Quirrell rolled off him. His face blistering too. Then Harry knew Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin - not without suffering terrible pain. His only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, to keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.
Harry jumped to his feet, all motion trying to put his hands on Quirrell but he heard Voldemort's voice from the back of Quirrell's head curse.
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
There was nothing he could do. His body going rigid fell over at once. He lay face-first on the ground immobilised, and he heard more than saw as Quirrell stopped screaming by and by, though still whimpering to the terrible presence in his head. He could only hear brief snatches of the conversation, so when Quirrell let out a scream and slumped down next to him, he was surprised.
Harry was tossed up in the air like a feather and kept hanging there as if invisible manacles had clasped his shoulders.
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO DO THIS?" Quirrell … no this was Voldemort now, who raged at him. It was still Quirrell 's face, but distorted, the ghost-like presence that had been at the back of his head inhabited his face.
Voldemort struck Harry's forehead with the wand.
"I AM GOING TO FIND OUT WHAT THIS POWER OF YOURS IS POTTER AND THEN I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"
"Legilimens!"
The room faded away as he was thrown into a barrage of memories.
He was two and crying on his own in his cupboard. He had called Petunia 'mummy' like Dudley did and Dudley had hit him with his chubby fists for almost an hour. Petunia had locked him up in his cupboard after that and told him his parents were dead and he was never to call her that again.
He was crouched over protecting his under belly from the kicks from the older boys. His eyes were shut tight and he wished he could do the same for his ears as the boys laughed and called him a freak.
One second, he was being chased on the school yard, the next he was on the roof. None of the teachers believed him. Uncle Vernon had locked him away for a month in the cupboard to calm his freakishness down.
The parish priest had cut him with a cane nearly to an inch of his life trying to beat the devil out of him
He had gotten his ears boxed, and his dinner taken away because he had clearly cheated to have scored more than dudleykins in his exam. He had to make a conscious effort to get his answers wrong in the next test.
A young couple had wanted to adopt him. He could see it in their eyes. But they had a chat with Mrs Cole and had left hurriedly soon after.
Piers had tripped him badly on the playground and the other kids had all laughed as his Dudley's oversized shorts that he was wearing had slipped as he had fallen.
Billy and the other kids had killed his little pet snake; it was only right he return the favour.
Malfoy was making fun of him for not having a family. He gritted his teeth, gripping his wand badly wanting to hex him till he could wipe that smirk of his stupid face.
"Just because you have a little magic, doesn't change the fact you are mudblood." Malfoy had said. He gripped his wand, eyes burning, promising that he would make Malfoy grovel at his feet someday
He was going to get his revenge. He was going to...
NO!
Harry didn't know whether it was him or Voldemort who had cried out.
Harry was wrenched out of the muddled-up memories with a nauseating lurch and thrown flat on the ground, still petrified.
What had just happened?
It could not have been more than minutes, but Harry felt like he had spent hours sifting through his life and…Voldemort's? It was like a gateway had opened in his mind and the memories had all melded into one. Panic was overtaking him quickly. Bile rose up, pushing against his closed mouth, clogging his throat.
This wasn't how things were meant to go! He was going to die, paralyzed and chocking on his own vomit. Hot angry tears filling his eyes, blurring his vision.
Hands were suddenly beneath his back, lifting him up and tilting him forward. Harry felt the body bind curse loosen but his relief was short-lived as he was too busy being messily sick on the dusty floor the next second.
His whole body spasmed and he swayed, nearly falling into his own vomit, but the hand that had now snaked around his chest held him securely to Voldemort's side.
Voldemort's side. His brain stumbled at the thought. He was still unable to move. And yet, if Hermione was able to find help in time there was a chance.
"Get-get away from me." Harry hated how pathetic and breathless he sounded. His throat was scrapped raw from the bile. He didn't dare meet Voldemort's gaze. He didn't want to see those memories again.
But Voldemort only pushed Harry's chin up forcing him to meet his eyes. Quirrell …Voldemort looked different. No, he was looking at Harry differently. Clearly this had not been intended as he was looking just as surprised as Harry felt.
Had he seen all of it? Those memories? Harry wondered helplessly evenas Voldemort's ran a gloved hand over Harry's face, pushing Harry's sweaty fringe away from his forehead. The pain from the scar felt like it was going to split his head apart as the gloved hand traced it almost gently. He couldn't keep a moan from escaping and Voldemort snatched his hand away. "Some kind of blood ward. If only I had time…" He murmured almost to himself before asking Harry, "Has your scar hurt before?"
What is happening? What was Voldemort doing? Was he going to kill him now? Harry felt near hysterical.
"I am not going to kill you, Harry."
"STOP IT. STOP INVADING MY BRAIN." Voldemort was still plucking thoughts out of his head.
Quirrell's eyes flashed angry red, and Harry's scar exploded with sudden increased pain.
His vision went white, but this felt normal – this was how it should be.
Except Voldemort suddenly laughed.
"Do you want to provoke me, Harry? Will that make you feel better?" he mocked.
"NOTHING WILL MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, TILL YOU ARE DEAD"
Harry expected a curse. He even braced for it. But Voldemort only looked pleased.
"All that anger" he hissed almost to himself.
"YOU KILLED MY PARENTS! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?" Harry couldn't help the automatic response.
Voldemort froze. He stared at Harry in surprise. What did Voldemort expect? He was gloating about their death minutes ago!
