Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Before we go on, I'd just like to say that I recently posted a new fiction called Swastika Ashes on the site. It is not getting many views, perhaps because of the small amount of interest in historical areas such as the Holocaust. I hope, as a favour, some of you can check it out – just to see if it suits your tastes.
Here is the summary:
1940, Second World War. Hitler's reign took its toll on Great Britain. When a German bomb hit Wool's orphanage, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are forced to evacuate with other children on a London train heading for the docks. The train was intercepted, the children seized by Nazis. Held captive in a Berlin concentration camp, Harry is injured during an attempted escape and left to die.
Coincidentally found and blooded by an elderly vampire lord, Harry gains immortality and is introduced to a new, sophisticated world of aristocratic vampirism. Slowly, he finds his place and wins his maker's affection.
Decades later, in 1996, Lord Voldemort recruits vampire covens for the upcoming wizarding war, when he plans on destroying the Boy-Who-Lived. What is Harry's part in this...and how would this concern his new-found vampire family?
Grey! Vampire! Harry. Different Boy-Who-Lived. AU mentorship.
"Do you, Lord Voldemort, agree to join forces with Harry and me in light of these recent events?" Tom asked.
"I do."
A circle of golden light weaved around their extended wrists, while Daphne stood by the side – looking at them in faint horror.
"Do you swear not to betray us?"
There was a hesitant pause this time. "…I do."
"Do you swear you will use our full powers instead of imprisoning us?" Tom said, his voice rich with triumph.
"I do."
"Do you promise to disregard the past deeds, excuse the punishments you wish to heap upon Harry and me, and start anew?"
Ringing silence. The Dark Lord did not seem keen on an answer.
"My Lord?" Tom pushed brutally.
"I do." It was an angry, almost inhuman hiss that erupted from Voldemort's lips.
Another golden thread entwined their wrists. Tom nodded at Daphne to end the Unbreakable Vow. He was triumphant.
"Not yet," the Dark Lord snapped, whirling to face Tom. "Do you swear, in return, that you and Harry will not betray me a second time?"
"I do." And the binding was complete.
With a whisk of his wand, Tom knocked all of the memories in the past few minutes out of Daphne's mind. "If you do not mind, my Lord, I will go and fetch Harry now."
As he pushed his way through the lush meadows of copious gorgeous wildflowers, Tom Riddle's sharp, merciless features relaxed into a genuinely satisfied smile.
His mission could not have gone better. He had executed it perfectly, with the exact right amount of pressure and charm.
On the other hand, being Tom Riddle, he expected nothing less from himself.
He knew he had done Harry a great favour – although the boy did not deserve it.
Even Voldemort thought he was becoming too soft.
Tom gave a derisive snort. He also knew that once Harry heard of the news, the very last thing he would show was gratitude. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered…
He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, despite not being an optimist was far from being pessimistic. He was a realist. And he was ready to bet on his life that Harry's reaction would be ugly.
He was not an overtly imaginative Dark Lord, he had to admit, but he could predict it all: the outraged look of betrayal, the shouting, the threats and accusations and maybe, maybe Harry would even try to curse him.
Not that he was uncertain about who would end up cradling the worse wounds, but he was keen to avoid that turn of events if possible.
Tom reached down and brutally snapped a primrose from the middle of its stem. He really was becoming a saint, he decided in disgust.
Not only had he arranged for Voldemort to be merciful on Harry, had arranged countless Cruciatus Curses to be taken off his punishment list, but he had handed himself as well to the Dark Lord purely out of the protection Lord Voldemort could provide for Harry from Dumbledore.
Harry owed his life to Tom… Goodness knows how dangerous it was to bargain with the devil or in this case, Voldemort, but Tom had gone ahead and done exactly that.
And for what?
He himself could not find an answer within him. Perhaps he simply revelled in creating dark princes for the sake of saving them from their fates.
Tom's fist tightened punitively and the primrose in his hand crumpled into crushed golden petals.
The colour of self sacrifice looked unflattering on his intelligent stature. He would make sure Harry paid him back for the favours he had done him in double the price.
—0O0—
"Tom," Harry called, "where on earth were you?" He bounded up from the position on a patch of grass.
"Nowhere that would interest you," Tom replied smoothly.
"I've been looking for you since the crack of dawn," Harry said, with a small grin. "Thought you got tired of running away and went to commit a suicide."
"Do I look at all suicidal to you? If there is a single person who values life more than anyone else on this planet, it ought to be me." Tom raised a mocking eyebrow. "Trust you to wake up at the first rays of sunlight."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing you should worry about."
Harry frowned. Tom was acting bizarrely, even for himself. He had always been a mysterious wizard, but this morning it seemed all young Dark Lord wanted from Harry was to mind his own business.
"I want to know, Tom," Harry stated, in a voice of steely determination. "Where did you go?"
