When he first decided on his path in life, he knew what people would eventually call him.
Dark Lord
A thing to be feared, a thing to be hated, or a thing that some would strive to worship. He did all that he could to prepare for the title; traveled the world, learned almost forgotten magic, studied things that most would not dare even look at.
It would have been foolish of him to ignore the history of the Dark Lords who had tried before him. Many of their failings could prove to be useful to him in the future. He studied all of their techniques, the ones that worked, the ones that failed, and the ones that caused their demise.
For years, he prepared for his reign. It wouldn't do to be unprepared to rule the wizarding world after all. One little mistake, and the next budding Dark Lord could be reading about him and learning form his failings. He would never let that happen, even if he had to go to the ends of the earth to make sure of it.
One thing that had interested him, was Gellert Grindelwald's attempts to control an Obscurus. It had taken him several months to track down his findings, but it was all worth it. His entire research ended up being a three hundred page journal that was about as big as his hand. It told of his attempts at controlling the Obscurial named Credence, and his quest to gain his trust. The key, Grindelwald was intent to point out, was love. Love them in a way that they so desperately wish, in the way that was denied them for so long.
He mentioned that the Obscurial had been denied any kind of affection at all; touch, praise, or any sort of kind word. Grindelwald was sure to provide the boy with everything that he could ever want. Although he did not know Credence was the Obscurial he had been searching for all along, he still had some measure of control over him. He mentioned that the boy did anything he had asked of him regardless of what it was, and when he found the task too difficult or he was unable to complete it, it caused him obvious distress.
The children who become Obscurial are from severe abusive environments and should be treated as such. Grindelwald suggested that if he ever were to try and gain an Obscurial's trust and loyalty again, that he should be more careful as to make sure that he doesn't carelessly betray them. He never got another chance.
Tom, thought that having an Obscurial on his side would be endlessly beneficial, but in the end foolish. He himself had never been able to be sincere in his affections for others, although they were all easily fooled. If he ever did receive the opportunity to gain the loyalty of an Obscurial, he did not know if he had the ability or the patience to control it.
Anyway, it would have been nearly impossible to find another one. Ever since the destruction of the Obscurial the journal mentioned, laws all around the world had been set in place to make sure that another one was never created.
As the war progressed and he officially claimed the title of Dark Lord, Voldemort would often think back on the little journal and toy with the fantasy of how much more he could accomplish if he had one on his side. How easy it would be to eliminate and enemy, or to gain intel without anyone ever knowing what had happened or without anyone having the power to stop it. Grindelwald did say that he was never sure if the destruction of the Obscurial was final or not, and had always left him wondering.
That is why, from the moment he looked in to Harry Potter's eyes, he knew exactly what he was. Through the reflection in the old and dusty mirror, he could not see the boy clearly, but when his host's boy had turned to dust and he was a spirit once more, he could see Harry in his true form.
The boy was an Obscurial, and from the fact alone that he was not dead yet at the age eleven, proved he was a powerful one. He knew that gaining Harry's trust would be at the top of his list once he returned to power. If he could not, then he would have to destroy the boy as soon as he possibly could. It would not due for that kind of power to be used against him by his enemies.
As the years passed, he was careful in every step he took in getting his body back. Using the boy's blood was key as it would help strengthen the bond he wished to create. The only resource at his disposal, was only useful in small tasks as he was too weak and incompetent in doing anything else. He already had plans to gain the Potter boy's trust, and he needed more information than what the Daily Prophet gave to him.
He relied on every little detail Barty Crouch Jr. gave to him during the school year. What food he liked, what were his habits, and anything strange that he had noticed. The results, were far from what he expected. The Potter boy did not outwardly show any signs of abuse, or the symptoms of an Obscurial that Grindelwald said he should have picked up first thing.
However, as Voldemort looked deeper and deeper into the information he was receiving, it was obvious what the boy was. He only ate enough to appease his friends, did well enough on his school work to be mediocre, and seemed to absorb any amount of friendly contact that was given to him, as little as that was. Still, he needed to know more, every little detail could prove to be crucial when the time came.
When the time came for the final task, he was actually nervous about the whole ordeal. Excited, of course, to get his body back, but nervous all the same. He never would have thought that he could ever get the chance to attempt something like this, and with his inexperience in dealing with children, or his hatred for Dumbledore and his laughable "love magic" he had no reason to try.
There did need to be some important questions answered as soon as he got the boy within his grasp. Such as why was he still able to cast magic when he was an Obscurial? He should have been nothing more than a squib at best. The second thing that was weighing on his mind, is how on earth has the boy not killed anyone yet, or at least not revealed himself. The pain and torment he has gone through alone should have been enough to make him want to rip apart anyone that threatened him. Voldemort thought himself lucky not to have been on the receiving end of his anger.