"It's not that," Voldemort said answering Harry jumbled thoughts, brushing away his parent's death with an ease that further infuriated Harry. "It is quite remarkable, Harry, your ability to understand parseltongue."
Parsel…What? Mad. He's gone mad. Ten years of roaming without a body. Utter bonkers mad!
Voldemort didn't deny Harry's silent judgment. He glanced around the room, and Harry couldn't help but panic wondering whether Voldemort would escape. He tried to think of something else desperately, but he knew it was hopeless. Voldemort tensed then caught his jaw in a vice like grip.
"You manipulative little boy! Did you really hope to stall me, till someone came looking for you?"
Harry hated the happy gleam in Voldemort's eyes. It made his blood boil. "You won't get away with this! You can kill me but Professor Dumbledore…"
"But I am not going to kill you Harry, not now, not ever. Didn't I tell you that already?" Voldemort said cutting him off leaving him floundering.
"You are mine, Harry." Voldemort said, simply, his gloved fingers casually tracing the dried tear tracks on Harry's cheeks. "And you will learn, that I take good care of what's mine."
"I…I am going to stop you," but it was hopeless, Harry was semi paralyzed and in too much pain to do anything.
Voldemort didn't reply. He put Harry down almost gently on the ground and staggered slightly as he rose up. Possessing Quirrell must be taking a toll on him finally. Harry desperately pushed against his invisible bounds but it was of no use.
Any second now, Hermione would turn up with help and this nightmare would be over.
But Voldemort only shook his head pointed his wand at him.
"We are only getting started, Harry."
Voldemort hated to leave the boy – his horcrux behind. Impossible as it was, he'd felt that sliver of his soul trapped in Harry, latch on to him, during their shared memories. He'd cast about to see the extent of its bound with the boy once he was unconscious.
Maybe it was localized, something he could remove? But he'd seen the way the jagged torn strands of his own soul were wound around and twisted almost enmeshed in the boy's. It should have horrified him; except some degree of the vicious pain he'd been suffering since his fall – no - even before that seemed to disappear. He felt grounded. Grounded in a way he did not remember feeling ever before, because that torn piece of his soul was tied up tightly to Harry's whole and perfect soul.
He had thought the pain of splitting his soul went away after a while.
Or had he only learnt to live with it?
There was no time to fully understand this now. This was clearly set up. He could see that now. This elaborate but ultimately childish obstacle course set up by Dumbledore. Why hadn't he seen that before? It was as if his senses especially his mind had been fogged with the pain and he had only been able to focus on the hate and the anger. He had to get out of Hogwarts. But not before he made a detour to the Room of Requirement. He planned to leave behind only one of his horcruxes here today.
But not for long; the connection between him and the boy through his soul fragment was now open and warm. He knew he could use it, even manipulate it, given time. He was never going to let Harry Potter go now.
Harry didn't really expect to wake up. Sure, Voldemort had explained in that strange low hissing voice that he was only casting a mild sleeping charm, but he had expected to wake up, if at all, to torture, death and mayhem.
When he woke to find that he was lying in the infirmary, he was too shocked to call out to Madam Pomfrey who was bustling nearby. Once she noticed him, it was a good half an hour of potions and scans later, that Harry was able to get a word in edgewise.
"What happened? The Stone? Did you catch-"
She pursed her lips and shook her head reprovingly.
"I think it best if the Headmaster explains it to you. You should rest. He should be here soon."
"But, Professor Dumbledore must have got back in time right? He must have caught Voldemort, that's why I am here!"
But Madam Pomfrey had paled at the mention of the Dark Lord's name and she stepped away hastily.
"I don't know what you mean invoking You Know Who's name! Do not joke about him!" she said crossly. Then looking at Harry's worried face she sighed. "I am sorry Harry; the Stone is gone."
Gone. He had failed.
Madam Pomfrey's insistence that Harry speak to Dumbledore first, meant that Harry had time to rehash and think about what had happened several times over. Voldemort hadn't been lying. He had a few bruises from the whole ordeal but even the scans showed that Voldemort hadn't done anything to harm him. It made Harry worry even more.
Why hadn't Voldemort killed him? Why leave him alive? why- the questions were endless.
By the time Dumbledore came to see him, he was exhausted by all the uncertainty.
"Harry, my boy, I must apologize. I meant to be here when you woke up." Harry could see the tension in the tired kindly face. He flushed, feeling vaguely guilty, staring down at his fingers.
He couldn't meet Dumbledore's eyes.
He couldn't explain it. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Professor Dumbledore could read people's minds just like Voldemort.
"It was Voldemort, Professor. Possessing Quirrell!" He blurted out.
Dumbledore sighed. "I was afraid of that."
Then why didn't you do anything about it? Harry bit his lips, pushing that thought down. Anger welled in him regardless. Dumbledore had known, and he had done nothing.
He told Dumbledore in halting sentences what had happened. When he came to the part after the body bind curse, when Voldemort had hit him with the memory spell, his breath caught. He couldn't talk about it - the memories. His or Voldemort's. It felt wrong, like, he was spilling someone's secrets.
"He took the Stone and hit me with a sleeping charm."
He summarised instead. He lied.
Dumbledore seemed to buy the lie but he looked disappointed. Like Harry had failed his test somehow. Harry couldn't help but be grateful that Dumbledore at least wasn't looking at him, the way he had looked at child Voldemort in his memories. Like a thief. Except Dumbledore didn't know how Harry had scurried and stowed away broken bits of Dudley's old toys; or how he'd stolen Piers' favourite yellow crayon, after he'd kicked him one time too many.
