Harry Potter and all related ideas belong to Rowling.
This is an alternate universe in which much is the same, save for a few small details. The story starts off when Harry is leaving the Dursley's house just before third year. This was also written before the release of books 6 and 7, but I may have edited in some content. So don't expect to see much from those books.
"She deserved it," I said dragging my things to the door. Aunt Marge had finally gone too far, and though I didn't mean to, she most definitely deserved to become the hot air balloon everyone knew she was. I kept my eye on Uncle Vernon as I fumbled for the catch on the door. I found it, swung the door open and backed into a wizard who had his hand raised to knock. I dropped everything fell on my bum and thought 'this is the end they've found me out and I'll be expelled from Hogwarts.' I had hoped to be at least away from the house before they came to get me.
The wizard helped me up, all the while introducing himself as… well I didn't quite catch his name, but he was from the Ministry of Magic. All I could do was nod dumbly, wondering why he felt the need to come here personally. They could have sent me a letter like they did last year. Unless I was in really big trouble.
Fortunately I had bossy pushy relatives, and the first thing Uncle Vernon did was shove the ministry official into the kitchen, saying "Good, now that you're here you can take care of this." The official took one look at Aunt Marge and said "Harry Potter, I'm afraid you are going to have to come with me." He then muttered a few spells after which Aunt Marge began to deflate. "Mr. Potter, I am here to escort you to Azkaban."
He ended there, I expect he anticipated more of a reaction than a couple of blank looks. Aunt Petunia – surprisingly enough – gasped, but then fixed her face when we all turned to her. "Where's Azkaban?" I asked the million dollar question.
"Not where, what. Azkaban is an unplottable, impenetrable prison. Home to the dregs of wizarding society, and your home for the foreseeable future, pending trial."
I was shocked into silence, but once again Uncle Vernon came to the rescue. "Good, maybe now you'll learn some gratitude and respect." That old fat bastard didn't know how wrong he was.
He collected my stuff and had me walk with him down the street. I was building up a great deal of anger. A bit of accidental magic and I was to go to prison? Did they do this with all the children that do accidental magic? If so, their prisons must be overflowing. After we were a certain distance away from the house he pulled an old soda can from his pocket and told me to touch it. Thinking he was a bit of a nutter I did it, and immediately felt this yanking feeling in the pit of my stomach, right under my navel. The next thing I knew was standing in a large grand entrance, right in front of a fountain. One of the most pathetically ugly ones I'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. There was a wizard in the center, taller than the witch, centaur, house-elf, and goblin that surrounded him. The last thing I noticed before I was thankfully pulled away from my observation was all the statues gazing at the wizard in simpering awe. Thinking about Hermione I knew, the look on the witch's face was nothing I'd ever see in real life.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic." The official said to me as he dragged me down the hall. I heard a bunch of thumps behind us, so I turned to look, only to see my trunk and belongings hopping along behind me. I was happy to see I would keep my things, but seriously, watching one's trunk follow one like an over-eager puppy is a bit disturbing.
"Where're all the people?" I asked.
"Home, you don't expect them to work all the time, do you?"
He sounded cross and angry, so I responded "No, I suppose not." Then decided to shut up.
The nameless one dragged me up stairs, down elevators, and when I was thoroughly confused, we finally stopped in front of a door. "Go on in," he said, "He's expecting you." I was about to ask who, but the man disappeared, and, logically thinking, I would find out who as soon as I opened the door. So I did.
"Ah, Harry," said my headmaster, Albus Dumbledore "So good of you to join us, please have a seat." He offered me tea, and lemon drops, and he never gave me an opportunity to ask what the hell was going on. "May I introduce my brother Aberforth? He's the Minister of Magic, as you know."
I turned around to see a more regally dressed version of the Headmaster, who smiled at me and took a seat behind an impressive wooden desk. Finally the Headmaster lapsed into silence, and the Minister remained quiet after murmuring a greeting.
"So what's going on here? Why am I here? Am I going to Azkaban? Why are you here?" the last question was directed at my Headmaster. He chuckled and said something about how I'm always to the point.
"You are here, Mr. Potter, due to a question you asked my brother at the end of your first year, and due to the events of your second year."
"So you mean Aunt Marge has nothing to do with this?" I interrupted. I was immediately silenced by a look from the Minister that did nothing but highlight the difference between the two brothers.
