Resurrection
by becuzitswrong
Summary: When Harry cast a Patronas that drove off a hundred Dementors, he broke the seals on a binding on his magic set upon him by Albus Dumbledore more than eleven years earlier. A binding, cast in fact, so as to keep a certain soul fragment weak, without access to strong magic. This is the story of the consquences of that event.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter. I merely want to play at Hogwarts.
AN: I have had this plot bunny bouncing around in my head for some time and needed to get it down on paper. Here it is. If there's a good reception, I'll continue it. I have a lot of ideas as to where this goes and what happens.
Chapter One—Pain
Harry suppressed a groan of pain as another agonizing throb tore through his head. He blearily stared up at the plain, white-painted ceiling of the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the thin, ragged curtains of the room's only window, telling at a glance the approximate time.
Harry was aware of the discomfort of the old, worn out mattress beneath him, but it paled in comparison to the throbbing in his head. A throbbing that had started while he was still at school and had only gotten worse since his return home.
Home. Only the thought of the pain worsening kept him from snorting at the idea that he considered this place home. The house he'd grown up in with the Dursleys wasn't home. Home was a shining castle atop a hill in northern Scotland where the Great Hall was a reflection of the sky. Not this place of misery and pain where he had not one happy memory.
The pain, which had receded slightly at his thoughts of Hogwarts, crashed back into his skull strengthened threefold as he thought of the Dursleys. His aunt, Petunia. His uncle, Vernon. His cousin, Dudley. Pain battered and tore at his sanity as he punished himself with thoughts of them. He-
Harry blinked as a thin trickle of liquid temporarily blinded him. His scar. It was bleeding again. It had been doing so with increasing frequency since even before his return from Hogwarts. Since-
His thoughts whited out and there was only pain. Harry wondered if he was dying. He'd collapsed from the pain in the middle of yesterday's chores. He vaguely remembered someone carrying him upstairs and placing him ungently upon his bed. That was the last human contact he'd had.
A couple of times the locks on his door had clicked and it had opened. When he hadn't responded, the door had closed and the locks had clicked again. Harry had vaguely scented food, but had not been able to get up to try to go to it and eat. Each time, pain had shattered him until he was too weak to even scream, only low moans and grunts betraying its effects.
It wasn't so bad to die. At least there would be peace. The pain faded a moment and Harry imagined that was how Heaven would be. Peaceful and pain-free. He might even see his parents, struggling to remember their faces from the few photographs of them he'd seen. They might even tell him they lov-
Harry felt his body convulsing as pain far more intense than anything he'd experienced to date ripped him apart. The coppery taste of blood, like old pennies, filled his mouth and he knew he'd bitten his tongue. More liquid trailed from his nose, like thin snot, but he knew it was blood as well. He was dying.
Harry's breathing worsened, the convulsions feeling like they'd broken something inside of him. Why? Why now, in fact? Harry could accept the straight-forward fact of his death, but it was the why's that baffled him. After all that he'd survived, after fighting off Volde-
Harry's heeled drummed against the broken springs of his bed as more blood filled his mouth. Weakly, he turned he turned his head just enough and spat it out. There. At least he wouldn't drown in blood. And he finally had a hint of the why.
Harry blanked his thoughts, careful not to think of what his subconscious was screaming at him. He needed to get help and he focused on that thought as his brain fritzed out again. He gasped as conscious thought returned.
Hedwig. Where was Hedwig? His second friend and his familiar, Hedwig could find someone to help him. Then Harry remembered that Hedwig was gone, out of the country, to Italy. To deliver a letter to his best friend. Hermione. She-
Everything faded to black.
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Consciousness swayed in and out for Harry for the next few hours. Finally, though, he opened to darkness, only slightly weakened by light likely coming in through his window. He was too weak to turn his head to look. He could barely move his eyes enough to catch glimpses of shadows and even that hurt nearly as much as the throbbing in his head.
It was at that point Harry knew he wasn't getting out of this. So there was no point in hiding anymore. He knew. Harry closed his eyes and spoke into his own head, Tom? Tom, are you there?