"You should learn to respect other people's privacy, Harry," Tom said coolly. "Especially the privacy of a future Dark Lord. I will thank you to keep your wretched curiosity to yourself."
"What a shame the prospect of receiving your gratitude is not extremely tempting to me," Harry countered, giving a sharp, glistening smile. "My intuition tells me wherever you went concerns me – and my intuition is rarely wrong."
"It seems like your intuition has just made a mistake a few seconds ago."
"It hasn't," Harry bit down in confirmation. "I am sure of it."
"Very well, if you must know…" Tom gave a fake, breezy sigh. "I have discovered our next destination. As soon as you get there, you will be in no danger from Dumbledore."
"You are lying, right?" Harry asked, with a brisk laugh in his voice. "This is a joke."
"It isn't."
"Ha, ha, really funny, Tom," he said lightly. "You cannot escape from Dumbledore if he is resolute on finding you."
"I have my own methods," Tom said remotely. "They just may save your life."
"And what methods may they be?" Harry asked, teasingly.
"You will find out when the time comes. You'll only have to wait a few hours – we will head there when night falls again."
—0O0—
Night did fall, silently, like ink spilling from an inkwell. It rolled like curtains over the heavens, causing the limitless blue sky to suddenly plunge into darkness.
Harry bowed his head against the raging wind that swooped down like a banshee as it claimed the leaves that abandoned their branches to become prisoners of the wind.
It truly felt like he had stepped from the mortal world through one of the gateways to hell. Or rather, Tom had apparated him directly to hell.
He looked back, at where the horizon should have been. The sun had long faded, as had its warmth.
Where the underside of the sun should have dipped into vivid, crystal clear waters of a lake, there was eternally stretching darkness.
Where there should have been green fields, blossoming flora, bees humming, birds singing and crickets chirping was only Tom Riddle striding emotionlessly ahead.
Where kind sunbeams should have reached down and gingerly tickled the soft blades of the grass, before kissing the sky, was a crow cawing overhead on a bare tree with crooked branches that were outstretched like ashen fingers of the deceased.
Harry felt exposed. Dreadfully exposed, for reasons he knew not.
"It is close," Tom said evenly. "Very close."
Sure enough, within a few minutes, they had arrived. Harry stopped dead beside Tom and gaped in disbelief at their perfect safe haven.
There should have been a mansion, with divine, copper-red bricks and transparent windows that glistened like chipped diamonds under the sun's glare. Perhaps one of the windows could have revealed a grand piano through velvet curtains.
He had expected a scene taken directly from paradise.
And instead was greeted by a chilling nightmare.
There was a shadowy mansion, materialising from behind clouds – and yet still half hidden by menacing iron gates. It was like a lithe predator, crouching discreetly and ready to spring at any moment.
The countless windows that overlooked the manor grounds had dark green draperies covering them.
Somewhere beyond the iron gates, Harry knew, was an enriched flower garden with a statue of Hades, God of the Underworld. He was all too familiar with it.
Even the sight of his old 'home' brought back painfully searing memories. Every fragment of his previous life held one individual. One individual who had controlled him like a puppet and tormented him.
Looking up from beneath his dark lashes, Harry knew that the evil man dwelled inside the manor… and that Tom Riddle – a former trusted ally – had manipulated that trust and led him straight into the snake's pit.
Without warning, Harry jerked backwards and twisted around wordlessly.
He ran.
Down the narrow path he had walked up with Tom Bloody Riddle. He tore down the pathway, brushing past low-hanging branches, and pictured Hogsmeade in his mind. He made an attempt at Apparition.
It felt like slamming headfirst into a solid concrete wall.
Oh, just brilliant. Somebody had put wards up. He was well and truly trapped.
Trapped in a snake pit with the most fearsome serpent of all: Lord Voldemort.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom Riddle approaching him… And following Tom were numerous Death Eaters that flew at him from the now opened iron gates like black wasps.
Harry yanked out his wand from his sleeve and levelled it at one of the Death Eaters and took aim.
It was all that required to knock the idiot out cold.
He was no longer a young boy, a weak fledgling – but it made little difference when he was facing not only two versions of the Dark Lord but also the entire army of Voldemort's merciless minions.
He was helpless. He would be helpless no matter what his decision.
And so he chose not to fight.
Glancing out at the sea of black robes, he quickly decided with conviction that struggling was a waste of effort. He pinpointed Bellatrix, with her streaming curls and cruel laughter.
Even if he killed himself trying to escape, he still would not be able to make it past twenty metres.
"I believed you," was all he coldly said, when Tom came within hearing range. "I believed you when you said you were taking me to a safe haven. You know, they say naivety can kill - I think I know what it means, now."
"Not all safe havens are like Noah's Ark," Tom replied shortly.
"Isn't that similar to what the Nazis told the Jews?" Harry said stonily. "That they were going to be taking a shower… and then gas them?"
