To get the warnings out of the way: This will be a dark story with a dark Harry and a dark Voldemort. You might have noticed that's how I like to write them. ;) The story will eventually be slash and Tom and Harry's relationship will be far from healthy, so if you have a problem with any of those things you should probably turn back now. xx
I was asked to write a time-travel TMR era fic and this would be my take on one. I'm not yet certain whether I'll continue with it, but if I do it will be linear i.e. starting in 1926 after this chapter.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy! xx
Charles shifted, hidden in the shadows of the forest. He'd waited for this moment for going on twenty years now and was itching to get it over with, though if he was honest with himself he did find the current scene pleasantly nostalgic.
He watched as Death appeared before Harry Potter and remembered that this had been much less amusing the first time around – over 70 years ago now… god, he felt old.
Harry stumbled back in shock, falling on his arse as the snitch and newly revealed resurrection stone fell from his hand. He'd come to the Forbidden Forest alone, resigned to die at the hands of the man who'd ruined his entire life; who'd orphaned him as a baby; who was responsible for taking one loved one after the next from him; who made his existence nothing more than a fight for survival. He'd had to endure each day of hurt with his own unique mix of hoping and coping. The coping was at an end though now, and he'd found some solace in that. He was afraid, of course he was afraid, but he'd accepted his fate.
And then this… creature, this demon appeared before him and his resolution flew out the door, leaving only crippling fear in its wake. There was nothing threatening about its form. It was taller than a man, but not by much. It wore plain black robes, though they seemed to merge with the shadows that flared and danced about it, as though a black abyss encompassed its being. The hood of its robes hung large over its face, leaving only a darkness that reminded Harry of oblivion. Even so, that wasn't what caused him to tremble like leaf.
Harry had been afraid before – he'd been terrified thinking he was about to die, or worse, many times in his short life. All of that paled into insignificance against the panic and dread he felt now. There was a miasma that crackled around them, and it held his very soul in a raw petrified state that transcended logic or reason.
He couldn't breathe.
"Relax, Harry Potter. I'm not here to harm you – at least not physically." If Harry could find it in his muscles to move, he might have shivered at the impossibly smooth voice that reached him like a far off violin on the wind.
A short silence followed and then Harry felt a faint amusement break through his terror, and suddenly he could think once more. He blinked.
"Wha-who are y-you?" He managed after floundering for a few moments.
"You know who I am. You know the story: A wand, a cloak and stone…" Harry's eyes widened comically.
"Death." He whispered in awe. "You're death? So the story is true?" His rising hope was dashed viciously by a cold laugh that jarred terribly with Death's voice.
"The thing I enjoy most about humans is your endless capacity for ignorance. You're an imaginative species. You fear the thunder, so you create a god to control it for you. You hide, cowering afraid in the dark whilst telling yourself stories to make you feel better. And when faced with the thing you most fear – when faced with death, you fool yourselves into thinking there is a way to control that too. 'Master of Death'" Death's awful laugh rang out once more, and this time Harry shivered.
"But you did create the Hallows. Why?" Harry hadn't made any move to get up yet – he didn't believe his legs would hold him.
"For my amusement." Death declared mercilessly. "Power, safety, grief; these things give humans such drive. It's been entertaining to watch you, one after the other, scrambling over each other, sacrificing everything in the pursuit of my little toys. And now finally someone has managed to collect all three, and I have the opportunity to reward your arrogance. Death can have no master. I am eternal and far beyond your narrow comprehension. I was born with the universe and one day I shall reap that too. I walk in endless deserts – each grain of sand a soul beneath my feet. And you, you are merely a grain that got stuck on my shoe."
With the strength that had kept him alive all these years, Harry stood – shakily, but upright felt like an achievement. "I, I wasn't the one who chased them down!"
"Oh, I know. Your puppet master has already learned the error of his ways. But it's you who now claims ownership of the Hallows." Harry wanted to defend himself, but he just couldn't force himself to challenge Death.
"Well… well then, are you here to kill me? What are you going to do?" His voice trembled. Death at the hands of Voldemort was one thing – a flash of green light and then darkness – but actually looking Death in the face was another matter altogether. He was going to throw up…
"Not at all." That confused the still trembling boy. He couldn't stop the shaking, it was something primal. "I thought of all I could do to you, but then I came to find you here – about to offer your life to an," Death paused and Harry felt that same amusement as before, "enemy, and now I know exactly how to correct your arrogance: I'm going to give you time."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "…What?"
"A second chance at life if you will. I will take the mind of one Harry James Potter – sans memories of course – and toss it into the reaches of the man you so despise. I'm curious to see how a vulnerable little unloved being will fair beside a young virtuoso of suffering and death such as Tom Riddle." Seeing his lack of comprehension, Death continued: "I'm going to place you at Riddle's side… seventy one years ago. I'll leave you at the mercy of your enemy, and if that doesn't entertain I'm sure the look on your face when I reveal the truth to you twenty years ago will." Harry could only imagine horror resulting from a life with young Voldemort: years of pain and misery beyond anything he'd experienced so far.
