Choices
James Potter, disarmed and frozen in surprise, stared at the man in front of him. "Why?" was all he could manage to say.
"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but you must realise that this is entirely your fault," the man said. His tone was apologetic, but his eyes were gleaming.
"You're blaming me for this?" James clarified, hardly believing what he was hearing. "You are going to kill me—no, murder me—and I am at fault?"
"The choices you've made have brought this on. If you had done things differently, been a little kinder to those you've seen as 'beneath' you, then perhaps this might be something entirely different." The man gave a bitter laugh. "I might even be hugging you, rather than holding you at wandpoint."
"Do you think that I saw you as 'beneath' me?"
"I think, father, that you never saw me at all."
31 October 1981
"James, put Charlie down to sleep, please. I'll be up in a moment with Harry," Lily Potter said to her husband. Her younger son, Harry, was now fifteen months old and the messiest eater she had ever seen. Harry had dumped his entire bowl of spaghetti on his head, which left Lily to clean him up. Charlie, who was exactly twelve months older than his little brother, had laughed, but managed to keep his spills to a minimum.
James nodded and took the older boy, named after James's own father, up to the room the two kids shared. Lily hurriedly used a combination of magic and hand washing to clean up Harry, and then took him upstairs as well. The nursery was one of her best accomplishments, thought the sometimes-artist. It was a jungle, which featured moving animals and stars on the ceiling at night. The boys loved it.
Lily set Harry down to sleep next to Charlie. There were two cribs in the room, but ever since the Potter family had put themselves under the Fidelius Charm the boys had clung together, obviously sensing their parents' growing disquiet. She kissed them both of them on their foreheads and watched as her husband did the same.
"Do you really have to go?" she asked, terribly worried about James wandering off. They had run out of milk, of all things, and James had convinced her that he could sneak into a Muggle store and get some without being noticed.
"We can't wait for Peter to get back, can we?" asked James practically. Peter wouldn't be stopping by for another three days, and they really needed milk. (He had actually been the one to insist on it. He supposed that they could live without it for three days, but he wanted—needed—to get out of the house, and this was, in his mind, the perfect excuse.)
"All right," said Lily, though she looked as though she would rather put him in a body-bind to keep him home. "Hurry back, please," she added, hugging him tightly. James almost changed his mind, but he had never been cooped up so long in his life. He left for the store, planning on somehow making this up to his wife when he got back.
Not ten minutes later, Lily felt the slightly secure feeling of the wards around her dissipate.
"No," she whispered, horrified. They were safe. They had to be. Sirius and Peter had switched, and no one knew. Peter would never lower the wards… Somehow, someone on the dark side had found out about their switch. Lily ran up the nursery and tried to calm her two sons, all the while running through the escape plans she and James had come up with. She tried to Apparate with her children, but it was no use. She hit the figurative 'brick wall' of an anti-Apparation ward when she tried.
She already knew that her floo was deactivated, which left a Portkey. She created one, and before the blue glow had completely faded a horrible cracking noise split the plastic rattle in two. This meant that there were anti-Portkey wards on her house as well, which was the last magical method of travel that she was aware of.
"No," she said again, being completely out of ideas on how to escape alive.
"Ah, Lily Potter," said a terrifying voice, one that she had heard three times before. "I've been trying to find you for some time, now."
"Go away," said Lily feebly. "Please, leave—"
"Enough," said Lord Voldemort. "I did not come here to listen to you beg for your life. I will let you leave—stand aside, and give me Harry, Lily. You can leave, with the other brat, and you can live."
"No," said Lily. Maybe she should leave, take Charlie and stay safe. But Harry… Harry was hers. Charlie was James's son, completely like him in every way, even so far as to be named after James's dad. But Harry was hers, named after her father, with her eyes… "Not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl," said Lord Voldemort, his nonexistent patience wearing thing. "Stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl! Take that other brat and leave!" he hissed.
"Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"
"Fine—if you will not leave, I will make you," said Lord Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra!" And Lily screamed, and fell.
"MUMMY!" screamed Harry and Charlie at once. "Mummy!"
With an expression of utmost triumph, Voldemort looked at Harry. "And now, Harry Potter, you will be taken care of. I have waited for this moment… Oh, how I have searched for you, young Potter… With you gone, I shall be invincible… Avada Kedavra!"