"It must be –" Tom was interrupted by Bellatrix's frantic shrieks.
"The boy, the traitor! Can you not see, you blind fools?" she screeched loudly. "Bind him for our lord!"
A pair of burly Death Eaters with bulging arm muscles stepped forward meaningfully with their wands outstretched. They looked as if they were going to obey the Dark Lord's top lieutenant.
Harry stiffened. He would curse their hands off if they dared to touch him… and he was about to say so.
But it turned out he didn't even need to.
"Order your imbeciles to keep their filthy paws to themselves, Bella," Tom commanded icily. "Harry is the Dark Lord's prize."
"And please, if I may know, who placed you in charge?" Bellatrix sneered. "Who placed you, the newcomer, who does not even know the ropes, in charge?"
"Lord Voldemort placed me in charge," Tom snapped. "Be mindful of how you speak."
Bellatrix inhaled sharply, in a mixture of shock and fury. "You dare taint his name with your common tongue?"
"Be quiet, Bella," Tom hissed softly, "while I deliver our guest to the Dark Lord."
Perhaps there was something foreboding in his tone... Harry was not sure… but whatever it was, it made Bellatrix effectively fall silent.
"Tell me, Tom," Harry said slowly, "am I a gift to Voldemort in order for you to return to his good books? Or am I a sacrifice that has to be made?"
"Neither."
"Then…" Harry gave a bitter smile. "What am I?"
"You will find out when you see him." Tom's eyes glinted teasingly at him, as if it was nothing but a light joke.
A series of hysterical laughter threatened to bubble from Harry's lips. This was what he got for being too trusting.
...
"Really, it is an immense pleasure to see you, Harry," the Dark Lord purred, as he glided across the unoccupied hall.
"Beg your pardon, my Lord, but I hope you will not take offense when I say the exact opposite." Harry stood rigidly in the middle of the room, unmoving.
Watching the show from a dim corner, Tom let out a small chuckle that drew both the stares of Harry and the Dark Lord.
"Surprised much, my Lord?" Tom asked smoothly. "I even corrected his informal language."
Every existing nerve in Harry's body was screaming at him to turn tail and flee… and he was resolutely ignoring the impulse… but he was not going to fight the monster either. He would not give Voldemort the indulgence.
"Amazing," the Dark Lord commented. "He is certainly…"
A delicate pause while Voldemort looked him up and down.
"…a work of art."
"Which one?" Tom asked, in jest. "The Mona Lisa or the Birth of Venus?"
"Last time I checked, Harry was not a Muggle girl with invisible eyebrows," Voldemort said. "But perhaps I passed over something."
Tom made a soft sound of appreciation.
"So…" Voldemort returned his attention to him. "How are we feeling, Harry?"
He bit into his lips until he drew blood. He was not going to grace Voldemort with his words.
Voldemort walked silently around Harry so that he advanced from behind him. "Harry, Harry, need I remind you how wearisome you have become for me?" he hissed gently.
Harry suddenly felt the horrid, glacial sensation of the Dark Lord's yew wand trailing his neck. He gasped noiselessly as memories he would rather forget shot back at him with the force of a cannonball.
The Dark Lord turned towards Harry again, with a face the colour of thunder. "Harry Potter… Do you now see the full extent of trouble your actions caused me?" He clicked his fingers, and Harry landed embarrassingly on the floor.
"Do you now see the mess you created? Crucio!"
Nothing could have prepared Harry for this pain; it dug into him with claws and rolled onto him in exploding waves. It tossed him off his feet and proceeded to burn him alive from the inside.
It was too much. "Get your wand off me!" Harry snarled, brandishing his own wand with the quickness of a viper. "Stay away."
A look of surprise flitted across the Dark Lord's expression for the fleetest of moments. "You dare raise a hand to me, Harry?"
Another memory attacked him. He could never forget it; the agonising pain Voldemort put him through would stay with him forever.
Miraculously, it struck Voldemort – who had been caught completely off guard – directly on the chest.
In Harry's weak state, it did little more than cause Voldemort a few mild cuts. On the other hand, it served very well to arouse the dark wizard's fury.
Harry was hurled thirteen feet into the air and slammed ferociously against one of the walls. The sudden pain blinded him.
"You dare attack me, Harry?" Voldemort asked.
The force pinning him against the wall was lifted and he came hurtling down. The collision with the ground probably broke one of his ribs. Everything was hazy, and something wet was flowing from his forehead.
"No," Harry gasped, wholly incapable of moving from his position.
"Yes, my Lord," Harry calmly replied, still clenching his wand. "I dare."
Voldemort chuckled, his laughter rich against the blank walls it bounced off. "I see, Harry, you have become…" He did not seem to bother to finish his sentence. "Better tuck your wand away, my boy. This will be a long night…"