"I don't understand; if you send me back you'll change history. What if I cause the death of my grandad or something?" He rambled as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Death laughed again and Harry had to take a moment for the constriction of his throat to ease enough to breathe.
"Such meagre capacity for comprehension you humans possess. The past has already played out. Everything you will do in your next seven decades has already happened." Harry placed a hand to his forehead, trying to quell the headache building from Death's constant switching of tenses. It was enough to make him crazy. "Now, I think it's time to say goodbye to Harry Potter – at least for a little while."
He looked up as he suddenly realised this was actually happening, that Death really was about to send him defenceless to Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, or whatever – it wasn't good!
"No, no, no wait, you can't do this. I don't want the Hallows…"
"I'll see you soon."
Harry felt himself falling as though from a mountain top. His last thought before the darkness took him was 'Death's a prick."
Charles watched his younger self disappear with a fond smile. He might have gone kicking and screaming, but Death's cruel joke turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. As he crouched low waiting for Death to leave, the trees, shrubbery and undergrowth that hid him died, dried up, and rapidly crumbled to dust, leaving him completely exposed.
"Won't you say 'hello', Harry?" Death called lightly. He took a deep breath and clenched his muscles for courage, before taking what he hoped appeared to be a casual stroll towards the dark immortal – a small sack clutched tightly in his fist. He'd come a long way from the frightened child he was the first time round, but couldn't kill the slight trembling of his hands.
"Death." He greeted, glad his voice stayed strong, while inside he was praying for the creature to leave. "Don't tell me you have more planned for me?"
"No, I've been here long enough, but I do hope you enjoyed your reward." It laughed. "All that's left is to return you to your rightful body." That brought Charles to attention – he hadn't been expecting that.
"No." He whispered harshly, before forcing himself to look into Deaths shadowed face. "You can't. I've been Charles much longer than I was Harry. This is me." He despaired when Death shook its head.
"I can, and I will. You are both Harry and Charles now are you not: you are only one person, otherwise you wouldn't have protected those, what do you call them, mudblood and blood traitor friends of yours within the castle. And that is not your body. It is the body of a stillborn into which I shoved your lifeforce. Death cannot create life Harry, though I manipulate it quite well."
A freezing chill hit Charles, and just like that he was inches shorter and wore glasses, and there was nothing he could do to stop the change. He sighed in defeat.
"Tom rather disappointed me when it came to you, though I do wonder," Death spoke as though nothing had happened, although there was a slight malicious happiness to his voice, "what your little lord will make of your appearance now. It would be such a shame for you to have come through all this, only to be killed at the hands of your lover." Charles paled and felt his heart drop. Death was right: he'd waited to see Voldemort again for so long and now he'd probably throw an AK as soon as he saw him.
"Good luck." Death's voice was a whisper, and when Charles looked up he was gone.
Now alone in the moonlit clearing, he wondered what he should do… once his breathing returned to normal. If he stalled and didn't go to Voldemort now, he'd kill his old, old friends, and he'd already taken so many of them. Charles couldn't do that – he had to at least give them a choice. He owed them that much.
With that thought in mind he took determined steps to where his lover waited, while rapidly changing ideas of what the hell he was supposed to do flickered through his mind.
Taking one final deep breath, he walked out into the Dark wizard filled hollow. The smile that pulled at his lips couldn't be denied as his eyes fell upon the Dark Lord, and it took a surprising amount of strength not to run into his arms. It helped that he knew he would not get more than a few feet if he tried. V was still just as beautiful as ever. He remembered when the physical changes started to take effect on his love, and he remembered he'd never cared. Charles loved the soul of the man; loved him to his bones, and one look from those crimson eyes could reduce him to jelly in his hands, and what skilled hands they were… Charles shook his head – now was not the time for such thoughts… maybe they could get round to forging him a new body one day though, for he did miss those lips, and the fire burning in the middle of the clearing cast such romantic shadows in the moonlight…
Biting his tongue to force his focus back onto the problem at hand, Charles raised his hands a little. He didn't care about the tense, silent faces watching him, he stared straight at Voldemort. Nobody mattered but the two of them.
"My Lord…" Bellatrix started, but was swiftly silenced with a raise of her master's hand. Voldemort stared back at him with a similar intensity to his own, though for opposite reasons.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come." Charles' heart beat violently in his chest as V spoke to him for the first time in a long time. He let his wand fall from its holster to the floor and kicked it away, eager to make obvious he didn't want to fight. Slowly, and with his hands still in sight, clutching the white sack like his life depended on it – and it just might – he took a few more steps.
