Harry stared listlessly out of the grand window overlooking the expansive frost covered grounds of Gaunt Manor. He had been in the manor forsix months now, quickly digesting all of what his savior had to offer. It was a far cry from his living conditions before he had met his rescuer and Harry easily expressed his gratitude by doing as told, but he was essentially waiting for the other shoe to drop. Harry could not say that he trusted the man, he could not even say if what the man-or wizard-told him was true. Was he really Harry James Potter? For some reason he did not think the name suited him well. He wondered, dully if things could have been different if he had never been left with those people. Perhaps, he could have been a different person.

"Have you eaten?"

Harry was not startled by the sudden presence of the man in question. The Lord of the manor had a way of sneaking around silently, merging with the shadows only to spring out unexpectedly with a question in that low baritone. It was terrifying, but Harry knew that he could be enduring much worse than the wizard's hospitality.

"Some."

It might as well had been a no. The wizard always seemed to know when he was lying, so Harry avoided it. He had become quite skilled at lying to the fat man who beat him almost daily and it had barely saved him from some of the more violent attacks on his person, yet he could not help but be close to truthful with this wizard.

This wizard had rescued him after all.

The wizard seemed to ask after his diet and sleeping habits almost every time they met. At first, Harry had been embarrassed by it: too strong-willed to admit that he needed anything. He believed that he could continue living as he had, with as little food and water as possible. Lord Riddle would not allow him to do nothing for hours on end as he was used to after being locked in a cupboard. Harry could not help but wonder if the man knew even half of the things he had endured besides the cramped space and malnutrition.

"Come, then. You will dine with me."

It was rare. Harry stood to follow. On some occasions, Harry would find himself dining in the wizard's presence, but they most often took their meals separately. Lord Riddle, as he insisted Harry call him, preferred to be out of the manor rather than in it. He tested Harry regularly on the subjects that he instructed him in as well. Harry could say that he was more comfortable with the basic Muggle mathematics and reading comprehension than he was with magical theory and Latin, but he would never admit that. He was rather fascinated with Wizarding laws and customs, however.

It was a short walk to the formal dining room. Gaunt Manor was simply furnished, though rigid with its lack of occupants. And as expected the dining table was already set, candles flickering lightly on the table and walls throwing golden shadows across the room.

He saw no servants, human or otherwise anywhere near the dining room as he sat on the left side of the table, close to the middle, while Lord Riddle chose the head facing the entrance. Once his napkin was folded in his lap and his silverware laid out properly, the food appeared before him.

His host said nothing as he implored Harry to begin eating. Harry knew what this was, he was intelligent to know that when he was given access to a library full of books he should take advantage of such. Lord Riddle was teaching him, not so subtly, pureblood etiquette. Harry wanted to know why. While it was amazing to learn that he was not a freak of nature, but a wizard, he did not think he wanted any thing to do with the Wizarding World as of yet. There was a safety in being kept a secret in Lord Riddle's Manor; an ease that he knew he probably would not be granted later on in life.

He had not asked many questions, though there was a thirst for knowledge that burned in him and he realized that Lord Riddle could sense that. He could easily look up his family heritage, pureblood lines could be traced back centuries throughout history and from his subtle lessons Harry could only assume that Lord Riddle was nothing less than a pureblood; he would surely have a book of Wizarding Geneology. However, Harry wanted to hear it from the wizard's mouth. He had never requested anything as such before and while he had never seen Lord Riddle in anger, he did not want to push him there.

Harry swallowed while his thoughts continued to run rampant in his mind, but he kept his eyes on his plate refusing to so much as look at Lord Riddle in his current emotional state. Harry had never seen the man express any emotion toward him.

"You wish to ask something of me?"

"I have every necessity, sir."

It was dodging, Harry knew, yet he doubted that he had avoided the wizard's inquiry. In fact, he had probably only succeeded in adding suspicion to himself.

"You needn't hesitate with me, Harry. I would not hurt you."

For a long while, Harry remained silent, greatly disliking the way his name sounded on Lord Riddle's tongue. He was beginning to hate that name: Harry, but he supposed it was much better than being called 'boy' or 'son' or Mr. Potter. Yet Harry could not help but wonder at Lord Riddle's sincerity. He had known brutality for so many years. He could only imagine how much more damage magic could do than fists and belts.

