I am Harry Potter. I am Lord Voldemort. I am no one. I am the one that died by the hand of the other. I am the other. Neither can live while I survive. I am more than the sum of my parts. I am alone.
I am.
I am nearly seventy years old, but I am also fifteen, and could be considered three days old. I am dark of hair, fair of skin, and green of eye. I have a scar on my forehead, but it is fading now.
Dumbledore isn't sure whether I'm Harry or not. Fair enough. I'm not positive either. I remember being Harry, but I remember other things as well. Things that can't be. Will never be.
I remember dying. It wasn't painful or shocking. Just…one of us was going to die. It was expected. At that point it was just an all-out struggle to kill, and both of us had forgotten why.
I remember killing. Green eyes going wide as their owner gasped for air and I held on, waiting, waiting for him to die, except I died too-I remember.
The body they recovered is identical to mine, but the scare on his head will not face. Dead people don't change.
I remember being Voldemort. I dream it. During the dreams it all makes sense, feels right. When I wake up I feel ill. The screaming. When I am Voldemort in the dream, I enjoy it. That's the worst. When I wake, I want to scream myself because it's awful. I can't stand anymore. No more. No more.
Dumbledore continues his quest to find out my true identity. No luck so far. If I turn out to be Voldemort I'll kill myself. If he doesn't first.
I can't be Voldemort, can't be Tom Riddle. Can't be evil. I don't feel evil. Wouldn't I fell evil if I was him?
No. Not in the dreams. Everyone thinks they're good, really. Even Tom. It's only when you stop being you that you see how you really were.
Dumbledore doesn't understand when I speak to him of this. He thinks in binary Yes-No. Harry –Voldemort.
I could be both.
Snape is called in to Legimise my mind. Dumbledore want another opinion. Snape saw Harry in those Occumency lessons. He would know if I'm the same person. But he can't fins his way around my mind. He tells Dumbledore that my mind is more scrambled than Longbottom's! That it's a miracle that I can feed myself, let alone hold a conversation.
I feel understandably offended at this, but say nothing. It's true, after all. I don't even know my own identity. I'm not fully sane. I know this.
I can't go to classes, and honestly there wouldn't be much point. I know everything. I could pass the N.E.W.T.s will as O's. Voldemort's memories have their uses.
So there really isn't anything to do most days. I get books from the library some days. Reading in okay. I like it. Odd, because neither Harry nor Tom did.
Days pass. Nothing happens.
Tom wouldn't stand for being locked up like this. Harry would yell and complain. I just take it. I am not them. I'm myself. I will run away when it gets too bad. Until then, nothing.
I am not Tom Riddle. I am not Harry Potter. I am no one.
It takes several weeks for me to give up on Dumbledore. He keeps devising new tests for me to take, to prove I'm Harry. Some of them hurt.
I think they expect that I'll try something, but I'm not going to make it easy for them to find me. Tom knew about wards and tracking spells, so now I do too.
I don't take much with me. Just a change of clothes. I know how to get money, and that's what I need to get more stuff.
Lucius Malfoy has money, as do the rest of the Death Eaters. It's just a matter of convincing them I'm Voldemort. Simple.
I Apparate to the Malfoy Manor once I'm off Hogwarts grounds.
"Lucius," I say in a voice much like the one Voldemort once had.
"Potter," he says, sneering, "You dare to show your face-"
"Your intellect seems to have deteriorated since we last met, Lucius. Do you really think I'm Potter?"
I make my eyes red for a moment.
"I thought you better than that."
His eyes widen, "My Lord. They said that Potter had-"
"Quiet, fool. Did you think that I would be bested by a fifteen year old? I have destroyed armies."
"I am back, Lucius. Show me your arm."
He bares his left arm and I press my finger against it.
Slowly, they come. Crabbe first, then Goyle. Bellatrix.
Severus.
"Ah," I say, when he comes, "Our little spy. How are you, Severus? Did you miss me?"
I pace around him, circling.
He glares, "You are not the Dark Lord, Potter. I've seen your mind. You shouldn't be out. Every moment is a struggle to keep your sanity."
"Crucio," I murmur. My face shows no emotion, but I am revolted by him. This is a man who claimed to be on the side of the light, but tortured children.
He does not scream. Severus often didn't.
"Do you have anything to say, little spy?"
He spits at me. I'm not sure what to do with him. I would not kill. I am not a killer.
"Obliviate," I say.
Severus would never have been a Death Eater if her had loving parents-if he'd had friends instead of allies.
Severus' face goes blank.
"You had friends during the war," I tell him, "They're all dead now, but you have finished mourning. You were never a Death Eater. You don't care about blood status."
His face clears. It is a better expression.
"Away," I say, "Go back to Hogwarts."
He does so. The Death Eater stare at me disbelievingly. I grin.
"As you may have guessed I am not the same Dark Lord you've served before. For most of you this will not pose much of a problem. I will Obliviate you all as I have done Snape and you will live happy, productive lives. Any questions?"
Bellatrix is the first to attack. I know her, though. Voldemort had been the one to train her. She could not know more of me than I did of her.
"Obliviate!" I shout as she starts to shout the Killing Curse, "You've always wanted a loving family, and now you see that this is not the way to get it. Go to another country and forget your foul deeds! Be free!"
She is.
The others come then, all of them at once.
"OBLIVIATE!"
They all stand sill, eyes glazed over. I'd overdone it.
"Guh…hu…guh," mumbles Crabbe incessantly.
I smile. I had Voldemort's magic as well as Harry's. The power…
With a chuckle, I go to work.
The next day, Lucius Malfoy buys a television station. His wife would have been confused by this, had she noticed. Lately, Narcissa finds herself concerned more and more with cooking. The House-Elves were upset with her taking over, and she'd had to give clothing to two of them before they left her alone. She does not make a very good cook, but working calms her down.
A week later, she realizes that cleaning, too, is relaxing.
A/N: This is another story that I did a while ago. My friend Emily has been nice enough to type stuff up for me since I'm lazy and type about 15wpm. Please review.
-R&d