He had a lot of questions, but he was unsatisfied with Dumbledore's answers. Harry felt lied to; then again, hadn't he lied to Dumbledore? Maybe he deserved it.
But somethings rankled.
"Wait, you are saying my mother's love protected me? Then what did Voldemort mean when he said they were some sort of 'blood wards'?"
"When did he tell you this?" Dumbledore asked sharply, staring at Harry with an expression that made him panic.
"Right after he hit me with the body bind curse. He said he didn't have time to figure them out."
Dumbledore regarded him quietly for so long that it made him uncomfortable, before suggesting, "You may be tired and forgetting important details. Perhaps, we should use a pensieve?" At Harry's questioning expression, Dumbledore explained, "it extracts a copy of your memory…"
"No! No! I am not letting my head get messed up again. Absolutely not." Harry snapped before he could stop himself. Did the whole magical community think it was normal to swap memories just like that?
"What I mean is," he babbled "I don't want to mess with my head - the scar, it has been hurting, since then. I'll tell you anything that I remember later."
Why you manipulative little boy. He ignored that voice in his head.
"It's completely painless," Dumbledore offered but didn't push much.
It was only as Dumbledore was leaving that Harry blurted out the question that had been plaguing him.
"Why didn't he just kill me?"
"You must not think like that, Harry." Dumbledore said grimly. "Perhaps the protection given to you by your mother's love was too much for him to overcome."
Harry couldn't help but gape at Dumbledore. That was utter bollocks. Harry had been helpless. It didn't make any sense!
"But it would be best for you to not worry about it, Harry. You are safe and sound, that is all that matters." Dumbledore added smiling at him.
Safe and sound because Voldemort did not want to kill him. it wasn't much of a consolation.
Ron was seething when he and Hermione came to see Harry. He sat listening restlessly through Harry's recounting of the events before bursting out.
"McGonagall took more points off us! Can you believe that! For hexing Neville apparently and not listening to her."
"It's not that simple, Ron." Hermione said primly which only set Ron off.
"Stop defending her, just because she's a teacher, Hermione! We told her! And what was she going to do? Nothing!"
But Harry could see Hermione had figured it out - that niggling detail about the Mirror.
"No, she's right," Harry started explaining but when Ron turned even more splotchy red with anger, Hermione snapped, "If Harry hadn't been there, Professor Quirrell - You Know Who wouldn't have got the Stone out of the Mirror. Isn't that what Professor Dumbledore told Harry? That only a person who wanted to find the Stone but not use it could get to it. You Know Who wouldn't have gotten through that stage." Hermione looked at Harry sadly.
"what are you going on about!" Ron was still seething.
"That it was my fault that Voldemort got the Stone." Harry said quietly.
"NO IT WASN'T!" Ron turned, shouting at Hermione.
"Oh, honestly Ron, stop being an idiot. I am not saying it was Harry's fault. It was all of us. We didn't trust -"
They get thrown out of the infirmary soon after for shouting. But Harry knows Hermione is right.
It was his fault.
The last few days of the term went too slowly for Harry's liking. Rumours were flying thick but most of the students thought it was just Quirrell, who had got to the Philosopher's Stone, not Voldemort.
"Did you hear about how Potter tried to stop Quirrell from taking the Philosopher's Stone."
"Yeah, but apparently it had something to do with You Know Who."
"Please, he's lying! Probably wants the attention. You Know Who possessing Q…Q…Q…Quirrell?"
"He did get away with the Stone."
"Yeah, but have you heard how that was Potter's fault. He apparently-"
Harry kept his head down and didn't bother correcting anyone. The Gryffindors seemed to think that their failure to stop Quirrell was some sort of slap against their house's credentials. They rallied around Neville when he earned them a few points at the end of year feast, even though it didn't really help. They were dead last anyway.
So bravery only counts when you win house points. Harry thought sullenly as he stabbed at the food at the end of the year feast. He couldn't wait for the year to end.
He should have known better. Sure, the last few days at Hogwarts had been full of jeering and snide remarks, but anything was better than the Dursleys.
Especially Dursleys, who were furious with him.
It wasn't even his fault. How was he to blame that the Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had chosen to show up, unannounced, at his doorstep, one day into the summer holidays?
"Oh dear, I hope I haven't caused too much trouble for you?" Fudge was still staring warily towards the house where they had left a rapidly purpling Uncle Vernon.
"It'll be alright." Harry said dully, resigned to being grounded forever. He wasn't sure how bad it would be. Cornelius Fudge was at least wearing a muggle pinstriped lime green suit. His calling card had however hovered mid-air in front of Uncle Vernon's nose.
"Are they- are they always like this?" Fudge asked hesitantly.
Pity. Great, just what he needed.
"Why are you here, Minister?" Harry asked, steering the conversation away from his relatives.
"Oh that! Nothing really, Harry. Just thought we'd have a chat." Fudge said, brightening up.
Cornelius Fudge for all his kindly air was here on an agenda. Dumbledore hadn't told Harry what his plans were much to his frustration. But Cornelius Fudge was a wealth of information. Harry learnt that Dumbledore was insisting that the Ministry take the possibility that Voldemort was back seriously.
"You can see why we wouldn't want to announce Dumbledore's suspicions to the general public, Harry. Mass pandemonium would break out! We wouldn't want that. Not so soon after the election."
Harry wanted to laugh. He couldn't wrap his head around it all, but he was getting a sense that Fudge was saying Voldemort being back was bad for politics.
