Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never be mine. I can only wish.
Please review, I'm very happy with those of you who have already reviewed...but like every author, I'd love more.
I've posted the new version edited for me by my kind Beta. As a consequence, there may be some changes.
The Dark Lord was sitting in the lamp-light at his mahogany desk, reading a book on the Dark Arts. At the same time, he was musing. Consequently, the pages of the book hadn't turned once for the last half hour.
"Come in, Severus, Bella," Voldemort uttered as soon as he heard the light taps on the door.
The knocks ceased and the door opened with a lengthy, abnormally loud creak. Snape winced at the sound.
"You're three minutes late, both of you."
"We apologise, my Lord," Snape answered smoothly. "We were held up."
Bellatrix nodded in agreement, her hooded dark eyes focused entirely on Voldemort. "Forgive us."
Voldemort ignored them and stood up, walking over to the window.
"My Lord? What is it that you wanted us to…?" Bellatrix trailed off at the Dark Lord's sharp glance.
"All in good time, Bella." The darkest wizard in the room abruptly reached out a hand and drew back the curtains, revealing the twilight sky in the distance that signalled the end of yet another day. "Towards the north, Severus, in that direction –" Voldemort gestured vaguely, "– lies the strong fortress of Hogwarts."
There was a ringing silence. Snape stiffened.
"You see, despite my own achievements and new focuses, Hogwarts has never strayed far from my mind. She is growing, in both size and power; the talent inside her is growing…quicker than I could ever have imagined." Even Bellatrix, who prided herself on knowing the Dark Lord best, had no idea what he was getting at.
"She, Hogwarts, has a flair for…producing the most promising young wizards and witches. The potential within her is plentiful."
Bellatrix and Severus traded glances, each forming the same ideas about what the Dark Lord would say next.
"Therefore, out of the hundreds of potential students, there has to be someone special. Someone whose inner magical core is superior to the others'. There has to be someone," Voldemort said.
"My Lord!" Bellatrix protested suddenly. "You can't be thinking of that so early on!"
"Be quiet, Bella. Severus? Anything to add?" Voldemort sneered.
"No, my Lord," Snape replied, inwardly cursing Bellatrix for her stupidly chosen words. For all he was concerned, she was entirely responsible if Voldemort's mood swung towards the nasty side.
The Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix again. "Would you like to elaborate, Bella? Your outburst, despite its rather grating nature, tells me hardly anything of your thoughts."
Snape inhaled in exasperation as Bellatrix seized the chance and launched into a lengthy explanation. She never seemed to realise when enough was enough.
"I mean no disrespect, my Lord –"
"Of course not," reassured the Dark Lord, with thinly veiled sarcasm.
"It's just that when you informed us of this a year earlier, we didn't know you planned on taking on someone so early…"
"Like I said before, Bella, the urgent tone things have taken forces me to shift this to an earlier time. I do hope you're not too unhappy about this."
"Of course not, my Lord. It's just that taking on an apprentice can be a rather big burden. He, or she, will be a mere child. Children can be slow learners, and they're unusually defiant," Bellatrix said.
"Well, the child we choose will have to be a fast learner then, won't he? I'm not as incompetent as some people think as to pick a Squib for a protégé."
"I didn't mean –"
"My Lord, would you like a male or female?" Snape interrupted Bellatrix smoothly in mid-sentence. He was rewarded with a baleful glare from the female.
"I do not mind either way. It is wonderful to see you're relatively more compliant."
"And does blood status matter, my Lord?"
"As long as it's not a Mudblood."
"Would you prefer someone older, my Lord?"
"A seventh year would be best."
Bella watched jealously as Voldemort explained his requests to Snape.
"I give you one year. One year maximum. Find me a few possible candidates for my mentorship. If he has parents, then get rid of them. I'd like to gain full guardianship on the child."
"When will we start searching?" Snape asked.
"As soon as the school year begins."
—0O0—
"Boy! Get up! Make sure breakfast is ready in ten minutes!"
Harry Potter jolted awake under his flimsy covers as Uncle Vernon's bellow rang through the door to reach his ears. He hurried to find his grey, moth-eaten socks, and Dudley's overlarge t-shirt that fell down to his knees. There was a scared spider nestled in the fabric of the grey socks. Harry flicked it away before putting them on.
"Coming, Uncle Vernon!" He shouted as he opened the door of his cupboard.
…
Uncle Vernon's face was the shade of puce by the time Harry had reached the kitchens.
"It's been three minutes already, boy! No breakfast for you. Well? What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"
Harry scuttled for the pan and the eggs. He had just turned on the stove when Dudley came waddling in like a whale who was suffering a severe case of obesity.
"G'morning, Cousin! Where's my breakfast?"
"Shhh, Dudders. Breakfast will be ready in a short while," Aunt Petunia soothed as she too walked through the door. When Dudley had taken a seat at the table, beside Vernon whose fat nose was buried in the newspaper, Aunt Petunia turned to Harry.
"Hurry up, you little prat! When will it be done?" she snapped.
"Soon, Aunt Petunia."
