Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the idea of Harry Potter or any of the money making forms of it.

A thanks to Throckmorton for the quick beta.

A/N: Well, I am pushing back the White Dragon after this one. This had started out as a nice small start for the White Dragon, but quickly escalated into something, well…more.

Clarification:

Does Harry know that these memories are Voldi's? - Yes, he's known since the first week of classes and has only told Hagrid this fact. No one else knows Harry is seeing Voldemort's memories. (The professors know about his nightmares of course, but do not know what Harry really dreams about, assuming they are about the night his parents were killed.)

If anyone else needs anything to be clarified because you've forgotten and don't know what part it was in, or simply have no clue and are confused, feel free to tell me. Questions help remind me to make sure I have everything covered, and probably help shy lurking readers :P.

Enjoy.


Book 2 – Part 1: Changed

Harry was thankful for his room. Ever since the 'letters from hell', as Vernon called them, came, Harry got Dudley's spare bedroom.

Several weeks had passed, and during those weeks, Harry had done a great deal of thinking, as well as planning. And whether or not he would admit it, those weeks alone in his bedroom, with nothing but his school supplies, Hedwig, occasional letters, and those dreams/nightmares/memories, he had changed.

He had convinced his aunt and uncle to let him keep his supplies in his room, saying that it was less likely to be seen, since no one saw his room, unlike the cupboard (which now held coats and boots, and the occasional jacket of a visitor). This horrified Petunia and Vernon. What would the neighbors think if word got out they were keeping magic books under the stairs?

He also got them by saying that if he wasn't able to study and keep up on his school work, he might get kicked out, and that would mean he would have to be with them during the school year, or they would have to pay for him to go to some boarding school.

After that discussion, Vernon all but ordered Harry to stash his school things in his room, which was all Harry wanted in the first place.

Once coming home, from either the second Voldemort exposure or the forming of the Custosae de Lux, Harry had dreams every night, seeing Voldemort's detailed memories.

Waking up from these 'memories' was always a little draining, but after experiencing them for years, these ones were not particularly stressful or traumatic, at least in comparison to the one that had woken his dorm mates at the beginning of term.

He had taken to documenting his dreams, writing down the spells he saw, describing what the spells/curses did, and how to do them. He also wrote the names of anyone identified, describe what they looked like, and any personality traits he noticed. He figured it could be useful later, either to him (though he was unlikely to forget), or to the Custosae de Lux.

He was certain he could do the spells he saw in his dreams himself, just like the curse, Ardesco, which had taken out the troll during Halloween. He wouldn't practice them in his room or anything of course, but he knew he could do them with no problem if necessary. His notebook of spells, curses, and charms was now half full, and growing after every night.

He became more excited about the Custosae de Lux as each day passed. He would teach his friends these things he learned from these dreams, take the terror Voldemort had used on innocent people, and turn it against Riddle and those like him.

The horrors he saw in his dreams would not befall upon anyone else if he had anything to say about it.

He had spent hours pondering the memories he had seen, particularly the prophecy memory and the Horcrux one.

Whirling the prophecy around in his head…

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

His stomach lurched as he looked at several facts. His birthday was at the end of the seventh month… his parents probably defied Voldemort several times… and Voldemort wanted him dead more than anything else…

Taking these things and putting them together, recalling that Dumbledore most likely knew why Voldemort was after him to begin with, he came to a conclusion…

He, Harry, was the one with the power to vanquish Voldemort… That was why Voldemort wanted him dead; Harry was a threat to him.

The moment he determined that, he felt something deep within him solidify. He was right.

He then thought about the Horcruxes. He was now certain those items he saw were horcruxes, things that somehow made Voldemort 'immortal'. But if he was the one who had the power to 'vanquish the Dark Lord', shouldn't there be a way to destroy or take away the power that those items held?

He decided to make the horcrux question the business of the Custosae de Lux when they got back to school. Hermione should be able to find something on them, and if not, Draco and the others were bound to have some dark book that had something about them, since those horcrux things were most likely very dark.

The only problem now was how he would tell them. Would he tell them the whole truth (including about have Voldemort's memories), just a part, or an innocent fib? But would a fib count as betrayal?

Harry decided against a fib, he didn't know much about wizards' oaths, but he knew they were not things to push, test, or break. Perhaps just parts of the truth, and then let it grow into the whole truth? Harry decided to think on that a little more later.