"HARRY! NO!" He turned to see the distraught face of Hagrid and gave him a gentle smile. The half-giant had been good to him, and he didn't want him to die if it could be helped.
"It's OK, Hagrid." He nodded to the half-giant, trying to reassure him, but of course that didn't work.
"NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH-?"
"QUIET!" Rowe shouted and Charles was grateful for the silencing spell the man cast on Hagrid. He didn't have the time or care to deal with him right now: Voldemort had raised his wand.
They locked eyes once more and he tried to convey all he needed to say and what he felt in his gaze, and the Dark Lord must have read some of it right, for his head cocked to the side in thought – as though he were pondering something.
Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, to no doubt cast the killing curse, and Charles' mouth flew into action without his permission.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" He cried quickly and all in one breath, while his hands rose higher in a gesture of peace. Voldemort continued to watch him, but had thankfully not finished the incantation. "I…" Suddenly he realised what he had to do to give him a chance to explain, and idly wondered if it would be better to just let V take him out. There was nothing for it though – the situation was simply too dangerous.
Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself to the ground. Merlin, this was so embarrassing! He was the Dark Lord's partner – his equal! V was never going to let him live this down… He kept his eyes up as he knelt, still trying to silently communicate his identity, but winced when he heard the indignant bite in his voice. "My Lord, wait, please." The others were going to assume that unwillingness came from the Harry Potter they knew, not the annoyance of the Dark Lord's lover. He itched to curse that smug, shocked or condescending look from their faces.
"Your Lord?" Voldemort asked in cautious amusement. He wondered if the stress of being the Boy-Who-Lived had finally caught up with him.
"*Stop, V. It's me. It's Charles.*" He hissed in Parseltongue so the others couldn't hear, and sighed when those crimson eyes narrowed in quiet fury. Of course he wouldn't believe him after everything Voldemort and Harry Potter had done to each other. He'd only made things worse, because now Voldemort looked like he wanted to prolong Harry's death. "*It's me, I swear. I said I'd come back in twenty years and explain everything, well, I'm here.*"
"*Prove it!*" Relief washed over him when Voldemort finally responded. He'd got him talking – talking was good. He thought about all the memories he could recount, but then remembered all those memories Dumbledore had shown him at school and didn't want to risk angering him more by making him think the old man had been prying any further into their private lives. He had a better idea.
The surrounding wizards were growing increasingly curious about the secret conversation, but neither Voldemort nor Charles paid them any mind.
"*Look!*" He hissed, shaking the sack. "*Look inside, please, and you'll know the truth! Believe me, you don't want me to tip it out – best you look.*" The Dark Lord hesitated, wondering if this was some trick and whatever was in the bag would kill him as soon as he opened it. Thankfully curiosity won out.
The bag was levitated to Lady Malfoy. "Narcissa, tell me what's inside." He commanded, and she immediately took the sack to comply, though her face scrunched up in confusion when she saw the contents.
"My Lord, there's a cup, a book, a diadem, a necklace…"
"Hand it to me!" He hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue, which caused a slight shudder of fear to ripple around those present as they wondered what was going on. Charles watched on with relief and more than a little amusement: he'd got V's attention now.
Voldemort could tell these where the real deal when he reached into the sack and ran a finger along the spine of his old diary. But none of this made any sense.
Seeing his confusion, Charles spoke up – this time with more confidence. "*See, who else would have run around protecting your soul all these years? Oh, in fact you should know that you have another! On Halloween 1981 you accidentally made me a Horcrux…*" He looked away and scoffed loudly, before shaking his head and standing, all the time wanting to kick himself - a lot. "*I should have opened with that.*" He admitted dryly. Merlin, he was an idiot – there was no way V would have fired an AK if there was even a slight chance Harry was a Horcrux! He looked up and smirked at the lost look on the fearsome Dark Lord's face: it was quite the picture.
All but Voldemort's wand had risen as Charles had, but he wasn't worried anymore. "*It's Me.*" He said again with a quiet sincerity. The man across from him looked down once more to the sack now tied and held tightly in his hand, and then back to Charles, a smile slowly stretched across his barely human face.
"*You have a lot of explaining to do.*"
"I know." Charles returned in English, which acted as a signal of some sort for the others to speak.
"My Lord…" McNair began, but as with Bella before he was cut off.
"Everyone… wait here." Ordered Voldemort, in a voice calmer than his followers had heard in a long time – too calm, some would say, for someone about to lead an army into battle. They couldn't know the battle was already won. He had almost told them to leave, but it would be a waste to pass up this opportunity to take Hogwarts. Ignoring their surprised looks he nodded at Harry/Charles to follow him into the forest beyond. It was time to find out what was going on, and Charles couldn't wait to tell V how his whole life was one big joke, starting with that damn prophecy: of course he was the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord - to love someone is to give them the power to destroy you, and they loved each other deeply.