And before Harry could scream, a gleaming white light surrounded the boy, protecting him from the Killing Curse.
"No!" shouted Voldemort, just before he realised that the curse was rebounding toward him. "Impossible…" he said, his voice fading as his body died but one part of his split soul remained. The wraith fled.
Ten more minutes passed before James Potter came home to find his beloved wife dead and his older son sobbing and holding the unconscious form of his younger child.
After Lily died, James ignored his children entirely, leaving them to be protected by his two closest friends (who were also the boys' godfathers), Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. This lasted only until a group of renegade Death Eaters—one of them Sirius's own cousin—attacked the Potter home. Sirius and Remus, while protecting Harry and Charlie, were driven insane by the torture they suffered before help arrived.
James, wrought with grief, finally realised what he needed to do: protect his son, Charlie; the boy that Albus Dumbledore had said survived Lord Voldemort's Killing Curse, and the child that the Wizarding world celebrated as the Boy Who Lived. All of the people closest to him had died for Charlie, and knew that he needed to be prepared to do the same.
So from then on, when Harry awoke, screaming from nightmares of green light and his mother's death, James came into their room and comforted Charlie, who would always scream simply because his brother was. And when Harry fell ill with Dragon Pox, James left him with the house elves and took Charlie on vacation so that he could avoid the illness.
And when Harry asked why James loved Charlie more, James felt that the least he could do was be honest.
Young Harry Potter regretted ever asking his father about Charlie. The conversation had brought even more pain to him than his previous ignorant state had. Apparently Charlie was just better than he was, and there nothing he could do to change that. Once again, the conversation played through the nine-year-old's head.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Harry?" sighed James. He had just been outside flying with his son and really had no time to answer a little boy's questions.
"Why do you love Charlie more than me, and spend more time with him? Am I a bad kid?"
"Harry, you're not bad!" James paused, unsure how to continue. "But, Harry, you have to understand… Charlie is the Boy Who Lived. He is more special to the world, and to me, than you could ever be—he killed Voldemort, Harry. You know that."
"But… I'm special, too, Daddy… Blinky said that I was."
"You would listen to a house elf over your own father?" argued James. "Harry, I know that it might not seem fair to such a young kid like you, but Charlie saved the world—saved you, and saved me… Can't you understand that he should get whatever he wants? And right now he wants his dad to be there, so I will. Now, why don't you go read that book that Charlie gave you?"
So Harry had wandered off and read Charlie's secondhand book, and stayed in the background. Sometimes Charlie wanted to play with his brother, but most of the time Harry got the feeling that Charlie resented Harry for some reason.
Harry wondered about this often. What reason could Charlie possibly have for not liking Harry? Charlie was the Boy Who Lived! He got anything and everything he wanted.
Sometimes, Harry thought, people made no sense.
Over time, Harry's feelings about his father and brother turned from hope and disappointment to bitter resentment. For the most part, the youngest Potter stayed out of the way, hiding anywhere he could during the parties and events that his family was invited to. It was during one such party that a new direction was opened to him.
28 August 1991 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Harry was, again, hiding in some random pureblood family's house. He vaguely remembered that his father had said that the Malfoy family was hosting this party, but he really didn't care. The 'ancient ancestral homes' all looked the same to him. He was more worried about starting Hogwarts in two days than anything else.
The summer had been spent with Charlie going on and on about how a new broom would make him the best Seeker the Gryffindor team had ever had. Harry quietly laughed at that. No matter what James tried, it seemed that the Boy Who Lived was no quidditch player. This was unfortunate for the Gryffindor team, as they had made him the Seeker as soon as he requested it (it had helped that James Potter had donated brooms to the entire team, upon the request of his son). Harry, however, was trying to plan the best to get his brother off of the team and him on it.
Harry knew that he was a great Seeker. He had been practicing with Charlie's old broom and the many practice Snitches he had left laying around the house when Charlie had gone to Hogwarts that year. That year had been exceptionally bad for Harry. James seemed to not know what to do without Charlie around, constantly asking for things. Harry himself had been a little put out at having to spend time with his father, and eventually the two separately decided that they had nothing in common.
Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts as the door to the room he was hiding in opened.
"Hello?" asked a woman's voice. "The house elves told me that someone was in here, and I just wanted to make sure that you were all right… Oh, goodness! You're James Potter's son, yes? Little Harry?"