No one bothered to answer my question. Aberforth Dumbledore rose and said "Follow me, if you will." The headmaster ushered me along, and I could do nothing but follow, trapped as I was between the Minister and the Headmaster. This time, thankfully, the path was a lot more straightforward. We went to the elevator and got off on the floor announced as 'The Department Of Mysteries.' We passed through several doors, finally going through a room filled with bell jars and hour glasses until finally we entered into a room full of what appeared to be bookshelves. But instead of books, the shelves held spun glass spheres, most of them dusty and old. I didn't even have a chance to really look around. The Minister picked up his pace, heading down one row in particular, and the Headmaster behind me didn't let me dawdle either. Finally he stopped and told me to pick up one of the spheres. I looked at the card in front of the sphere, which said:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D
Dark Lord
And (?) Harry Potter
"What is it?" I asked taking down the sphere I already thought of as mine. It had my name on it after all.
"A prophesy." The Headmaster responded in a tired voice. He gave his brother a look, which the Minister answered with a frown. He sighed "Harry, take out your wand and tap the sphere."
I did so, and immediately a ghostly shape drifted out of it. I was so surprised that I nearly dropped the sphere, but I held onto it as the glasses-wearing bug-like woman started speaking. Her voice was scratchy and terrible, and all the more frightening for what she had to say.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." Her spiel over, the ghostly figure shrank back into the ball, much like steam coming from a boiling pot, only in reverse. My mind was spinning, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, the subjects of this prophesy sounded disturbingly familiar.
"What does this have to do with me? Isn't a good thing that this kid's going to be born?" I asked quietly, hoping not to hear the answer I was expecting. I wasn't looking at either of them, just staring at the warm sphere still in my hand. The minister was about to say something, but the Headmaster quieted him with a touch.
"Harry, that prophesy was made shortly before you were born. Sybil Trelawny, the divination teacher at Hogwarts, made that prophesy to me." He paused as his brother started walking out of the room. We followed, this time the Headmaster walked beside me, explaining as we made our way back to the Minister's offices.
"At the time of that prophesy, either you or Neville Longbottom could have been the boy of the prophesy, however Voldemort attacked your house that night, and gave you that scar. He marked you as his equal, and now you must defeat Voldemort for the sake of the entire wizarding world."
By this time we were safely entrenched in the Minister's office, so I felt comfortable saying "Well then we're screwed! I can't defeat Voldemort. How can I defeat him when most people are afraid to say his name?"
"Can or can't, it doesn't matter," the Minister answered. "You will. You have to, there is no one else. And if you fail, you and all the people you care about will die."
I looked down again, "What do you expect me to do? I'm just a kid. Why did Voldemort even come to my house that night, if all he was going to do was make me his downfall?"
"Fortunately for us, Voldemort did not hear the whole prophesy. He heard enough that he thought he would be safe if he killed you." The headmaster answered in his kindly voice.
"Besides, at an even younger age you were able to kill Quirell, don't tell me you can't do anything."
"I never wanted to kill him" I shouted.
"Then why did you?"
"Because," I looked back and forth between the headmaster and the Minister, confused as to had asked that last question, and finally figuring out that it didn't matter. "Because there wasn't any other choice." I finished.
"At the time you looked at your success as a sort of fluke. Something that couldn't happen again. But your actions in the Chamber of Secrets only prove that you are capable of handling this responsibility." Before I could protest he continued "We will help you, of course. Your headmaster has agreed to release you from Hogwarts so that you can pursue a more accelerated course of study."
"What about my friends?"
"Don't worry about them, without you there, they will be safe at Hogwarts. The headmaster has volunteered to tell them what has happened. But you won't be able to see them until after you have finished your schooling. To give away your position before you are ready would be tantamount to a death sentence."
"How long will the schooling take?"
"That depends entirely on you."
"Harry," the headmaster continued "you will have the best teachers teaching you everything they know. You will be given every tool possible to defeat Voldemort."
Well, when they put it that way, how could I refuse? I was moved to the safest place outside of the Dursleys, and Hogwarts – Azkaban prison. It was impenetrable, inescapable, and home to the most perfect form of torture known to man. There was a man there to greet us when the boat landed. I was half frozen, soaked and perfectly miserable, but the headmaster and the minister paid little to no attention to me, so I kept my thoughts to myself. The man hauled me out of the boat, and then promptly sat down in it. We walked a few paces forward only to see tall shrouded figures emerge out of the fog. Suddenly the cold I was feeling seeped through to my bones, and the faint sound of screams reached my ears.
"Who are they?" I asked, wanting to flee, but instead keeping pace with the brothers.
"They're the ones who will keep you safe until you're ready to face Voldemort." The minister answered his voice as impatient and harsh.
