Icy Destiny

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer: No, I do not own HP.

A/N: I'm not planning on following J.K Rowling's Timeline since I just realized that if I did, Voldemort would have had Harry when he was pretty damn OLD. So I'm going to screw things around a bit. Lily, James, as well as most of the Canon adult characters will be born earlier (not by much, but enough so that Harry remains younger than they are). Most of Harry's classmates – ie, Ron, Hermione, etc – will not play a part in this story. Secondly, in regards to the fact that Harry's elemental magic gets "canceled out" when it comes in contact with magical items…this only applies to wizard-made items. He is able to manipulate natural magical items with ease. Lastly, someone asked if Merlin was a wizard. The answer to that is yes. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 10: Dancing with Fire

Three year old Harry stared up solemnly at his father. Taking a hesitant step forward, he slowly wrapped his arms around his father's leg and buried his face against his cloak. He choked back a sob as he felt his father stiffen uncomfortably.

"Daddy…"

His father had been wondering for the longest time why he, at the tender age of three, had yet to perform any accidental magic. So with that in order, Tom had taken him to a private clinic where a kind, red-head med-witch had diagnosed him as a squib. Harry's bottom lip trembled at the memory. His father had been so shocked at the discovery that he had failed to hide the horror and…disgust from his face.

"What is it, Harry?" Tom said stiffly, making no move to embrace his son.

The boy bowed his head and tightened his hold upon his father, as if fearing the man might disappear. He wanted his 'Daddy' back. He wanted things to go back to the way it was. He wanted his father to love him again. "Do…" Harry sniffled, before looking up and focusing his bright emerald green eyes upon his father's stoic face. "Do you hate me now?" he whispered.

There was a long silence, as the elder man met his son's tear-stained eyes before looking away. "No, Harry," Tom said softly. "No, I don't hate you." With a partly forced smile, he reached down and ruffled his son's hair.

"But you don't even look at me anymore," Harry whispered, his childish voice breaking.

Tom sighed softly, feeling even colder when confronted by his child's soft accusation. He gently pried his son's fingers from his robes, ignoring a whimper of protest, before kneeling before the boy. With a hint of hesitation, he slowly reached up to cup his son's chin. "I'm sorry," he stated, not offering any excuses for his actions. "I didn't mean to hurt you, little one."

"I know." Harry fiddled with the edges of his robes, ducking his head in a combination of shame and embarrassment. "I'm sorry that I'm a squib," he said childishly. "I didn't mean to be one."

"I know." Tom's shoulders hunched tiredly, suddenly feeling much older than his thirty one years. "You are who you are, Harry," he said softly. "Even though it'll take…time for me to adjust to your new situation, you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are." Tom struggled with his next words, feeling the hypocrisy tainting his advice. "If you are to be a squib, then just make sure that you'll become the best squib that you can be."

A wide smile broke out on Harry's face.

"Ok. I promise."

Deep within the caverns of his current hideout, Voldemort suddenly jerked awake. A soft hiss escaped his pale white lips as he recalled the dream. His skeletal white fingers tightened its hold on his sheets as memories from a long forgotten past danced tauntingly before his mind's eye.

Dear ghost, why must you haunt me so?

He didn't know why he chose to endure this. If he wanted, he could have caged these memories and buried them deep within the recesses of his mind, never to be heard from again…Voldemort allowed a bitter chuckle to escape his lips. Despite his acceptance of his son's death, he hadn't been able to wash the blood of his hands. And to be honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted to…

Voldemort closed his eyes tiredly.

The Darkness was slowly devouring him. Even now, as he lay in bed, he couldn't help but feel something prodding him to actively torture. Voldemort's lip curled into a self-loathing smile. He had chosen this path and accepted all the burdens of turning truly Dark…he hadn't minded the imminent insanity nor the ice that enveloped his entire soul. His only regret was that he didn't want to forget…

Is it foolish to love a memory, child? His mind whispered. If you were still here, would you laugh at me? Or would you kill me?