"I'm not 'little,'" said Harry indignantly. "I'm starting Hogwarts soon."
"Of course, dear," said the woman kindly, her lips twitching. Harry said nothing, so she continued. "My son is starting this year as well. His name's Draco, I'm sure you've met him?"
Harry quickly thought. Draco… Draco Malfoy… Son of Lucius and Narcissa, the people hosting this party—which makes sense since, well, who else would their house elves talk to?
"I have, Mrs. Malfoy," said Harry politely.
"Is there a reason you're in this room, Harry?"
"Oh… I just don't like being around a lot of people, ma'am."
"Of course, dear, of course. Well, how about I have the house elves bring you something to eat, Harry? Would you like that?"
Harry felt that he couldn't decline, considering that Mrs. Malfoy was being awfully nice for having caught him hiding in her home. "Okay. Thank you."
"No problem, Harry." Soon, a house-elf called Dobby brought in a large assortment of the food that had been served that night. "Would you mind if I stayed awhile? I'm not overly fond of crowds, either," said Mrs. Malfoy in a mock-whisper voice. Harry tried to figure out if she was making fun of him, but she seemed sincere, so he nodded slowly. Mrs. Malfoy started talking about all sorts of interesting things: the latest gossip, stuff that she thought he ought to know before going to Hogwarts, and other topics that Harry thought that his mother might have talked to him about, had she been alive.
Narcissa was equally impressed with Harry. He didn't know much about Hogwarts, but showed an endearing amount of enthusiasm. He also knew quite a bit of gossip, saying that it came from people not noticing he was around at these sorts of events. After a good deal of time had passed, she took him by the hand and led him back out to the party. Immediately Narcissa's husband and Harry's father came over.
"Narcissa? Where have you been?" asked Lucius Malfoy.
"Ah, I'm sorry dear, but Harry here needed a break from the party and I thought that I'd keep him company."
James looked sternly at Harry. "Harold Potter, what have I told you about sneaking off? I was worried about you!" Harry wanted to laugh at his dad's lie. "Lucius, Narcissa, I'm terribly sorry about this."
"It's alright, James," said Narcissa, waving a dismissive hand. "I can understand a boy his age getting tired of these social events. Draco only recently managed to stay awake for an entire gathering."
"Mum," said another small voice from behind Lucius.
"Draco, don't hide," said Lucius, reaching around and pulling Draco out front.
"Sorry, father." Draco, who had the attention span of a two-year-old, turned to Harry. "Do you want to play gobstones?" Harry looked at James, who nodded.
"Only for a little while, Harry. I think Charlie's getting tired." Yeah, I'll just bet he is, being fawned over by the same group of kids that always hangs out with him at these things.
Two days later, Harry said goodbye to his father and followed his brother onto the Hogwarts Express. As soon as they got out of view, Charlie turned around. "Go find somewhere to sit, Harry. I've got to find Cormac, he said that he had something to tell me…"
Harry, used to abrupt dismissals, dragged his trunk to an empty compartment. Draco and a group of his friends soon joined him. They talked about chocolate frog cards, what the nastiest Bertie Bott's flavors they'd ever had were, and other things that only interest eleven-year-old boys. The ride ended too quickly for Harry's liking. As he rode in a boat with Draco and Theodore Nott, he thought about his Sorting.
He didn't know how he would be sorted into his house, and that worried him. What also worried him was that he didn't know where he'd go. James had assumed that he'd go into Gryffindor, just like his parents and his brother, and generations of Potters before them. Harry was of two minds on this.
One: Charlie was in Gryffindor. It was bad enough that the Boy Who Lived thought all of Hogwarts was his kingdom, but to be in the same house and dorms as his brother? It would be insufferable.
Two: If Harry went anywhere but Gryffindor, would that be the last straw? His dad already seemed perpetually disappointed in him (but honestly, was he expecting two stuck-up, famous sons?). Harry thought that being sorted into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or—Merlin forbid—Slytherin, would probably disappoint his dad in the extreme. And what would his mother think?
But do I really care? About mum, maybe, but I think she'd want me to be happy. But dad… why should I care what he thinks? If he makes a big deal, it'll at least be some attention, finally.
So Harry walked into the hall, ignored the whispers when 'Potter, Harold' was called, and two minutes later straightened his green and silver tie and joined Draco at the Slytherin table.
