Chapter Five -- A Brief Interlude on the Other Side of the Fence

While Harry was sobbing on the cold stone floor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, things weren't, as Muggles say, "greener on the other side of the fence." Lord Voldemort sat in a high-backed wooden chair in a place far above all of his Death Eaters who cowered before him -- As they well should.

"I can't believe it," he chuckled. "A spell I cast over fifty years ago, finally taking its toll on my life . . . So I have been bound then, have I?"

Lucius Malfoy was the one to step forward.

"Yes, my Lord."

"And may I ask who I have been bound to?"

Lucius looked around at the circle of Death Eaters who had assembled that day. No one wanted to tell Lord Voldemort that he had been bound to the young Potter child. No one wanted to break that sort of news to the most powerful Dark Lord ever known.

"Well?" Voldemort asked, drumming his fingers against the armrest impatiently. "Who have I been bound to?"

"Young Harry Potter, my Lord," Lucius said, wanting to get this entire thing over with as quickly as possible and hoping that Voldemort wouldn't decide to follow the Roman example and kill the messenger.

The drumming stopped.

"What did you say?" Voldemort asked quietly, threateningly.

"You've been bound to Harry Potter," Lucius responded, slowly to make sure that Voldemort understood him correctly. He didn't want to have to repeat himself.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort repeated. Lucius couldn't grasp any emotion coming from the Dark Lord. What was he thinking? How did he feel about this entire thing?

"Befitting," Voldemort suddenly said, raising the hood of his cape. The red eyes beat down upon the Death Eaters. "And horribly ironic, wouldn't you say Lucius?"

Lucius suddenly felt a twinge of pity for the Potter boy. Here sat Voldemort: The great Dark Lord -- powerful beyond belief, evil beyond belief. This gaunt, white, skeletal creature sitting before them was the boy's fate. The poor child . . .

"Yes, my Lord. Horribly ironic."

"Yes," Voldemort sighed, looking at a portrait on the wall absent- mindedly. The portrait was of a young boy -- smiling smugly at the artist while he worked. He had one of those expressions that taunted -- "I know something you don't know . . ." Ah, Tom Riddle!

"Has anyone told the boy yet?" Voldemort asked, snapping back to attention.

"Yes, my Lord. Professor Dumbledore has taken it upon himself to tell the boy."

"Dumbledore," Voldemort said. He smiled and Lucius shivered. There was something about those cold, white lips that made them disturbing when they contorted and twisted into a smile. "It is also befitting that Dumbledore should tell the boy. Dumbledore was the one who convinced me to do the binding spell in the first place. Thought it would keep me in line."

"Hasn't worked very well then," Lucius said under his breath, certain that Voldemort couldn't hear him.

"When does the child turn sixteen?" Voldemort asked.

"In a couple of weeks. He'll be staying at Hogwarts through the summer vacation this year. He'll need some time to adjust to the idea of course, my Lord."

"Of course," Voldemort repeated, not really paying attention. "You may all leave now."

Lucius didn't protest. He quickly grabbed his robes and left the room. The other Death Eaters followed suit.

Voldemort looked back up at the portrait. The child smiling smugly -- not at the artist this time, but directly at him.

"What, Tom Riddle?" Voldemort laughed. "Why are you sitting there, looking so smug? Why are you smiling at me like that -- you coy little thing!" It had been so long since Voldemort had identified himself as Tom Riddle . . . It no longer seemed odd to address the portrait as an entity completely different from himself.

"I can just see you," he said to himself, leaning back in the hard chair, "Poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student . . ." Voldemort remembered the words exactly, then he added: "And a complete and utter fool."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------

"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing respectfully before Voldemort. "Albus Dumbledore is here to see you -- It's urgent."

"Send him in," Voldemort said with a wave of his hand. He had been expecting Albus Dumbledore to come calling for some time now. He always loved hearing from his old Transfiguration teacher -- From the one who hadn't been lured in by his charms.

At that moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror -- a snake-like monster. Charms, Lord Voldemort? Charms? What charms are you speaking of?

Dumbledore entered the room, clad in a deep royal blue cloak with the hood up.

"Afraid that someone will see you coming to call on me then, Professor?" Voldemort hissed. He was amazed at his own hostility. Dumbledore lifted his hood. "Senile old man," Voldemort thought to himself but somewhere he felt a twinge of fear. Senile but powerful . . .

"In my position, it isn't wise to be paying a visit to Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, with a sad smile. "How have you been Tom?"

"Are you looking for an answer or are you just being cordial?"

"Looking for an answer," Dumbledore said with a caring concern that just about undid Voldemort.

"Fine," Voldemort snapped. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me Tom. It's been a long time since I was Tom."

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "A long time." He paused and started in on the main topic of interest. "Have you heard the news then?"

"Yes. Unfortunately I can't blame you for this predicament. You warned me about the binding spell. But Harry Potter . . ." Voldemort laughed, coldly. "Who would have thought that the one person in the universe who is completely complementary to me . . . Harry Potter."

"I wasn't expecting it myself," Dumbledore said, taking a seat at a long, mahogany table. "I should have seen it though . . . Harry looks so much like you did at that age. He has the same glint of ambition in his eyes. He wants to prove himself, just like you always did. Your wands even correspond," Dumbledore said, brightly.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Voldemort said through gritted teeth.

"Yes. You realize that, by being bound to you, our young Mister Potter will never have another chance at a relationship? You are his live- all, end-all. Harry will never be married. He will never have children. He will miss out on so many of the events that make life wonderful."

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty, Professor Dumbledore?"

"No. I am just pointing out the facts of the matter. The one thing that desperately bothered Harry was the romantic connotation that being bound has."

"Has the boy had any previous experience?" Voldemort asked suddenly, a slight flush rising into his white cheeks.

"Not really," Dumbledore smiled. "He hasn't gone very far with Miss Chang -- despite the fact that he considers it an 'avid night of passion.'"

Voldemort smiled. There was something so appealing in the naivete of youth.

"He's very confused right now," Dumbledore continued. "There's the question of his own sexuality, for the first thing. Being bound to you, he realizes that he'll probably have an obligation to sleep with you . . . You are aware of that obligation, are you not?"

Voldemort nodded his head, solemnly. That thought had crossed his mind -- many times.

"That was absolutely devastating to the boy," Dumbledore sighed. "It would be so much easier if he were just a bit older . . . Sixteen is a hard age."

"I remember when I was sixteen," Voldemort said, relaxing a bit from his previous state of anger and fear. He picked up a pitcher and poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to Professor Dumbledore. "It is a hard age. I can swear to that."

"And then there's the question of him being bound to, well . . . you. Sworn enemies for life, now bound as lovers."

"Stop it," Voldemort scowled. "You're making it sound romantic."

"I suppose," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of wine. "It would have been easier if you hadn't killed the boy's parents, you do know that."

"I hadn't exactly been counting on this."

"I know," Dumbledore said, finishing off his glass of wine and rising to his feet. He put his cloak back on and pulled a vial from one of the pockets. "I best be off then. Hogwarts waits for no man." He handed the vial to Voldemort. "Take this before you go to bed tonight."

"What is it?" Voldemort asked skeptically.

"It's just something to make Harry a bit . . . more at ease with the entire idea," Dumbledore smiled. "Trust me."

"I should know better than to trust you."

"Trust me."