The Dark thrived on negative emotions and anything remotely "Light" was purged from his memory until it became nothing more than a shadow. Voldemort's breath hitched as yet another memory flashed across his mind. He wanted this. He longed for this. To…be able to see his dear child once more, even if it was nothing more than as a memory.

He couldn't forgive himself for his transgressions. To do so, he would be forced to relinquish his memories of his beloved heir…and that, in itself, is unacceptable. He needed to continue to suffer in order to keep the Darkness convinced that such memories were not worth destroying. Crimson red eyes flared open in determination.

I won't forget you, my fallen heir.

--

Forbidden Forest

His hand gently trailed a path across the ragged bark of an Elm tree. A small smile graced his lips as he felt the tree's spirit raise in greeting, willingly relinquishing some leaves as a gift. Harry knew that the tree could feel the bitter scent of winter in the distance. Whispers of darkness. Whispers of light. The Elm lightly moved its branches and shed a few more leaves, allowing it fallen to wrap itself protectively around Nature's Child.

"Thank you," Harry said, his eyes shining gratefully.

The tree spirit brightened one last time before retreating back to continue its slumber.

The boy continued his trek through the Forbidden Forest, his bare feet digging comfortably into the dirt. Random shrubs and brush reached out to pat and hug him before reluctantly moving aside for the Elemental. He gently raised his magical aura, feeling more than seeing the forest thrum in delight.

Harry had discovered early in his training that as an Elemental, his magic sometimes made plants appear sentient. It wasn't so much as if they could think on their own or that they would obey his orders...but rather they became strangely attached to him. Harry tilted his head in mild amusement as a tendril of poison ivy latched jealously about his waist.

"Hello there."

He placed a hand on the vine and stroked it soothingly while whispering something under his breath. After a few minutes, with a strange air of sadness, the vine slowly retracted itself from his person and returned to its previous position. Harry continued deeper into the forest, ignoring the darkness and the thin spots of light appearing from the dense canopy.

He needed to find somewhere to meditate.

He needed to organize his thoughts.

He needed to restore his balance.

Harry ran his hand through his hair in mild frustration as he recalled the events that had transpired earlier that day. Though he hadn't truly expected much from Dumbledore's precious Light Wizards, he had been knocked sideways by how prejudiced and corrupt they were. It was like watching a bunch of Death Eaters plot and plan their next mode of attack.

"Really, a squib?" The man sneered at Dumbledore, before hiking his gaze up and down the boy's form with an air of disgust. "Headmaster, surely, you don't think our forces have become so desperate that we would need and accept help from the likes of...them," he said, emphasizing the last word.

Harry closed his eyes in disbelief, shocked by the sheer amount of hatred that he felt directed towards him. He paused as he felt Dumbledore's hand tighten protectively about his shoulder before proceeding to give his follower a pointed glare.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. He wasn't supposed to be making things more difficult for the tired o' Light Lord. Dumbledore shouldn't have had to choose between him and his Order. It should have been simply. He would join and provide aid from the background.

Hell. He wasn't supposed to be causing trouble.

"Look," Harry said evenly, shrugging off Dumbledore's protective hold and stepping forward to meet the man's dark eyes. "I know that you and your fellow wizards don't want me to join you on the battlefield," he said calmly, ignoring the taunts and insults that were kindly delivered his way. "And for your information, I have no intentions of doing so." Harry squared his shoulders in defiance. "I've been trained in medicine of sorts and I can help patch up the wounded."

The man raised his brow tauntingly. "How could you help when you can't cast magic?"

"By non-magical means of course," he said stiffly. Harry's face tightened as he fought to leash his anger. These wizards were so…blind, ignorant, and worthless. "If you want, I can limit my…services to Muggles only. They aren't familiar with magic and would feel more comfortable being treated by Muggle means," he finished.