"I mean I am not insinuating like some people you were lying Harry; no, of course not! But you must see how it's possible you were mistaken. Quirrell could have been pretending. And you've just been around magic for a year now." Fudge didn't really notice how Harry's hands were clenching into fists and he continued blithely. "Which I now think is quite unfortunate, Harry! Many a magical couple would have gladly welcomed you into their homes. I don't know why Dumbledore insisted you should grow up with… them."
The anger that had been building as he was listening to Fudge left him.
"I could have…I could have gone somewhere else?" Harry had never thought about it being a possibility.
"Well, of course! Any number of wizarding families would have opened their homes and hearts to you. I bet we could have easily traced a magical relative. The Potters are an old wizarding family after all! I know the Ministry should have insisted but Bagnold was Prime Minister then. And I know we shouldn't talk ill of the departed, but he really had no backbone! He went along with Dumbledore on nearly everything. And Dumbledore was so insistent that you should grow up with your mothers' muggle relatives. Now if it had been me, I would have made sure you were properly cared for. It's a shame..."
But Harry tuned him out as he tried to wrap his head around what he had learnt.
Dumbledore had left him with the Dursleys? Why would Dumbledore? Did he have no idea what they were like?
He was so taken up by the thought, he didn't really argue when Fudge brought the conversation back to Voldemort.
"I just want to stress that it would be better if we were discrete, Harry. The Aurors are searching for that rotten Quirrell and once we have him, we'll know how exactly he fooled you. I hope you will trust the Ministry."
"The Aurors?"
"They are like muggle police." Fudge shook his head sadly. "I am truly sorry you had to grow up ignorant of your heritage, Harry."
Pity. He didn't need Fudge's pity. He wasn't less because of his background. He would show him. He would show them all!
Anger welled in him and he nearly yelled at the still babbling Minister, but a thought came to him suddenly.
"Minister Fudge, I wanted to ask you a favour."
"Of course, Harry! Anything the Ministry could do for the Boy Who Lived." Fudge beamed, even as Harry wanted to scowl at the moniker.
But Harry needed to be on Fudge's good side. "I can't do any magic you know while I am here. I was wondering if I could have some sort of an exception?"
He said in a rush before Fudge could refuse. "I don't want to do any spells that would hurt the muggles, Minister. Just protective shield spells and things like that. So that I can learn more about my…heritage. It's hard to catch up in school."
"Yes," Fudge agreed. "the ones with muggle backgrounds usually have trouble." Harry didn't bother correcting him. The results had come but a week back. Hermione had topped, obviously.
Fudge seemed to consider it for a few minutes then said brightly. "Well, you know, this is highly irregular. But I don't have the heart to refuse your request. Especially with those muggles! I'll see what I can do. You must however use this allowance wisely. Get ahead in your schoolwork. Don't you worry about Quirrell and Professor Dumbledore's paranoia over You Know Who."
A trade then. Harry's silence about Voldemort in exchange for a free pass to perform under-age magic. Question was, did he take it? Then again, Dumbledore hadn't asked him to take a stand.
"of course Minister Fudge. Thank you."
He could now defend himself if Voldemort showed up! As Harry walked home, he couldn't help but feel satisfied at the thought.
No, it's because you manipulated the situation perfectly to get what you wanted.
He tried to ignore the dark vicious voice deep in his soul that was so pleased with him.
Not that it had helped. The stupid creature had shown up ruining Dursley's dinner party. While Harry had Fudge's word that he could use magic and the Ministry would overlook it, he didn't have his wand on him. Now not only were his school supplies and wand still locked up, Vernon had locked him up in the bedroom and barred the windows.
To top it off the horrible nightmares, he had been having…
He groaned and squished his head further into his pillow to stop all the depressing thoughts in his head.
"Aren't you too prepubescent for teenage melodrama?"
Harry flipped around, trying to scramble off the bed and reach his glasses on the dresser simultaneously. But his quilt came alive twisting up after him, slinking over his legs and elbows, pulling him up till he was seated upright against the headboard, then wrapping him up hip to feet, like a mummy holding him securely. Harry gulped, clenching his fists. He was trapped. Voldemort was a blurry shape at the foot of his bed, but there was no escaping his laughter.
Glasses were slipped gently over his nose, even as Voldemort sat down on the bed next to him, leaning on his hand thrown casually over Harry's bound feet.
"Hello Harry." Voldemort said, with a smile.
A tall pale young boy, 17 or 18 at best, with curly dark black hair and grey serious eyes; Voldemort had already used the Philosopher's Stone to make himself a new body.
Harry looked away, not really surprised to see this form. On and off and increasingly so, he had been getting flashes of memory and dreams from Voldemort. He had tried to write it off as a bad nightmare as he had watched Voldemort wrought himself a new body but now…
"Nothing to say? No inane questions of how I got through all of your beloved Headmaster's protections and how I am able to do this." He tapped the edge of Harry's nose with his bare index finger, then only laughed, pulling at the strand of Harry's hair when Harry snarled at him. He held his hand out in front of Harry' nose. The skin was unblemished; not a single burn mark. Harry's scar didn't hurt at all.
"My, you really don't look well. Those muggles aren't starving you, are they?" Voldemort asked, offhand but the mirth fell away from his face as he looked closer at Harry's drawn face.
He looked around the room, his eyes taking in Hedwig locked in her cage and freezing on the catflap on his door and his barred window.