The boy finally arrived in the graveyard, he heard his body slam on the ground along with a surprising second sound of another body. A witness, a spare. How unfortunate.
His follower took care of the extra body with a deadly curse and a flick of his wand. Nothing was going to prevent him from getting his body back now. Wormtail was more aggressive in binding the boy, but I was nothing he couldn't turn in his favor. The sound of Potter's screams, and the agonizing sobs of his follower, followed him into the cauldron where he was sure he would be joining them in their cries of pain if it were not for the potion filling his lungs.
He felt himself stretch and grow in the most unnatural of speeds. The cauldron burned away and he was left floating in the air, the smoke becoming his clothes. When he was finally standing on his own two feet, he could not resist ignoring the other two near him in favor of examining his own body. It worked exactly as he wanted, and with pride he filled his lungs with precious oxygen for the first time in thirteen years.
Finally, he looked upon the boy who he had been obsessing over. He was shaking with fear, wide eyes staring at him as a man looks upon the devil himself. This would not prove helpful at all.
"Wormtail, why is the poor boy so tightly bound? He is our guest of honor after all. It's rude to treat him with such disrespect," Voldemort addressed him as though he were discussing the weather. He walked over to the boy who followed his every move carefully. "I'm going to get you down." He informed him.
Voldemort slowly raised his hand, then waved it down. The gravestone holding the boy released him, and he would have fallen to the ground if it were not for the Dark Lord's quick reflexes catching him in his arms. "Careful, now."
The boy was shaking, staring at his own hand that gripped Voldemort's arm like a life line. Almost unable to believe that it was real. "It's alright," Voldemort told him softly. "Are you hurt?"
Harry's eyes darted up to his, all green and impossible to not compare to the curse he cast at him so long ago. Clearly, the boy was in shock, but that didn't mean that Voldemort couldn't still help him. He looked the boy over, and found his arm, and leg bleeding. His leg looked to be infected. An easy fix, one that would only serve him in the end. "Why don't you sit down? You look awful." Voldemort guided Harry so that he was sitting on the edge of the grave stone and then sat down next to him, his arm still wrapped around the boy.
"Wormtail, don't just sit there, go and get him a potions for his injuries." Voldemort scolded the whimpering man on the ground.
"M-My lord. P-Please…My hand. My hand." Wormtail sobbed. Blood was pouring from the stump at the end of his arm. "Y-y-you promised." The glare that Voldemort sent him had Wormtail whimpering once more and scurrying off into the large house behind him.
"May I see your arm, Harry?" Voldemort asked gently, and when Harry looked up at him in fear he quickly added. "You're bleeding."
Harry looked down at his arm and seemed to be surprised at the injury he found there, like he wasn't sure where it came from. Carefully, Voldemort took Harry's arm in his hand and slowly moved other hand over it. In moments, the deep cut had healed leaving nothing but smooth skin behind. "There," Voldemort said lightly. "One down." He placed the hand he used to heal his injury softly down on the skin.
Harry had not said anything this whole time. He looked up at Voldemort with both fear and uncertainty, unsure as to why he was just now being so kind to him. Harry never could have imagined that Voldemort would be so civil, so kind to him. It was easy to think that he was in a dream. With him sitting so close, and if he hadn't known any better, he could have thought them old friends.
"You saved his life once before did you not?" Voldemort asked him. "He told me of how you protected him from Black and the werewolf's wrath. They wanted to give him to the dementors, you thought differently. He betrayed your family, was the reason your godfather was left in Azkaban, and still you spared him."
Harry looked like he wanted to comment, but his mouth felt too dry, and he still could not stop shaking. "And now, he has run to me, cut your arm, and sliced off his hand so that the Dark Lord could return," Voldemort continued. "Do you regret your actions, Harry?"
Before Harry could even attempt to answer, the man they were discussing hobbled is way down to him. A vial of bright orange liquid in the only hand he had left. Wormtail shakily handed it to his master, blood still seeping out of his stump. "Master…Master, please," He begged.
"Well, Harry?" Voldemort still looked at Harry, expecting an answer. When he received none, Voldemort took his wand and waved it over Wormtail's stump. A silver hand formed itself in the place of his old one, and Wormtail's whimpering instantly ceased. He admired his shiny new hand as though it were a wonderful prize to be won. "Thank you, Master. It is beautiful."
Voldemort waved Wormtail away and turned his attention back to the boy next to him. "May I," he asked while holding up the vial. Surprisingly, Harry nodded quickly. Voldemort pulled off the cork and applied the liquid onto Harry's infected injury on his leg. Voldemort could see as Harry visibly relaxed as the wound on his leg began to heal. The pain must have been greater than he thought. "Better?" Voldemort's lips twitched in what could only be resembled in a smile.
