"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," Hagrid said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry."

Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.

"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

-- Hagrid, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

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Disclaimer: The Potterverse and all things relating thereto are the property of J.K.R. and sundry publishing corporations. I am merely borrowing them, and I promise to return them alive or intact. Or possibly both.

A/N: This chapter reveals Dark Secret #1, in case you were wondering. It's a VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, and ought to be read fairly carefully if later chapters are to make sense. Remember: if you like this chapter, hate this chapter, or have constructive criticism on this chapter, please review.

Thanks to Xaiver, Kate, spangle star, vmr, Phoenix, Nicky, MidnightDragon, Chrysta, Weasleyfreak, Gaby, Snufflescutie, Kaydee, livic88, tsuki tatsu, Jeva, thankssamigo, TheRedFeatheryPlug, Ice, Luna Rose, Fortar (and anyone who has reviewed since I last checked) for their reviews. As before, questions and comments are addressed down at the end of the chapter. Not *everyone's* questions/comments – I only have a limited amount of time, and if it comes to thanking everybody individually or working on the story, well …

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NO HIGHER PRAISE:

CHAPTER SIX

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd – I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ...."

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort -- who is the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin -- can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure ...."

~ Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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"So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike ... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."

~ Tom Riddle in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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Voldemort.

Harry reeled backward, rolling awkwardly across the cold floor. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling frantically for his wand before recollecting, with an icy stab of panic, that he had dropped it. For a moment, he could have wept with frustration – here he was, utterly and completely defenseless, without a doubt about to die, and it was all because he had been a stupid idiot and … and …

And what?

He tore his eyes away from Voldemort's inhuman face to look at the man … the man who, for one brief moment, he had really thought was his father. Was he actually a Death Eater? What other explanation for this disaster could there possibly be? The realization hurt, and he bit down on his lip, hoping vaguely that the physical pain could distract him from the infinitely more severe emotional pain. No way was he going to break down in front of Voldemort – who was probably laughing at him. Laughing at fooling Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Grew-Up-to-Be-Really-Gullible.

Anger blunted the edge of the pain and he turned back toward Voldemort, breathing hard. "Yeah, I guess we do meet yet again." Wildly, he searched his mind for something really cutting to say – perhaps something Professor Snape would have said in the same situation – but could only come up with, "You must really have an inferiority complex, you know, to think a fifteen-year-old boy is such a threat." He paused, then added for good measure, "And did I mention that I think you're hideously ugly?"

If I'm going to die, he thought bitterly, I might as well die like my father probably did – Voldemort said HE wasn't afraid … He kept his eyes on Voldemort, yet remained very aware of the Death Eater in his peripheral vision – the man was currently scrambling to his feet, staggering a bit.

Voldemort evidently didn't appreciate Harry's effort to show his lack of fear. His eyes narrowed angrily, and he raised his wand. "Insolent brat," he hissed, and Harry straightened his shoulders and set his jaw, ready to die like a man.

Then the Death Eater stepped in front of him, right into the line of fire. Voldemort lowered the wand slightly, and the look of anger faded into a mixture of irritation and cruel amusement. "Get out of the way," he said softly. "I am merely going to teach your son a lesson – not kill him."

Son? But – wait – isn't he going to gloat now about tricking me? This is supposed to be the part where he laughs and tells me what an idiot I am. But he said … This is mad. What does he mean, he's not going to kill me?

Harry caught his lip between his teeth and bit down again, this time in an effort to verify that this was real life and not a bizarre, skewed nightmare.

"Leave him alone." The man's voice was firm and clear, and it had not yet, as Harry feared, changed in tone and quality to become the jeering voice of a Death Eater. "Let him go. He's just a kid."

Voldemort lowered his wand the rest of the way, raising thin eyebrows in disbelief. "Let him go? Let him go? Ah …" Understanding curved his thin mouth into a smile. "You don't know. Didn't have much time for reminiscing in your happy little family reunion, hmm? Didn't even bother to ask little Harry why he was still alive?" His voice hardened. "Harry here is one of the three greatest threats that I face."