"What is my history, sir?"

It was a rather blunt question. Harry was not necessarily trying to imply that Lord Riddle was purposefully keeping him in the dark about something, but he could not help but get that feeling. He had an inkling that they shared more of a connection than just victim and rescuer. Lord Riddle was keeping things to himself for a reason, and Harry had no doubt that if Lord Riddle did not want him to know, then Harry would simply be left in the dark.

"You presume that I know?"

Harry said nothing. There was no such thing as coincidence, not with magic. He could at least feel that. And he could feel that Lord Riddle was testing him on his pureblood mannerisms: emotions were not to get the best of him.

"Your parents were James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Potter neé Evans, your father comes from a very old pureblood family, you are the last direct descendant alive, though you have...cousins. Your mother was from a Muggle family as you very well know. They were targeted and murdered for their position in a war around the time you were one year and a few months old."

Harry blinked, taking in the information. There was something about the wording in the last sentence that bothered him. Not that there had been a war in the Wizarding World, not even that Lord Riddle had skirted around saying who attacked them, but he said they were targeted because of their position. Had they been generals or of high rank? How had it come to pass that he was left with Muggles when he had wizarding family left alive?

"I am not a pureblood, but I should have been raised by one. What affect did my parents death have on the outcome of the war?"

Harry tried to be calm as he asked the question, and had he been watching Lord Riddle's expression he would have noticed the dark look that crossed the wizard's face. It had been an unexpected question.

"Their deaths had no affect on the war, but it did end the night they died. It was your survival that changed everything. Something transpired that night that caused one side of the war to lose all hope."

Harry had no idea that it was he, a mere infant who had ended the war. His mind was rather one-track: he had been meant to die that night. Maybe that was why he felt so out of place in the world. He was never really meant to stay in it.

"Why are you making me ask you these questions, when you could just tell the story in full. You make it sound as though you were there."

It was a light jab, one that Harry did not have the grace or finesse to pull off seamlessly, but that would come with Lord Riddle's tutelage he was sure. He was left with a cold feeling deep in his heart as he looked up at Lord Riddle for the first time that night.

The man sat regally, straight-backed in the throne of a chair at the head of the table. His dark hair fell in waves around his bare face, making him seem as though he were rather young even with the gray touching the corner of his temples. Lord Riddle had the features of high aristocracy, a pointed nose and high cheekbones, though his brow and chin were rather wide set they suited him quite well. The piercing gray eyes stared at him with all of the confident arrogance of a someone in a high position of authority. It was a look that he had seen his uncle attempt to imitate only to shed quickly once he fell to his gluttonous qualities.

The man was striking.

"Do not get ahead of your position, you are a guest. Ask the questions that are most pressing and least obvious You are doing well. Do not grow impatient."

It was a lesson hard learned, Harry realized. Patience was almost an impossible virtue to teach and even more impossible to master if one did not possess it naturally. Inwardly, he took a deep breath. Manipulating words he rarely had to use had never been his strong suit. In truth, the first book he had picked up to study on his own had been a dictionary only to keep up with his host's eloquent vocalizations.

"What were the goals on either side of the war?"

Harry had to look at this as a rare opportunity. When would he ever be able to ask a wizard of obviously high standing an unlimited number of questions. Children had questions, it was expected, but he would not be a child forever. He would not always have the excuse. He could see why this was an important game to play, information was knowledge and knowledge was power. Lord Riddle had taught him that rule.

"One side wishes to incorporate Muggles and Muggle-borns into Wizarding Society, the other side refuses."

The answer was short and crisp, not revealing Lord Riddle's position on the matter, or his side in the war though it was rather easy to determine. Purebloods were naturally the most traditional faction of wizards. If anyone had a problem against Muggles and Muggle-borns it would be purebloods. They were obviously purebloods for a reason; typically if one pureblood were to have intimate dealings with a Muggle or Muggle-born they were disinherited. In the not so distant past, however, the consequences had been much more severe. The Wizarding World must have changed quite drastically with the influx of Muggle-borns and even more Muggles knowing about magic.

But was there really a way to create magic out of nothing? The existence of Muggle-borns simply did not make sense to him. But that was not where his line of questioning needed to go.

