost superior aura. His gaze was glued to him in a calculating manner.

"You must be young Master Harry," the man said, in a voice holding both interest and curiosity. Like a man discovering a new type of species, he wanted to dissect.

Harry gave him a small bow, almost as if humouring him, his gaze never leaving the other's. The man smiled pleased.

"Our Lord has informed me of your… existence. He wishes me to introduce you to my son."

Harry's gaze again went to the boy standing in front of him and this time their eyes met. The boy wore a sleek button up shirt, coupled with some short trousers, knee-highs and black polished shoes. He was studying him in return, his grey eyes suspicious, but with something else too. Envy? Harry could not be sure.

"My name is Lucius Malfoy, Master Harry, and this is my only son, Draco."

The Malfoy's, he knew of those. Rich, proud, and old blood. They had great influence in the magical world. At least that was what Lord Voldemort had told him. They were allies, strong allies, and this boy was the Malfoy patriarch's heir.

"Mr. Malfoy, Draco, it is an honour," Harry said, bowing again in greeting. The older Malfoy followed in style, but when his son did not, a stiff hand landed on his shoulder, forcing the boy to bend.

"The pleasure is all mine," the Patriarch said again, with a stiff smile, the hand on the other child's shoulder tightened ever so slightly.

"You will behave, Draco. I will pick you up again after the meeting."

"Yes, father," the boy mumbled, his gaze once more on the floor, a frown on his lip.

The man left with another short bow and closed the doors leading into the main part of the manor behind him.

Harry's gaze fixed once more on the boy, studying him, and several moments went by without either of them saying a word.

"Are you really…the Dark Lord's son?" the boy suddenly asked.

Harry's eyes snapped up to the face once more, and the blond-haired boy actually swallowed nervously.

"… You could say that," Harry answered thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Draco quickly asked, as if doubting him.

"He is my guardian."

"So is he like… your dad?" the boy asked fumbling for a correct word, but Harry understood either way.

"No. I am simply under his care."

"Oh…" he looked down awkwardly. "So, who are your parents then?"

Harry looked at him strangely. He would never have dared to ask so many question of a person he knew almost nothing about. Adults generally disliked having to answer questions they deemed as unimportant.

"I don't have any."

Draco stared at him surprised, seemingly new to such a response.

"Oh… Well, how old are you, then? I'm nine," he voiced, snobbishly, as if the number held a great importance.

"So am I," he answered, his stare never wavering.

They continued like that for several moments, Draco growing increasingly uneasy, before Harry interrupted the strained silence.

"… Would you… mind joining me in my quarters?" Harry asked formally, recalling that stalling for too long might be seen as rude. He had forgotten. He had never been in charge of a person before.

"Yeah, sure," Draco said, giving him another strange look, but followed him into his drawing room.

The Riddle Manor was divided in two parts. The ground floor was always prepared for guests and business, and was part of the building Lord Voldemort never allowed him to venture on his own. Only Lord Voldemort and close allies ever saw the first floor. The west wing was for guests, while the east wing split up into private living-, work- and bedrooms, and it was in one of these suites where Harry's private rooms were located.

The walls and most of the décor were done in a royal blue and white. A marble wizarding chessboard was standing in front of one of the three big windows. A sitting area was tasteful placed in a half-circle around the vast fireplace, where the Slytherin family crest hung above proudly in silver. Bookcases filled one of the walls, and a well-used desk was stacked with parliaments, journals and several feathery quills.

The blond-haired boy moved at once over to the chess set, sitting in the middle of the room, his grey eyes taking in the pieces.

"You play chess then?" the boy asked, his previous uneasiness forgotten, or ignored when faced with something familiar.

"… I'm afraid it is not often I have the chance," Harry answered reluctantly.

"But you know how to play it, right?" Draco said, already taking a seat by the board, studying the white pieces on his side.

Harry walked forward and took a seat opposite him, still staring at the boy almost without blinking.

"I've been instructed."

Draco looked up with a small smile. Some of his tenseness finally seemed to leave him.

"I don't really play much either. My parents are always busy, and Greg and Vince – they're my friends by the way, are really terrible at the game…"

Harry tilted his head and looked at the boy, intrigued.