The man's posture shifted defensively, his breathing quickening. "You'll have to kill me first if you want to get at him."

"Oh, no, James. I have no intention of killing either of you." Harry wondered, briefly, if one could pass out from an overload of surprise. Now he had no idea whatsoever to think. James? Your son? The Death Eater – protecting me? Voldemort, not planning to kill me? Is this all an elaborate trick, or am I going crazy? Or is HE going crazy … ?

In front of him, the set of the man's shoulders suggested wary confusion. "But you said –"

"Oh, I know what I said. But you see, James, that was fourteen years ago. Things have changed."

"I know." The man's voice trembled briefly, then strengthened. "Something happened to you. I thought you were dead."

For a moment, Voldemort's red eyes flashed with anger and … something else. "I apologize for disappointing you," he said smoothly. "But, as you can see, I am very much alive."

"I don't really see how someone as soulless as you can be called alive," the man retorted, "and if so, you certainly don't have much of a life. You look even sicker than you did fourteen years ago."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Harry finally found his voice. Much to his embarrassment, it cracked from stress as he spoke. "What are you going on about? Are you saying this really is my – my –"

T man half-turned, the pale light glinting off of his glasses and hiding his eyes; Voldemort turned to study Harry curiously. Then he looked back at the man, then back at Harry, then he laughed softly, incredulously. "Are you saying, Harry Potter, that you do not believe this is your father?" Harry could not answer, and Voldemort went on. "No happy father-son reunion after all? How, then, did you get here? I had envisioned you flinging your arms about him in a transport of delight, thereby activating the portkey …" He tilted his head sideways, smiling cruelly. "Well, well, it looks as if this explanation will take up more of my time than I had thought."

"Portkey?" the man whispered, paling visibly. "How – how –"

"Sit down, both of you," Voldemort ordered, waving a hand toward a couch at the back of the room. It looked oddly out of place in the otherwise-empty room. Harry hesitated, then backed toward the couch, unwilling to turn his back on his enemy. The man remained standing, halfway between Voldemort and Harry, until Harry had settled himself cautiously on the dark blue fabric of the seat. "Sit down," Voldemort repeated, bending a cold glare on the man. The man paused, glancing between Harry and the Dark Lord, then spun and walked quickly to the couch. As he sat down, Harry shrank away, unwilling to come into contact with him again. He stole a sideways glance at the familiar profile, a sharp pain knifing through his stomach.

Was it really his father?

"Let me see," Voldemort mused, studying them both. "Where should I begin?" He flourished his wand briefly, and a dark oaken chair – rather throne-like, unsurprisingly – flickered into existence. Calmly, Voldemort seated himself, smiling slightly. "Hmmm – I believe I will start by assuring you, Harry, that this actually is James Potter."

"Sorry," Harry snapped, "but I don't believe you. I wouldn't believe you even if you said something obviously true – like – I dunno – 'Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard there is.' Or maybe, 'I'm a ruddy prat and I –'"

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, and snapped his fingers. Harry felt an odd, numbing sensation in his throat, and realized that it was a silencing charm. Furious, he clamped his mouth shut and glared at the Dark Lord, trying to ignore the fear crawling across his skin.

"I see that I will have to start at the beginning," Voldemort murmured, sounding resigned. The man made a sudden movement on his end of the couch, then sat still again. Voldemort smiled darkly at him, then leaned back, absently twirling his wand between his fingers – much the way Tom Riddle had in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry remembered. He longed to say something sarcastic, but, for obvious reasons, had to remain silent.

"I believe that you are already somewhat familiar with my early history, Harry. I will begin after I left Hogwarts. For ten years, I traveled abroad, learning much related to the Dark Arts, meeting powerful wizards – the very worst of the magical world, Dumbledore would probably say. However, my funds were limited. I came back to England to explore my options there – but gaining allies among wizard-kind required money. So I married a pureblood witch from an old and wealthy wizard family. They were happy enough to ally themselves with the heir of Salazar Slytherin. Alas, they have since died out … a great pity, for they were one of the foremost families in years gone by. I remained in England for four years, learning much of the political situation, gaining sympathy from purebloods and others who wished to see our kind restored to their former glory. At the end of that time, I returned to the continent, for there was still much left for me to learn. I left behind me a wife and child."