"Why is it so cold?" I asked, but no one answered. "Who's screaming?" I whispered before darkness overtook me, and I found out first hand.
I awakened to voices around me. They weren't being particularly quiet, but the conversation didn't make all that much sense.
"You're sure about this? What about this power that Voldemort knows not? How do we know being here won't kill it outright?" I could swear the one expressing the doubt looked like the minister from my half opened eyes.
There was silence, during which the person that spoke fidgeted. Finally the other figure said "We need to train a hero in a short period of time. You agreed that a Hogwarts education would most likely get him killed if it came to a duel between them." The voice was, not harsh, but commanding, and it booked no argument.
"But he's so young, and to be here… You saw how he reacted to the dementors."
"If he learns quickly, he'll never have to see them again."
"But" He never finished his question since another person walked over to the bed and shoved me.
"Wake up." He yelled "I haven't the time or patience to wait for you." Half this sentence was lost when I yelped. Even Aunt Petunia wasn't this harsh when waking me up. I rubbed my face under my glasses, shivering. I looked at the three people surrounding me, glancing at the brothers, and staring at the misshapen man that had awakened me. Scars liberally scattered over his face, a good portion of his nose was missing, and he stood favoring one leg over the other. But the most disturbing thing was a giant electric blue eye staring straight into mine. He had another eye, but that one was normal, almost happy in comparison. I was shivering, mostly because I was only in an oversized t-shirt and jeans, but also because the stuff of nightmares was staring at me.
The headmaster cleared his throat, but before he could say anything the stuff of nightmares spoke "Potter, I'll be your teacher, father, mother, and god until I'm satisfied with your performance. You'd better not disappoint me." Emotions passed quickly through me, anger when he said he'd be my father, incredulity when he said god, but mostly a sense of horror. "You'll be happy here," he said with a gruff smirk, "We'll be playing games. We'll become great playmates. The only thing you have to do is win."
I worked my jaw a bit before I was able to say "That's it?"
"Yeah," he replied "Because if you lose, you'll spend the night with your welcome party."
So I learned. I learned fast, and thoroughly. The first time I faced him in one of his 'games' I found that he wouldn't hold back. In three seconds he won, looked at me with disgust – which was made all the worse for his hideous scarring. Then proceeded to drill me until bedtime. At which time he pretty much dragged me to a cell threw me in, and let the dementors have me for the night. The next day I withstood him for two seconds. I seriously didn't understand how he expected me to win with me shaking so hard I could barely hold onto my wand. A few days later, I was more than tired with spending the night with the dementors. When he was looking at me with that disgusted look that had gotten progressively worse, I kicked him in the groin and stupifyed him. When he recovered, he actually smiled at me. I rather preferred disgust, since his smiles were dementor-worthy. That day he drilled me just as hard, but that night was my own, with plenty of chocolate that took care of the worst of the chills, but didn't quite manage to dissipate the cold. The next day I lost again, but I was coherent enough to see that the cell was in a different building altogether.
The island was small, and the prison took up most of the land. But there was a hall-type building situated a good distance from the prison building. It was there that I was receiving my training. Actually I was training in a space under that building. The upper level seemed to be a receiving and visitor's area. That building was the only way through the 15 foot wall that surrounded the island. There was no vegetation, and in all the time I had been there, the fog had not lifted. I, at the time, hoped that it would lift. If I couldn't see the sun, then at least I could see the stars.
After my observation, Sir tossed me, scowling and silent, into the cell. I did try to win, but tricks only work once on this man. That night the scarred man, who bade me call him 'sir,' was unusually verbose.
"You pathetic pile of dragon dung. You'll never succeed. You'll spend the rest of your years in this cell, and I'll have wasted my time."
"Shut up you paranoid freak-eyed mass of scars," I responded. By this time we had a bit of a repartee going, he usually punished me for my words, but I figured if he was allowed to insult me, I may as well give as well as I got. "You're older, and you know more. But I'm younger, faster, and I'm learning. This will be the last night I spend here."
He snorted through the one nostril he had "All talk you little flobberworm, you'll be back here." With that he left. I wanted to fling some witty comment at his back, but I couldn't think of a thing to say. Obviously whatever practice I had with Malfoy was not enough. Then the dementors came and I knew little more than screams and sinister laughter.