"Do you know many children, then?"

Draco grimaced a bit at the word, as if he did not consider himself a child, but he answered either way.

"I guess… I mean, I've got a few cousins. And then there's Greg and Vince, they are the sons of my father's associates. Other than that… Well I guess I won't be meeting before I go to Hogwarts."

Harry had heard about Hogwarts. Lord Voldemort mentioned it quite a few times. The British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was always going on about the founders, especially Salazar Slytherin, Lord Voldemort's ancestor. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was quite well-known in the magical world. A dangerous manipulator, who beat the great Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald in a duel some decades back.

The two slowly started playing the game sitting in front of them, and minutes went by in a not quite comfortable silence.

"So, who taught you to play chess, Harry?" Draco asked with an annoyed frown when Harry slaughtered his queen without hesitation. Draco was good, but it was obvious he rarely played with anyone decent, as he often underestimated him.

"The Dark Lord of course," Harry said without looking up.

Draco almost tipped over in the chair he had been playing with.

"Th-the Dark L-Lord? Are you saying you play chess with Him?" he demanded to know in a rushed whisper.

"Why yes, there is no one else to play with," Harry answered calmly, looking at the other boy a bit confused.

"You mean…. you don't have any friends?" Draco asked, sounding almost concerned.

"Friends? I guess not. If you don't count Nagini – she sometimes comes by."

"You mean the Dark Lord's s-snake?" Draco whispered looking a bit queasy.

"Yes," Harry answered, but said nothing more about it.

Nagini was one of the only others he talked to, in Riddle Manor. She mostly stayed near Lord Voldemort, but when the Dark Lord was home for a longer period, she came by to watch him. Harry had never really gotten over his uneasiness with her, she had eaten the man who raised him after all – and simply because the Dark Lord had been displeased with him for teaching Harry to fear muggles.

Instead, he was to be feared by them. A minor misinterpretation.

That was almost four years ago now, but childhood traumas had a habit of staying in recollection, even after all the bloodshed that had followed later in life.

"So, do you enjoy flying?" Draco asked some minutes later, after they had finished a round, and started another.

"I've been instructed."

"But do you… like it?" Draco said, looking at him with an almost intense expression.

Harry met his gaze unflinchingly.

"You could say that."

Draco gave a sigh.

"But you never do it, right?"

"No, the Dark Lord wishes me to stay inside the manor," Harry answered untroubled and ordered another piece to move.

"So, what do you do every day? What do you do for fun?" Draco asked when it was his turn. It was clear that the boy was too preoccupied with his endless questions to think much of the game, so Harry turned to him instead.

He was obviously troubled about something. Draco looked almost concerned; his eyes were staring at him in a familiar expression. Like how Mr. Gibson used to look when Harry asked him where his parents were. He let his gaze travel to the writing desk taking up one of the corners in the room. It was loaded with well-used textbooks, neatly filled parliaments and journals in his own writing.

"I read my assigned books, do my theoretical assignments and practice the spells the Dark Lord has written down, and when he has time, he tests me. I am expected to be able to perform them fluently," Harry answered, trying to express the pride he felt over his work.

"So… You just… Study?"

"Yes."

Draco was really looking at him in pity now, but continued to move his pieces again, and they went on with the game, even though he was clearly distracted.

Harry never really went outside. The house-elves took care of all everyday needs, but he was still expected to never look sloppy or inattentive – even if there was no one there. He sometimes dined with Lord Voldemort, but most days he never saw another person. When he did, he was to act exactly as the Dark Lord had instructed him.

Lord Voldemort did not accept disobedience.

Draco gave a sour scowl when Harry's bishop set his king in checkmate, making the white king smash his crown in frustration. Harry happily brushed away the pieces of the chess set that had landed on his robes. He even allowed a small, satisfied smile come to his face, though he was careful not to appear overconfident.

"You seem distracted," he pointed out, and watched as the shards set themselves together again.

Draco had been staring out the window thoughtfully.

"We should do something," the boy pointed out.

Harry blinked.

"What did you have in mind?"

Draco blew out a mouthful of air.

