In a world where The Potter's were never killed by Voldemort. No horcruxes, full education and a fair battle worthy of Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. Before, Harry had only been challenged by Death Eaters, and not Voldemort himself. But in his Seventh Year, Harry Potter will face the Dark Lord at last.
Chapter One: The Dark Lord's Plans
They all sat at the table, faces made pale by the dim, flickering lights, watching each other while also taking great interest in the door, keeping eyes on it; the one through which he would walk and fill the remaining and final seat. Ears were trained to hearing the slightest of movements, the creak of a stair or shudder of breath or sweeping of cloak - things which would suggest his coming; signify his grand entrance on this chosen day. And, at the twisting and clicking of the ornate doorknob at the end of the room, they pushed back their chairs, scraping along the cold stone floor, and stood to greet their master.
His long cloak flowed noiselessly behind him as he walked.
In silence, he took to his chair, long white fingers clasped on the wooden back of it, black cloak inches from trailing the flagstone. He surveyed them, dark eyes flitting from one to the next. His Death Eaters, he noticed, glanced at points above his head, or beneath it, or even admired the sparse objects decorating the room. They knew better than to look him in the eyes.
But, as soon as he dragged back his chair and moved his cloak to sit, the others did too. As though their eyes had never wandered astray.
The silence continued moments more as they took in one another; what the last month or so had done to each of them, but no one uttering murmurs of worries or kindness. For they were waiting for Lord Voldemort to speak.
"You may ask why I have called this particular meeting, so short from the last," exclaimed Lord Voldemort, his voice high and cold and clear, as though making a speech rather than addressing his closest and only friends. There was yet more silence from his fellows, and the man seemed pleased with this. Unwavering loyalty was pleasant; as was a lack of questioning. A ghost of a smile seemed to snake across his features, but only made his pallid face more terrible. He continued, "This is to address the year ahead, and at the end of it, Potter."
Lord Voldemort's thin nostrils flared slightly at the thought of the boy. Supposedly destined to be his downfall. But Lord Voldemort was the most powerful wizard, and the Potter boy was chosen, brought up to die by Voldemort's wand.
"Harry Potter, my lord?" asked a deep and weak-voiced man from three seats down. A middle aged man with streaks of grey hair and a wrinkle or two around his thin lips.
What a stupid question, thought Voldemort.
"Of course Harry Potter, Avery you fool," bit back Voldemort harshly. He did not try to meet Avery's eyes for he knew they would be far from his own. Possibly even glancing behind to avoid any sense of temptation he may have.
Lord Voldemort relished in the uncomfortable silence that meant him power. He basked in it momentarily before tuning back to the large table of Death Eaters before him. Each one, supposedly loyal, and each one so determined for his approval. Oh it was sickening. The admiration he could handle, he was great after all, but the want of his approval; for his love. The idea disgusted him.
"My fellow Death Eaters," he began, glancing at them each in turn. "This is the year I will vanquish Harry Potter."
Beside him, he heard Bellatrix Lestrange utter a barely-audible gasp, and her hand twitched in glee. He knew of her dark visions and her want of eternal destruction. But she would only be allowed such wonders once the Potter boy was dead. Once Voldemort had won fair and square, then the world would burn in screams. Like her dreams so vividly and disgustingly held. Her hatred was almost as putrid as love. She was eager and loving of pain.
"Sixteen years ago, this all began. Severus delivered his piece of the prophecy and I knew that Harry Potter was the boy. I knew that we would duel and he would die. But I would not kill a baby; not be bullied into murdering a child because a wispy woman said he might kill me." Voldemort laughed coldly and his Death Eaters tittered a slight. "I informed the Wizarding World of the situation. That I would withdraw all attacks until the boy is of age and has completed his education. That no one would be hurt. For now," he added cruelly. "Many of you claimed the imperious curse, and some went to Azkaban for me; for the cause. And I waited these sixteen years. While Harry Potter is being taught everything anyone can teach him. In his ridiculous attempts to try to defeat me."