Staying in his room nearly every hour of the day (save for when he had to do the house work, which had surprisingly lessoned –Harry figured it was due to how much his relatives were afraid he'd cast magic), Harry had a great deal of free time. When he wasn't thinking about those memories or writing down the things concerning his dreams, he was doing the only thing he could do: study. Going through his books, he got flashes of memories, which only reinforced the knowledge he was gaining from the books and the memories even branched off into the reading Riddle had done after those books.

Harry no doubt now had pockets of abilities ranging from a solid first year to a 7th year with several Outstanding NEWTS. Although this was mildly confusing, everyday a gap was filled, and Harry's thirst for knowledge grew.

Harry was glad he had thought fast during those first days of summer. Because of his quick thinking/manipulation skills, Hedwig was allowed out at night.

It had been simple really. Harry asked to be able to let Hedwig out, only at night, to send messages to 'his lot' and 'his lot' would not bombard them with 'letters from hell'. He also told them that if he didn't send letters out, some of 'his lot' would become worried and check up on him. After the thought of oddly dressed people coming to his house, Vernon granted Hedwig's freedom, as long as it was only at night, and the 'bloody pigeon' stayed silent during the day.

After the first two weeks, Harry finished going over all of his books, and his memories were no longer showing him anything new, so Harry decided it was time to get new books.

(A/N: I know Hogwarts students don't get their letters for supplies and materials until later in the summer, but I think for Harry Potter, the manager would get the books early for him if he had requested them, and since money isn't an issue, why would there be a problem?)

Writing to Flourish and Blotts, he requested his second year school books to be owled to him (requesting them to make sure they were delivered to him at night), and the cost to be charged to his account. He also asked to be given a list of the books they carried so he might look over the list and buy more from them if he saw anything he liked. He hoped the little note of: 'I get bored during the summer and like to read a lot' would be enough explanation as to why he wanted his books now rather than later, and why he was possibly wanting extra books.

While waiting for his books to be delivered, he wrote to his friends. He had told them in his first letter that if they wrote to him, to have their owls deliver at night—he couldn't risk angering Vernon.

He had gotten several letters from his Gryffindor friends, but none from Draco. Crabbe and Goyle had both written him a few times, but their letters were mostly short and to the point, mainly along the lines of:

Hey,

I'm doin' good. Been readin' some, nothin' too interesting though, but one book shows promise, might bring it when school starts.

Later.

It was clear their letters were written in a rush, their writing sloppy and always being delivered by Hedwig after she had taken Harry's letter to them. Harry hoped his Slytherin friends were doing alright, but from everything they had written, it was clear that none of their families knew of the letters or of their friendships. Personally, Harry hoped it stayed that way.

Hermione's letters were a little more detailed. In hers, Harry got even more pumped about the Custosae de Lux. She would go on and on about what she thought they should do, how to conduct 'meetings' in secret, and how to add new members. She touched on learning advanced forms of magic, but didn't go too far into it (not knowing that Harry was already making plans into things like that).

Ron's letters were simple, but nice. He would tell him how his family was and what pranks the twins had done. Harry giggled, thinking about how the twins had somehow made the food cry when their mother was cooking it.

Neville's letters were a little more like Hermione's, but not as wordy. He told him about some of the things he was reading, and not all of it about Herbology. Harry smiled, pleasantly surprised that Neville was thinking about magic a little like he was. Though not as deeply, some of the things he wrote comforted Harry. Odd as that may sound, it eased his worries that his friends would think him insane for the new ideas about magic he seemed to be coming up with.

Harry had secretly sent Hedwig to all of his Slytherin friends, telling Hedwig to make sure they were alone when she delivered the letters. Within these first letters, he told them that if they couldn't owl back that it was fine, and that he would only write them another letter if they owled back saying it was okay, since he didn't want to get them in trouble. He also told them that none of the others would write to them unless they owled Harry and told him otherwise. Crabbe and Goyle agreed with this method, and told him that it would be better and safer if it was only Harry who owled them. They also said that Draco probably wouldn't be able to owl him safely because Mr. Malfoy was a little 'disturbed' that his son had been involved in the events at the end of the year.

