Disclaimer: Harry Potter has, strangely enough, not yet become my property.
Reposted with revisions 11/01/06.
Lord Voldemort watched #4 Privet Drive quietly. He could feel the wards humming, encasing the drab Muggle home in a cocoon of beautifully spun magic. It didn't like him, but it could hardly bar him—especially after Harry's blood had brought him back. He had Polyjuiced himself with hairs from a carefully chosen Muggle. He was currently around 5'10" with greying brown hair and an amiable face liberally sprinkled with laugh lines.
He checked the knot of his tie and proceeded to the door. A Muggle private detective had gathered reams of information on the habits of the Dursley family, including a tentative conclusion that their 'nephew', Harry Potter, was a victim of abuse. If this proved true, Voldemort would take appropriate action.
Or perhaps he would leave that for his son.
He walked purposefully up the sidewalk and tapped on the door. The Dursley woman's equine face peered at him suspiciously. "Yes?"
He removed his hat and smiled politely. "I'm afraid my car has stalled. Could I trouble you for the use of your telephone?" A subtle touch of magic made the Muggle see a sleek Bentley with its hood up.
His charm and obvious wealth had the expected affects on the Muggle. "Of course," she simpered at him, opening the door. "Do come in."
He resisted the urge to smirk as the woman's invitation further disarmed the wards. They twitched around him for a few moments before subsiding.
The woman showed him to the telephone. He severed the line outside the house with another flick of magic, then dialed and spoke for a few moments. He could hear someone hoovering upstairs. It had to be the boy. The detective's report had mentioned Harry doing a great many chores. He hung up the phone and smiled pleasantly. "They should arrive shortly. The young man who answered the telephone had a few suggestions that might help. I hate to impose further, but could your husband take a few moments and help me attempt a few minor repairs?"
"My husband isn't home, but perhaps my nephew…" she turned and bellowed up the stairs, "BOY!"
The noisy cleaning ceased. "Yes, Aunt Petunia?" a soft voice answered.
"Boy, this gentleman," she flashed him another smile "needs some help with his car."
Voldemort turned and looked up the stairs, his friendly, harmless smile in place. The Boy-Who-Lived trudged down the steps, head bowed. He was dressed in filthy, oversized clothes and Voldemort saw the shadow of a bruise on one cheek, hidden by a fall of raven-wing black hair.
---
Harry sighed when his aunt bellowed. Quickly winding the cord, he tucked the appliance away. Keeping his head lowered, he started down the steps. The man was very well dressed. He smiled kindly at Harry. Harry allowed himself to smile tentatively back. The warm brown eyes in their nest of laugh-lines flickered strangely. Harry frowned as the brown flickered strangely, hinting at some other color underneath.
---
This was proceeding more smoothly than Voldemort had dared to hope. He was convinced that he'd be able to quietly remove the boy from the warded home without incident. That is, until the boy paled. His eyes widened, and he turned and bolted up the steps. Voldemort huffed in annoyance, and then leapt after him.
---
Harry bolted for his room, ignoring his aunt as she shrieked, "Get down here this INSTANT!" He heard heavy feet pounding behind him. Darting into his room, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. He then threw himself to the floor, scrabbling for the loose floorboard. His hand found his wand just as someone wrenched him up by his shirt. The man's hand closed around his flailing wrist. Harry managed to gasp out a few curses and land a few good kicks on the man's shins before fingers digging into his wrist caused his hand to spasm painfully.
"Petrificus Totalus," the man said casually, and Harry froze.
---
Voldemort placed Harry on the worn, but neatly made bed. He gave his head a gentle pat, sliding the boy's wand into his own pocket. A beautiful white owl hooted angrily at him, rattling the cage as she struggled to escape. For a warm-blooded creature, she was impressively loyal. Opening the window, he tossed the bird, cage and all, out. A few feet from the ground, the cage vanished, leaving a flustered owl scrambling to avoid impact. "Off to Hogwarts, birdie." He closed the window, then examined the rest of Harry's trove. A few Sickles, some Pumpkin Pasties in wrappers. Pitiful. He remembered his own hoard of stolen pennies and stale food at the orphanage.
He left the room, Harry floating behind him. The Muggle woman was staring at them, one hand clutching at her skinny throat. "My door…?" she breathed, swallowing convulsively.
Voldemort glanced at the doorframe, now completely sans door. "It was in my way," he said mildly.
