Chapter-7

The Dark Lord read and reread the letter Harry Potter had sent him along with the prophecy that had forced him to live like a worm for the past fourteen years. The boy was something…he had to agree.

Voldemort had longed to learn the complete prophecy for quite some time now and he was sure that Dumbledore would stop him at any cost. But Harry Potter…Harry Potter, the not-quite-fifteen-year old boy was so confident in his abilities to 'vanquish' him that he had literally gift wrapped the prophecy for him and sent it away by a common post owl, no doubt rented from Diagon Alley.

If Voldemort was true with himself, he would admit that after a very long time, he was beginning to feel stirrings of an emotion he had long forgotten…fear. He knew that there was a popular perception about him that Albus Dumbledore was the only one he was afraid of…he snorted…the old fool was too weak to frighten someone like Voldemort

But he had seen the anger…no, rage…in the boy's eyes. He had seen him use the killing curse on Wormtail…killing curse, the curse his old mentor abhorred…he had seen that his eyes were shining like green fire.

Barty Crouch's failed mission to get him Ollivander told him the same story once again. Potter had shamelessly killed three of his new recruits that day….and Barty had to run away like a coward…he was still nursing his ruined eye.

And now, the prophecy in his hands told him that Voldemort himself was the one who had marked the boy his equal…Had he not gone to the Potter's that day…Had he listened to that mudblood and spared the boy…the wizarding world would have been his by now…

The Power the Dark Lord knows not…

Oh how he longed to strangle Severus Snape, his loyal Death Eater, with his bare hands…but Severus was a useful servant, one he could always count on, and he was doing his duty at the time…the damn things are self-fulfilling anyway…

Never mind…but what Voldemort failed to grasp was the knowledge Harry Potter had gained in such a small time…after all, the boy had been in the wizarding world for only four years now…and by all accounts of Severus and Barty, when he was masquerading as Moody, Harry Potter was a mediocre good for nothing brat with false hopes of grandeur. But no Mediocre boy could learn to cast the killing curse in his fourth year…and after watching Barty's memories of his fight, it was clear that Potter still knew more than he let on…

But the question remained how?

What could be that power that Voldemort did not know?

He tried to expand that train of thought and continued…Death was the greatest power Voldemort could think of…and he knew perfectly well how to cast the killing curse. What power could be more than granting Death to an individual?

Granting Death to an individual…Granting Death to an individual…Granting Death to an individual…

Voldemort abruptly stood up.

Could it be…reversing the death of an individual…it seemed to be the only power I have never known…but how?

Voldemort's mind went back to that night in the graveyard…when Potter had so casually addressed him…he had been angry but not surprised. It was as if Potter already knew that he was-

Voldemort's eyes widened in realization.

Potter did know. Potter's reaction was just too fast…the whole point on trusting Wormtail to capture Potter was the element of surprise that he had on his side…but since Potter already knew what was about to happen, he had easily disposed of Wormtail.

That could only mean something Voldemort could only dream about…time travel. It was the only logical conclusion that could be made…and it explained Potter's knowledge. Admittedly, a leap of faith on his part, but it all fit...and it was the power he had never known.

The brat was pretending to be fifteen-year-old…but he was much older…how much, was anyone's guess.

So that meant…that Voldemort had already killed him once…and Potter had somehow found a way to return…

Voldemort snarled angrily…he now knew he could kill Potter; if he had done it once, nothing stopped him from killing him again…but what good was it if the boy could just reverse the time and come back to haunt him…how could he fight a foe who had found a better way to immortality than he ever did…

He needed to find a way, so that he could kill Potter and his death remained permanent…

And with that, Voldemort buried himself in the darkest tomes he could find on time travel and Death…


Harry Potter, in the meanwhile, was fine tuning his next plan of action. He was getting restless being holed up in Grimmauld Place all day…he could of course go wherever he wanted but there would be too many questions and Harry would be without any answers. Also, it was getting difficult to maintain focus on the potion he was secretly brewing in his room. It was the key to what he was planning...