Harry had a feeling more was going on than just that, but didn't dare write his thoughts on the matter in a letter, in case it were to be intercepted. Ever since he began understanding his memories, especially at the start of summer, he found himself being very cautious, some might say overly so, but after everything he had learned from the memories, he knew one could never be too careful where Death Eaters were concerned.

Draco did reply to the Harry's first letter though, Hedwig returning with it. When Harry beckoned her in and had shut the window, he asked her if it all went alright. She quietly hooted an affirmative and handed him a small bit of parchment.

HP,

Not safe to owl, if it is, I'll owl you.

The others will be in contact.

-DM

He was saddened by the fact Draco was unable to safely owl him, but his memories involving Lucius and the other Death Eaters (including Crabbe and Goyle's parents) reminded him that he was lucky any Slytherin (not to mention three) was risking being friends with Gryffindors.

After writing the letters he could, (telling them what he was doing and that kind of thing) he was bored out of his mind, that is, until he was struck with an idea. Potions. Getting out his Potions book that he had now read through at least three times (getting countless useful and useless memories, as well as intriguing knowledge) he pulled out his Potions supplies.

Brewing potions wasn't against school rules; there was no 'magic' involved, and certainly no 'foolish wand waving'. Finally he found a way to use what he had learned the past weeks without getting in trouble.

Thanks to the useful things he had learned from the memories, as well as the book, he was able to stretch out his supplies to make as many potions as possible with the material available.

Making a fire under the cauldron was initially a problem for potions that called for fire, which was nearly all of them. How could he have a fire in his room, not make smoke, keep it controlled, and not let his aunt, uncle, and cousin know about it?

Simple, brew in the kitchen, over the stove, when his relatives are asleep…

At one am, he got up the courage (or the insanity) and went to the kitchen with his supplies. He knew which potions he would make, already having prepared the ingredients earlier that day in his room when he had made the first 'potion' (according to the Potions book it wasn't really considered a potion) that did not need a flame.

He made Burn-Healing Paste in his room. It only called for hot water (which he got by supposedly fixing hot cocoa for himself, to the bewilderment and suspicion of his relatives) and, when he was finished making the odd orange paste, placed it in a short old cleaned out jug.

Now in the kitchen, his heart was set on making a batch of Wound-Healing Potion. He figured it would be a smart thing to make, and after reading some charms that could shrink bottles, he knew he wouldn't have a problem carrying it with him.

After a little more thought on Potions, he decided he would make it a rule for all Custosae to carry a collection of potions wherever they went in shrunken unbreakable bottles.

This decision was brought on by Voldemort's memories, but he didn't get the idea from Riddle; instead, he got it from Snape. In all of the memories where Voldemort or one of his followers needed a potion to heal a wound or for something else, they turned to Snape. He always had a stash with him, so Harry wondered why should my friends count on a single person to give them potions if they need some? We should all have a basic collection, and then maybe three or four of us carry some of the more complicated stuff.

It was safer that way, and would give them an advantage if things ever got as bad as it had been in the memories.

From the memories concerning potions, he learned more from the professors teaching than from Riddle. Sure, Riddle was a brilliant student, but Harry got the feeling that he didn't have much talent in making potions, which was why he entrusted Snape to make them for him.

It took Harry about four hours to make the potions. He made two bottles of Wound-Healing, and one of Wit-Sharpening.

After securing the lids to the bottled potions, he took the supplies back in his room, cleaned up his mess, and jotted down a reminder to himself that he would need to restock on his supplies.

His second year books came the following week, and he immediately began devouring those, though after skimming through two of Lockhart's books (thinking they had promise since they were for the DADA class but finding that was -not- the case) he put them aside for probable burning, unable to stomach anymore stupidity. He didn't even have to skim halfway through one book to learn the guy was completely high on himself, full of lies, and a complete moron. This was due to obscure dates (one person can't face a banshee in Denmark and a werewolf in Bulgaria in the same tiny time frame), paragraphs upon paragraphs of how great he is, and a whole entire section about why he likes the color lilac. Harry was tempted to owl Flourish and Blotts back and ask them if this was really required material for the second year, but decided to wait, he could always return them later.

After placing the collection of books that he knew had been a waste of money, Harry moved onto reading the Level 2 Spell Book. He had looked through the list Flourish and Blotts had sent him, actually getting a few snapshot Riddle memories from a few of the titles. He quickly owled Flourish and Blotts back (it being night) and jotted down the books he wanted, including Mighty Wards, A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Actions, and Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes.