"You're one of those freaks, aren't you?! Get out! Take the brat and go!" she shrieked, her voice thick with fear and loathing.
"I require the rest of the boy's possessions, Muggle," he said coolly. He required nothing of the sort. He just enjoyed seeing petty Muggle tyrants dance to his tune.
---
Harry watched helplessly as his aunt dragged his battered school trunk from the cupboard. He doubted his haphazardly applied anti-theft charms would do much to deter his kidnapper. The man flicked his wand again, and the trunk floated after him. The three of them made a strange procession as the left the house. Harry fought tears as the door slammed behind him. He had always known his family hated him, but the man had not even had to threaten his Aunt. She'd simply abandoned him. He thought he heard the vacuum start again as they apparated away.
---
Stark terror was an exhausting emotion, Harry decided. His kidnapper had taken the time to arrange him comfortably on a couch before leaving. He'd even placed a pillow under Harry's head. Harry found it odd that one could be bored and yet utterly terrified at the same time. He had been locked in place starting at a blank wall for at least an hour.
"Ah, there you are. Thank you for waiting." The voice was amused. Harry's skin tried to crawl off his body as Voldemort's white, spidery hand smoothed his hair.
---
"Polyjuice is a wonderful thing, isn't it, Harry?" Voldemort asked the boy as the emerald eyes filled with a horrified realization. He wished the boy was a bit sharper, but at least his instincts were good.
He had already bathed as the Rite required. He was dressed in a robe of undyed silk, no part of which had been touched by non-magical hands. Harry's robe was waiting. Fortunately, the boy's cooperation was not necessary for any part of the ceremony. That would have been tiresome. He gathered the rigid body in his arms. Time for the ritual cleansing.
---
Harry struggled uselessly against the magic holding him immobile as Voldemort stripped him. Had he not been frozen, he might have wet himself from sheer terror. Contrary to his horrified imaginings, Voldemort merely lowered him into the near-scalding water and scrubbed him thoroughly. The steamy air filled with the scent of exotic spices. He was then patted dry and draped in a silk robe.
Voldemort carefully combed his wet hair, parting it neatly. "Now you look like a proper young wizard." Even frozen, Harry's face managed to look incredulous.
Voldemort picked him up again and carried him through the manor. Or perhaps they were in a castle. It seemed to have miles of stone hallways; some draped with rich tapestries, others hung with portraits, and still others completely bare. The place was in pristine condition; yet it still felt desolate.
He was carried into a small, perfectly round room. The door closed behind them of its own accord. §Open,§ Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue. A circle of the stone floor melted away, revealing a narrow, winding staircase. Voldemort adjusted Harry with a gentleness Harry found deeply disturbing, and then proceeded down the steep passage. To Harry's surprise, he was neither scraped nor bumped into the wall. Belatedly, Harry began counting the steps, thinking that this might prove useful when he reported this latest catastrophe to Dumbledore. He had reached 483 when Voldemort stepped onto the floor. Soft, greenish light lit the room, giving Harry the vague feeling of being underwater.
As he was carried farther into the room, Harry realized that he source of light was water; a large, irregularly-shaped pool approximately 20 feet across that filled the room with a wavering green glow. The surface was smooth as glass. As they approached, however, the water began to ripple softly. The waves became more energetic until the water was churning and foaming, slopping over Voldemort's feet as he stood at the edge, still holding Harry. Harry realized that pool was full of snakes. Or rather, it was made of snakes; some as tiny as his littlest finger, others at least ten feet long. They appeared to be made of water. A large snake dashed itself against the side of the pool, splashing into dozens of tiny snakes, which blurred and melted into a large snake again. Harry stared at the water, hypnotized—it was beautiful, and undeniably magical. But his immobility and Voldemort's hands on him made this a moment of terror, not wonder.
The sibilant sounds of Parseltongue filled the chamber. §I request the Rite of Claiming. In the name of the blood of the house of Slytherin, I, the Heir of Slytherin, entreat you.§
The churning water stilled. Hundreds of the strange, watery snakes lifted their heads above the surface, staring at them. Denied any other release, tears of terror trailed down Harry's face. Voldemort gently tipped him forward, so the tears splashed softly into the pool.
"Finite Incantatum," he said softly. Finally freed, Harry struggled frenziedly, screaming incoherently.
§By right of blood and voice, I present the next Heir.§ Voldemort tossed the screaming boy into the pool.
Thanks for all the lovely reviews for Ch. 2. Hope you enjoyed the new version!
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