DISCLAIMER: HARRY POTTER AND EVERYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH THE FRANCHISE BELONGS TO J.K ROWLING. I REPEAT I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. BUT ANY OC'S IN THIS STORY BELONG TO ME!
WARNINGS: THIS WILL BE SLASH. THIS IS A HARRYMORT FANFICTION (HARRY/VOLDEMORT SLASH) SLYTHERIN!HARRY DARK!HARRY
THIS WILL BE M RATED LATER ON. Dumbledore/Hermione/Ron BASHING.
Author's note: I apologise for not updating yesterday. I hit a huge mental block and just couldn't think of what to write! I swear the next chapter will be longer! If you have any views on how the story should continue please leave them in the review section and I will be sure to read them and hopefully incorporate them into my story!
Harry was in a darkened office, only lit by one singular candle on the wall. He took in his surroundings. The walls were made of brick and no wallpaper was used to cover them. A desk could be seen at the back of the room, with an unoccupied chair behind it. There was a bookshelf to the left of the room, near the fireplace which bared no flame. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, and he swivelled round, wand pointed in the air to see who was there. He came face to face with a mirror, but he could not see himself in it. Harry let out a gasp as he gazed into the glowing, crimson red eyes that stared back at him. The tingling in his scar was back full force, stronger than ever, and Harry let his eyes droop shut, surrendering to the pleasurable sensation that was running through his veins. A deep, sensual voice whispered into the darkness:
"Harry..."
Harry's eyes snapped open. He was slightly disappointed to realise that it had all been a dream. Those eyes...Harry could picture them clearly in his mind. They were the colour of rubies and Harry was completely mesmerised by them.
It had felt so real...I wish it would have been so...
Harry sighed and cast a quick tempus spell (which he had read about in one of his books). The time was 6:14am and the other boys had just started to wake up, most moaning about how they were up before the sun was out. Harry shook his head at their antics and went to take a shower.
After finishing up in the bathroom, he got dressed into his school robes and tied his hair back with a black band. By this time – 6:45am - all the boys were up, and running round, getting their own clothes on. Harry sat down on his bed, stroking Querella's scales as she slept, thinking about his dream.
Those eyes...they were so beautiful...
He was snapped out of his musings when Draco called him over, as it was time to head downstairs for the meeting.
When they entered the common room, a small congregation had formed in the centre of the room. Draco and the other boys excitedly joined the others, whilst Harry chose to remain to the very back of the group, close to the bottom of the staircase. After a few minutes of waiting, Harry started up a low conversation with Ella, who had perched herself upon his shoulder again. The common room door suddenly swung open, and a man with shoulder length, greasy black hair and a long crooked nose strode into the room. He towered over the children, sneering at their obvious fear.
"Welcome to Slytherin." The man greeted sarcastically.
"Here are your timetables."
With that the man flung the bundled pile of parchments onto the couch. He sneered at them again, just for good measure and began to walk towards the door. Before he left the room he spun round and bellowed:
"And if any of you turn up late to your Potions lessons, you will be punished accordingly."
The door slammed shut behind him, and the room fell into an awkward silence.
Blaise was the one to break it by asking Draco:
"Is that really your godfather?"
Draco turned to Blaise, with a beaming smile on his face.
"Yeah it is! Cool isn't he?"
When he noticed all the children shooting him bewildered looks at how un-Malfoyish he was acting, he straightened himself up and relaxed his face so that he appeared impassive.
"I mean, yes you are quite right Blaise. Sevvy... Err Professor Snape is my Godfather."
Harry watched in disgust as the slytherins pounced upon the pile and went tearing through it for the own timetables – like animals do when capture their prey. Harry shared this with Querella who completely agreed.
"Masster, I'm hungry. Can we go to the hall now?"
Harry glanced over to Querella, then back to the rabid children.
"I need my timetable, Ella..."
She then began to wail, and plead her master, saying she was going to die of starvation.
"Enough!" He sighed in exasperation, "Okay, we will go to breakfast now, but we will have to be quick about it, as we will need to return to the dormitories to collect my timetable after we have eaten."
Querella hissed her thanks, and so they went down to breakfast.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, they sat at the Slytherin table. Harry deliberately chose a spot in the unoccupied quarter of the table – which happened to be quite close to the head table – so that he did not have to socialise with anyone.