"Tell me what happened." Voldemort asked, voice gone scary quiet. His eyes gleamed, red streaks crisscrossing the grey.
"NONE OF YOUR BLOODY CONCERN. GET-"
But Voldemort's hand shot out, viper quick, wrapping around Harry's throat. "I may tolerate a lot of your cheek, Harry." He said quietly. "But it wouldn't be wise to cross me. Tell Me." He let go and Harry coughed, taking in huge gasps of air, spluttering with rage and helplessness.
"No?" Voldemort asked, looking at Harry's mutinous expression. He rose up, running his hands over his robes to get rid of non-existent creases. "Well, in that case, I am going to go downstairs, and strip the flesh of your muggle relatives, layer by layer, till I have my answers."
Harry had a split second to realize that when it came to Voldemort it was not an empty threat. The door had sprung open, the locks tearing out of the wall, from some sort of nonverbal spell and Voldemort was already striding out before Harry found his voice.
"No, No! Stop, you can't come in here and-"
He swallowed, suddenly remembering how easily Voldemort had brushed away the death of his parents. It was pointless pointing out to Voldemort that it was wrong to murder people casually. "Stop, I don't want this!"
Voldemort turned around. Harry expected to see triumph, but Voldemort only looked flatly back at him.
"I do not care what you want."
Harry gulped. He was going to have to make a deal-with Voldemort.
"I- I'll tell you, what you want to know."
Voldemort seemed to consider it for a second before stepping back into the room. The door silently pulling shut behind him.
He stretched himself out on the floor, back to the bedframe, and half turned over his shoulder to listen as Harry talked. Harry couldn't figure it out. The casual way in which Voldemort was seated; the way he was paying attention to all that Harry was saying; the way he was acting as if this was all…normal. Why didn't he just do his mind reading thing; why force Harry to recount it? He felt strange sitting like this – having an almost normal conversation with Voldemort. Surely, this was not the way things were supposed to go between him and the Dark Lord.
"I thought you sent him…that creature, that house elf," Harry mumbled at the end. Voldemort had easily figured out what the creature was.
"A house elf to disturb your muggles' dinner party? Please, Harry, I have standards. This sounds like a petty pureblood prank."
"Yes, of course, you are all about killing babies." Harry gasped, then cringed away, fully expecting to be seized by his neck again. But Voldemort only smiled. It felt odd for Harry to see that all together pleasant expression on Voldemort's face. Before, it had been still creepy, to see Voldemort possessing Quirrell, but this face suited Voldemort all too much. He wondered if this had been Voldemort's real face.
"I do not expect you to agree, but I did have a just provocation."
"Really, what did I do. Dribble on you?" shut up shut up shut up. But the words just came.
But Voldemort's smile only grew more pronounced.
"Well, this is surprising. Dumbledore hasn't told you."
"Told me what?" Harry hated that he was curious. He knew he shouldn't ask Voldemort anything and yet Dumbledore hadn't given him a clear answer.
"The Prophecy, of course." Voldemort said, slowly savouring Harry's look of confusion.
Harry had trouble keeping up as Voldemort laid out the contents of the prophecy. Well part of it anyway. The part, Severus had heard and reported back. Yes, Severus had been a Death Eater. Did Harry know Severus had been in love with his mother? Practically begged to save her life. So that's why he hadn't wanted to kill her. But she wouldn't move. He had no choice! And yet, her sacrifice had triggered the Blood Wards, dark protective magic that had wrapped around Harry that night and now surrounded his house here as well. Probably, why the old coot had wanted him to live here. Mind you, it wasn't infallible. For instance, it wouldn't work against him anymore.
Harry reeled under too much information. He wanted to deny all of it, but he knew instinctively that Voldemort was telling him the truth. Not all of it, perhaps twisting it, but truth, nevertheless. What had Dumbledore said? "Truth was a beautiful and terrible thing and therefore must be treated with caution?"
Is that why Dumbledore hadn't told him all this? Is that why Voldemort had just thrown caution to the air and told him all of it?
"Why tell me all this? What do you want from me? I am always going to hate you. I am not going to forgive you." At Voldemort's smirk Harry added angrily. "And you aren't looking for my forgiveness anyway. You killed my parents. Why are we even having this conversation?"
Voldemort shrugged, all too human as his head fell back against the bed. "And what would you have us do? A duel to death to settle your revenge and the Prophecy?" he asked ,turning his head sideways to stare up at Harry.
"Yes," Harry said, willing himself to look at Voldemort's open expression and not turn away. He expected Voldemort to laugh but he didn't. Just shook his head and asked him seriously.
"You won't have a chance. Do you know any fatal spells? Would you even be able to defend yourself? Because I was there when Quirrell taught you defence and between you and me, he was useless. Besides, you haven't exactly applied yourself, have you, Harry, in Hogwarts?"
Except at Quidditch. Voldemort added as an afterthought.
"I DON'T KNOW!" Harry snapped. "Maybe I'll get lucky twice." Voldemort didn't even bother to correct him, but Harry knew it was impossible.
The blood wards were useless now. He felt helpless, trussed up like a chicken.
"What do you want?" Harry asked again.
Voldemort regarded Harry for long seconds which unnerved him. His grey eyes were clear, there was no red gleam that filled them when he was angry.
"I want to know why we share a connection." Voldemort said finally. "Aren't you curious? You're still seeing my memories, aren't you? Sensing at times, even my emotions?"