Sir was right though, I did go back to the cell, and for the first couple of months I was in the cell more nights than not. But if I won consecutively, the rewards that awaited me were greater and greater. The second night I got to bathe and new clothes, the third night was bathing and books. Sometimes I got music, and one night I even got to fly. The rewards were always different, but they did a good job conditioning me. Sir also introduced me to hand-to-hand combat, since that was my preferred method. There was nothing more satisfying than landing a punch to that face, or well-placed kick. He learned to stay out of reach. I learned curses that would hit him for me. Though they were never quite as satisfying as landing the hit myself. He then brought in a new teacher that taught me more forms of hand-to-hand combat. He trained me in several forms, but didn't really bother to make sure I learned their history or anything about them. Some I dimly remembered from overhearing Dudley-the-whale's programs, or movies, like kung fu. But he also taught me some other forms. Soon enough Sir was borrowing prisoners to fight against me. The ugly bastard picked the most virulent assholes on the face of the planet to fight me. And if they hadn't been brain-pickled by the dementors, I would be less than a speck of dust invisible except under the lens of a microscope. Fortunately Sir picked the ones that wanted to torture me more than kill me or escape. During those sessions I was re-introduced to the Killing Curse, and intimately acquainted to both the Crucio and Imperious curses. I figured out how to throw off the Imperious curse, but crucio lost me more battles than I liked. It was around that time when I suddenly passed out into a vision of Voldemort. Of course at the time Sir thought I was being lazy, though I couldn't imagine why. When I passed out I was hit by a curse and slammed into the stone wall. When I woke up from both the vision, and the concussion, we sorted things out, and I gained an occlumancy professor.
As much fun as I was having, I wondered about these 'best of the best' teachers that were supposed to be teaching me. So far I had only met Sir, and my 'wipe the floor with my ass in the name of instruction' coach. When I wasn't worried for my health or sanity – well let's face it, I probably lost my sanity a long time ago. So when I wasn't worried for my health, I wondered how my education was comparing to, say, Ron's or Hermione's education. When I asked Sir about that one day, he narrowed his normal eye while the freak eye spun toward the ceiling. "If you're thinking about that, I'm not pushing you hard enough." Me and my big mouth. He then had me fight against multiple opponents. The dementors were close by, of course, if anything went wrong. But he also started me on my regular school subjects. Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, oddly enough, I also had a Muggle Studies professor, but that lasted all of three minutes before I hexed his ass out the door. He knew less about the muggle world than some of the bigoted pure-blooded prisoners did. Best instruction available? Well, yes I'd say they were. Especially since I did learn quite a bit, and quickly too. Potions was suspiciously absent, but remembering Hogwarts, I wasn't about to miss its presence. They were all fair taskmasters, more so than Sir was. Sir took to calling himself my Battle professor, and insisted that we fight in the morning before lessons and in the evening after lessons. I also had to maintain an excellent grade average, or it was back to the dementors I go.
I had no idea how much time had passed since I had come here for private instruction. I measured time in the only way that had any importance to me. In intervals between being sent to my cell. On average it was about a month, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on the subject matter. Ironically, seeing as it was a prophesy that sent me here, it was the divination professor that sent me to the cell the most frequently. The bastard centaur was nice enough to your face, but how the fuck was I supposed to make predictions based on the stars, when I could never see them? So I called him horse butt. But he wasn't terribly insulted, so I called him an ass. If centaurs say they're a peaceful race, just call one a donkey and see how peaceful they are. I had a great bit of fun dodging his six limbs before Sir told me to stop laughing and apologize. But that didn't stop me from addressing him as Professor Ass from then on. We've sorted out our differences since then, though he still tries to kick me every now and then.
But if I thought my schedule was full, it was nothing compared to when potions was added to my syllabus approximately a year later. At least I was warned that I would be starting a new subject. So I waited with unmitigated glee for my new professor. Sarcasm obviously intended.
He entered, I could tell it was a he without looking up from the potions book the instructor had assigned. "You're late" I told him, closed the book and turned to face him. I started at the shoes, which were predictably covered by robes; black, billowing, bat-like robes. Arms crossed disapprovingly across his chest. A sallow pale face with a large hooknose above a sneering mouth and under black eyes. "Oh fuck." It was Snape.
"Language Potter," he strode into the room stopping just beside my chair "Imagine my joy when you disappeared from my life. Imagine my horror when the Minister told me to come here to teach you." I didn't bother asking him why he agreed, the Minister was a master at manipulation, judging by how I got here. Meaning that intelligent people knew he never made requests, he gave commands. "You were completely hopeless in the classroom, and I have no doubts about your non-existent potion making skills. But here I am, out of the goodness of my heart. You had better learn. I have neither the time nor patience to deal with self-righteous Griffindors." He wanted a response, so I clamped down on my initial response, and simply nodded fingering the cover of the potions book in front of me, silently asking 'which page?'