"I don't know. We could… Explore the manor! Or, go to the kitchen and bully the house-elves into doing something wrong… Or…"

"Or?" Harry asked, honestly feeling a bit alarmed.

Draco let his gaze linger on something outside the window. He got to his feet, opening it easily, and looked to be consider something.

The front side of Riddle Manor had a full view of Little Hangleton, while the backside had a garden the size of a small Quidditch pitch and a forest reaching far beyond. Draco was staring at the small broom shed standing by the back door.

He turned around, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Or, do you want to experience some real flying?"

It took some convincing of course, and a whole lot of arguing, but perhaps it was the small-excited simmer Harry felt when he thought of just doing something new and different, without being ordered to do so for the first time in his life that made him buckle.

Draco was so different from everyone else he had ever spoken with. Almost brash in his decisions and quick to defend his actions. Harry found it harder than he had imagined to deny the boy anything, and though he felt slightly overrun by the blonde, he let it pass, hoping Draco wouldn't start disliking him.

They decided to climb out the window. The ivy growing along the walls had managed to grown quite tick over the years, and would hold them. As Draco suggested, Harry was ordering a house-elf to warn them, should someone start looking.

"If the meeting ends, or if you just notice a hint of people moving towards my rooms, you are to warn us, understood?"

The small elf bobbled its head repeatedly. Scarred fingers gripping the kitchen towel it bore as clothes fretfully. Its blue eyes were huge as golf balls as it looked at him nervously but determined.

"Yes, young Master, Ticky will warn you, sir!"

Draco was already halfway out the window, and yelled after him as loudly as he dared.

"Come on Harry, hurry up!"

Harry looked down at the small house-elf uncertainly. He knew it would follow his commands to the best of its abilities, but Lord Voldemort was the head of the manor, and he was not sure if the being would report it back to him or not.

"Don't reveal this to anyone," he ordered and the house-elf bowed loyally.

Finally satisfied, Harry looked down at the other boy. He had almost climbed all the way down. Giving a small smirk, he took out his wand from his sleeve, waving it over himself as he stepped on the windowsill.

"Arresto Momentum!"

A soft white glow encompassed him, before vanishing just as quickly. Leaning forward, he let himself fall, the spell slowing him down, making him descend and hit the ground just as Draco jumped the last feet.

"Whoa! How did you-?" the boy began spluttering, but Harry ignored him and set out for the shed, a finite charm leaving his wand. Draco followed close at his feet.

The brooms were the exact ones Harry had used when Lord Voldemort instructed him, and there were quite a few spare ones too.

Grabbing a broom each, they started walking towards the garden, carefully looking for anyone watching.

"We have to keep away from the east side since the meeting room is in that part of the building," Harry said and Draco nodded with a grin on his lips.

"Wait," Harry ordered, and the boy looked at him.

He took out his wand once more, and waived it over them both in a complicated manner several times, muttering under his breath.

"What is that?"

"Something to stop people from noticing us. It acts up if they really concentrate, but it is enough to stay somewhat hidden."

Draco grinned at him, before jumping on his broom. "Well, no use waiting around. We'll never fly that way!"

Harry gave a small wince when the boy let out a small yell in excitement as he pulled into the air, but he could not see anyone looking, so he slowly mouthed his broom and set to follow.

It was clear that Draco knew how to fly and probably did so often too, as he expertly flew up to him and touched his shoulder.

"Tag!"

The boy flew off into the distance, wanting him to pursuit him.

They thing about Harry though, was that he did not learn to fly for the enjoyment. Gripping his broom with both hands, he set after the boy as if there were some deadly foe at his feet - easily catching up with him, he clasped Draco's shoulder, before pulling a complete 180 right there, while still holding on to him and using him to boost his jump.

"Tag," he said in his ear, just before speeding off, a red-faced boy scrabbling to follow him.

"T-that's cheating!"

They flew around the grounds chasing each other for a while longer, before Draco gave up and asked to play a different game. Since Harry knew none, the other boy settled on trying to teach him a few Quidditch moves.

"The Sloth Grip Roll is especially important if you are the chaser," Draco said, doing a show of holding his broom a certain way, and crossing his legs underneath himself.

"You just have to roll around, when the Bludger approaches, and – whoa!"

