When Harry met the Dark Lord he understood what it meant to stand before a god.
He was eight years-old and had just been stung by a thistle wasp, jabbed without warning right in the thumb as he and Neville played hide and seek in the Gilded Maze.
"Potter," Snape shouted, his voice magically magnified to echo through the hedges.
Harry, startled by the sting, was just as startled by the unexpected summons. Lessons with Snape, or as he was forced to call him publicly, Master Snape, were not again until three and Harry was confident he had not heard the bells of the South Tower ring. Neville's head popped into sight around a leafy corner, wide-eyed.
"Potter!"
Harry scrambled through the maze, Neville at his heels. Like most inhabitants in the Dark Lord's palace, Snape did not enjoy waiting.
"Yes, Master Snape?" Harry asked, reaching the maze's mouth.
The day was warm and so Snape's robes were unfastened in the front, revealing the black trousers and slim ebony vest he always favored. He glared down his large hooked nose at Harry with his customary scowl of disdain.
"Our Lord wishes your attendance in the Serpent House."
Manners and etiquette were not yet as fully instilled in Harry as he knew Snape would prefer. Beside him, Neville gaped just as openly as he did.
"Now."
As if Snape had brandished a whip, Harry bolted, running so fast up the pebbled path to the palace that stones flew. A part of him registered the immediate drop in temperature the moment he entered the North Wing, spelled to remain a perfect seventy-one degrees. It was a rule to never run inside the palace. It was also another rule to never leave anyone — and most especially the Dark Lord — waiting. Harry felt that on this particular occasion, breaking the first rule would be forgiven.
Arms pumping, he was a blur, boots skidding on the waxed marble floor as he turned a sharp left onto the Mirrored Hall, his reflection speeding along with him. Finally, he stumbled to a stop before the Serpent House, so named for the prized collection of rare and exotic snakes the Dark Lord kept inside. Though the North Wing belonged to him and Neville, access to the Serpent House was forbidden. Two weeks ago Harry's curiosity had won out and he'd slipped through the doors. Nightmares had plagued him ever since. Now, as he stood before the twin doors with their engraved serpents, he tried to bring back that reckless courage that had fueled him ten days ago. He hastily patted down his hair — though it did no good — and straightened his glasses. They were a new addition. He was still getting used to the square frames.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Harry pushed open the door and stepped into a jungle. All was lush and green and softly lit. Full grown trees covered in ivy and vines blocked out the ceiling. A winding, mossy path cut through the foliage and flowers, but Harry hesitated, uncertain if he should announce his arrival.
A thought hit him and Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Had he angered the Dark Lord? Was this a punishment? Was he to be fed to the monstrous Runespoor or — sweat erupted on Harry's brow — a basilisk? No one had seen a basilisk for centuries, but if anyone would have one, it would be the Dark Lord. Petrified, Harry stumbled backward, reaching for the door, but a voice, softer than a hiss, froze him on the spot.
"Running away, Harry?"
Mouth dry, Harry turned. Where a second ago the path had been vacant, the Dark Lord now stood. Voldemort. Another rule. The most important rule. Never speak the Dark Lord's name. Though he and Neville lived in the Dark Lord's palace, neither of them had ever glimpsed so much as a finger of the wizard. They'd seen him in pictures in the Daily Prophet, had passed his towering statue on their way to lessons, but never had they seen him in the flesh. Harry supposed it wasn't all that strange. A palace this large, set upon two hundred acres of private woods and gardens — if someone didn't wish to be seen, they wouldn't be.
"You lasted longer the first time," said the Dark Lord.
Harry's blood iced in his veins. He knew. He'd broken a rule and the Dark Lord knew.
"My Lord, forgive me! I didn't think — I —" Harry cut off, realizing that he was not bowing. He hastily dropped to one knee, lowering his head. If this was a test, he'd failed before he'd even started. All those lessons, all the endless rules, in and out of Harry's mind like buzzing doxies.