He didn't quite know why, but he was wanting to learn as much and as fast as he could. Part of it obviously involved him knowing why Voldemort hated him so much, but as he thought about it, there was something more to it than that.

It was as if he was starving for knowledge, and the only way to banish the feeling was to read and learn. It was a marvelous feeling when he fed this knowledge hunting beast within him, and the more he learned, the better he felt.

Even the bad memories of Voldemort fed him, although he hated to admit that to himself. He despised seeing these things, but he took what he learned and vowed to make Voldemort pay for all that he had done. Waking from these dreams/memories strengthened his resolve, and helped focus him into learning more, so that one day he would not only have the power to vanquish Riddle, but that he would annihilate him.

- - -

It was the night before his birthday, and like all the other nights that summer, he dreamt. The dream was more intense than the others that summer, but Harry soon found, that though it was horrible, it was not all bad…

A woman was at his feet, shrinking in fear upon his approach.

"Woman, tell me what you did," he ordered.

She wouldn't reply, and after a few horrid curses he placed upon her, he kneeled down beside her, and forcibly took her memory away to get the answer she wouldn't give.

--The woman was in a small house, children and elderly hunkering down against the far wall as she faced the only door. All of the windows were sealed shut, and the one bedroom house was locked tight.

--Several Death Eaters were outside, trying to get in and to get through the wards and barriers of the house. They were nearly through…

--Pulling out her wand, muttering a spell, and passing her wand against her finger that made a cut, she let a drop of blood fall to the floor. Kneeling down, she set the tip of her wand upon the red drop and she closed her eyes. With murmured words, golden light spread from the tip of her wand and flowed throughout the whole house.

--Those outside could no longer get in. She and those within were safe.

The memory then jumped, and it only took a moment for Harry to realize Voldemort was trying the same spell he had seen the woman do.

It backfired; the spell the woman had done wouldn't work. No matter how many times he tried, it wouldn't work, and only ended up blasting a hole in the floor, and risking damage to himself. Voldemort was furious.

Harry woke up, confused and excited.

Why wasn't Riddle able to make that spell work? What kind of spell was that? Could Harry do it? Harry had already shown that it didn't have to be Voldemort casting the spell in the memory for him to be able to cast it…

Harry turned on his side lamp and jotted down what he had seen, detailing what the woman had done, and what words she had muttered, and that Voldemort was unable to make the spell work himself.

He couldn't go back to sleep after that, not that it mattered, it was nearly dawn.

He got dressed and made his bed, before grabbing the books that he had yet to read and set them on his bed. He had gone through most of the material in all of his second year books, and knew this year wasn't going to be a problem (though he hoped DADA wasn't going to be focused on Lockhart, he wasn't sure what he would do if it was).

He couldn't believe how much he was reading, but when he thought about it, that was all he was doing, he even read while he ate, being allowed to eat in his room now since it got him out of his relatives' hair.

He smiled, looking around his room. His supplies were under his bed, and the books he was done reading were stacked under the side table with a blanket draped over them as to not offend Vernon when he checked to make sure he was behaving and that the 'bloody pigeon' was in her cage.

Harry looked at the time. He had six hours before the Masons would arrive.

He sighed. Well, at least this birthday would have no interruptions since Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley would be too busy trying to impress the Masons to bother with him. He could sit in peace, like most of all the other days this summer.

Yesterday, Vernon had grilled into him how important it was for him to be good when the Masons arrived. To be silent. To be quiet. To be still. To stay in his room. To be soundless. To be non-existent.

Harry complied, promising he would do as Vernon said, though he added that he already did those things Vernon was wanting, but that he would do it even better when the Masons arrived.

Vernon grunted, which told Harry he was dismissed to go back to being 'non-existent'.

Harry put Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes down and picked up his notebook, needing a break. He thumbed through his notebook, scanning what he had written. He reread some of his side notes he had jotted down concerning magic or a certain spell he had seen used in Tom's memories, suddenly realizing something.

His own thoughts on magic were changing.

He no longer took everything he read, or even what he had learned at Hogwarts the previous year, as complete truth, as in, that's all there is. He was looking beyond the make up and end result of a spell; he was looking into the magic itself.

Thinking back to the start of summer and when the mega floodgate of memories had been opened, he never thought he would be thinking this deeply into magic.