10 July 1993
"Harry!" exclaimed Draco Malfoy as the boy in question rolled out of a fireplace in the Malfoys' home. "What on Earth…?"
"I couldn't take it any more!" shouted Harry, his green eyes reflecting his frustration. Ever since he'd been sorted into Slytherin, his father and brother hadn't let up about it. He'd spent most of the summer between his first and second year at the Notts', the Zabinis' and the Malfoys' homes. This summer hadn't been any better. Harry clearly remembered the conversation that caused him to pack his things and floo out, hopefully for good.
"You couldn't have used some of that Slytherin guile to help out your brother?" shouted James Potter. He was screaming at Harry, somehow blaming that year's mess on Harry. Ginny Weasley was dead, killed by a cursed book (or something like that). Harry didn't know the whole story, but he did know that the Petrifications that had been happening at school were blamed on Charlie until the day Ginny died, at which point Dumbledore quietly announced that a culprit had been caught. Charlie had apparently tried to help, but was unable to find the legendary Chamber of Secrets.
'Tom Riddle' was the guy's name, and Harry wanted to thank him. Ginny Weasley was one of the most annoying brats he'd ever met. She had the nerve to approach Harry to ask about Charlie, for Merlin's sake! Harry didn't care what sort of foods Charlie liked best, or what his 'thoughts on redheads' were. Harry wanted to nothing to do with his brother, but the little Weaslette, as Draco called her, couldn't figure that out. He thought that it served her right to be taken by some monster of Slytherin's. He had felt a little bad when it had been announced that she was dead, but honestly, she was so annoying. The Riddle bloke had escaped after killing the Weaslette and so far no one had heard of him.
"Why would I help Charlie?" Harry asked bitterly. "He doesn't have any time for me, does he?"
"So that's what this is about," said James, as though he had Harry all figured out. "You're jealous of your brother? Harry, how can you be like that? We've talked about this before. Your brother is the—"
"The Boy Who Lived," spat Harry. "Yeah, I know. And what else has he done? I'm the one who went to the teachers about what I saw with Quirrell, and all he could do was show up at crime scenes and make himself look guilty. He's pathetic! When are you going to see that?"
"Harry James Potter," said James slowly, "go to your room and do not come out until I tell you. Your attitude had better change, or I will change it for you! Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," said Harry, realizing that no one would ever see Charlie Potter for what he was: a fake.
"So I went to my room, packed up everything I wanted to keep, and I flooed here from my fireplace. Is that okay?" said Harry after he finished telling Draco the entire story.
"Should be," said Draco. "You know, if you'd told me this two years ago I'd never have believed you… Your dad seems so normal most of the time."
"It's a bit frightening, isn't it?"
"Harry?" someone asked from outside the door. Harry had his own suite of rooms in Malfoy Manor, mostly due to him spending a lot of time there over the summer and Christmas holidays.
"Come in," said Harry, recognising Draco's dad's voice. Lucius and Narcissa—who he'd been instructed to call Uncle and Aunt—walked in. Narcissa sat on the edge of his bed and Lucius stood near her.
"Harry, are you welcome at your home?" asked Narcissa carefully. She knew that Harry had a very strong temper, and didn't want to upset him any more that day.
"No," said Harry bitterly. "James was so mad…"
"Harry, Narcissa and I would like to invite you into our family." Harry nodded, though he had thought that he already was, after they'd told him to call them aunt and uncle. "Permanently," Lucius added.
"I—permanently?" asked Harry, his voice squeaking a bit. "Like—"
"We want to adopt you, Harry," said Narcissa. Harry looked at her as though she were quite mad. "I know you don't feel like it because of how the Potters treat you, but you are a wonderful boy and we would feel honoured to have you in our family."
"Yes!" said Harry. He hugged Narcissa, and then looked at Lucius. Whereas Narcissa hugged both boys often, Lucius had only put a hand on his shoulder or shook his hand. Lucius patted his shoulder and gave a small smile, though it looked more like a smirk.
"I'm glad that you like the idea, Harry. I took the liberty of arranging the paperwork already. All you have to do is sign it."
"Can we—I mean, could we do… well, that is… could I be your real son? Like, a blood-son?" Narcissa sniffled.
"We'd be honoured, Harry."