The Dark Lord's long robes slithered along the ground. Starting to shake, Harry didn't look up, not even when he knew Voldemort stood just before him. He felt those brilliant red eyes upon him, burning into the back of his skull. He'd thought it had just been a rumor, an exaggeration, but Harry felt that the words people used to describe Voldemort's eyes were not powerful enough. Liquid fire, perhaps. Or molten rubies. Or freshly spilt blood. Those were more fitting words for the Dark Lord's eyes.
"Do you enjoy my palace?" Voldemort asked.
Harry blinked, confused. He kept his eyes on the Dark Lord's robes, a black pool on the leafy path.
"Very much, My Lord."
"Would you not prefer to be with your family?"
His confusion mounted. Of course he would rather be with his parents. The six months between visits was torturous. The letter, regardless of length, always too short. And with each visit, each correspondence, Harry felt them slipping further away, like they both resided on separate rafts and each wave increased the distance between them. He felt that one day he would scan the horizon and not see them at all.
Harry floundered, unsure what to say. In his silence, his fear grew until he was strangled by it. He shut his eyes and waited for the curse to fall, but the black robes shifted as fluidly as water as Voldemort stepped back.
"Walk with me."
Stunned, Harry looked up into the Dark Lord's face. In the low lighting, his skin glowed porcelain. Harry imagined that if he were to stand in sunlight, he would be painful to behold. At Harry's lack of movement, Voldemort quirked a hairless eyebrow and Harry jumped to his feet. Side by side, Voldemort led him down the path, deeper into the forest. Harry heard the soft hisses of the Dark Lord's collection and spied glistening colored coils slipping through the underbrush.
"And your tutor?" Voldemort asked next. "Do you enjoy your lessons with Severus?"
"Master Snape?" Harry stammered, again feeling that he'd been handed a trick question. "He is an excellent wizard. I am very lucky to be his pupil."
Voldemort stopped and so did Harry. Remembering his lessons, he kept his face downcast, but a long, slender finger pressed under his chin, lifting his face.
"That is not what I asked," Voldemort said and the sibilant softness of his whisper continued until Harry saw the snake — vibrantly green — slither around the Dark Lord's shoulders; its forked tongue flicked at Harry.
"No," Harry stated and then, in a desire to clarify: "He doesn't like me very much."
"He detests you," Voldemort elucidated. "Detests you to the point that I marvel he has not chopped off your fingers."
Harry flinched and Voldemort lowered down so that their faces were on the same level. His finger never left Harry's chin and though his touch was barely there, Harry felt that the Dark Lord held him in a grasp tighter than a constrictor's coils.
"But he trains you," said Voldemort. "He teaches you and watches over you and makes it his solemn duty to help you become the greatest wizard you can be. Why does he do this, Harry?"
"I don't know, My Lord," said Harry, his heart pounding so loud he was sure the Dark Lord could hear each frantic beat.
"Because I told him to," Voldemort replied, eyes gleaming. "My servants do exactly as I say, regardless of whether they would rather not. Regardless of how much they loath their orders. Regardless of how they feel. Your parents, for example, handed you to me not because they wanted to but because I ordered it. You live in my palace — one of the highest of honors — because I see greatness in you. And one day that greatness will serve me. But fail me," Voldemort continued, his finger curving so the nail bit into Harry's skin, "and it will not be you Lord Voldemort will punish, but your mother. Your father. Do you intend to fail me, Harry?"
Terrified, Harry shook his head. It was a rule to never look the Dark Lord in the eye, but Harry couldn't have broken their contact even if he'd tried.
"Good," Voldemort breathed, smiling. "Now hurry back to Severus and have him see to that sting."
.
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Author's Note:
Short little thing though it is, it is important. There will be a few more 'mini' chapters like this one that will explore specific, critical moments in AU Harry's and AU Tom's history in this AU world. Next chapter: we'll find out where Harry is!
As always, thank you for reading and commenting. 3
