Disclaimer: There will be a certain part in the first book copied down in this chapter but otherwise, everything else is mine-except for the characters though. :goes off to mutter how extremely unfair the world is:
A groan of annoyance finally escaped from the blond boy's mouth. "If one more person comes up to shake the hand of the Boy Who Lived, I swear that I will hex that idiot so badly not even St. Mungo can identify the corpse." he complained loudly, driving away a few lingering wizards from where he and his friend stood.
The latter chuckled, "Draco, you don't even have you wand yet! And I highly doubt your wandless magic would be that strong." He received a playful punch from the former and chuckled even more. "Speaking of which," said the raven haired boy, "We should start heading over there now that we've finished buying all of our textbooks."
Draco looked to his father for permission, who cast a quick glance at his watch and grunted a "Yes, but be quick. The Dark Lord shan't be pleased if we keep his son out too long." The grey eyed boy nodded and hurried after his friend, already halfway through the door of Ollivanders.
It was as quiet as the Riddle graveyard every Halloween, the boys noticed, having spent enough time at the Riddle house as it is. Draco, to play with Harry and the other Death Eaters' children every time Voldemort called for a meeting and Harry, since he lived there his whole life. "Good afternoon boys."
The boys yelped and spun around to face an old man smiling gently at them. "Good afternoon, sir." said Harry, finally regaining his composure.
"Willow, ten and a quarter inches long…" murmured the old man, turning his back and moving to the back of the shop. "Excellent for charm work."
Harry exchanged a puzzled glance with Draco, who twirled his finger beside his head and silently mouthed, "Crazy that old man, Mr. Ollivander."
"Your mother's wand, that is." said Mr. Ollivander, spinning around so suddenly that Harry had to jump back in surprise. "Quite unlike your father, who had a mahogany wand, eleven inches and wonderful at transfiguration." He paused and scanned Harry up and down. "You look exactly like him, except for the eyes. You have your mother's eyes."
Harry blushed and looked away. This was not the first time he heard that he was a clone of his father, aside from his mother's eyes, but the way this old wizard said it made him feel slightly uncomfortable yet proud at the same time. But I'm proud of who my current father is, he thought. If only the rest of the magical world could see his father the way he did.
"Well, if you've nothing to babble anymore, I suggest that we get on with our own wands." drawled Draco impatiently. Harry cast a brief glare at him. Sometimes, no matter how close they were, Harry really hated how snobby he could act. It was not exactly his fault, he knew, after growing up in a pureblood family, but he hoped that he'd turn out more differently than the other Death Eaters' children.
Mr. Ollivander sighed, "All right. Hold out your wand arm then." Draco held out his right arm and raised a curious brow when a measuring tape suddenly appeared and began to measure it. "Yes, here we are, oak and dragon scale, ten inches. Go on, give it a wave."
Draco looked skeptical but nonetheless raised the wand over his head and brought it down. Mr. Ollivander quickly snatched it out of his hands. "No, no, that simply will not do." The process repeated for quite some time before Draco finally settled on a nine inched wand made of evergreen and unicorn hair.
"And now," said Ollivander, pushing past an annoyed Draco for being suddenly ignored now that he was finished, "For Mr. Potter's." It seemed that, like Draco, none of the wands that Harry used wanted him as an owner. Until, "Hmm, unusual combination; holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches." He handed the wand over the Harry, who immediately felt the warmth of it course through his fingers.
He waved it and sparks of gold and red filled the shop, blowing the dust from some of the many boxes on the shelves. Mr. Ollivander applauded but came to an abrupt halt when he did a closer inspection of the wand. The smile on his face faltered. "How curious…how very curious indeed."
"Um, excuse me sir, but what's curious?" asked Harry timidly.
Mr. Ollivander cast him a grave look. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. And the phoenix whose tail feather is in yours gave another to one other. The very curious thing, Mr. Potter, is that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."