The next day Harry went through an ancient, slightly Dark ritual that made him the blood son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He looked mostly like his mother, with darker hair than his father (though it was still a light shade of blonde) and blue eyes. He was fairer than his mother, which came from his father's side. Harry decided that with a new look he should have a new name, and so the week after the ritual was spent making lists of names. He still wanted to be called 'Harry' informally, and so the short list of first names quickly narrowed down to 'Hadrian' and 'Henry'. Lucius complained that 'Henry' was not fit for a Malfoy, and that was that. Lucius also insisted that since Draco's middle name was after the boys' father, Harry's should be after their mother. Harry heartily agreed, and so the paperwork was filed to change his name from Harold James Potter to Hadrian Narcissus Malfoy.
The new Malfoy was the talk of the town for the rest of the summer. There was no doubt that his former father and brother had learned of his adoption, but he hadn't heard from them. Soon after being adopted Harry rid himself of almost all of his old things. He had new clothes, a new trunk with the Malfoy crest, and had burned his old family photos. The only things he kept were some of his books, a blanket that he knew his birth mother had knitted (it was blue with a decorative 'H' on it) and a photo of he and Lily that had been taken when he had been one year old. Though he had no feelings for James or Charlie, he still dearly loved Lily, and the Malfoys were smart enough to respect that.
A party was thrown for Harry's new status (much as one would throw an introduction party after adopting a child). It was attended by the usual guests, with one noticeable exception. The Potters had declined the invite. A confrontation at the train station soon revealed why.
"Harry?" asked James of his former son. He had only recognised him because of the pictures in the paper. James looked at the boy, disappointed. "Why did you do it, Harry? I would've forgiven you if you had apologised."
"Mr. Potter," said Lucius before Harry could speak, "kindly leave my family alone. You are causing undue stress on my son, and I will not have it."
"Malfoy, he's my son, not yours, and if you think some fancy little ritual changes that—"
"Legally, biologically, magically, and in every other way he is our son," said Narcissa. "And you would do well to remember it." She turned her back on him as a dismissal. "Have a good term at school, Harry," she said, kissing her son's cheek. She did the same for Draco, who sneered at the Potters. Charlie stayed unusually silent, opting only to halfheartedly glare back. After giving their good-byes to their father Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him toward the train.
It would be five years before Harry would speak to James again.
Christmas Holidays, 1995 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
"Harry? Your father wants to see you in the parlor," said Narcissa, interrupting her sons' rather intense chess game. Both excelled and their matches could last for days at a time.
"Ah, mum, can't he wait?" asked Harry. Narcissa secretly smiled. It had taken a while, but one and a half years after his adoption Harry was comfortable calling Lucius and Narcissa mum and dad (or mother and father, as it sometimes needed to be). It made her happy every time she heard it.
"Now, young man," she chided.
"Yes, yes." Before Harry left, he called Dobby, the slightly mad elf that he'd been assigned after his inclusion in the family.
"Master calls for Dobby?"
"Watch over the game while I'm gone," Harry ordered. Draco, not to be outdone, ordered his personal elf to watch the game as well. The two glared good-naturedly at each other. They fought often, to be sure, but it never lasted more than a few hours. Harry quickly made his way to his father's study. He was surprised to see a young man that couldn't be more than a few years older than Harry was in the room with Lucius.
"And here is my son, Hadrian."
"Ah, Hadrian Malfoy… We meet at last. Formerly Harold Potter, yes?" asked Tom with a gleam in his eye.
"Yes," said Harry warily.
"Forgive me, Harry—may I call you Harry?" said the man silkily. Harry nodded. "I've simply heard so much about you." Harry shot a look at his father. "Oh, no, not from Lucius, though your father does like to brag a bit. No, Harry, I've actually heard most of it from—from, well, myself."
Harry stared at the man. "Er…"
"Ah, so you don't know, then," said the man. "Well, Harry, I am Tom Riddle." Correctly interpreting the look on Harry's face he added, "yes, the same Tom Riddle that was involved in that… incident… with the youngest Weasley. Unfortunate, perhaps, but her death allowed me to come back to life, so it really was necessary."
"Back to life?" asked Harry.