He was surprised, but he sneered, told me to open the book to page 32 and get to work. As I flipped to the page, he removed a small box from his robes, enlarged it. "I expect perfection." He said, and if I didn't know any better I would have said he smiled. Well, wouldn't he be surprised. I had spent the better part of my time here giving perfection. I made that potion, and each one he gave me. Each time he pronounced it 'adequate' bottled it and graded it. Through a mixture of apathy, and Sir telling me he decided whether or not it mattered, I never saw my grades. But I expect I did well enough in potions, since Snape only occasionally the reason for my dementor nights.
It was only a couple of intervals after Snape came to teach me, that Voldemort came to visit. Now, I'll be the first one to proclaim my intelligence, and also the first to gainsay it, but I knew they could have picked a different potions professor. Especially since he was a 'reformed' Death Eater. Furthermore it was the brothers Dumbledore that told me that letting any one of my old acquaintances know where I was would be tantamount to a death sentence. So Voldemort showing up on my doorstep was more than a coincidence. But to their credit, I couldn't discount the possibility that they wanted me to kill Voldemort then – since he was nothing more than an ugly red lizard baby, dependant on this pasty balding squeaky rat-faced Death Eater for nearly everything.
He made his entrance with style, I was there to see it since the pain in my scar, and various controlled visions alerted me to his presence. He was carried by the rat-Death Eater, and followed by six others. They went immediately to the subterranean level of the entrance building – where I usually slept. This told me they had inside information. Voldemort sounded pretty annoyed when they found I wasn't there. He promptly dispatched the six Death Eaters to find me. The idiots split up, which made it ridiculously easy for me to overpower them and put a call to the aurors. When I made my way back to my quarters I couldn't see Voldemort. The baby-thing was gone, and the rat-Death Eater, who had taken off his mask, was stirring a cauldron furiously. I saw him cut off his hand and toss it in.
"What are you doing?" I asked, walking into the room. I didn't ask until I was pretty close to the Death Eater. He whirled around pointing his wand at me. I promptly disarmed him, and twisted his good arm behind him, and asked him again "What are you doing?"
"Giving my lord his new body. The potion is nearly complete, and with the addition of your blood, all will be ready. And then I'll be the favored one. None of the others sacrificed like I have. I'll…" I didn't expect a bloody soliloquy. But to shut him up I kicked him away, and put him under the body bind.
"Well, if that's all you want." I cut my hand and held it over the cauldron "How much do you need?" After no more than a trickle had fallen in a mist began to form over the potion. Deciding that was probably enough blood, I healed myself and stepped back. I didn't have to wait long. I was making things up as I went along, and I had a suspicion that I wasn't doing too well. The laughter coming from the cauldron, as a figure emerged didn't make me feel any better.
"You fool," a sibilant voice rejoiced. Now on my best days, I hate being called a fool, probably because of all the insults thrown my way, that one was the most true. "You have resurrected me! Your blood, the last ingredient now flows through my veins, and your mother's protection is now mine."
"Wait," I said in my best 'let me get this straight' voice "You now have my blood, and my mother's love?" I asked.
"Yes" but I didn't allow him to continue. Mental note, interrupting Voldemort makes him very mad.
"Well, then that makes you my brother." I said with a smile "Welcome to the family, come here and let me give you a hug."
His mutant red eyes narrowed "Do you think you're funny?"
"Do you know you're naked?" He merely frowned further in response. "Ahem, well, yes, frankly I do think I'm funny. But I wouldn't expect you to laugh. The way I understand it, as your little brother, I'm supposed to annoy you. If you thought I was funny, then I'd probably be doing something wrong. Oh, and by the way, the aurors will be docking soon, I'd give it maybe a minute or two. You'd probably want to get off the island."
"What?"
I interpreted his question as 'why' and answered accordingly. "Look, you're my newly found brother. Aurors are coming here to kill you. I love you and I can't let that happen."
"You love me?"
Either he was a bit slower than I'd heard, or I had managed to shock him "Well, you're my brother, who else is there?" Voldemort disappeared up the stairs to his boat, leaving all his trusty Death Eaters behind. Whoops. Well, lucky for Voldemort his little brother was there to give each of his Death Eaters a nice little cell on the island where they could wait for him.