"I am the Potter heir, but I was placed in the guardianship of Muggles, but they have no control of my magical dealings. I would have a Godfather or someone named Magical Guardian. Do you know who those persons are?"

With that question came a rather startling smirk on Lord Riddle's countenance. He had never seen the man smile, or smirk before, but something told him that it had nothing to do with humor. Harry wondered if it was a sign of approval.

"I see you have been reading quite a lot on the subject of purebloods and standard wizarding customs. The man named your Godfather is also a cousin of yours, he has been imprisoned for betraying your parents whereabouts the night they were attacked. His imprisonment, however, is based on accusation and not fact. The man named your Magical Guardian is one named Albus Dumbledore and he does know that your Godfather may have been innocent when he was imprisoned."

Harry sucked in a breath, but he was not quiet enough to keep Lord Riddle from hearing it. Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the school his parents had attended and the same one that he was no doubt expected to attend. Albus Dumbledore had placed him with Muggles. Albus Dumbledore had abandoned him in the Muggle world. Harry closed his eyes, letting the hate engulf him for seconds before he stamped it down.

There was only one person that he hated more than Albus Dumbledore, and while he knew he should hate the wizard who destroyed his parents he could not. His parents had not put up enough safeguards to protect themselves, they had relied on someone else and that someone else was probably Albus Dumbledore. Harry's eyes shot open. He was speculating and that would not do. Jumping to conclusions was never the best course of action.

"My parents were on the side of accepting Muggle-borns, obviously, how were they a threat to the other side?"

This was a tough question and Harry knew that he did not word it correctly, his parents had not necessarily been a threat to the other side, but he was wary against the other option, and he was avoiding the truth of it. He were to admit the truth, it would be that he had been the threat that the wizard had been trying to nullify and his parents were collateral damage.

"Your parents were rather inconsequential."

It was the harsh tone that Lord Riddle had spoke those words in that let Harry know just how much he enjoyed Harry playing dumb. He had already figured that part out. Harry felt fear jump in his throat and he felt as though the space between himself and Lord Riddle were shrinking though they were right in the same spots as they had been when dinner had started only half an hour ago.

"What role did you play in the war?"

It was a broad statement. Harry could clearly see that it was much too broad for the older man's liking, but he could also tell that Lord Riddle did not want to give him a reason to distrust him and he would be doing just that if he did not answer because while it was broad, Harry was indirectly asking if Lord Riddle was the one who had killed his parents without even realizing it.

"I led the side of the war that killed your parents, though it was more than that. It was my own wand that laid them to rest, and my own wand that gave you that scar on your forehead."

Lord Riddle would say nothing more, but Harry did not want him to. He could feel something crumble inside of him. Lord Riddle was the reagent that had destroyed his life. Lord Riddle, the one who was molding him into the personification of pureblood aristocrat was the one who had killed his parents. But rage was not his first emotion. Perhaps being surrounded by the man for the last six months had done that to him. He could feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, but it was directed to Albus Dumbledore. He had yet to meet the man, but he hated him already. He was angry with Lord Riddle. Angry that the man had not been upfront about this information.

It was rather underhanded, but Harry could see and understand a bit better. He did not know how he would have reacted if he had awoken as he had, chained nude to a bed and been told by his rescuer that he was the person who had murdered his parents. There were others factors that needed to present themselves. Harry needed time to think. He wanted time away from Lord Riddle, but was there really a way to escape the man in his own home? No.

And really who did he have. He was curious to know why Lord Riddle had not killed him yet. He still had so many questions, but he was tired of trying to put them all into a decent order to present them. He could ask Lord Riddle questions all night, but he would still be clueless. Even with the information that he had just been presented, Harry knew he was powerless. He would stand nothing fleeing from Lord Riddle and something told him that he would not make it very far anyway. The wizard was cold, but Harry was glad that this had been revealed to him. Obviously, Lord Riddle wanted him to know this now. Something was about to happen that would cause a shift in their interactions, that much was apparent.

"You came to me through my scar, how?"

"Let me tell you this, Harry. Your scar is the reason why I am here today."