"All in good time, Harry. Sit down, will you? Lucius, get the boy something to drink." Harry was surprised when his father actually followed the much younger man's orders without delay. "So, Harry, I hear that you're in Slytherin?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Excellent, excellent." And then Tom launched into a story. A story of a boy, an orphan, who wanted to change the world, the teacher who kept holding him back, and the world that slowly made him hide in the shadows. A new name, new allies, and then a prophecy. Hunting a boy, and then finding him. Offering to let the child's mother go with her other son, but the woman refused. Killing the woman—regretfully, of course—and then turning his wand on the boy.
"Er—you mean on Charlie, right? Because he—"
"—is not the boy who survived my Killing Curse," said Tom, with a calculated gleam in his eye. "You are, Harry. You are the Boy Who Lived, and always have been."
"I'm…" Harry saw red. He, Harry, had been ignored; he had been pushed aside, when it was Charlie that deserved that. His mother had saved him, not Charlie… Charlie had done nothing! It wasn't fair; James Potter was a fool, the world were fools…
"Hadrian," snapped Lucius. "Calm yourself." Harry stopped and looked around, astonished at the state of the room. His temper had caused magical flare-ups before, but his father's private parlor was rather… wrecked.
"I see what you mean, Lucius," said Tom, who was looking very pleased. "Very powerful indeed. He would make a wonderful second."
"Second?" asked Harry. "What makes you think that I'll be anyone's second, Riddle?"
"Hadrian Narcissus—" Lucius started to scold Harry, but was interrupted.
"No, no, Lucius," said Tom, whose pleased expression had not wavered, "this is good. I need someone with spirit! It is refreshing, really." He gave a dismissive nod to Harry. "We can talk later. But remember, Harry: right now you are just an angry boy. With me, you could exact the perfect revenge on your father, your brother, and the rest of the fools that are bringing our world to a slow stagnation. Revenge, Harry, is something I can help you with. After all, I had my own family to take care of, didn't I?"
Summer Holidays, 1996
The rest of Harry's fifth year had passed slowly. His fury at his father and Charlie knew no bounds, and he had worked with Draco and a few of their friends to make Charlie Potter's life hell at Hogwarts. It had been subtle, since the sixth-year had the power of Dumbledore and most of the teachers behind him, but explosive diarrhea and other untraceable illnesses, pranks, and stolen items made the year almost unbearable for Harry's former brother. The Malfoy boys' return home had been full of hugs from their mother and odd glances at Harry from their father. Two weeks in, Harry was again called to meet with Tom Riddle.
Harry had been planning what to do ever since Riddle had first approached him. As soon as he walked in, he started to talk.
"I want revenge," he said breathlessly. "Against James, Charlie, and everyone. I want them to pay."
"Very good, Harry. I knew you'd come around," said Tom, looking very smug. "I've been planning. I want you to read a few books, and then you can help me plan a little exercise that I'm going to stage at the end of the month."
"Okay," said Harry. "What'll it be?"
"Patience," replied Tom. "Finish your reading first. Lucius will give you the books. I expect you to be done in three days."
And Harry was done in three days, having abandoned most recreational activities to read the five books Tom had given him. One was a history of the wizarding world, though it was extremely biased. One was a tome on healing magic, and the other three covered the Dark Arts.
"I have a question," said Harry as he walked in.
"Must you always speak right away?" asked Tom. "I've obtained some nicely aged Merlot and I want you to try it." Harry took the offered glass but performed an advanced poison-detection spell. He made no attempt to hide his actions, and Tom laughed.
"A wise move, Harry," he said approvingly. The two drank in silence.
"If you made the diary when you were so young, how do you know about everything that's happened since?"
"Well, that is a very good question, Harry. I will answer it. After I regained a corporeal form, I contacted the man who had written in the diary to tell me of his plans as soon as I was able. Lucius recognised that it would be good for him to work with me, despite my age, and quietly made inquiries as to my future self's current location. We ventured to Albania and I absorbed, for lack of a better word, the spirit of the Lord Voldemort that died when you were a small child. I am still Tom, but I have Lord Voldemort's memories—and his decades of magical learning—in my mind."
Harry looked awed. "That was brilliant, Tom. But why are you not calling yourself Lord Voldemort any more?"
"Lord Voldemort had his chance to rule the world, Harry, and he lost it. I will have mine, and I will not fail as he did. Yes, I do consider myself separate from him. His future is not my own."
"Oh," was all Harry could say.
"Did you enjoy the books I lent you?" asked Tom.
"I suppose," Harry replied.