"No," Harry lied, then flushed at Voldemort's knowing smile. He knew though he had been denying it that for the past month he had kept slipping into Voldemort's dreams-nightmares; Nightmares centring on the past decade. Harry had been made all too aware of the hellish non corporeal state that Voldemort had existed in. Surely death would have been preferable and yet Voldemort had survived. The quick strong flashes of emotion were even more disturbing though rarer. He'd experienced Voldemort's awe as the Stone wrought him his body; he'd felt the bouts of anger that routinely seized Voldemort. Sometimes…sometimes, he couldn't tell the difference between his and Voldemort's emotions.
His attention snapped back to Voldemort as he continued, "We share a lot in common, Harry. Strange isn't it, that the Prophecy should twist my hand to turn you into my mirror image? I am curious to know what the Prophecy foretold in detail. I am all the more curious to know more about you. I think the same must be true for you. If it makes you feel better, you can think of it as finding out your enemy's weaknesses."
"I am nothing like you. I don't want to know anything about you."
"Your childish refusal to acknowledge our connection doesn't change the fact it exists."
"CHILDISH?" Harry spluttered. "CONNECTION? Fine, we share a connection. So what? You care suddenly? I don't need your pity."
"I told you already, I don't care about what you want." Voldemort snapped, the red gleam sparkling briefly in his eyes. Harry felt the quilt loosen its death grip on him.
"I have to leave. I will deal with your relatives on my way out." Voldemort said, standing up gracefully from the floor, even as Harry scrambled up.
"NO!" Harry said, gripping at Voldemort's robe before he had thought it through. "You -," he swallowed around the word 'promised'. "you said you wouldn't hurt them."
Voldemort stepped close and pushed Harry's chin up to stare at his face. "Harry," he said in a mock chiding voice. "Do not lie! I said no such thing."
"I WON'T LET YOU!" Harry shouted desperately.
How could he have trusted the Dark Lord? He was so stupid.
"Then you had better come down and stop me." Voldemort said smiling even as he easily pulled away from Harry.
Of course, he had no plans to kill the boy's muggle relatives. He may have murdered Harry's parents, but these muggles had nurtured the anger and darkness in Harry. If anyone deserved to hurt them, it was Harry.
He wasn't going to point this out now. There would be time for it later. He was here to win the boy's trust and hurting his muggle relatives, vile as they were, wouldn't help.
It was stupidly easy to get them to fall into obedience. Like all muggles, they were cowards; he didn't even have to use much magic. Just a bit - to show he meant it when he said that they would regret their treatment of his boy. It set them scrambling over themselves, to take down the window grill, unlock and carry Harry's belongings up to his room and put large platters of food in front of him to eat.
"I bet you expect me to be grateful!" Harry hissed. Petunia stifled a cry of alarm and ran out of the room. Harry stared after her in surprise. Parseltongue had slipped out, and he hadn't even realized the difference. Voldemort had thought he would be jealous to hear the gift in another; and yet Harry was his. It was but natural.
"No, I expect you to remember, that they will have you believe you are weak, that you are useless, that you are a freak," Voldemort replied in parseltongue, savouring the way Harry's attention turned towards him completely. " but you are the one, who has power over them. They only trample on you because you let them."
Harry ducked his head, half annoyed sibilants of parseltongue slipping out and he sounded so like an angry little snake in the moment, that Voldemort laughed.
Harry started, looking at him in suspicion, but Voldemort only smiled innocently at him, which seemed to make him angrier.
Yet as Harry nearly inhaled a plate of sandwiches only throwing baleful glances at him, Voldemort knew slowly but surely, he was going to spoil Dumbledore's plans of crafting his vanquisher.
You are going to lose old man.
Harry hated to admit it, but his summer holidays improved vastly after Voldemort's visit. The Dursleys kept to themselves, he didn't have any chores and enjoyed complete freedom. He was able to write to Ron and Hermione, explaining the mix up and was waiting at his front door when Mr. Weasley, Ron and the twins showed up to take him to their home for the rest of the holidays.
It was a tight fit in the old Ford Angilica but they managed. Harry was beyond excited. He listened to the twins talk of how fast the car could fly, heard all about Chudley Cannons dismal performance and tried to sooth as best as he could Mr Weasley's worries about his relatives.
"I was hoping to speak to your uncle about the drilling machines. Imagine, drilling miles into the earth. I think the muggles could reach the very centre of the earth if they put their minds to it!"
"They don't like magic much"
"Oh, I understand completely. Imagine what a shock magic must be for them. We must take care that we treat them kindly."
"What about how they treat us?" Harry muttered under his breath but didn't press the point with Ron's father. It was obvious Mr. Weasley found all muggles and muggle things 'fascinating'.
The Burrow was completely different from Privet Drive. Molly Weasley welcomed him like he was Ron's long-lost twin and the entire Weasley clan treated him like family. They showered him with love, kindness and laughter. And yet ultimately, it left him jealous and angry. Mr. Weasley had explained the logic of the trace to Harry kindly and how it didn't work in magical homes, but Harry couldn't help but feel frustrated. He had to wheedle Fudge into letting him use magic even in self-defence like it was some big favour. But here in the Burrow, magic was everywhere and so common place, it made his heart ache. Fudge's words continued to haunt him. He could have had all this. It didn't help that it was apparent from Molly's guarded questions, that she seemed aware that his family wasn't what it should be. He was pretty sure it was the reason he'd been invited for the stay.
Then why had they left him with them? He thought viciously. For his protection? From Voldemort who had torn through the protection at his first try with none of them even realizing it?