Days passed – I assume of course. I rarely care about passing time when I'm with the dementors. Laugh riot they are. What annoyed me more was that I could wipe the floor with Sir, and still be sent to the cell. His excuse being that I had lost the big game, that unforgiving bastard. So it came as a complete surprise – well, as much as I could feel surprise by that time – that I was to have a visitor the next day. Surprise again, when they decided they wanted me as coherent as possible when the guest arrived, so they canceled my dinner date with the dementors. I can say for a fact, that the dementors were more upset about the cancellation than I.
The next day arrived to find me climbing the walls in agitation. Day after day with Sir, and then this day of stagnation was weird to me. Thankfully I didn't have to wait long for my visitor. I was munching on something when he entered in all his dubious glory. He was rail thin, looking very much like he had explosive diarrhea for a couple of months. Or he hadn't eaten in years– take your pick. He was pale, with deep blue eyes. It was the first time I'd used 'haunted' to describe someone's eyes, but the description held. His posture was cowed, furtive, like he expected someone to jump out of the shadows and attack him. But his upper body was at odds with his lower. He walked with smooth confident strides that ate space rather quickly. His hair was long and sickly looking, and black, but that could have been due to dirt, or oil. Either way it was very unhealthy.
The only reason I go into so much detail is because when he entered, he only took a couple of steps into the room before seeing me and coming to a dead halt.
"Ah, you must be my visitor, come in, sit. Can I get you anything?" To say he disturbed me would be an understatement. Never in my life had anyone stared at me the way he did. Like I was the answer to some half forgotten question. After an indeterminable forever, he shook off whatever ailed him, and took a seat across from me. I offered refreshments, and small talk, neither of which went over well. He just picked at the food, and forgot his answers in the middle of the sentence. He was at least coherent enough to tell me his name; Sirius Black, ex-wanted criminal, and escape artist extraordinaire. Well, he didn't introduce himself with such panache, but I remembered his name from the television before I came here.
Finally, during a particularly awkward moment he cleared his throat and said "Harry." That got my attention pretty quickly. My professors called me Potter, and Sir usually called me 'Lunch-meat,' or sometimes 'chicken salad' for variety. "I wanted to thank you." He continued hesitantly. "One of the Death Eaters you caught was man named Peter Pettigrew. You knew your father and mother hid themselves with the Fidelius charm, right?" I nodded curious at the apparent non sequitur. "Well, James – your father, picked his best friend to be his secret-keeper, me." I was a bit shocked, this man was basically telling me that he betrayed my parents. But I held my tongue, and my actions since I still needed to know what the bloody hell Peter Pettigrew had to do with any of this. "We told only those we trusted. But at the last minute, I told James to switch to another one of our friends. Someone no one would ever suspect, since… since… well that isn't important. I told him to switch to Peter Pettigrew. And the rat ran straight to his master and told Voldemort where to find your parents." Sirius Black's hands were fisted into tight little balls of anger, and he was carrying quite a bit of tension in his shoulders. I guess Black doesn't take betrayal all that well. "I felt something was wrong, so I went to Pettigrew's hideout. Finding that empty I went immediately to your parents." Here Black shrunk into himself, "I was too late. I found you and gave you to Hagrid, and then went to track the traitor. I finally caught up with him on a muggle street, which he promptly blew apart, killing 12, before cutting off his finger and disappearing down a drainpipe. Everyone thought I was the secret-keeper, everyone thought I was working for Voldemort. I didn't even get a trial. I spent twelve years here before I escaped."
Now, don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things that I might not remember about the muggle world. But none of the men I captured that night could have fit in a drainpipe. "He fled down a drainpipe?"
"He was an animagus, we called him Wormtail, since his animagus shape was that of a rat."
"How did you escape?"
"I'm an animagus as well. Padfoot they called me, my shape is that of a dog. I… I was there that night."
"What night? Where?"
"When that ministry worker came to take you away. Had I known I would have taken you with me. I would have…"
"Why the concern?" I said with a half smile, then frowned "Why were you there?"
"Harry, I mentioned that I was best friends with you dad, along with a werewolf named Remus Lupin, and that rat." This man loved to go off on tangents didn't he? "Your dad made me your godfather. I, well I wasn't going to ask you this so soon. But would you like to live with me? When this is over?"
And there it was. This was the reason for my visitor. I wanted to jump into a rousing chorus of 'You Manipulative Old Bastards, I Hope You Die 1,000 Terrible Deaths,' which doesn't have the easiest lyrics to learn, but made up for it with a catchy tune. This was just another part of the punish-and-reward cycle. Only this reward would come only when I killed Voldemort. I had a sense that Mr. Black hadn't heard the prophesy, nor do I believe he heard of it. That was the only reason I hadn't kicked him out. Though I really should, those that are close to me have a tendency of dying from a nasty virus called Voldemort.