"I have a few more. The next time we meet I will give you a practical lesson," said Tom. "Book learning is all well and good, but these spells cannot be performed for the first time during a battle. I will obtain a few Muggles for you to practice on."
True to his word, the next time Harry met with Tom the man had put three Muggles under the Imperius Curse and brought them into the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Harry practised the various torture curses he had read about, performing all of them flawlessly. Inside, he was disgusted with himself. The only way he could keep up appearances was to continuously concentrate on one thought: I will show them all. When I'm done, no one will push me aside or underestimate me again.
Harry's last two years of school were full of studying. He had always been near the top of his class, but soon he was considered a prodigy. The books Tom sent him covered everything one would learn at Hogwarts, plus old magicks no longer taught at the school (in addition to massive amounts of theory on the Dark Arts). Tom had ordered his young protégé to meet him during every Hogsmeade weekend so that Harry could keep his practicals up with his reading. One of the Malfoy-owned Hogsmeade stores served as a rendezvous point.
The Christmas holidays after Harry and Draco's graduation from Hogwarts was decided to be the perfect time to strike. Charlie was still living at home, having entered Auror training and therefore not earning enough money to support himself. Harry went alone to the Potters' home.
"Hello, Charlie."
Charlie Potter looked up from the book he was reading, shock registering on his face. Of all the people that could have appeared in his personal study…
"Hello, Malfoy. Come to beg dad for your place in the family back?"
"No," said Harry with a laugh that chilled Charlie. "I've come to kill you." Charlie choked.
"Do you really think that you can hurt me?" asked Charlie. "You're a worthless, unemployed disgrace! I'm the Boy Who—"
"The Boy Who Lied?" interrupted Harry. Charlie's eyebrows rose. "Yes, I know all about that night. How Lily was given the chance to take you and run, but she chose to stay—for me. You say that you remember that night as well? It must really grate on you to know that she chose me over you."
"That's not—I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," Charlie said weakly.
"Oh, I think you do," said Harry. "And it's such a pity that you're not armed, brother, because I was so looking forward to besting you." Harry paused for a moment. "I guess a quick Cruciatus will have to suffice… at least until I can find my dear former father."
"Harry, come on now, I'm your brother—"
"You are nothing to me," snapped Harry. "Crucio!" Charlie writhed with pain, screaming. Harry held the curse for an infinite amount of time, stopping when he was sure that Charlie's brain was mush. He left his brother where he was and dispelled the wards he'd placed on the room. Charlie's dad came rushing in.
"Charlie, are you okay? The wards were going—"
"Expelliarmus!"
James Potter, disarmed and frozen in surprise, stared at the man in front of him. "Why?" was all he could manage to say.
"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but you must realise that this is entirely your fault," the man said. His tone was apologetic, but his eyes were gleaming.
"You're blaming me for this?" James clarified, hardly believing what he was hearing. "You are going to kill me—no, murder me—and I am at fault?"
"The choices you've made have brought this on. If you had done things differently, been a little kinder to those you've seen as 'beneath' you, then perhaps this might be something entirely different." The man gave a bitter laugh. "I might even be hugging you, rather than holding you at wandpoint."
"Do you think that I saw you as 'beneath' me?"
"I think, father, that you never saw me at all." Harry quashed his emotions and stared hard at his father. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, and as soon as the spell hit James, he apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
"Are they dead?" asked Tom right away. Harry nodded, playing with his wand.
"Excellent," hissed the older man. "You are now a worthy second, Harry." Something in Harry's face tightened. Before Tom could react, he was in a full-body bind. Harry stared at him, his face finally reflecting the dislike he'd carried all along.
"I am no one's second," he said coldly. "And you are a fool for thinking that I could ever follow the man who killed my mother. In exchange for teaching me a few creative spells, your death will be painless… Goodbye, Tom.
"Avada Kedavra."
Author's Notes: This is completely different from how I normally write. This idea came to me in the car the other day and I couldn't ignore it. I know that stories where Harry is ignored in favor of a sibling that is thought to be the Boy (or Girl) Who Lived are frequently posted, but I hope that this one is different.
Many thanks to thegoodmustard for beta reading this.
If you've read this, I'd really love a review. This is the first thing I've posted and I'm terribly nervous about it. Even if it's "I liked it" or "I hated it" I'll still be grateful (though if you could tell me why you didn't like it, that'd be nice).
This was edited slightly on 11/6.