It was like a cold bucket of iced water had been dumped on him with the revelation and bout of confusion swept through him. He had both saved and destroyed Lord Riddle when the man had attacked him, how? The man had avoided the question expertly, but doused Harry in a puzzle that would make his head spin for days.

Lord Riddle stood and Harry realized that he had run out of time without asking a rather vital question: why had he been targeted as an infant in the first place?

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Harry had managed to process a lot of the shock that had come from the information that Lord Riddle had all but forced on him. He could not help but assume that the timing had a large role to play. As Harry stared blindly at the letter from Hogwarts he realized that several key emotions had been ingrained in him. He could never trust Albus Dumbledore and in all actuality if he were hard pressed to make a decision he did not believe that he would be on the side of the war that accepted Muggle interaction. Muggles were dangerous to Wizards.

They were not in Guant Manor at the moment, but Malfoy Manor. Harry had yet to meet the Lord and Lady Malfoy or their children. He noted that the letter had been addressed to his exact position within the Manor and that was when Harry realized why they were there. For one, the Malfoy family was an old pureblood family obviously they stuck to the traditional pureblood ways, and two, Lord Riddle did not want anyone to even have an inkling of where Gaunt Manor was located. Additionally, Harry could only imagine how shocked the Headmaster of the school would be when he realized that he was not with his Muggle relatives but already had a growing knowledge of the Wizarding World and Magic.

Harry was counting on that knowledge.

The letter was standard. He would have thought that at the very least they would have realized something sooner, but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary with his letter. It was rather distracting. He believed Lord Riddle, and if what the man had told him was correct then he was something of a celebrity in the Wizarding World. He expected that the Headmaster would care just a little bit more.

Harry glared at the letter and moved from his spot where he had been studying, ironically, House Elf magic. The letter had appeared magically before him, not from an owl or other type of delivery system; seeing as the library he was in had no windows. House Elves were intriguing to him because everything they did was centered around pleasing and easing the lives of wizards, yet he found their magic incredible. They could appear and disappear at will, they could move without being seen, they had strong defensive magic of their own.

They could easily overtake wizards in their own home and Harry wanted to know what was stopping them. Some of the subjects he would study in school would be new to him, but at the same time he already knew quite a lot about them. He had never studied Potions or Transfiguration or even Herbology, spending as much of his time garnering knowledge about history, culture, Magical Theory and Charms and Wards. But he was a quick learner and he was getting better at detecting Lord Riddle.

"It's time formal introductions were made. We will be going into Diagon Alley for your school things."

Harry glanced at Lord Riddle out of the corner of his eye. The wizard seemed to have a bit of a different persona now that he was in Malfoy Manor. He seemed more intimidating, powerful and dangerous. It was coming to a year that Harry had been with Lord Riddle, though it seemed like much less time than that. He could not believe that it was July already.

Harry moved to follow Lord Riddle from the library. The wizard was not dressed as simply as he was used to seeing him, he looked like the pureblood supremacists that had once ruled the Wizarding World through blood and money. Those traditions had been lost on the majority, Harry knew, and it was one of the things Lord Riddle had fought for in the war.

His role was still a mystery to him. Harry could not imagine how a war over Muggles and blood purity could have anything to do with him. He wondered what had made him a target.

Lord Riddle remained silent as they made their way throughout the grand manor. The Malfoys spared no expense in showing their wealth. They wanted everyone, no matter which corridor they walked, to know just how wealthy they were. In that regard, Harry missed the large windows and simple decor of the Gaunt Manor. It was cold, but it was a lot more like a home than the museum he was in now. Harry had not been surprised when Lord Riddle told him that all of the Malfoys were buried in a crypt on the property as opposed to a graveyard.

Eventually, Harry found himself in a comfortable looking sitting room with plush armchairs and low tables. The fire was lit. but Harry did not find the room at all uncomfortable , at least not as uncomfortable as they four sets of eyes that had watched him enter. He bowed moderately in a traditional pureblood greeting, and they returned the same.

Lord Malfoy was the first to speak.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, Lord Malfoy and Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic in Great Britain. My wife, Narcissa and our children; my heir, Draco and my daughter Lyra. Welcome to our home."

The wizard's voice was smooth, an easy greeting for a man who obviously took pride in his family and spent quite a lot of time prepping them for the public. Lord Malfoy was of high political standing, he spent a lot of time in the public eye.