I must have waited too long to answer since he hastily amended "I won't blame you if you want to live with your relatives. You hardly know me."
"Why not now?" I interrupted.
"What?"
"Why don't you ask me to live with you now? Why 'when this is over.' What exactly is 'this' anyway?"
"I thought you wanted to be here, that you wanted to have this accelerated magic education. That's what Ron and Hermione said."
"You've met Ron and Hermione?"
"Yes" he replied, and he went off into another tale, this time about how he cornered Peter Pettigrew, who was hiding as Ron's rat Scabbers. To say that took me by surprise was a bit of an understatement. I suppose he answered my question as well as I wanted him to. If he forgot I asked, then he'll forget to ask the Dumbledores.
"Ron's rat was a Death Eater? Will wonders never cease. Why were you friends with him anyway? Why are you four animagi? Why didn't anyone know?" I couldn't help it. I let myself get sucked in. When Voldemort asked I responded 'Who else is there?' For me to love, who is there? The brothers Dumbledore had provided an answer. I wasn't sure whether to be shocked that they knew my conversation with the Dark Lord, or happy that there was someone that cared I was human, not a tool. But that sense of happiness faded and died the more I talked with Sirius.
"Three of us were animagi, Remus, Moony, was a werewolf." And he told me about his youth. Running free under the moonlight in the Forbidden Forest. "Prongs, your father, was a stag." Coincidence? My patronus took the form of a stag. Maybe it was a subconscious thought solidified into reality. Maybe I just feel safe around deer. "You look exactly like your father, except the eyes, you have your mother's eyes." So I gathered, especially by the third repetition. By the end of the day, he had cut my mother out of the comparison. He left Azkaban happier, like most people do, but he left me feeling emptier than a night with the dementors. He didn't see me. He saw a miniature version of my father. He saw it as history repeating itself, giving him another chance, and he swore to me that he wouldn't make the same mistakes.
And damn me I still wanted it. Dumbledore had found a nice fat juicy carrot to hang in front of this mule's nose. Lead on puppeteers, see Harry dance.
The week following the visit I was feeling masochistic. So since I wasn't with the dementors, I spent my nights peeking in on Voldemort. It was particularly soothing for my ego since I was prominently on the forefront of Voldemort's thoughts. He thought a lot about how I welcomed him to the family. He thought about how to use that. The prophesy, he thought, never said that I would make use of this power. Well, that he heard, but he didn't hear the whole prophesy, did he? He acted before without knowing the full prophesy, perhaps this time it would be prudent to know the prophesy before planning anything to do with me. That decided, it was time for some relaxation. There was a nice family of muggles currently residing in the dungeons, they would do nicely.
Naturally I told Sir about this right away. Not the part about Voldemort wanting me, but the part about the prophesy. Soon I was treated to readings of frustration, anger, evanescent happiness – and I felt it all. I soon learned what made my brother happy, what made him angry. What he did when he was angry. It was enough to put me off my food, surprisingly Snape was the only one who noticed, or cared. At the least he was the only one to comment.
"Potter, you get any thinner, and you'll be knocked over by the steam of that example of what not to do."
I looked up from the potion I was stirring and said "Yeah prof love you too." He narrowed his eyes, and he asked me his version of 'what's wrong?'
"What the hell is the matter with you?"
"Nothing, nothing," I debated for a moment then decided to go for it. "Though I'd appreciate it if you told him I know it."
"Know what?"
"What he's looking for, tell him I know." Snape didn't say another word. There wasn't anything more to say. But he was as good as his non-existent word. It wasn't long before Voldemort broke into Azkaban prison for the second time, again with the intention of seeing me. I feel just so special.
Like the last time, he came with an entourage. Six Death Eaters, and from what I could tell, I don't think any of them were the ones that came with him the first time. I was awake and waiting for him, sitting at the table, one knee under my chin, foot resting on the chair. I had my arms wrapped around my leg, and to complete the picture of utter dejection I was painting, I didn't look at him when he came in.
"Harry" he said in a voice that was supposed to be warm. He sounded like his snake. "No hugs for your brother?"
I half smiled, "I'm afraid I have to beg off, I feel a monster headache coming on, though it is nice to see you again, brother. What brings you my neck of the woods?" Still not looking at him.
"Do I need a reason to see my brother? You wound me."
"I'm also being a very bad host. Please have a seat. I unfortunately don't have enough for all your friends, but can I offer you tea?"