Harry had frankly no idea why he felt like sending that prophecy to Voldemort other than getting a kick for himself...but it had somehow felt like a voice was whispering in his year. Like he just had to do it...

Since the day Harry was back at Sirius' place, he had tried to cultivate a habit of observation. He observed the Weasleys, their habits, their likes and dislikes. He already knew everything about Ron, but not much about the others. He couldn't be sure about Ginny because he had no idea how much of her true self she had shown him in their five years of dating.

For example, he now knew that Molly Weasley was an early riser. She liked to start and end her day with a cup of tea, while sitting alone and getting lost in her thoughts. Most probably the thoughts of getting rich one day. After her tea, she went to the bedrooms of all her children one by one and checked on them. Harry had no idea how could such a doting mother be a murderous monster when it came to him.

He also noticed the subtle indications she gave to encourage Ginny to pursue him…a slight push, a little smile, a wink…

While preparing food, she did not mind slipping a little of this or a little of that in her dishes. If a member of the Order was angry, a few drops of calming drought weren't a bad idea…if someone was upset, why not use a little cheering potion? This little tidbit had made Harry ill and from then onwards, he had begun sending Kreacher to get him food from a nearby food outlet.

Kreacher

Kreacher was extraordinarily well mannered these days.

It had begun one day when he had asked Sirius to order the maniacal little elf to sit and talk to Harry until he allowed him to leave. Sirius was rather curious at the topic of conversation but Harry had pushed him out of the room and then cast a silencing charm to prevent any eaves-dropping.

"Kreacher…" Harry had just begun when Kreacher started ranting about him being a 'worthless half-blood poop of some maggot-eating mudblood'…

He had not been able to stop himself from kicking the fucked up elf who was insulting his mother. He had then proceeded to bodily pick him and hold him in the air as the angry elf tried to get free… "Now listen, you stupid little shit…I know your dear master Regulus gave you a task before dying…"

Kreacher had become still on hearing this.

"…and I am the only one who could help you finish it."

"You know?..." Kreacher had asked with shining eyes, and Harry finally put him down.

"Yes," he had said, "and I will destroy that locket only if you listen to me and obey my orders…you should think of me as your de-facto master, since Sirius isn't interested in dealing with you himself…remember if you insult me, my mother or my family one more time, if you listened to that bint's portrait or if you discussed anything I tell you with anyone, I will cut of your head and flush it in a muggle toilet….and your master Regulus's last wish would remain a wish forever…"

To Harry's good luck, Kreacher had understood quiet well the first time itself and disappeared with a "Yes, Master"

Afterwards, Sirius had looked oddly jealous at the respect Harry was being shown, and Harry had smirked at his Godfather.

There was a reason Harry had to take Kreacher under his control. He had neither forgotten Regulus' dark story nor the part where all the protections set by Voldemort himself were easily bypassed by Kreacher. Kreacher could take him anywhere he wanted and he had just such a place in mind…

One night, when all had gone to sleep, and Molly Weasley was making her last tea of the day, Harry slipped a little sleeping potion in her beverage with the help of Kreacher. He waited until the woman had started snoring on her chair and then levitated her to his bedroom. After putting a silencing charm on the room, he woke her up.

As Molly opened her eyes and looked around groggily, she was naturally confused to find herself in Harry's room. "Harry dear," she said, trying to stand up but failing, "I am so sorry. I don't know how I came to sleep in your room."

"I brought you here…" Harry replied, taking a chair for himself.

"You?", asked Molly. "Why?"

"I am going to punish you for what you did to me," Harry answered casually.

Molly surely looked confused, but not afraid. Harry was pretty sure that she would be feeling quite afraid really soon…

"Punish me? But what did I do to you, young man?"

Harry sighed. "That will remain a mystery to you…I am afraid…at least until you die."

"Die…?" There it was, a little bit of fear.

"Yes Molly," Harry replied with a deadly smile. "I am going to make sure that you die as painfully as I did…"

"I don't understand…" said Molly.