Harry gulped, oblivious to Draco narrowing his grey eyes. If this man says anything to reveal the truth about the Dark Lord, I will personally kill him with my bare hands, he thought.
Somewhere along the way, Voldemort seemed to have forgotten his reason for raising Harry was due to the fact that he apparently possessed the power to kill him. Even Crabbe and Goyle's fathers realized that the formerly known Tom Riddle grew to love Harry as if he really was his son, not just a tool. Therefore, Voldemort specifically expressed that the Boy Who Lived should never learn the truth about his parents' death lest the Death Eaters desired the punishment of death.
"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you Mr. Potter…After all, he Who Must Not Be Named did great things-terrible, yes, but great." And Mr. Ollivander said no more.
The boys paid seven Galleons each and left the shop with their wands clenched tightly in their hands, but for different reasons.
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"How was your trip at Diagon Alley?" came a voice from the drawing room. Harry dropped his bags at the bottom of the stairs for the house-elf, Minnie, to bring them up to his room and hurried to his father.
"Oh, Draco and I had a great time. Draco bought me a white owl as a late birthday gift. I'm going to call it Hedwig, what do you think?" said Harry, sitting down beside his father.
The black haired man smiled down at his son. It was not one of those sly, evil, sadistic, or frightening smiles he usually reserved for his Death Eaters, but a genuine one that he let Harry-and Harry alone-see. "I think it is a wonderful name." he replied. When he only received a nod from Harry, something like a sixth sense tingled in his chest. "Is something the matter?"
His blood red eyes were met with two emerald orbs that shone with worry and concern. "Father, do you know what his wand is made of?"
Voldemort furrowed his brow. "I can't say I do. Did something happen at Ollivanders?" he asked.
A moment passed before Harry slowly nodded. "He-Mr. Ollivander-told me that my wand is made of a phoenix feather, and that the same phoenix gave another feather to him."
He did not notice his father freezing at the news.
To the magical world, Voldemort's name was one never to be uttered. But to Harry, it was Albus Dumbledore's name he never wanted to hear or speak of unless absolutely necessary, which did not happen often-at least whenever his father's Death Eaters or their children were around him. They were wise enough to know of the consequences of upsetting their master's child.
"He killed my Mum and Dad, and even tried to kill me! I don't want this…wand!" cried Harry, hurling the wand across the room. It bounced off the wall and made a loud clanking sound before rolling onto the floor. Voldemort's pale face remained emotionless as he watched. He slowly got up and walked to the other side of the room and bent down to pick up his son's wand. "The greatest wizard since Merlin himself, yeah right! If only they knew what his true identity really is, if only they knew that you were innocent Father."
The eleven year old boy looked up to see his father waiting patiently before him with his wand in hand. "Harry, listen to me." he said, sitting back down beside his son. "Dumbledore was a fool for trying to kill you and by framing me for all the terrible things he did; but justice will prevail in the end. Please be patient, son."
Harry sighed and reluctantly retrieved his wand from his father's outstretched hand. "Yes, yes, I know. But I'm tired of being with Lucius whenever I go out-not that I don't enjoy hanging out with Draco-but sometimes I want you to be there with me Father. Can't Severus just make a Polyjuice Potion or something?" he pleaded.
Voldemort smiled again and brushed back his son's messy bangs. "Someday perhaps, but I can't promise anything now." He kissed his son's forehead and stood up to leave the room. "But I can promise you that Dumbledore will not get away with this."
Although he enjoyed taking the role as Harry's father, sometimes Voldemort wondered if keeping such a false secret really did hurt his son or not. On one hand, he honestly wanted to be by his son's side forever. But on the other hand, he also wanted him to be truly happy.
Nobody knew this, but it was the Dark Lord's wish as an orphan and father.
Author's Note: I am so sorry for taking so long to update. Blame it on report card pressure, although I didn't do as horribly as I suspected. Thank you so much for the wait! Oh yeah, and the anonymous review setting is now enabled, I didn't even know it was disabled until a while after the first chapter.