"Is it ready?" Dudley piped up again.
"Not yet, Dudders. But it will be," Petunia cooed.
Then silence fell, and Harry got to scramble the eggs in relative peace.
However, a few moments later, Dudley was impatient again. "Is it ready yet?"
"No," said Harry, feeling slightly annoyed.
"Get on with it, Boy!" Vernon roared.
"Is it ready yet?" asked Dudley yet again.
"No yet," said Petunia.
"When will it be ready?" Dudley yelled.
"As soon as the word 'never' appears on the calendar," Harry retorted. He couldn't help it.
"If you don't shut up and get it done, I'll lock you in your cupboard until Christmas, I swear to God!" Vernon blathered.
That comment sobered Harry up a little. It wasn't an entirely empty threat, he knew.
For as long as Harry could remember, he had been living with his Aunt and Uncle, and 'Dudders'.
He had been handed chores as soon as his age hit three. Harry's typical weekends would be spent gardening, and washing, dusting and cooking, wiping windows and doing Dudley's homework (if Dudley had brought any back). When Uncle Vernon wanted it, Harry would also be called down to the garage to wash his car. Sometimes, Harry would imagine a day when his parents would come and take him away with them, away from this hellhole. That dream lasted until Uncle Vernon had kindly informed him that his parents were dead from a car crash. Harry couldn't wait to grow up and get a job and move away from his devil relatives. They treated him worse than one should treat mud.
Who locked an eleven-year old boy in a cupboard? Who fed a growing boy a few pieces of bread a day? Who made a young boy do all the chores in the house? Who verbally abused that boy whenever they felt like it? Harry knew the answers to all of that.
He honestly didn't know which god he had insulted to deserve relatives like these.
Harry wanted to become a lawyer. He didn't know if he would have the skills to become one, but he knew he was going to take up legal studies in college. Or he could become a teacher. That job seemed nice. Surrounding himself with children every single day, and get paid. Uncle Vernon said his ambitions would be for nothing – that he'd become a good-for-nothing crook. Harry knew he would not end up like that, if only just to spite his uncle.
Harry snuck out of the kitchen to his bedroom after Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had started eating. He wasn't going to stay around like some begging dog, watching hungrily out of his eyes.
Harry snatched up one of the few books he owned from a shoebox. He had only gotten to Page Twenty when a loud series of knockings came from the front door. Then, there was shouting. A lot of shouting. Harry thought he could hear the words.
"Is Mr Potter here? Harry Potter?"
It was a very stiff voice, Harry thought, as if the man who the voice belonged to never smiled.
"Who are you, dear sir?" Uncle Vernon yammered.
"Never you mind."
Harry suppressed a smile; it wasn't often that someone would talk to Uncle Vernon like this.
"Now look here, sir, this is my house. Legally speaking, you're trespassing –"
Harry missed out the next bits… and then:
"Get out of there! What are you doing?"
There was the sound of a chair falling, and Aunt Petunia crying, "Good Lord!"
"You're one of those people! Those freaks!"
Harry frowned curiously. Normally, Uncle Vernon was unusually polite to strangers. And he only called Harry a 'freak'. What Harry wouldn't do to know what was going on!
More banging could be heard.
"Keep your hands off me or I'll blast your fingers off and shave them into potion ingredients," warned that stiff voice.
"What –?"
"On second thoughts," the voice snarled, "I'd rather not. The fat from your fingers will probably ruin the whole potion."
"Look, even I know you stupid wizards have things like…wizard laws and wizard lawyers! Even you freaks have to follow rules. You can't just go around doing things like this!" Aunt Petunia screamed as the sound of window shattering reached Harry's ears.
Harry blinked. Had he misheard? Wizards and wizard laws and wizard lawyers?
"Actually," the stiff voice sneered, "I have come here under the consent of the Minister of Magic, and under Wizarding Law 874. 'Magical students must be escorted safely to wizarding schools notwithstanding dire consequences. Threats and obstacles must be removed.'"
Harry lurched across and pressed his ear to the door, eager to listen to the words more clearly.
"But, but Lily said otherwise! Bad wizards go to the wizard prison!" Harry could hear the high-pitched panic in his aunt's voice.
"This is a new era, Mrs Dursley. A new era where Muggles such as yourself have no rights in our society. By the command of Hogwarts and the Ministry, open your cupboard door!"
Harry leapt back. The man was right outside his room! The shuffling outside was incredibly loud now.
"You have no right to come and break down our doors!" Dudley shrieked from the kitchen.
"Alohomora!"
The door flew open and Harry stared up at the man. He was wrapped in billowing black robes. Harry felt strangely intimidated.
"You're Mr Potter."
There it was, the stiff voice again.
"Yes," Harry whispered hoarsely.
"Then, you're coming with me."
Harry suddenly found himself with a question he desperately wanted to ask. "Are you my dad?"
From the stunned look on the man's sallow face, Harry guessed that he was not. His heart sank – but it had been worth a try.
Tell me what you think, please.
Many thanks to my Beta, Hippothestrowl!