Harry enjoyed solitude. He had become so used to it from his days at the Dursleys' home and the Orphanage – where everyone was too afraid to utter a word to him after the incident with Jake.
Harry did not want to socialise with anyone. He just wanted to think about those red eyes. Harry was sure he had read something about a person having red eyes in one of his many books, but he could not remember whom that was written about.
Harry plated himself a croissant, muesli and an orange and Querella some...ham. When Querella demanded that she wanted to try some ham, Harry had thought she was saying it jokingly, and had raised an eyebrow at her. When she had stated that she was deadly serious, Harry had given her a piece to try, and after receiving a positive response of:
"Massster thiss is deliciousss! Much better than ratss!"
Harry handed her more and went back to eating his own meal.
He was just about to take a sip from his glass of milk, when he felt the sensation in his scar, which he loved, again. Harry looked up to the head table, and saw Professor Quirrell staring at him intensely, as if he were searching for something... Harry lost himself to the warmth that was pulsating from his scar, and spreading through his veins. The feeling was suddenly lost when his DADA Professor turned away. Harry could not help but feel disappointed at this, but shook his head, drank the rest of his milk, told Querella they had to go back to the Common Room and went on his way, when Ella was safely on his shoulder.
Five minutes later, they arrived at the Common Room door and Harry said the password: "communis cella" before entering.
What he saw upon entering made Harry's anger boil. There, on the couch was his timetable, well, a piece of it. There were other pieces of paper scattered around the room, which he could only assume was the rest of his timetable.
"Sssomeone hass had the audaccity to tear apart my timetable!" Harry shouted in parseltongue, feeling no need to hide his emotions in front of his familiar.
"Masster! You musst calm yoursself before you break ssomething!"
Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, allowing himself to calm. He reopened them again after a few moments, feeling considerably calmer and then proceeded to walk across the room and up the stairs to the dormitory.
"Masster, what are you doing?" Ella queried when they entered the dormitory.
"I own a book that containss a sspell that ssummonss objectss to you and a sspell that repairss broken thingss."
Harry rummaged through his trunk's library and selected a book from it. He turned to the contents page and it stated that the two subjects he wished to read up on were on pages 247 and 394.
When he had found what he needed to, he headed back down the stairs. He pointed his wand at the scrap of paper on the couch and muttered:
"Accio Harry Potter's timetable."
In a flash, the pieces of paper that had been all over room, zoomed towards the couch and landed in a pile.
"Reparo," Harry whispered.
The pieces of paper proceeded to lift into the air, and began smashing into each other, gluing themselves back together.
Whilst this was happening, Harry cast a quick tempus to check the time. It was now 8:50am, so he only had ten minutes to get to first class.
After another minute, his timetable had repaired itself. He looked over it.
Harry Potter – Timetable
Period 1
Period 2
Period 3
Period 4
Period 5
Period 6
Monday
Potions (S/H)
Charms (S/R)
H.O.M (S/H)
Trans-figuration (S/G)
Trans -
figuration (S/G)
DADA (S/G)
Tuesday
Flying Lesson (S only)
Herbology (S/R)
Charms (S/R)
Potions (S/H)
DADA (S/G)
DADA (S/G)
Wednesday
H.O.M (S/H)
Flying Lesson (S only)
Potions (S/H)
Potions (S/H)
H.O.M (S/H)
Astronomy
(12:00am)
Thursday
Potions (S/H)
Charms (S/R)
Trans – figuration (S/G)
Trans – figuration (S/G)
DADA (S/G)
(S/R)
Friday
Charms (S/H)
DADA (S/G)
Charms (S/H)
Transiguration (S/G)
Herbology (S/R)
Herbology (S/R)
Great. He now had only 8 minutes to get to Potions, and he had no idea where the classroom was. Harry only knew that it was somewhere in the dungeons. He collected his things and walked out of the common room door – Ella asleep on his shoulder. Harry wondered if that's all snakes did – sleep because that's all Ella seemed to do. Well, that and complain.
The dungeons were like a maze. Harry kept walking down darkly lit corridors, hoping to find himself at his classroom, yet he seemed to always come to a dead end. He checked through all the doors he past, finding some locked and many uninhabited.
