A/n: Hello, and welcome to my first Harry Potter fic. AUs, or alternate realitys as well.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter anything.
Professor Voldie
"I would like a job here, Dumbledore."
Albus's eyes searched the others'. There was coldness and emptiness in them, and although it was aganist his better judgement, Dumbledore would soon predict that there would be a war, a war in which good and evil would clash soon in an epic place in history.
"The thing is, Tom, is that I am afraid that you will pass on something that I do not wish to younger students."
The two men stared, one open, the other a mystery. "Surely I will not 'pass' anything on without your all-knowing presence in Hogwarts."
"True, but I do not need trouble."
"Then you doubt that I want the job?"
"No, there is, in fact, no doubt that you want it." Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily, showing his old age. "Okay. . . okay. . . but I will be keeping a close watch on you, Tom."
Triumph gleamed into the other's eyes; he ducked his head into a low bow quickly and said, "You're gracious, Headmaster. I shall not forget this," he said kindly, but when he turned his face was a evil mask.
Ten Years Later...
Harry Potter was eleven and a quarter, starting his first year at Hogwarts, a quiet, slender boy who had a penchant for trouble. Trouble didn't come looking for him, but it usually found him.
Orphaned, he been brought up by the Dursleys, a motley group whom he took nothing from. His parents had been killed by an unknown, evil force, of who the murderer was remained a mystery. He didn't care, though. A lot of his life remained a mystery.
Gryffindor accepted him, along with his soon to-be new friends Ron and Hermione, in its lavish House surroundings. He had never seen such a thing. "I definitely could get used to this place," he said softly.
Defense of the Dark Arts, though he didn't know what that could be, was written on his schedule paper that had been mailed with his entrance letter. It was next day, along with Potions and Charms.
"It's all Sanskrit to me," he yawned as he tumbled backwards in his four-poster and fell dead asleep. Obviously unconcerned.
However, he did have cause because at that moment Lord Voldemort, the murderer, was now the Defense of the Dark Arts. He had shown this position as a semi-mockery of Dumbledore well-known importance of the subject. It would go in books, he dreamed, that DUmbledore would be thwarted by his blind stupidity.
The curse to kill Harry had failed, of course, but no one knew that. There was no scar, no mark on the young boy's forehead, all the details held was that Lily had been killed and James had been killed. That was it.
Only he and his Death Eaters knew the truth, one of them who was here at this very moment, Severus Snape. He, loyal friend, would surely keep his tongue quiet.
Severus was just as vindictive, and clever as he, though. He would have to keep an eye on Snape if he was to keep him in line.
Voldemort put his hands together tip to tip.
"Harry Potter..."
A/n: Good idea? Bad? Too weird? I'll just end it...
TBC