In the middle of the roll, the boy's legs slipped, and he would have fallen, if Harry had not grabbed the back of his robes, hoisting him onto his broom.

A few seconds of scrambling, and the boy was sweating slightly as he held onto the broomstick.

"Yeah… that happens sometimes," he said, with a sheepish shrug, his face bright pink.

Harry tried, and failed, not to snort.

Just then, a small red light flew up to them, before exploding in a small fountain of sparks.

The boys look at each other shocked.

"The warning!"

"Let's hurry!"

Speeding up, still on their brooms, they forwent the shed when they saw somebody in the window, walking by. Flying up to the roof, Harry gestured towards the window, still open.

They rushed in.

Ticky was jumping from one foot to another, making small impatient noises.

"Young Masters, they are right outside-"

"Take the brooms!" Harry ordered, and the house-elf almost fell over when two brooms were thrown forwards. Just before they hit the ground, the house-elf vanished with a pop and the doors opened.

They were sitting by the chess set. Draco was ordering his white horse forward.

Lucius Malfoy let his gaze travel across the room, taking it in. Grey eyes lingered on the Slytherin crest over the fireplace.

"Draco."

The blond haired boy looked up from his position – lazily leaning onto the table.

"We're leaving already?"

The older man nodded curtly, a shimmer of amusement still in his eyes.

"But I still haven't let Harry win. It feels mean leaving like this," Draco said with a slight pout, and Harry threw the boy a small glare.

His mouth, however, was upturned.

"Perhaps another time, young Draco," a second voice answered.

Everyone in the room straightened at the sound of it, and the older Malfoy turned to greet his Lord with a bow.

The man standing just outside the door was dressed in dark, elaborated robes. His skin was chalk white, and a snakelike face held a pair of red-slit eyes. The man was tall, much taller than Mr. Malfoy, but his body was skeletal thin, making his hands and fingers appear unnaturally long and spidery.

Both Harry and Draco got to their feet, bowing.

Lord Voldemort walked further into the room, his gaze flickering to the still open window, before stopping in front of him.

Harry felt his neck prickling, and when two finger probed his chin up, he readily obeyed.

"Have you entertained young Draco suitably, Harry?"

"Yes, my Lord," he answered respectfully.

The man gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, as he stared at him. When he turned away, Harry let out the small breath he had been holding.

"Our guests, have shown a deep interest in you, Harry. Mr. Malfoy here seemed almost disbelieving when I told him about your powers …"

"I meant no disrespect, my Lord," the elder Malfoy almost stammered, but both his stance and expression remained straight and proud.

Lord Voldemort man held up a hand, to stop him from saying anything else.

"I completely understand, of course. Confidence must be proven…" At this, the man gave Harry a long look, and somehow, Harry just knew he had found out.

"Ticky!" Lord Voldemort called, and the house-elf popped in to stand before them.

It gave the Dark Lord a deep bow, but Harry could see it trembling like a leaf. Beside him, Draco swallow anxiously, his face even paler than normal as he too understood was what at stake.

Lord Voldemort placed a spindly hand on his shoulder, and Harry mechanically straightened, pushing all emotions off his face, even if his mind was in turmoil.

"Young Harry here is a very studious child. He has been trained for years in the magical arts, and has already proved himself quite sufficient with a wand."

The man looked over at Draco, and the boy stiffened even further, now quite visibly scared.

"Has your son started his magical training yet, Lucius?"

The older Malfoy gave a nod.

"Yes, my Lord. However, Narcissa insists that we stick mostly to the theoretical part of his education."

The man gave a small nod, as he stared at the blond-haired boy.

"Reasonable, of course. A child's magic can be quite unstable, and children are such … delicate creatures, after all."

He turned to stare at Harry, who tried to stop his hands from trembling.

"Harry, have you been practicing the spells I assigned you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And will you preform them sufficiently, and prove to us all, your … praiseworthiness?" There was a certain steely undertone in his voice, which Harry knew very well.

Fail – and he would not escape this easily.

"At you request, sir," Harry replied softly.

The silence in the room stretched for several second, only broken by the small house-elf's teeth rattling as it trembled in fright.