"Certainly, certainly." Voldemort said almost jovially. I got up and put a kettle on, taking out the tealeaves that were laced with a sleeping agent Snape had me brew the other day. Odorless, tasteless, and nothing to give it away, except for when the Death Eaters started dropping like flies. Hopefully. The tea didn't take all that long to brew, nor to distribute, the Death Eaters being oddly gracious about the whole thing.
"Harry," Voldemort said, not taking a sip of the tea. Smart man, I saw about two of them take polite sips, which would be good enough, and one take a nervous gulp. One idiot downed the whole thing, I felt sorry for his obviously scalded tongue. "It's come to my attention that you know the words to a prophesy. One that involves the both of us."
"Oh yes," I said idly stirring my tea, pretending it was too hot to drink, "I heard it before I came here."
"Would you mind repeating the prophesy, it seems someone forgot to inform me that there was a prophesy, and I am rather curious as to what was said." I wonder how young and stupid he thought I was.
"Certainly, would you like the gist of it, or would you rather hear it word for word?"
"Word for word, if you please." One thing I'll say for him, Voldemort is certainly polite when he wants to be.
"Let's see, how did it start? Oh yes. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." I watched his face as I said it, but no expression crossed it, he had the same look of vague curiosity and attention as he did before.
"So it appears that either I will have to kill you, or you will have to kill me."
He said idly, as if discussing the weather.
"Hmm, I noticed that too. I wondered why we can't all just get along, but as it's a prophesy, it must be true." I'm sure he noticed the sarcasm, and he would have commented if two-thirds of his entourage hadn't made large thumping sounds as they found unconsciousness. The other two looked at their colleagues, then their cups, and promptly discarded their cups for their wands. I sat still calmly stirring my tea. When Voldemort looked at me in askance, I merely replied "I was beginning to feel agoraphobic."
He politely placed his cup on the table between us, stood and produced his wand. "What do you plan to do?"
"The only thing I can." I stood up to face him, still not drawing my wand. "I don't love you anymore. Voldemort, you're not my brother." I said it softly, the Death Eaters behind Voldemort didn't hear, judging by the way they leaned forward, tilting one ear.
He didn't say anything. He froze, looking not at my eyes, but at my cheek, where I felt something tickling me. I reached up to wipe it away, and my hand came away wet. I looked at my hand, and the moisture on it, confused. No one was more surprised than I to find a tear. I looked at him again, and he had the strangest expression. A confused sort of 'I don't believe it' mixed with hauteur and fear. I wanted to say there was sadness as well, as if he was actually hurt by my words, but then this would be a perfect world, and neither he nor I would exist.
He looked past me then, at a point a little above my right shoulder. His eyes widened as he whispered "Death" He raised his wand to me, only to find that his extremities were slowly crumbling, turning into a fine white dust that danced upon the wind. Voldemort's features hardened, preparing himself to curse me. But he didn't. He just didn't. Through Voldemort's eyes I saw Death brush past me, more glorious and beautiful than anything I had ever imagined. Death embraced Voldemort like a son, and took him away, cutting off my Voldie vision, and leaving me in a room with two Death Eaters that just witnessed the death of their master.
Both as one raised their wands, while I ducked and rolled under the table for cover, pulling out my wand as I did so. But I only heard one curse, a simple 'Stupify' and the sound of a man crumpling to the floor. I chanced a peek to see what happened. Only one Death Eater was standing, and he was doing nothing more than pulling off his mask. It was a boy as old as I, with blond slicked back hair. He ignored me completely as he pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. There was nothing there "Well that makes things more difficult." He muttered to himself. He finally looked up to see me leaning on the table one eyebrow cocked, with my wand pointed in the general direction of his heart.
"Dumbledore sent me." He said.
"Of course." I replied rolling my eyes. I stupefied him anyway, just on principle.
There was much rejoicing in the land. My name, once synonymous with living, now became equivalent with killing, though most would correct me to say 'prevailing.' I never argue semantics; it's a waste of time. Po-tae-toe, po-taa-toe and all that. Killing my brother was worth it though, but I didn't exactly realize it until I was in a park in London a few days later. Sirius was as good as his word, and gave me a house and a godfather. I was sitting on the grass in watching dandelion fluff float on the breeze, thinking of Voldemort, Tom Riddle, when I realized that I didn't feel cold. In fact there was this buttery warmth soaking through to my bones. For the first time in a long time, I felt the heat of the sun. I closed my eyes and turned my face to welcome it.