By this point, Harry was already a whole five minutes late. He was just about to give up his search, when he heard Professor Snape's voice through a door to the left of the corridor he was presently occupying. Harry walked towards the door, with a slight feel of apprehension, knowing that the reception he was going to get from Snape at his late entrance was not going to be pleasant.
As per usual, he found his assumption was correct.
Harry had strode into the room, wearing no emotion what so ever on his face, and went to sit himself down next to Draco, who was looking at him as if to say:
"Ha! You're going to get killed!"
He sat down and splayed his things out on the desk. He was just about to open his potions book, when Snape pounced on him.
"Mister Potter. How gracious it is of you to show up to class. Why, I half expected the arrogant, self absorbed son of James Potter" Snape spat the name out, as if it were cursed, "not to show up to my class at all."
Emerald eyes met those of obsidian.
"I apologise most profusely sir. It was my intention to appear on time to your class, early in fact, yet circumstances could not allow this to occur."
Snape sneered at Harry.
"Yes, next you will tell me that it was somebody else's fault, no?"
Harry remained cool and composed, not letting his outrage towards Snape's complete disregard for him. It was as he said this that he felt a slight prodding feeling in his mind. Legillemency. Harry had to smirk as he watched Snape's eyes widen ever so slightly.
Yes, Harry was a master of occlumency. He had studied it for several weeks. Harry had meditated every day for a month and learnt to hide his memories from view. He had pictured his room at the orphanage, and hidden his thoughts, emotions and memories in the things he had within his bedroom. Harry hid his memories of being beaten under his bed, in his trunk and locked it, so only a parselmouth could open it. He had hidden his memories and feelings of being happy (which were very few) into his toy box, which had four padlocks on it. The other memories he had, he hid under his duvet and pillows. No one could access his mind if Harry did not want them to.
Snape shook himself out of his stupor and turned away abruptly, shouting out page numbers they needed to read and passages they needed to take notes on for the assignment that would be set at the end of the week.
When the lesson ended, Harry half expected Snape to keep him behind to discuss how an eleven year old boy, who for the past ten years of his life supposedly had no idea that magic existed, was a master occlumence, yet he let Harry go with the others, not even sparing Harry a glance.
Nothing very eventful happened after that, most lessons just being used as an introductory lesson, where the teacher explained what they would be learning throughout the course of the year. That was until Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had entered the class, on his own, ten minutes early. Professor Quirrell was sat at his desk marking papers when Harry had strode in, and took a seat closest to his desk. Quirrell was taken aback. His eyes caught Harry's'.
Harry sucked in a breath. God he loved that feeling. Quirrell's eyes looked over Harry curiously at this response.
"Mr Ppotter, it ap..pears you are e..early." He stuttered out.
Harry reopened his eyes, not even being aware that he had closed them and replied coolly:
"I apologise sir. If that is a problem, I will take my leave."
"Of c..course it is not Mist..ter Potter."
Harry was quickly surrendering to the sensations running through his body. He pictured red eyes staring back at him instead of the dull brown ones belonging to Quirrell.
"How very interesting..."
Harry's eyes widened. That was the voice... from his dream. He had heard it. Was he going insane? No one else was in the room, other than Harry and Professor Quirrell and both of them had not uttered a word. Maybe its all just in my mind.
"Yes."
Harry had definitely heard that. Was someone in his mind?
"Yes. I am in your mind."
Harry took this in.
"You're in my mind? But how is that possible? I'm a master..."
"Occlumence yes." The voice finished for him, "Quite an impressive feat for one so young."
"Who are you?" Harry asked in his mind to the voice, wishing he could know its owner – the one with those beautiful, red eyes.
The voice chuckled.
"My my Harry. You will just have to figure that out yourself."
With that, the presence withdrew from his mind.
Harry spent all term trying to figure out who the person was.
It was the day before the Yule holidays, when Harry finally discovered who the individual with the red eyes was. He had been reading his book on Famous Wizards at the time. Harry had skipped to page 1222 – the page dedicated to the most powerful,dark wizard of all time – Lord Voldemort. He had read it all before, but he was just so intrigued by him. Harry's eyes widened in shock and disbelief when he read the first sentence of the fifth paragraph:
The most iconic feature of he-who-must-not-be-named were his eyes that were the colour of blood.
Harry could only think one thing as he read it.
Lord Voldemort was inside my mind...