Incendio, Harry mouthed silently with an outstretched finger lined up with his unwavering glare. Peering from his rain stained window into the azure hue of early morn, he directed his gaze and mischievous intentions at his aunt Petunia's half visible flowerbed. The apricot flames vigorously clung to the hortensia, albeit ephemerally, before torrential rainfall choked them out. The Dursleys had given Harry his cousin's old room for his fifth birthday present, not only because of Dudley's incessant whining for a new Robots vs Mutants wallpaper theme, but mostly due to the fact that their nephew terrified them. It had gotten to the point where Petunia found herself crawling outside the broom closet just below the vent as to avoid being noticed by the emerald eyed boy. The worst thing was when he unprovokingly began laughing, piercing the fear suspended silence of the household, and there was nothing no one dared do about it. On the rare occasions when she got lost in thought and found herself starring at that door absent-mindedly, she would always come crashing back to reality when those somber serpentine eyes flashed her way.
The change in Harry's demeanor transpired in the space of three weeks, during which time a variety of supernatural discrepancies took place, such as Petunia's pan of bacon and eggs gushing out a column of flame as she was cooking them, and the pastoral inspired fine bone china statuettes beside the television set that would inexplicably move when out off sight, even for a second. Though it was when Vernon began watering the garden, two days short of Harry's fifth birthday, only to encounter a titanic charcoal-scaled snake that had risen from beneath the shallow dirt and lunged towards the door which Vernon had quickly coward behind that the Dursley family finally gave in to the boy. Petunia determined that they must have been Harry's doing, knowing only too well the true nature of her deceased sister and that cocky husband of hers, and so convinced Vernon to go along with the room change, careful not to give away her suspicions of the fantastical element afoot, lest Vernon question her sanity. Hoping that the room would calm his outbursts, Vernon commanded Harry to climb up the carpeted staircase beneath which he once slept, then, with the closet's meager furnishings lifted in both hands, the colossus's tossed them on the floor of his nephew's new residence. In truth, a mere illusion of superiority, though neither Harry nor Vernon knew this.
Before he could even make up his bed, Harry heard Vernon's heavy breathing on the other side of the door, applying blue tack to the keyhole. Their fear, especially his aunt's, entertained and supported him, though he was unaware of it's extent and considered it more as a form of respect than dominance. Clasping the cream colored sheet at it's corners, he draped it gently over the pillows as he proceeded to climb on the clunky steel framed furniture. It creaked painfully from the slightest movement.
- " Must be from the strain that sack of flesh and fat placed upon it all these years... " joked Voldemort, whom has since the first incidence of Harry's discovery of magic disclosed his name and title of Dark Lord to Harry. It hadn't initially been his intention, but he quickly began to appreciate Harry fine capacity for discerning between truth and lies, and the Fogman persona wasn't cutting it anymore.
- " Don't be mean. Dudley's a bit of a bully, but that doesn't mean you should be to ! " declared Harry, his mother's sympathy and father's courage echoed through his words.
- " That boy has a lot of insecurities, and he's an imbecile. He'll amount to nothing and die in a dead-end muggle job. He doesn't want to be anything, just to be comfortable whilst applying the least effort. Muggles are unwort- "
- " What's a muggle ? And an insecuries ? ", interrupted Harry much to Voldemort content. The child was beginning to trust him enough to employ familiarities, no longer merely being his friend from boredom and loneliness. Curiosity can be a window into a naive mind.
- " It's a lesser person. A human with no magical abilities. Also known as squibs when born within magical families. You're better than even the greatest muggle though. They don't merit thinking about to be honest. And it's insecurites. They're the things people feel ashamed, afraid and intimidated by, simply put, which they usually try to hide from others. " stated Voldemort, carefully exuding confidence, whilst refraining from the use of arrogance.
- " Like you are afraid of dying ? "
That one sentence. Those six little words, strung together by a five year old... As the commander of a legion of witches, wizards, dementors and a vast array of inherently vile creatures Voldemort often faced experienced liars, manipulators and even his obsessed fanatics head on, but this was absurd. His ever mind-narrowing fear of death plucked from his mind as if it was a low-bearing apple... Was he his own snake in this analogy ? Did he subconsciously provide the clues for the boy to pick upon ? No, he had more self-control than that. He starred at Harry, and to his own surprise answered with a shiver inducing "yes".
- " It's ok, I'm scarred of Uncle Vernon too, so it's ok. " Voldemort found the boy's honest and impromptu attempt to comfort him ineffective, but heart-warming nevertheless.
- " Sleep now, I'll watch over you and scare away any trolls that may stray from their path. " It was only midday, but the use of wandless magic over the last few weeks had forced Harry to take regular naps to compensate for the strain placed on his body.
- " Night night... " burbled Potter, now tucked beneath his bedsheets, before slipping off into his dreams. Voldemort hovered his now corporeal hand over the boy's face, delicately brush away stray strand of hair daring to disturb his young prodigy.
The Dark Lord turned his back to the infant, memories off Mrs. Cole, the director of the orphanage that housed him during his lonely childhood, and her reminiscent tales of his own mother rapidly boiling to the surface. The creation off his horcruxes and the splitting of his soul forbade Voldemort from feeling love, however the emotions which he had for the boy, as he understood it, came close. Protectiveness, respectful fascination and a deep understanding of his loneliness all lead him to care for the Potter child, more so than he would admit, even to himself. But that wouldn't deter him from his plans immortality.