Disclaimer: My full name doesn't start with "J" and end with "g". Even if it would, there would still be a huge chance for me not to be JKR, who owns Harry Potter.

Capture and Children

Harry didn't know what to do.

It was the beginning of his sixth year, the same calendar year Sirius had died, and Lord Voldemort had captured him.

He was lying face-down on the floor, before the Dark Lord sitting on his throne, writhing in agony under the Cruciatus Curse.

He didn't know how Voldemort had gotten him, the details were hazy, something about a spy helping, but it hadn't been Draco, but a Sixth Year Slytherin he hadn't ever spoken to.

"Leave me and the boy alone."

The Curse ended. Harry was grateful. But wait - leave alone? That meant he wouldn't die just yet, most likely. Old Voldiesnorts wanted to finish him off publicly.

The Death Eaters went out faster than he could have said "Boot-licking hem-kissers."

"Harry Potter... stand."

He scrambled himself off the floor, trying to ignore the trembling in his every limb.

The room was dark, oppressive, done in blacks and greens, with a touch of silver. In short, it looked exactly like he'd always imagined the Dark Tosser's Throne Room.

He stood, staring into the Dark Lord's eyes defiantly. They'd taken his wand, he was without protection, could be killed any minute, and the Slytherin part of him was thinking that he was a moron with the survival instinct of a lemming, while at the same time applauding him for his defiance - don't give the enemy what he wants. He could be killed any second anyway, so a bit of defiance didn't matter.

The Dark Lord came closer, smirking at him.

"Harry Potter... Will you join me?"

"Never." Why on Earth should he join a Dark Moron out to kill all his friends?

"You're rather quick to say that. I think in a week or two you might just change your opinion..." He sounded rather confident. This was bad.

The Dark Lord shoved him through a door behind his Throne Room.

"My personal quarters, boy."

There was a corridor, with two doors leading from it, one left, one right.

They entered the right one, landing in a small sitting room and kitchen that looked... well, ordinary. It had four doors leading from it.

"The library, the training chamber, the bathroom, and of course, the room for kids", Voldie said, pointing at the doors.

Wait, room for kids?

"Grampa?" A small head showed itself from the door of the room labelled to be the one for kids.

It was a girl, probably around one and a half.

"Morgan, come here. There's someone you should meet."

The small girl went through the door, holding something that resembled a walking stick.

"Did you use that to open the door?"

"Sure. I wanted to get out."

For a girl who probably hadn't yet reached her second birthday, she was damn clever, Harry thought.

Then he froze.

She looked... well, sort of a little like a young Tom Riddle, but... she had his eyes. His mother's eyes, and red hair.

His eyes were staring right back at him, with an expression he was pretty sure was cleverer than anything he'd ever had on his face, which looked rather funny on such a small child.

"H-how?" It took him a second to recognize his own voice.

"May I introduce Morgan Potter? You can chose the middle name."

"I'm an experiment from a dark ritual, Grampa says", the little girl said proudly.

He would bet she didn't have any idea what this really meant, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the truth wouldn't be good for him.

"Explain. Now."

"Only if you say 'Please, my Lord'."

A Dark Lord, trying to teach him manners, of all things. This truly couldn't get any more ridiculous. Except, of course, if the Dark Lord revealed that the girl was somehow their daughter or something like that. He'd read too many of Dudley's comics, he just realized.

"Please, my Lord."

"Much appreciated, my servant." Harry grinded his teeth. "You see, blood can be used for more than one purpose. Half of the blood in her veins is yours." In other terms, she was his sort-of-daughter. Great. How had he anticipated that?

"And the remainder of it?" He tried to sound cool and calm. He didn't quite manage.

"Half between me and Morgan le Fay. Through bone, in the latter's case. The girl did need a grandmother after all, and two fathers would have been simply ludicrous."

Okay, at least he wasn't his and Voldie's daughter, but his daughter and Voldie's granddaughter.

That didn't make things much better, but at least a bit.

"I'll leave the two of you alone now."

Voldie went outside, smugly whistling a rather creepy melody.

He heard the door locking behind Voldie. He couldn't get out.

"So, you're sort of my father."

"Yeah."

"Why did you leave me here alone?" It sounded so much like himself in those daydreams of his when someone, a long lost parent or relative or anyone, really, rescued from the Dursleys.

"I..." What should he say?

He settled for the truth.

"I didn't know you existed."

Her shoulders slumped down. He was quick to add: "Otherwise, I'd have come for you for sure."

She smiled up at him, a smile that reminded him of his own, so much that he almost wanted to double-check he wasn't looking into a mirror that made his face smaller.

She looked up at him, then stretched out her arms.

Acting on instinct, he took her into his arms, holding her close. She was so small, he could feel her heart beating right next to his own.

"Will you read me a story? Grandpa sometimes reads me stories. I can read on my own to, but it's more fun being read to."

He wordlessly carried her into the library. It was a big room, with lots and lots of books, and a big plush chair with huge armrests that looked strangely old.

"So, what do you want to read?"

"Can we read Machiavelli? I like him. The book is called 'The Prince'. Here."

He went to where she had said.

"No, here." She was pointing at a book he'd never heard of before.

He took it, seated himself in the big plush chair with Morgan on his lap, and began reading.