"No!" The man (James Potter?) surged to his feet, wild desperation in his voice. "You can't tell him that!"

"Can't I?" Voldemort asked softly.

"You promised. You swore an oath – you promised my friends and family wouldn't be told!" Harry stared alternately between them, bewildered, frightened, and very annoyed that he could not speak.

"Things have changed," Voldemort said dismissively. "Would you rather I kept my oaths and killed your son here and now?"

The man flinched as if struck. "Do what you like with me, but let him go. Please."

"You are in no position to make demands. Sit down and shut up." Voldemort flicked his wand; the man ducked with surprising speed. Harry leapt up, wildly wondering if he could make a break for it while Voldemort was distracted. He had a strong feeling that he did not want to hear whatever it was that the Dark Lord had to say – and if he didn't get away fast, he couldn't help hearing it.

Voldemort actually snarled. His next hex sent both of them slamming back onto the couch with enough force to leave them dizzy and disoriented for several seconds. Then he flicked his wand again, and black cords sprang into existence, wriggling around Harry like snakes, binding him motionless.

"Sit still, both of you," Voldemort hissed. He cast a venomous glare at Harry, then turned a warning look at the bespectacled man, who was tensed up on his end of the couch, breathing hard. "My wife," he continued slowly, "left me about a year after I left England. Apparently she was beginning to disapprove of me. It might have had something to do with my eyes … she was a trifle upset when they turned red." He smiled slightly, those same eyes flickering away from Harry for an instant to study the other occupant of the couch. "I used to have grey eyes," he added lightly. Harry felt the man beside him twitch violently.

"She took my two-year-old son and went to live in the Muggle world, changing her last name … to throw me off of their scent, I suppose. She need not have bothered – I was not even looking for them at the time. I did not, in fact, even think of them for the next several years – not until I met an witch in Transylvania – a witch gifted in divination." He paused for an instant; the man (my dad?) was breathing raggedly, obviously disturbed by the Dark Lord's words. "She prophesied," he murmured, "that the heir of Slytherin could never be overthrown unless the ancient blood of Salazar Slytherin was further diluted by the tainted blood of Muggles – not quite phrased like that, but I was glad my wife had been fully pureblooded. She also told me," he added, eyes gleaming, "that once the line ran pure again, the Heir and his House would be invincible."

Here, he was interrupted. "You do realize," the man-who-was-supposed-to-be-James-Potter snapped, "that she was an utter fraud who thought you were good-looking and powerful and wanted to convince you to marry her because she was pureblooded, don't you? Or are you really gullible enough to believe a batty prophecy like that?"

Voldemort's eyes fairly flamed with rage. "Crucio!" he spat, leveling his wand at the man. Harry jerked away as the man beside him gasped and stiffened, eyes dilating with pain. For a long moment, there was silence, then a groan of pain broke out from him. Voldemort ended the curse, and said softly, "Be quiet, or I will do something worse to you."

The man was gasping for breath, and did not answer.

Voldemort looked back at Harry, who had decided this was all a nightmare brought on by eating spoiled chicken the night before. "So," he continued, dropping back into a cold, emotionless tone, "when I returned to England, I set someone to the task of finding my wife and son. Being an incompetent fool, he did not discover them until after I had begun the war. In fact, he did not find them until my wife was already dead – she had never been particularly healthy – and my son had graduated from Hogwarts – quite unaware of his heritage, as far as I know. He had been Head Boy, as I was … but, unfortunately, he was on the wrong side of the battle – the losing side. And, even worse, he had married a mudblood."

The man beside Harry snarled indistinctly, and Harry looked sideways at him, a sudden horrible suspicion seizing his mind. Did Voldemort mean … no. That was crazy, utterly and completely crazy. Impossible.