"Good," the Dark Lord said with an almost smile. A cruel glint in his eyes. "I have as of late found myself with an untrustworthy servant… And you know how I feel about traitors…"

The house-elf looked ready to faint. Its bulging gaze skipping from Harry, to the Dark Lord, almost pleadingly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from displaying as much himself.

"What do we do with traitors, Harry?"

He tilted his head up in a well-practiced motion.

"We dispose of them, my Lord."

"Ah! But what if they know something we don't?" Lord Voldemort questioned curiously.

"We question them, my Lord," Harry stated in a low mechanic voice.

"But what if they won't answer us?" the man asked, his gaze boring into him.

"Then… we punish them…" Harry answered, his voice lowering uncertainly. Swallowing nervously, his gaze landed on the house-elf. The small thing was gripping the tea-towel it wore as clothes as if it were a lifeline.

Lord Voldemort too was studying the elf, a vicious smirk on his lips.

"Ticky? Have you done something you shouldn't have? Have you been hiding something from your Master?"

The elf once more looked at him, panicking, pleading. Harry felt his insides twist in fright.

"Please-" Harry began, but Lord Voldemort cut him off sharply.

"Don't speak unless spoke to Harry. Ticky?"

"N-no, Master…" Ticky stuttered, her voice thin.

Lord Voldemort looked down at it coldly.

"Bind it."

Harry slowly took his wand out from his sleeve, and after another short glance at the older man he pointed it forward.

"Incarcerous."

Thick ropes shot out of his wand, and slung itself around the creature. Ticky fell to the floor with a small gasp.

"Last chance Ticky," the man said with a cold smile. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"N-n-no, no Master-"

"Silence it," the Dark Lord commanded.

Harry swallowed, but waved his wand with a japing motion towards the elf.

"Silencio."

The charm hit the creature without much ado, and the next sound Ticky gave was silent. The round-eyed gaze kept jumping between him and the Dark Lord, now even more urgently.

"My servant won't answer me, Harry. She must be punished," Lord Voldemort commented, his gaze boring into him.

Harry shot him a short pleading stare, but the Dark Lord did not even react.

Bowing his head obediently, he murmured,

"Yes sir."

Lord Voldemort smiled cruelly.

"I want you to blind it."

Harry hesitated for a short second. A hand once more landed on his shoulders. He pointed his wand at the silenced elf.

"Obscuro," he intoned, and the house-elf imploring gaze was covered with a black blindfold.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and he understood that he had made a stupid mistake.

"Permanently!" the Dark Lord commanded, angrily, and Harry felt his tongue turn to lead.

He looked up at Voldemort unsurely, but the red eyes meeting his were unforgiving and the hand grabbing his shoulder tightened painfully.

"It's either you or the house-elf, Harry. Make your choice," Voldemort said in a hissed whisper he recognized as Parseltongue. Red eyes glared down at him.

Harry looked at the creature, now terrified half to death. Its mouth open as it silently begged to be spared. Its body shaking uncontrollably.

Harry raised his wand, his face set in stone. It was either him or it. A blind house-elf or a blind Harry. Putting all the desperation and bitterness he could produce into the spell, he whispered,

"Conjunctivitis Totalus."

The spell was a curse, dark, impossible to undo.

A twin splatter, like two eggs being cracked, and the black blindfold was suddenly dripping with dark red liquid. The house-elf's mouth opened in a silent scream.

Harry could hear the boy beside him whimpering, but he forced himself to stare, forced himself to look at what he had done, even as he shook like a leaf. The Dark Lord demanded it.

Giving a small wave of his hand, the man turned away.

"I have no need of a blind house-elf. Dispose of it," the Dark Lord said without feeling. As if it was not Harry's fault the house-elf could not speak, could not see.

Harry was unable to stop his hands from trembling.

"D-Diffindo Totalus."

The spell that shot from his wand only grazed the creature, who lay gasping in pain on the floor, but a sharp red mark appeared along its neck, breaking skin, and Ticky flinched violently.

"Again," Lord Voldemort ordered. His voice turning steely once more.

Harry threw a small pleading look at the man, but the coldness that greeted him, made him swallow any words. Glaring down at him, the Dark lord sneered.