He laughed lightly again, hardly smirking, but doing so at the thought of the seventeen year old boy, desperately learning spell after spell in order to kill him. To Kill Lord Voldemort. How completely ridiculous.
"My lord, what about Albus Dumbledore?" asked a drawling and nervous voice six seats away from him. His white hair fell in thin curtains around his face. Shaped the sallow features of Lucius Malfoy. The woman next to him appeared to be holding her breath, as if waiting for some unpreventable lightening bolt to cast him dead on the spot. Narcissa Malfoy, his wife. Her streaked black and blonde hair pulled into a loose wrap at the back of her head. She squeezed his hand beneath the table; a warning to him. For Draco.
"Lucius, dear friend, what about him?" asked Voldemort, piercing eyes baring down on him and only him.
The blonde man was lost for words, unable to form a coherent reason that might please his master. Simply because there wasn't one. Lord Voldemort would not want to hear of the more powerful wizard being at great power, or about his connection to the boy of the subject, Harry Potter.
"I merely meant that he will try to help the boy, my lord," uttered Malfoy in a broken and rushed whisper, not wanting to say more than he dared. And Malfoy dared very little; and only enough to keep him alive.
Lord Voldemort measured him, analysed the movements. The short breaths Lucius took and the cast-aside views, and his ever so surreptitious glances towards Narcissa, as if seeking her approval. Fear. Fear coursing through Malfoy's veins. Pure, unadulterated fear. Grasping him by his esophagus and squeezing until he could no longer breathe. Pouring coldness over his stomach, his chest and through his body. The fear that meant that Voldemort was as powerful they all said he was.
"Then let him" he laughed coldly again, and his Death Eaters followed suit, some leaning back in their chairs to pretend to be relaxed. "Surely you do not think that Dumbledore is a match for me? Lord Voldemort?" The silence that followed was near-deafening. The laughter died in the air and the near-comfortable figures became taut and frozen from a mixture of shock and horror, and fear. Lucius was stunned. His pale face was whiter than the marble of the columns in the room, and his eyes were wide.
"N-no, no, of course not, my lord," he stammered, unable to control the quiver in his voice.
"Hush Lucius," demanded Lord Voldemort. The man was silent. Lucius had had his comment. "Potter will receive any help he might have to prepare, to show that I am, of course, the better wizard. If it is Dumbledore that helps him, then so be it. If it is one of those insufferable mudbloods, then so be it. I will give him a fair fight. To prove that I am the powerful one, the one victorious of that prophecy."
There were hums of agreement around the table.
"Severus?"
"Yes, my lord," answered the oily voice of Severus Snape, his greasy black hair draping his face, hooked nose and drawn features that come from years of scowling.
"The boy knows of his fate. His parents are alive because of it." Severus glanced briefly at the table, before gaining composition once more. "He will have been brought up to face me. You must make sure that he does not leave the school to escape it and forgo his magical training."
"Of course, my lord," replied the man named Snape. "If the boy is as arrogant as his father then he will undoubtedly stay anyway. To try his luck, my lord."
"Wonderful," crooned the high cold voice of Lord Voldemort, again watching his Death Eaters. "And what will you tell the Ministry, Pius?" Voldemort turned to the pointy-faced, bearded man at the other end of the table to him. He was composed, but Lord Voldemort sensed the underlying nervousness that his presence issued.
"Whatever you wish, my lord," responded the man.
"Nothing too similar or dissimilar of the truth, no doubt," murmured Lord Voldemort, rolling his shoulders a little for the stiffness of sitting. "And so now, my fellow Death Eaters, I will wait a matter of months. Let him be educated and examined and prepared. Let him try to find ways to defeat me. And then, Harry Potter will die. He will face me and then he will die."
The Death Eaters embraced the silence, welcomed the destruction that was undoubtedly soon to follow. Ever closer.
Hey there! This is my new story! I thought I would post this and see what happens and maybe you can all tell me whether you want to see more of this world! If you have any questions/queries, don't hesitate! PM or review and I will get back to you! I intend to change POV and maybe the viewpoint - like, switch to first person.
I have already written a couple of chapters, so hopefully updates won't be too far or in between! I hope you like it!