"In fact," Voldemort said softly, eyes flickering between the two wizards on the couch, "she was soon to have a child – a child who would be tainted by her Muggle blood. Obviously, this was quite unacceptable. I decided that the infant had to be eliminated, the woman gotten rid of, and my son 'convinced' to fight for me rather than against me. I spoke to him, but, even after learning the truth, he proved oddly opposed to my suggestions. I let him have a year to think the matter over – quite generous of me, really. In the meantime," he added with a dark smile, "I convinced one of his closest friends to serve me, and began working on isolating my son from his other companions."

The man moaned softly, and buried his face in his hands. Harry was barely breathing, staring at Voldemort with terrified eyes.

"When the year was up, my very foolish son refused to give up the child and the woman. I had to take drastic measures – he was becoming a troublesome opponent, and a rather well-known ally of my greatest foe, Dumbledore. It seemed that neutralizing him after I killed the infant might be wise. So … when one of his friends became his family's secret-keeper, my spy … hmm … assisted me in discovering their location."

Harry stifled his rising panic, struggling against the cords around him. This was all nonsense – he didn't have to listen to it. He couldn't listen to it. Again, he tried to speak, but only a muffled whine emerged from his muted throat.

"My son, like a chivalrous Gryffindor fool, attempted to delay me while his wife and child escaped. Having foreseen the possibility, I had altered the wards on the house to prevent anyone from leaving, so I had ample time to deal with the whole family. Instead of killing my son, however, I cast a complicated spell that I had learned from a warlock in Bavaria – a spell that sends the victim's body into a stasis greatly resembling death, while throwing his mind into, shall we say, a 'netherworld' – a very unpleasant place." For a moment, his eyes darkened with memories. "The caster retains the power to bring the victim back – their lives are strongly linked. You are probably wondering why I didn't just use Avada Kedavra. It would have been simpler, of course, but I only wanted my son out of the way for a few years, not dead. Keeping him prisoner would have been far too much trouble … and, of course, by making it appear that he was dead, I hoped to damage the general public morale. After a few years of uninterrupted thought, I assumed that he would come to his senses and agree to serve me."

"I completed the spell easily enough, but when I went to kill the child, I ran into complications. The mother refused to get out of my way. I had not intended to kill her, but she made it unavoidable. When I cast the killing curse on the child …" Again, he stopped, and smiled maliciously at Harry. "You know what happened next, don't you, Harry?"

"What?" the man beside Harry demanded, his voice sounding choked. "What happened?"

"The spell rebounded and hit me," Voldemort murmured. "Fortunately, some of my experimental efforts at defeating death took effect – and, I believe, the link with my son helped prevent my mind from being lost. But I was without a body until … oh, until just about two months ago, don't you think?"

Harry shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

"It seems," Voldemort added lightly, "that my return triggered the linking spell I had cast, and returned my son to his body. Apparently," he said sourly, "he had remained in excellent shape – although waking up in a coffin beside his dead and rotting wife can hardly have been fun … can it, James?"

"You bastard," the man whispered brokenly, hands curling into fists.

Voldemort ignored him. "Probably I should have expected something of the kind, but I assumed that he had died when I … ceased to live. It was rather a surprise to me when I read in the Daily Prophet that something odd had occurred at the cemetery. However, it gave me a chance I had been looking for … a chance to get at the boy who had escaped me and humiliated me once again. Turning a garment into a portkey is simple enough – setting it to be activated only when someone not wearing it touches it is somewhat more difficult. You can probably figure out the rest yourself, Harry."

"Now that we have laid out the necessary background information, let us deal with more important matters. I suppose, though, that it would be courteous to give you a chance to ask questions." He flicked his wand, and Harry could feel his throat again.

For a moment, he could not even speak. There were too many questions clamoring to be asked for him to single out one – and what finally came out of his mouth was not even a question he had intended to ask at all. "Are you saying that I am your – your – your grandson?" he whispered.