"And Harry, do not disappoint me this time," he said in a tone that left no room for mistake.

He could hear the other boy hyperventilating, but dared not turn away from his target, his victim. It was either him or it. It was either a house-elf or Harry.

He dared not close his eyes.

"DIFFINDO TOTALUS!" Harry waved his wand in a sharp cutting motion, and a clear red light left it.

A short red shower sprayed across the floor.

Ticky's head fell from its shoulders with a quiet thud.

A few seconds went by in absolute silence.

Blood was seeping into the white carpet. The creature's bodiless head had frozen in a pain-filled grimace. The body laid limply, stretched along the floor.

"Leave," the Dark Lord ordered, and the elder Malfoy rushed forward, lifting the nine-year-old into his arms. He gave Harry a small, almost unbelieving look, before his face once more turned stony. Putting his arms around the other boy protectively.

He gave a small bow and was out in seconds. Escaping the tense numbness, the Dark Lord twisted the air into.

It only took a second.

The backhanded slap, he had expected, and he let himself fall to his knees in the blood the dead house-elf. He hung his head in shame, feeling his eyes prickle.

"Is this how you repay me?" the man stated coldly. Harry remained on the floor unmoving. Terrified.

"Lying, to the man who raised you. Letting a child with less power than you tell you what to do. Even hesitating at a direct order."

The man grabbed a hold of his chin, gripping it so tightly it hurt and stared into his eyes for several tense seconds.

Harry could see himself in the man's eyes, could feel the pain from his scar tear into him like a painful curse. He gave a small whimper as he felt something twist and turn inside his head. All of a sudden, he remembered what the man had done for him, how he had taken him under his wing and provided him with knowledge, wealth and care. A family, a home, an upbringing most could only dream of.

Yet he abused it to satisfy his own childish needs.

He did not deserve any of it.

"Yes, Harry…" the man whispered, and he felt his tears start running.

"F-forgive me, Master, for disappointing y-you, for defying you. I-I am undeserving of your kindness," he whispered back, in that same language. His face pale, his shoulders shaking.

"Why do you hate me so, Harry? What have I done to deserve such disrespect?" Lord Voldemort asked sadly. His red eyes still boring into his.

"Forgive me!" Harry cried almost desperately, he felt such misery, such guilt at what he had done, as if nothing would ever right itself again.

The Dark Lord stepped away from him, turning his back to him and shutting the window with a flick of his wand.

"You are not to let another child decide for you. You are not to be led by your inferiors. Do you understand?"

Harry let himself fall to his hands.

"Y-yes, my Lord, of course, I-I was wrong, it was stupid of me-"

"Quiet!"

His jaw snapped shut and the man glared down at him, before letting a smile settle on his face just as quickly, the hatred in his gaze disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"You are not to let others lead you – instead, you are going to be leader," he said with conviction, pride, as if Harry could accomplish anything.

Harry looked up, full of awe and desperation. He would do anything, anything to atone for his mistakes.

"O-of course, my Lord, I will do whatever it takes!"

The man gave him what he choose to interpret as a proud smile, a hand falling on top of his head. Harry leaned into the touch, and as if the man had given it permission, the despair slowly started seeping away. He gave a sob in relief.

Then, slowly Lord Voldemort stepped away.

"You must understand, my dear son. I only want what's best for you…"

"T-thank you… Thank you father…" Harry whispered over and over again, his eyes clenched shut in both guilt and relief.

Only the fact that the man still called him family, even after what he had done, made his eyes start running again.

"You understand, Harry, I will have to punish this transgression."

Harry bowed humbly, his forehead almost touching the floor.

"Of course my Lord, I was a fool to defy you," he replied earnestly.

"That you were, Harry. Lord Voldemort always knows when he is lied to. You would do well remembering that," the man said as he stood in front of him, his wand drawn. Harry bowed his head, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robe.

"Thank you, my Lord, for showing me the right path."

The Dark Lord smiled.

"You are welcome, Harry. Crucio!"

A/N: This story is already well on its way to completion. However, since I lack confidence and are trying to fix a few plot holes later on, I publish this in the hopes of getting motivation, constructive criticism and reviews telling me if people like it or not. Thank you.