What was magic really? Where did it come from? Why was it there? How many kinds of magic were there?

He began forming his own theories and ideas, even questioning the lines between kinds of magic. Did these lines even exist? Was there even such a thing as 'Dark' magic, or did it really just depend on how one used it? And if there really was 'Dark' magic, then there must be 'Light' magic, for balance is needed. And if magic is magic, shouldn't one be able to form their own style? Twist it to their liking and will? Was all the theory and supposed frame work of 'this is how magic works and there is nothing more' correct?

Harry paused, finding two pages of his thoughts he had written down only the previous week.

Magic is like water from how I understand it. It is without rigid structure (save the root, -like the chemistry of water: two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen). Magic must be like this as well. Sure, the elemental base of it has structure, but the compound itself has none without outside influence, which is why the 'container' that holds it must have shape. Magic depends on the shape of the container, the flow within the container, and possibly the 'temperature' of the container (or person).

The Shape of the person is the amount of magic they can hold or are capable of, and how much they have access to at any given time (this branches into Flow).

The Flow of magic within the person is how they wield it, such as: in short bursts, holding it in and expending it all at once, always using some, or a mixture of each. A person's 'magic core' should be compared to a network of pipes—Bends, connections, and straight pipes filled with magic, with valves in certain areas. These different types of pipes could be compared to the types of magic. (I believe all magic is initially possible for everyone, just takes effort to open the valves allowing the pipes to be used). A person's mindset affects their magic flow, defining their limits, (believing only certain 'valves' can be opened); this is linked with 'temperature'.

The 'Temperature' of the person controls the strength of their magic, as well as what valves can be opened. I believe a person's beliefs and way of thought influences this. If one thinks something is impossible, it is in effect causing the water (magic) to freeze, preventing that person from opening the valve to let their magic flow. A person's ideals are a part of this as well. If the kind of magic is too 'dark' for them, they block themselves from being capable of using it. The same must go for those who are evil, unable to do magic that is considered 'good', but perhaps it is more than that…

If a bad person has mastered 'dark' magic, then the magic on the opposite end may be locked or in disrepair, since the flow there has always been 'frozen'.

It also may be possible that once an individual casts a certain spell, certain pipes or valves crack or break,(like if the person used too much magic at one time and caused a backup or a dislodging of a pipe) preventing them from ever being able to do a specific type of magic. If this is true, the opposite effect must be also. If a person masters a certain type of magic, that type could aid in the flow of other types of magic, thus proving a link between all magic.

Harry at first questioned why or how he was coming up with these odd thoughts or ideas, but after the first week of summer, he got over it, accepting that that was now something he just did now, and that it was only natural to start thinking deeper into magic with everything that had happened to him.

After a few more moments of thought, he looked at the time and found it to be a little after 12. Getting up, he made his way down to get some food, and enough of it to tide him over for the rest of the day, since he knew he was going to be staying in his room when the Masons came.

"What are you doing boy?" Vernon snapped as Harry entered the kitchen.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were enjoying their lunch.

There were only three plates, three sets of silverware, and three glasses on the table. The fourth chair and place where he used to sit and eat at, was bare.

"Just getting some food, and I'll also fix and get my dinner now, so I won't bother you all when the Masons come," he answered simply, quickly making two turkey sandwiches, grabbing two bottles of water, and a bag of chips.

Vernon narrowed his eyes, as if Harry was lying.

Harry gathered up his food, after wiping off the counters (even the area he hadn't used) and sweeping up the kitchen.

"We best not see you until tomorrow," Vernon warned.

"I'll stay in my room, as quiet as a dead mouse," Harry answered, before adding, "only without the smell."

"You best be boy, or you will regret it."

Harry left without another word, going into the entrance hall, up the stairs, turning at the top of the stairs to continue down the narrow hall to his room, and opened the door, planning to enjoy one of his sandwiches while he read more of Mighty Wards.

Well, he quickly saw that was not what he would be doing…

His eyes widened at the sight before him, his eyes falling upon the limp and injured body of Draco Malfoy on the floor in the middle of his room, an odd creature at his side, its back to the window, its huge eyes gazing up into Harry's.

- - -

A/N: Again, for those of you who review (kindly and honestly), -thanks- each of you help me improve and type faster. :)

I blame my engineering major for the pipe analogy...:P

Next part: The White Dragon