"I, Harry James Potter thank you for your hospitality."

Harry felt awkward but he hid it as best he could. This was a different type of formality than he was accustomed to. He knew that this would not be the last time that he would have to be painfully formal and he could only hope that he would grow used to it.

"Draco and I will accompany you to Diagon Alley. I will not be in accompaniment, Harry."

Harry felt a bit of magic wash over him as Lord Riddle touched his wand to the back of his head. Harry had never seen Lord Riddle's wand and it was the first time he could remember it had even been on his person. But it was necessary; he had to be disguised if he wanted to move freely in Diagon Alley.

"Come, James."

He swallowed his distaste, not liking the name James, though he understood why he was called that. Harry turned to look, but Lord Riddle was already gone and Lady Malfoy and the six year old Lyra were once again seated, patiently waiting for them to leave.

He had used the Floo before, when they had arrived to Malfoy Manor. In fact, Lord Riddle had instructed Harry to go back and forth through the Floo several times until he was comfortable with the system and did not disgrace himself exiting the green flames. Draco was the first to enter, obviously having the same practice he did.

Harry could not help but marvel at the green flames. Who knew that wizards could travel by fire. From reading he knew that the fireplace had to be magically charmed to work in conjunction with the Floo network and that some Floos could be blocked, but it was still amazing to him that magic could turn something so simple as a fireplace into something so extraordinary.

It was his turn next, and with a deep breath and a handful of Floo powder, Harry threw in the powder before stepping in and calling out Diagon Alley. Draco was waiting for him on the other side.

One of the first things that Harry noticed about Draco was that he was much bigger than himself, though hardly as large as his Muggle cousin. Harry knew he was rather small for his age though Lord Riddle was trying to remedy that, the damage had already been done. Draco would probably always be much taller than him. Like his father, the boy had platinum blond hair and pale blue eyes, only bringing attention to his pale alabaster skin. The heart shaped face and pointed features made it impossible to mistake Draco for anyone but the Malfoy heir.

In seconds, Lord Malfoy arrived through the Floo and Harry turned to survey his surroundings. They were in a pub of some sort. It was dark, dingy and not at all like Malfoy Manor. The crowd was thick with a heavy mixture of adults and children: this was obviously the gateway to Diagon Alley. Everyone had received their letters already and were here for school supplies. Harry did not favor the crowds, but he could see why Lord Malfoy would put himself in the public like this. His heir was entering his first year of Hogwarts. The wizard was posturing.

The crowd seemed to part effortlessly for the three of them. Lord Malfoy was obviously no man to play with. He was the Undersecretary after all, he held more power than most; some would even go as far as to say that he was more powerful than the Minister of Magic. Harry was really beginning to hate politics.

"Ah, our first stop."

Harry noted that the traffic at this bookstore was a lot less than the other-Flourish and Blotts-yet Harry was busy trying to digest everything in sight. He was not so simple as to be impressed by a moving wall behind a dingy pub when they entered, but the actual Alley itself was quite impressive. Even all the way at the other end of the Alley he could see the glorious white marble building of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It was as magnificent as it was described in the books.

"This is Rosier Bookshop, James. Another time, you may look around but not now. We have quite a lot of shopping that needs to be accomplished."

Harry took the warning that he was meant to stay with Malfoy at all times and not wander off. Draco was silently watching his father though he passed Harry a glance every now and then. Harry could tell that the blond boy had quite a lot of questions to ask him.

When they entered Lord Malfoy was greeted immediately and with the utmost respect. His pre-ordered purchases were magically shrunken and placed in a magically expanded bag and they left the store quickly. Much of their excursion followed suit, though they spent quite a lot of time in Twilfit and Tattings and Magical Menagerie. The Malfoy heir already had a familiar and Harry was happy to choose his own: a small black cat with similar green eyes and a small patch of white on his chest. The cat was quite and small, and Harry felt oddly peaceful holding him.

He needed to come up with an appropriate name. And while it was probably not appropriate for him to be cuddling a cat on the inside of his robes he could not very well put the cat back in a cage. He hated small spaces, even if they were not for him.

Diagon Alley in itself was quite small with all of the people bustling about and Harry wondered if it was always this crowded. They stayed only in one section of the Alley, and Harry was curious as to what else resided there. It could hardly be only reserved for shopping.