But perhaps she had seen the truth in his eyes or perhaps something in his demeanor was screaming for her blood, because the next moment, she jumped up and tried to tackle Harry to the ground.

Harry was ready though. "Stupefy," was all he said as the heavy woman slumped down.

"Kreacher," he called and the elf appeared at his side. "Can you still feel the connection?"

Kreacher nodded.

"Good. Then, take us to her." Harry instructed.


Azkaban, the Wizarding Prison, was located on a heavily guarded island. The guards though weren't normal folk. They consisted of a hundred odd dementors who were nothing more than a breed of soul sucking monsters that liked to feed on one's happy emotions in the absence of a proper meal.

The island was protected by wards against normal modes of travel like apparition and portkey, but since no human could keep himself sane if kept in constant contact of the above mentioned monsters, no aurors were stationed anywhere near Azkaban. The duties of taking what little care the prisoners of Azkaban required were assigned to a group of house-elves who had no-where else to go and were in need of a master.

In case of an attack or if they find an unauthorized entry, it was the elves who were to raise the alarm and alert the ministry.

The aurors visited only when a new prisoner arrived or in a very rare event, when someone was released. It was rare, because only the most hardened criminals were placed in Azkaban. The Ministry would not place a petty thief in there…for such crimes, they had holding cells in the Ministry itself.

When a prisoner arrived, they usually begged for mercy for the first few hours…afterwards, when no happy memories were left, they used to cry, shout and laugh…and became quite insane in general. The biting cold only added to their misery.

One such miserable prisoner who had a habit of cackling incessantly at odd times, was Bellatrix Lestrange. She was a death eater, and a cousin of Sirius Black, who had put Neville Longbottom's parents to the Permament Mental Disabilities Ward of St. Mungos by casting the cruciatus curse on them for an extended amount of time.

Since Bellatrix was a Black by birth, Kreacher could sense her presence and apparate to her.

This little loophole was something Harry could not understand how everyone had missed. When he had come to Azkaban for the first time as an auror, he had made a list of ways one could escape from the dreaded prison. This particular method topped them all…

As Harry appeared with Kreacher and Molly inside Bellatrix's cell, Bellatrix slowly turned around to look at them from her position at the cell's metal gate.

Harry knew he could not cast any spell in here, lest someone discovered his presence and rung the alarm. So, he allowed Kreacher to take the lead.

"Miss Bella…" said Kreacher a bit emotionally.

Bellatrix did not react.

Harry took out the Potion from his pocket and gave it to Kreacher. Kreacher slowly moved towards Bellatrix and very slowly picked one of her hairs…Bellatrix still did not react, just kept looking at them.

Keeping an eye on the extremely volatile witch, Harry took the now ready polyjuice potion and force fed it to Molly Weasley's still form lying at his feet. The potion was a modified version by future Hermione Granger herself, which increased the effects from an hour to about three days. He also took out a capsule he had acquired from a shoddy muggleborn in Knockturn Alley and again fed it to Molly.

As the witch's form changed and another Bellatrix appeared in the cell, the real Bellatrix finally gave a reaction…she cackled madly. "BELLABELLABELLLA…"

Ignoring her and taking a deep breath, Harry took out his wand and motioned for Kreacher to grab him and the real Bellatrix. He quickly performed a switching spell on the clothes of both the witches, just as Kreacher apparated them away.

Sensing the spell, a house-elf appeared with a pop but she found nothing except a sleeping Bellatrix Lestrange.

Molly Weasley would wake up soon enough and realize that she was in Azkaban. She would suffer for a period of close to sixty hours…living her worst fears…one after another. She would beg and plead and cry her innocence but there would be no one to listen. The other inmates would only laugh at her tears.

After sixty hours, the cyanide capsule in her stomach would have dissolved completely. She would die a painful death but since polyjuice becomes permanent if the drinker died before the effects wore off, nobody would know…except Harry Potter.

Contrary to his expectations, Harry Potter would not feel happy at her death…but at least he had kept his word, to himself.

Though he was beginning to realize that Revenge was always sour…never sweet.


Thanks for reading…Review!