The wizards exchanged hesitant glances before nodding in acceptance. Loathe as they were to allow a squib to join their ranks, Dumbledore had insisted. And so long as the brat stayed out of their way, it shouldn't be that hard to tolerate the boy's presence.

Harry rubbed his temple tiredly, as he finally plopped down on a smooth black rock. Not for the first time since he had arrived, he couldn't help long for the stilted tranquility that Gaia's fortress had provided. At least there, he was safe from the flocks of ignoramus, prejudiced sheep. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on slowly relinquishing his tightly wound temper.

Even if he wouldn't admit it aloud, the wizards' words had struck at some old wounds. His temper flashed at the memory. Squib. Why was everyone so determined to hate? He wasn't utterly useless just because he supposedly lacked magical powers. He had a mind of his own. He had the will to carry out his own dreams. He was human just like the rest of them.

Harry's gaze darkened, as a certain image flicker to the front of his mind. Tom Riddle. The one man who he had loved and trusted above all. The one man who had attempted to murder him. His magic thrummed dangerously as it reacted to his anger and pain.

I want to hate him.

I wish I could afford to hate him.

He bowed his head as some foliage attempted to rub his back soothingly. To be honest, he didn't' know that to think about his…father. The man had been his sole companion and playmate for his first few years of life. The man had loved him from the bottom of his heart. And even if his actions had been regrettable in the end, he did it out of love. Many families often locked up and even tortured their squib children in some mad hope of cleansing the blemish from their magical family tree. Harry sighed once again. In that regard, he had to be thankful that his father had chosen to stray from the typical mold.

But he betrayed me all the same.

Tom Riddle had been far too obsessed with some 'journey' that he had needed to go through. He hadn't been too forthcoming to his son about the details, but Harry did know that his father had intended to change the wizarding world.

Was your quest more important than your son? Harry's mind thought beseechingly. If you had a chance to do things over again, would you still sacrifice me? Or would you allow me to trod by your side through all of eternity?

A small, taunting smile emerged upon Harry's face as he realized how utterly absurd he was being. His father was most likely comfortable with whatever cushy position he had landed. The last thing he probably wanted would be for his supposedly dead squib heir to make an appearance. Harry chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, before he made his decision.

I'll leave you be, father, he promised mentally. Feel safe in knowing that I won't push myself upon you and force you to acknowledge me. If we meet again…we will meet as strangers. With that said, Harry closed his eyes and prepared himself to begin meditating.

This time I'll be strong.

--

Voldemort's Hideout

A darkly clocked man entered the throne room, long platinum blonde hair trailing elegantly behind him, as he bowed deeply to his Lord. Lucius raised his steely gray eyes and met the Dark Lord's burning crimson red ones. "I've some interesting information, m'Lord."

The Dark Lord impatiently beckoned the man to continue.

"After deep investigation, we have uncovered that the mysterious force from the Diagon Alley Battle used none other than elemental magic," Lucius stated, a hint of discontent entering his voice. "The Ministry is up in shambles trying to determine who their mysterious 'savior' is."

Voldemort nodded briefly, as he rolled the word around his tongue. Elemental magic. The Lost Arts. Magic that was lost during Atlantis's destruction. A dark grin appeared on his face, causing Lucius to flinch. This mysterious opponent was becoming more worthy by the second. "Have they had any breakthroughs?"

"No, m'Lord," Lucius cleared his throat nervously. "The Ministry tried performing a scan throughout magical Britain for abnormally large magical signatures. They located only two – yours and Dumbledore's. This elemental wizard has to either be exceptionally strong to evade the Ministry prods or is simply too weak to show up on the radar. I'm assuming it's the former."

Voldemort's smirk grew wider. "Perhaps," he said cruelly. "But either way, it'll be entertaining hunting this figure down." He hissed something under his breath to Nagini who hissed darkly in return. "I haven't had an adequate challenge in ages."

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TBC

A/N: Sorry this chapter was a bit rushed and not very well written.

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