They didn't talk about Voldemort either. Ron was pretty certain, that his parents were mixed up in the resistance, but they were tight-lipped about it. "It's mum! She thinks we are too young to be part of it. Like You Know Who cares about age! He tried to kill you when you were a baby!" Ron said exasperated, after another failed attempt to get information from his mother.
Bill, his eldest brother, had a bit more information but nothing that was terribly useful. "The thing is Dumbledore wants to build up the old underground resistance against You Know Who. But it is difficult when there is no proof of his return. Harry's word is good enough with our lot," he said smiling at Harry. "but many are wondering why there is no evidence of death eater gatherings, no torture, no kidnappings, no death. It is hard to keep a resistance going when there's nothing to resist."
Unless, you counted the fact that Voldemort had ordered his relatives into providing him with three large meals a day.
Harry still hadn't told anyone about Voldemort. He didn't know how to start even though he knew the longer he waited, the more difficult it would be to explain. He knew it wasn't normal and he had even wondered if Voldemort had put some sort of spell on him to prevent him talking. But it didn't seem to come from any spell work, it felt more like a strange reluctance to divulge the shared bond to anyone. His mind was still trying to figure out the information overload that Voldemort had dumped on him. And ignoring as best as it could, the live wire connection, he sometimes felt ran between them.
He was so preoccupied, he didn't pay enough attention to Molly Weasley's instructions on how to use the floo to reach Diagon Alley and it was just his luck, he ended up in an old sinister shop. The sort of shop Molly Weasley would definitely not choose, but what really raised his hackles was the all too familiar voice at the shop counter.
"You are certain then? No such cup has passed through your shop?" It was Voldemort.
Harry desperately looked around, then slid into the double door wooden closet next to the fireplace. He could hear the conversation as they came closer. "No sir. Nothing…nothing of that sort has been in here. I can show you our records." A reedy clearly afraid voice answered. They were close now; through the crack, Harry saw there was a third man apart from Voldemort and the balding shopkeeper– a tall well-dressed man, with nearly white blonde hair. Malfoy's father. The resemblance to Draco was too obvious.
Ron was right. He must be a death eater.
Voldemort came closer, inspecting the various artefacts casually, even as the shopkeeper kept up a nervous explanation. Harry shut the closet completely, plunging himself in darkness. He gripped his wand, determined to make a run for it, if Voldemort found him.
"Mr. Borgins if you could wrap this up for me?" Voldemort said abruptly from right outside the closet. Harry jumped.
"The Hangman's Lamp? Why yes of course." The sound of something being picked up, then scuttling feet could be heard. Harry sighed in relief.
The doors of the cupboard however were swung open the next second. Harry did manage to take Malfoy by surprise. A quick disarming charm and Malfoy's half raised wand went hurtling out of his grasp into Harry's hand. Harry's heart raced as he faced Voldemort. Voldemort, who didn't look the least bit surprised to see him; Harry's resolve to make a run for it crumbled.
Voldemort smirked at the older Malfoy's surprised expression, then gestured towards the front of the store. "Lucius, why don't you go distract Mr. Borgins, while I lead our young intruder out unnoticed."
"But-"
"Lucius," and Harry's spine crawled at the tone of Voldemort's voice. "you just got bested by a 12-year-old. I suggest you don't make matters worse."
Lucius Malfoy bowed his head, glanced askance at Harry again but left.
Voldemort plucked both wands out of Harry's hand and pulled Harry out of the shop 'Borgin and Burkes' (the lettering outside the shop read), an iron grip on his shoulder and frog marched him quickly down the street that was definitely not Diagon Alley. Voldemort ducked into a narrow sidelane and then into a dilapidated tea shop, where the peeling letters read 'Rose's Tearoom'; it was quiet and cool and mostly empty. A young girl, a bit older than Harry, showed them to a table right at the end. She smiled, all dimples, at Voldemort as he ordered tea and left sparing Harry hardly a glance.
"If you wanted to meet, you could have just owled." Voldemort said finally.
"You know what happened. You can see every bloody thought in my head!" Harry glared at him.
Voldemort must have known all along Harry was hiding in that closet. He had probably felt it; the exact moment when Harry had stumbled into Borgin and Burkes by mistake.
"Not every thought. I've put shields up to stop most of the endless chatter that comes from your end. Otherwise, I would have strangled you, just to stop hearing your endless quidditch centric daydreams."
Harry was too curious to feel embarrassed. "Wait, you can shield your mind? How do I do that?"
"Occlumency," Voldemort said looking straight into Harry's eyes.
The word seemed to make something in his brain click into place. Suddenly, Harry just knew what Voldemort was talking about. The theory if not the actual practice of it flitted right into his brain. He gripped the table, closing his eyes, as his brain seemed to reorder itself around the information.
Voldemort nodded as if he was satisfied with the result. "Handy little side effect of the connection isn't it?"
Harry was conflicted. He knew he should refuse Voldemort's knowledge. But he knew how useful the information he'd received. "So now what? We have tea and catch up?" He said instead.
"Why not?" Voldemort asked. "For instance, do you know I am putting myself back together?" he said conversationally. "You must have felt it last week."
Voldemort was talking nonsense. Yet Harry remembered the pain from last week. It had hit in the middle of the day. Luckily, he'd been able to get to the bathroom and lock himself in with a silencing charm for the worst of it. He had fallen right into some old repressed memory and had wept bitterly at the thought of having killed that old Albanian muggle villager. It had taken him a while to separate himself from the Voldemort in the memory and to convince himself he wasn't the murderer. Even then, he'd felt sick from guilt for most of the week and had a hard time escaping Molly's mothering tendency.