For a moment, nothing happened. For a moment, Harry thought that all that had happened to him had a reasonable explanation; a rare Wizarding disease or a spell gone awry. Or perhaps just insanity. That's when it happened. When he heard the reply.
Yes.
Harry lay there, making no further attempt to communicate, as he contemplated this information. He didn't know what to think. Voldemort was here. Inside of his head. And likely the cause of the terrible pain and disability he was feeling. Harry could barely wrap his mind around the idea.
Worse, he could apparently read Harry's thoughts because whenever they'd strayed to certain 'forbidden' areas, he'd hit Harry with even worse pain. Thoughts like Muggles, Hermio-
Harry couldn't even whimper as pain so intense it felt like it was burning out his mind roared through him. He could no longer feel his body, just a strange heaviness that lay somewhere outside his mind. He sent a silent thought, Please, stop.
No.
It was the scar. Somehow part of Voldemort was lodged inside his scar, probably from that night. Maybe a part like the Diary? He needed to test his idea.
Desperately Harry tried to communicate with tormentor. Why are you doing this? You'll kill us both.
Scornful laughter was his reply. Was his idea wrong to bring such a reaction? Harry could feel himself giving up, surrendering to the darkness as it battered him. Still, he gathered himself and asked again. A single word. Why?
After what felt like hours to his disembodied state, but could have been any amount of time, Harry heard a reply.
Mudblood filth, do not seek to question the great Lord Voldemort. You are not worth the effort of understanding.
Harry had fallen so far he couldn't even form words anymore. But, somehow, he gathered the will to send scorn across between them. The bastard could never stand being treated as if he didn't matter.
We are not dying. You are dying. When you do, I'll emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. A new Harry Potter will arise. I'll use the very worship and adulation they have for you to take control. I'll lie and seduce and they will walk willingly into bondage, while I save them from the Dark Lord.
Harry felt horror and fear at the idea of someone using him like a Trojan Horse to destroy the Wizarding World. He wanted to know more. He sent doubt and denial down the link.
And who'll stop me? Dumbledore? That old fool. He'll never even see me coming as I become exactly what he hoped you'd be. Fudge? Fool. Your friends? Oh, you think you're friends will figure it out. I promise you, they won't. Not in time, at least. Before that happens, I'll kill the dog and the wolf. I'll slaughter the red-headed Blood-traitors. The Mudblood... Oh, I have special plans for her. I'll do things to her wearing your face that will destroy her even before I turn her over to my loyalest followers as a toy. When they're done, there won't be anything left of the little whore exce-
Harry roused himself as rage poured through his mind, temporarily weakening the pain as he ripped and tore at the other's mind. Oddly, he felt the world darken as he wrestled with the presence within himself, driving it back. But with every attack, he felt thinner, almost translucent if such a thing mattered in the dark. The Harry heard it again. The contemptuous laughter. It assailed him with a feeling of dread and a scent like old, rotted blood. He felt like a breath would banish him.
Pathetic creature. Your attacks only weaken yourself. I am so deeply inside of you that I am you. All you do by struggling is to make my victory come more quickly. Do you want to hear more? Details? Like how I'll use the Cruciatus Curse on the Weasleys one by one until they go mad then die while those remaining watch knowing they're next? Or how I'll seduce the Mudblood, use her, violate her, while she falls ever more deeply for me. Then, when her trust for me is greatest, I'll let my followers have her. Perhaps Malfoy's boy can go first. I'm sure he's been aching to put the little whore in her place since he met her. From what I remember of his father, Malfoy always had certain appetites. I'm sure his son has inherited them. Hermione will so enjoy finding out about them. As she is violated in every manner possible, she'll know it was you who was behind it. She'll...
Harry mentally sighed in relief as the voice faded. He didn't know what he'd done, but suspected he'd only sank deeper into oblivion. The idea did nothing to reduce his fear. It was all but crippling. If he could have cried, sobs would be tearing through right now. But being disembodied had yet another disadvantage. He couldn't use tears to release the painful ache of his emotions.
