Title: Sole Protecter
Summary: When Voldemort's Horcrux hits baby Harry, Lily's sacrificial magic flares out and reacts, ultimately – somehow – morphing the two together to create a single entity Soul-Piece Protector. With the intelligence, cunning and ruthlessness of the one that was known as Tom Riddle, and filled with the immense love of Lily's sacrifice, the almost-new being will certainly shake up Voldemort's – and Dumbledore's – plans.
AN: Yeah, so, I basically started reading a fic that intrigued me, and this popped up from the after thoughts… Let me know what you think?
First Encounters
Harry was four years old when he first realised that he wasn't as alone in his head as the others around him were – at least that is to say, when he first understood, on a conscious level, that there was someone talking to him, listening to him and helping him within his mind, that the others around him did not have, and that it wasn't exactly classed as normal for it to be doing so. In fact, Harry knew, once he'd finally figured it out, that it was something so abnormal – a word the Voice had taught him, way back when – that even the Voice itself had told him that he should probably never, no matter what, tell anyone about it; not his relatives, not his teachers, not any friends he might have made and most definitely not anyone that worked at, near, or could ultimately find "something called an asylum", just in case they'd end up "getting tested on".
Harry, of course, at that age, hadn't really known what the Voice was on about – asylums? – but he had known, even then, that the idea of "getting tested on" hadn't sounded too pleasant, and so, perhaps naturally, after a brief span of childlike thinking, had ultimately decided that he would listen to the helpful slightly sardonic Voice, completely – not that Harry, at ten, had ever regretted it. In truth, he most certainly hadn't, and not only because said Voice was his only carer, friend, and one of the only people in the universe that actually loved him unconditionally.
The only person, at all, Harry had often thought, growing up, though the Voice had always strongly disagreed with him on it and sometimes even sent an uncomfortable buzzing feeling in his head, before reminding him, almost gently, of his parents and the choice they had made for him.
Harry, perhaps naturally, had been told all about them and their entire epic tale the exact moment the Voice had thought him old enough to hear it – and Harry was happy to note, it wasn't at all like the story that his Aunt and Uncle had tried to force feed him ever since he could remember, but apparently the real one; the one where his parents were brave and brilliant people, and were loved, and had died to save him – and, in the end, with their love and sacrifice, had ended up saving everyone else, too.
He hadn't even known what love was back then though, never mind the added "unconditional" part, but the Voice had tried to explain it as best as he could: "It means," The Voice had said, patiently, "that they – and I – love you no matter what or who you are, or what or who you become – even," He had added, sounding almost amused "if you are bad." And he had quite clearly stated that he meant the real bad too, and not just the "pretend bad" that the Dursley's often said he was.
"Like," the Voice had went on, "the time that you snuck out of your locked cupboard, in the middle of the night, to go and get some food and drink" – which was, the Voice had praised him later, very clever of him – "and had, after eating your fill, spent the next half hour dunking all off the things that your foul muggle relatives favour in the dirty bin, before placing it back in the fridge and in the food cupboards."
Harry had then, of course, panicked at being found out, before realising, completely astounded, that the Voice had meant every single word of what it had said, because he, Harry, could actually feel it through his head. He was – and felt – loved.
In all honesty, Harry had found it to be a completely strange, yet utterly welcome, feeling.
Harry had also learnt, and quite quickly too, that the Voice was extremely protective of him and would lash out whenever anyone tried to physically hurt him – even, sometimes, when Harry asked him not to.
His Uncle, in the year of 1985, had been the first to learn this – not that he had known that it was the Voice and not him, himself – when the man had shouted out about hurting him for "an imagined slight", as the Voice had called it.
His Uncle Vernon, who had been especially tall, extremely large and utterly scary to his five year old self, had made to grab him, but the place where the Voice seemed to live had burnt with a fire hot fury, though it hadn't – and probably never would – burn him, his uncle, however, had walked away with 2nd degree burns on his hands.
After the same thing had happened to Dudley, a dog named Ripper and a boy named Pierce they had all decided not to touch him again.
Better for everyone involved, they all seemed to silently conclude, though his Aunt had taken to calling him "Freak" instead of "boy" or "you", especially after he had accidently disappeared from the school playground and had ended up on the school rooftop, instead.
Harry had started to feel a bit dejected at that, even more so than usual, but the Voice had calmly explained about that, too.
"It was just your accidental magic, Harry." The Voice had whispered. "I told you; you're a wizard. She's just jealous of your magic – and yes, perhaps scared, too, the great Muggle idiot that she is. Don't worry about it, though, I'll always protect you. And sooner than you know it, you'll be off to Hogwarts, anyway!"
Hogwarts, Harry had thought, almost blissfully, after each case of accidental, or sometimes (with the Voices help) intentional, magic.
"Hogwarts." The Voice would always echo after him, bemusedly, before going on to explain – and re-explain, sometimes – about the magical world, all the courses and branches of magic they could study (though Harry swore that some of them he would never touch!), and all of the jobs a wizard could get with certain qualifications ("Or blackmail and threats." The Voice had added wryly, much to Harry's horror and amusement).
The Voice had even gone on to admit, one time, after their talks, sounding completely grudging and absolutely horrified with himself – "Only for you would I ever say this!" – that Harry should probably continue learning about Math, English, Science, History and Geography, from the muggle side of the world, when at Hogwarts.
"For as ignorant as the muggles clearly are," The Voice had stated, with a disgusted kind of dignity, "some of them are quite ingenious – especially with the leaps they've achieved with science and everything advanced math can apparerntly accomplish– not that I'll ever repeat that fact again."
And he hadn't, not once in the many years since, though Harry had always gotten a firm telling off whenever he ignored one of his lessons or "advanced reading sessions" in lieu of sleeping, daydreaming or, on especially bad days with especially bad books, "helping around the house".
"You have no excuse." The Voice would hiss at him, as he pulled out a weed or scrubbed at a pan, "Sure, those retched wastes of space that have the nerve to be related to you would have you be illiterate, if only so they could lord it over you, but you are not. You have the brains, you have the teachers, the resources to learn and my support. What else do you need?"
"A break…" was only one of the many wrong answers Harry had given to that repeated question, and it always resulted in a monologue of grand proportions. In the end, Harry had decided it wasn't quite worth it, which was why, these days, he was almost always seen with an appallingly large book in hand, classed as the brightest child in his school and practically always had a headache.
"The headaches are not because of me or the books," The Voice would snap, indignantly, whenever he voiced this, just as he did now,"it is because you are wearing the wrong prescriptive glasses – blame the stupid muggles."
Harry, as always, hummed in agreement, but privately still thought it was the books.
Of course, it was just his own brand of luck, that soon, when he and The Voice finally manage to get out to Diagon Alley for his first time, it would completely change his conclusion.
The Voice, naturally, would never be so smug as he was then.
AN: Also, a quick heads up: I might alter the ending of this chapter at some point. I don't know if I'm happy with it or not...