Harry nodded. "Thank you," he finally spoke in a soft voice. His eyes darted over to the body of Cedric Diggory, his cold lifeless eyes looking back. "Why…" Harry seemed uncertain about what he wanted to say.
"Why what, Harry?" Voldemort prompted. Harry's eyes did not leave the body of Cedric, so Voldemort answered "Why did Cedric die? He was not supposed to be here. You were supposed to arrive alone. I'm sorry to say, that I forgot about how noble you can be, even in the worst of times. This is not your fault."
"He…He's," Harry's voice shook and tears filled his eyes. "He wasn't supposed to-"
"Shhh," Voldemort gently brought Harry's head closer to him resembling an embrace. "It's alright, Harry. We can send him back to his family. They would be glad to know that has become of their son won't they?"
Harry, who was not used to being held, did not know what to do. Especially since it was his supposed enemy holding him. Still, he could not deny that it felt good to have someone hold him in his current state. "But… He's dead. They won't be glad about that. They would be…be…" Harry argued. "He's gone. He's…"
"Harry, his family will always be left wondering what happened to him if we don't send him back. Don't you think his family deserves to know? Would you rather him stay here in the graveyard? It is appropriate considering the location, but would you think that it would be what he really wanted?" Voldemort questioned him.
"No…" Harry said uncertain, paused a moment, and then as though gaining more confidence, he said more certainly. "No. He should go home."
"Good, I think so too." Voldemort waved his hand and the Triwizard cup flew over to Cedric's lifeless body and together they vanished. In the back of his mind, Harry noted that his only means of escape had just disappeared.
"Why am I not dead?" Harry asked nervously.
Voldemort looked down at the young teenager and thought about his response. He knew he should not lie, but he didn't want to tell the entire truth either. Lying would only end up hurting them both in the end. "I need you, Harry. You possess a power that I could never dream to match, and in return, I am hoping that you would let me help you in return."
"Power? What power? I am nothing. Ordinary. Less than ordinary. I still don't even understand why you had tried to kill me so long ago. Please, I just want to go back," Harry rambled. Once he starred talking he couldn't seem to stop. "They will know I am gone, they will come looking for me, they will want me to go back, they will…"
"Do you want to go back, Harry," Voldemort asked sincerely.
"Of course I do, why wouldn't I?" Harry answered quickly.
Voldemort stood up slowly and walked a few paces away from him, admiring the large tombstone next to his father's. "Where do they send you when everything is said and done? When they have no more need for you to save the day. After facing me, twice now I hear, after fighting off dementors, saving lives again, and again, and again. Where to they put you?"
Harry knew the answer; he just didn't want to say it out loud. His relatives. The reason he was such a freak, or perhaps his punishment for being one in the first place. He could never tell the difference. Voldemort walked in front of Harry and got down on his knees in front of him. Gently, he took his hands in his own.
"I could give you what you've always wanted," Voldemort promised him.
"How do you know what I want. You don't even know me. All you've ever done is try to kill me." Harry accused.
"You're right. You are absolutely right. But, I believe we can help each other, Harry. I can give you a place where you will be safe. Do you even know what that is like, Harry? To be safe?"
Harry already knew the answer, but once again he didn't need to day anything. No, he had never known what it was like to feel safe. If he wasn't at his relatives house, watching his every move to try to not make them angry, he was at Hogwarts where the staff, students, and even people on the outside either hated him or wanted him dead.
"I can give that to you. I can help you, Harry. Even teach you if you wanted. But most of all, I will be as honest as I can be. I will tell you everything I know. If there is anything that is truth between us, is that I have never hidden anything from you or lied to you. Can your headmaster say the same?" Voldemort continued.
To Harry, the offer sounded too good to be true. His worst enemy calling a truce and not only offering to protect him, but to give him real answers? Did the Dark Lord even know what kind of monster he was?
As if he was reading his mind, Voldemort said "I am a Dark Lord, Harry. For a reason. I didn't get to where I am without understanding what I was getting into. I am powerful, maybe you have heard differently from your Headmaster, but there is nothing I couldn't do when I was at my full power, and there is nothing that anyone could do to stop me. Not then, and not now. I am offering you my protection, and my help. Something that I do not give lightly. Let me help you."
Harry looked into Voldemort's eyes wide, not with fear, but with hope. Something he had not felt in a long time.
"I know what you are," Voldemort moved his hands from Harry's and placed them on his shoulder. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."
The words were like water to a man dying of thirst, and he finally heard them from his enemy, or not enemy if he so chose. Tears fell from Harry's eyes and in a desperate attempt to grab onto what was being offered to him, he tearfully said, "Yes."
And the Dark Lord Smiled.
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