Ollivander's Wand Shop was their last stop and Harry felt a little bit of hesitation. Briefly, he wished that Lord Riddle had accompanied him, but he knew that he had no right to ask the man that. It felt odd that he was about to spend little more than nine months apart from the only person who had ever shown him true and consistent kindness. Lord Riddle was really the only person who had ever bothered to take care of him.

The wand shop, unlike most that he had entered with the male Malfoys, was darker with a fine settling of dust over everything. Glancing at both Lord Malfoy and Draco he could see their obvious disgust with anything that was anything near dusty, but neither he nor Draco had wands so it was a necessary trip.

Ollivander was standing in a shadowed corner, but Harry had noticed him almost immediately, already used to Lord Riddle's machinations. He was observing them, and Harry had a suspicion that Ollivander knew exactly who he was despite his disguise.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. I've been expecting you."

The voice was a quiet rasp that caused the elder Malfoy to stiffen as Ollivnder appeared suddenly behind them. Harry wondered exactly how had the man moved without anyone seeing him. He slinked around them behind them counter. A pale, dirty wisp of a man with stringy gray hair and wild blue eyes. Harry had no idea the kind of magic that went into wand making, but he could only imagine that it took a great deal of strength to touch that magic regularly.

"We are on a tight schedule, Mr. Ollivander."

Lord Malfoy sneered, but Ollivander barely glanced at him as he beckoned Draco to come closer. Harry was curious though he knew that he would go through the same.

"It is not the Master that chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the Master. Your first wand, does not have to be your only wand, but there will hardly ever be a wand that would suit you better."

While speaking, Mr. Ollivander place a long, thin box in front of Draco. Harry watched as Draco opened the box hesitantly and took the wand into his hand. Mr. Ollivander's eyes seemed to glitter.

"Ah, yes! Your father should be proud. ten inches exactly, Hawthorn wood and with a unicorn hair core. Almost exactly as his first. Though his was rather unyielding if I do say so myself."

Harry watched Draco look to his father and then back to his wand before his hand tightened around it, and with a simple vertical movement he cast his first spell.

"Protego!"

The shield shot up bright and red around the blond, covering him from all sides. Harry was curious if Lord Malfoy had taught Draco magic without him being in school. He knew that magic could be accomplished without a wand, but it was not very wide known. Wands were stabilizers, without a wand the magic could easily backfire on the caster. Draco released his shield and stepped back to stand next to his father who placed a proud hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter. Quite amazing things can be done without a wand. Brilliant things." The old wizard's voice was grave and quickly he grasped Harry's hand before letting go just as quickly. Harry felt as though the wandmaker had somehow read his mind.

Harry was still quite unused to touch that did not result in some kind of pain for him, and the shock left him a bit disoriented. Mr. Ollivander was looking at him with those same bright, wild eyes that he had cast on Draco and he moved to place several boxes in front of Harry before taking them away again. None of them would work.

None of them.

Harry felt as though he had been presented with every wand in the store, touched a little less than half and he was becoming worried. What if he did not have any magic and therefore that was why he did not have a wand that chose him. What if he really was a Muggle and he was not actually Harry James Potter. What if Lord Riddle had lied and was only trying to hurt him.

He picked a wand that was so pale it was almost white and he felt it pulse in his hand.

"Twelve inches and three-fourths, aspen. Threstral tail hair. Amazing, Mr. Potter. This wand has seen Death and all of history."

Harry could feel the wand burning in his hand, and he wondered how he had ever lived before without having it. The little black cat stirred against him and he wondered if the cat could feel the same magic from the wand that he could. It was old, even older than Mr. Ollivander.

"Of course this wand would choose you, with your bloodline. I'm surprised it did not choose your father, but then again he was always a little complacent."

Harry did not know what the man meant when he was referring to his bloodline and it sparked his curiosity. He was anxious to ask the old wizard some questions, but he also did not want the elder Malfoy to know. Harry could not trust the man.

"You may take payment from Gringotts, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you for your time."

As Lord Malfoy escorted Harry and Draco from the quaint shop, Harry could not shake the feeling that this would not be the last time he would see Mr. Ollivander.