Working past the agony of emotion that threatened what little sanity he had left. Harry tried to think. He came up with schemes and ideas, discarding them almost instantly. After all, he didn't have any of the things he needed to accomplish, like a body or his wand. No, totaling up his assets gave him the sum total of nothing. Okay, there was this last little vestige of him hanging around some corner of his mind, but that was it.
Harry wondered if Voldemort could already move around in his body. He couldn't tell, having lost all connection to his physical self some unknown amount of time ago. At least he didn't hurt.
Harry was no longer in pain. It had faded along with the rest of his physical sensations. Instead he felt nothing. Complete silence along with absolute blackness surrounded him. Harry made no effort to struggle, instead he rested, the absence of pain surprisingly relaxing. Then he heard the voice.
Are you still there, little Potter?
Almost Harry sent a burst of something, but at the last second decided against it. Instead he thought about everything Riddle had said to him. Was there anything he could use? Something niggled at him, wanting to be brought to light. Then Harry was distracted as Riddle spoke again.
Give up, Potter. You can't win. This is my body now. It has been since that accident destroyed my other one.
That was just odd. Shouldn't Riddle be up and about by now, wearing his Harry suit? Why continue to talk to Harry? What did it gain him? The one thing that Harry had learned from his confrontations with Voldemort was that he did nothing without a reason. Nothing without seeking an advantage.
Was it possible that Riddle hadn't won yet? That Harry still had a chance? Harry allowed his perceptions to touch his surroundings and scoffed at the idea. Yeah, because he hadn't just been driven from control of his body by crippling pain.
Maybe it was more that Riddle couldn't fully take over so long as Harry was also there. He'd already tricked Harry into attacking himself and nearly driving himself into insubstantiality. If Harry had a body, he's be red-faced and angry at being so stupid as to fall for the trick. Okay, so finally there was one advantage to being disembodied.
What had Riddle said? Again Harry was distracted by a voice.
Potter, I'm looking for you. When I find you, I'll finish what I started.
Harry wished him good luck with that. Meanwhile he worked on his memory to no avail. Why couldn't he remember something that had just been said to him? Like an icy north wind, the idea settled upon him. Harry was fading.
The void was around him and nothing he did affected it. And now Harry was losing even his ability to remember, just as he'd lost his body and his ability to communicate. He needed that memory. There was something that Riddle had said...
A fragment came to him.
...Weasleys one by one until they go mad then die while those remaining watch knowing they're next? Or how I'll seduce the Mudblood...
No, that wasn't it. Harry concentrated, his very focus using up what little there was left of him, like a lantern uses its oil for light. Where was it? Where?
Like a dream, another part fluttered into place.
... aching to put the little whore in her place since he met her. From what I remember of his father, Malfoy always had certain appetites. I'm sure his son has inherited them. Hermione will so enjoy finding out about...
Harry flinched both at the words and how little was left of him. I'm just a dream, he thought. Just a dream. What was it that Riddle said in my dream?
…attacks only weaken yourself. I am so deeply inside of you that I am you. All you do by struggling is to make my victory come more ...
Harry was just a wisp now, guttering in an unseen, unfelt breeze. It was here. The first part? Maybe. Just maybe. Riddle said I am so deeply inside of you that I am you. I am you.
Harry wondered where he was. I am you. What was that strange, alien thought? I am you. It wouldn't leave him alone.
Why is it so dark here? Harry felt so strange, as insubstantial as a bubble of soap. I am you.
Harry whispered into the void. Leave me alone.
I am you. Echoed back.
Harry was about to pop and if he did, there'd be nothing left. I am you.
Harry drifted along, so light. He was going... I am you.
It wouldn't leave him alone. What did the words want? I am you.
I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you. I am you.
He was Harry. And he needed... There was something... I am you.
Harry focused and used that last bit of wick that was left, all of the fuel gone. I am Harry Potter and I-
Realization touched him and as he began to come apart, Harry Potter surrendered.
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On a ragged bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive, a boy, small for his age, dressed in ragged clothes, a lightning bolt scar gracing his forehead, slowly opened green eyes and smiled darkly.
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