"You can't occlude when it happens, can you?" Sure, Voldemort had told him about 'putting himself back together' almost casually but Harry knew there was some deep magic involved. There was a reason Voldemort was sharing this information. Harry's skin crawled as he felt the ghost of Voldemort's screams. Those memories had physically hurt.
Voldemort shook his head. "I wouldn't, even if I could. Believe it or not, I wouldn't be able to do it without you." He was mocking again.
"Well then, all the more reason why I should learn how to occlude so that I can stop 'helping' you." Harry said, angrily.
"Ah, but don't you want your revenge, Harry?"
Harry ignored the smirk. "How would putting you back together help kill you?"
Voldemort leaned forward and hissed low and soft. "A long time ago, I hid parts of me away. When the killing curse backfired," he said gesturing at Harry's scar, "it didn't kill me because it didn't hit all of me. If you want to kill me – to really kill me, you will have to wait till I am whole again."
Harry gaped. Voldemort was doing it again! Distracting him with information. Why would Voldemort tell him this voluntarily? Especially if the Prophecy was true. And what did he mean by 'parts of him?'
"Why would you even want to be whole again? Immortality, isn't that your big thing."
A slow sure smile graced Voldemort's face. "You've been reading up on me."
Harry annoyed looked away. It had rankled what Voldemort had said about Harry not knowing enough to fight him.
What if he had? Didn't Voldemort say he should get to know his enemies? He had written to Hermione to borrow her copy of 'Dark Lords of the 20th Century'. Not that it was very useful.
"You're right, it has very little factual information and is too biased to be of any critical value." Voldemort said padding up Harry's more simpler thoughts. Their attention was diverted as the door was flung open. Lucius Malfoy strode in, slightly out of breath and panicked, though he seemed to recover as soon as he saw them looking at him.
"Lucius," Voldemort said reaching for the cup of tea "you are aware of our young intruder, yes? I believe your son is in the same year at Hogwarts."
"Yes, my lord. I –"
Voldemort cut him off. "Now that you are acquainted, perhaps you could make a quick stop at Morgan's for a few books on introductory Dark Arts and Wizarding History. Something on your son's level. Probably a bit advanced for you, but you'll just have to catch up, Harry." He ignored the way Harry bristled at that and turned his attention back at Lucius. "You had better hurry. You wouldn't want to keep Narcissa and your son waiting."
To his credit, though Lucius turned a pasty yellow, he didn't argue. He left almost immediately.
"You enjoyed that," Voldemort said, putting down the teacup and looking squarely at Harry.
Harry ducked his head annoyed at Voldemort for sensing his mood but not bothering to deny it. It was true enough. Draco Malfoy had annoyed them to no end going on about how great his father was, all of last year. And here, he was practically being treated like an errand boy by Voldemort who looked no older than 17-year-old.
"you haven't answered my question." Harry countered.
Voldemort shrugged.
"I do care about immortality but splitting myself up had a rather unfortunate side effect. That thing you keep accusing me of - Insanity." He smirked. "I only realized that after I met you, Harry. Your very existence is proof of my instability."
Harry snorted. "So what? I help put you back together again, and all your mad urges to kill babies and muggleborns disappears?" He didn't believe that.
"You help put me back together," Voldemort repeated Harry's words. "I become mortal and somewhat less improbable to kill. Of course, that's supposing that you can actually best me in a duel."
Harry didn't know how to respond.
Voldemort thanked the young girl with a smile that left her starry eyed and chatted amiably with her as she rang up their bill. By the time they left, Harry knew - Greta was 14, had never been to Hogwarts, ("not a squib, mind you. The old man didn't have the money to pay for both me and Ruthie for that fancy spanzy school"), her great ambition was to revamp the dessert menu – ("and by Merlin, she would get her mama to see the sense in it one of these days") and of course they could use their floo to pop into Knockturn any time they wanted ("for a reasonable fee that was.")
Harry had also learnt that The Dark Lords of the 20th Century was at least right when it said that Voldemort had an almost magical charisma that pulled people towards him.
Lucius was quick, reappearing by their side, just at the edge of Knockturn Alley. (Voldemort had explained that Knockturn Alley had all the interesting old magic, but it had fared badly next to the commercialized family friendly ware offered by Diagon Alley.) He had a couple of books wrapped in plain brown paper, which he handed over to Harry with no small amount of disbelief.
"Your attempt to duel with me will be embarrassingly short, if you don't learn anything beyond that static rot that Hogwarts teaches." Voldemort noted lightly.
Harry had wanted to refuse the books, but Lucius Malfoy's almost bugged eyed horror, when he just accepted the books with a nod, was too good to pass up.
Notes
I am cross posting this here from AO3. Will be posting simultaneously from now on.
A Key if not clear:
Specific Thoughts are in italics as are 'past dialogues within quotes'
Parseltongue is in bold
This work is pure indulgence on my part. I love a good 'what if Voldemort knew Harry Potter was his horcrux' and while there are plenty of these works, there was a specific one that I wanted to read and couldn't find. So I started writing it myself.
While you will find cannon sprinkled here and there, I have no interest in regurgitating the 7 books and given the nature of the AU, relationships will develop differently. Information from Pottermore and the books have been used only when it suits my purpose.
Comments are much appreciated!