The man beside him opened his mouth to speak, but Voldemort snapped his fingers again, silencing him. "Yes, Harry," he said slowly, as if to a very dense child. "That is what I am saying. Why do you think you are a Parselmouth? Did Dumbledore tell you it was a simple coincidence?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly, mind gone blank from the enormity of the horror facing him.

"Well, now that we've straightened that out," Voldemort continued calmly, "let us discuss the terms of your release."

"Release?" Harry repeated faintly.

The world has gone mad.

"I have decided to halt my effort to eliminate you, Harry," Voldemort said kindly. "It's rather a pain – besides which, it may not even be necessary. As long as you don't continue to befriend mudbloods – and fall in love with them, according to the Daily Prophet – I see no particular reason why I should assume that you are the threat referred to in the prophecy. In fact, if you agree to wed a pureblooded witch once you are of age, and further agree to stop opposing me, I see no reason why I should not let you return to Hogwarts and live … normally … for the time being." He paused for a moment, then added, "Your father can go back with you, provided he agrees not to antagonize me."

Harry gaped at him. This was beyond mad. This was beyond insane. This was even beyond ludicrous. He wanted to laugh, but couldn't quite muster up the energy to do it.

"Probably you'll wish for some time to think about this – you appear to be in shock at the moment." Voldemort rose and banished the chair with a wave of his wand, then performed the countercurse on the muting charm and on the binding hex. "Consider my offer carefully, Harry. It may mean much to you, your family, and your friends. Do not anger me." On that warning note, he spun with a rustle of robes, and vanished out the door.

It swung shut behind him with a hollow thump, and Harry turned slowly to face his father.

END OF CHAPTER SIX

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Responses:

Xaiver: Thank you! I think it was James's shirt that was actually enchanted – as mentioned in the chapter above, the whole thing involved a complicated charm to prevent James himself from setting the thing off. My opinion is that making a person into a portkey is probably incredibly difficult and rather dangerous – hence the reason why Voldemort decided to settle on turning a piece of clothing into a portkey. I don't think he considered the possibility that James might, say, bump into a Muggle on the way to Harry's house, though. That would have spoiled his plan quite thoroughly. :^)

Katie & spangle star: Yup! I'm also of the opinion that Harry & company would not be real quick to believe that James was James. After all, even in the wizarding world, having someone "come back from the dead" must be a rare occurrence. That's one of the nice things about Prongs Rides Again … very believable response from Harry.

Nicky: How are they going to get out of the predicament? Hmmm … that would be telling. The predicament's slightly worse now, of course, but all will be revealed! Hopefully before Chapter Thirty …

Kaydee: A mistake? Oh, well … Glad you liked the chapter! The pronunciation of Sirius … I fancy it is Seer-ee-us, because, as far as I know, the Dog Star was given a Latin name, and in Latin, the –ius ending was pronounced 'ee-us.' I think. Anyway, I'd guess that Sirius was actually named after the star (given his animagus form), and his name would, therefore, be pronounced like the star's name. But you're right – I guess we'll find out later. (I haven't seen HP & the Philosopher's Stone – did they cut out Hagrid saying 'Sirius Black' lent him the motorcycle? If they did – shame on them! Perfectly good piece of foreshadowing gone to waste.)

Jeva: Yes, that's right, one BIG happy family! ;^) So … did this chapter verify your idea? Judging from your review, I'd say that you figured it out – congratulations! I'm not sure how many other people picked up on the clues, so extra double-congratulations for apparently being the only one. ^.^ Just so you know, you're now an officially Greatly Valued Reviewer, and I will be heart-broken if you don't respond after every chapter.

thankssamigo: Well, Harry didn't necessarily mean what he said … he was really distraught, and attempting to scare the 'Death Eater' away. I'm quite certain he wouldn't really have killed even a real Death Eater (Voldemort would have been another matter, though), but I don't think threatening it would be beyond him.

TheRedFeatheryPlug: Um, that would be telling. :-) As you can see, I did continue soon!

Ice: I'm delighted you enjoy my story, but … Charmed Curses doesn't stink! It's a great story, really – give it a chance!