Chapter One
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters nor the scenery which you could recognise, the only thing I take credit for is the plot.
Pairings: None for this chapter.
Warnings: DarkHarry, Dumbledore, Hermione, and Weasley bashing (excluding Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George).
Word Count: 8,185
Date Rewritten: 28/12/2020
Harry stands in front of a long, rectangular table littered with multiple crystal vials filled with various potions, elixirs, and other liquids; leaving no doubt in the young saviour's mind that they had finally reached Professor Snape's contribution aiding the protection of the Philosopher's Stone. However, as Harry rereads the potion master's riddle, multiple concerns fill his mind. Conflicting thoughts about the so-called 'protections', having the strangest feeling that is had all been designed for himself.
Firstly, there had been a door which could be opened with a spell taught to all first-year students leading to a Cerberus. A bed of devil's Snare, again something taught in First Year Herbology; a life-size chess set, which most definitely had been placed for Ronald as his talents for the game had spread far and wide. Finally, there was this, a potions riddle which seems to be the hardest task out of them all, only seen as many wizards lack common sense or any form of logic.
So, there Harry stands, a small almost unnoticeable smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches Hermione swallow her own potion before turning on her heels and hurrying back through the doorway they had recently entered through. Leaving Harry alone without so much as a 'goodbye' or 'good luck', her mind fully focused on helping the unconscious Ronald. She had decided, after leaving the ginger passed out on the floor, she had better go back to try and find a Professor to come and help. Harry rolls his eyes, wondering why, if she was the brightest witch of their age, did she not think of that when they were gazing down at him.
There Harry stands, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Boy-Who-Lived, left to fend for himself against whoever, or whatever is attempting to steal the stone. Shaking his head lightly, clearing the mass of swirling thoughts, Harry nonchalantly turns on his heels, downing his own potion without so much as a grimace before he walks through the flames in front of himself. Chuckling as he recalls both Hermione's and Ronald's thoughts on who the culprit could be, both wrongly accusing Professor Snape.
His smile drops into a displeased frown, slowly morphing into a sneer as he cautiously walks his way through a long, dingy and strangely enough, empty corridor littered with what appears to be cobwebs and other such infractions. Many of which the young boy didn't want to think about as he stuffs his hands deep within his too baggy trouser pockets. Squinting his eyes, Harry lets a small smile tug at his lips when he catches sight of an archway, a low gleaming light casting eerie shadows, present, perhaps a much wider chamber.
"Stupid Dumbledork, sending a bunch of eleven-year-old children, two of whom had less than a year of magical knowledge, into this abysmal chamber. In hopes that we would somehow be able to protect the Stone against someone more experienced and advanced in magic. I mean seriously, is he senile? Like he actually believed that letter from the Ministry."
Stopping just short of the entrance, Harry casts a glance around the large circular chamber, eyebrows furrowing as his nose scrunches up in disgust. His mutterings continue, be damned if someone hears him. Why should he care? It wasn't like there person was going to kill him or anything. Harry takes a cautious step over the threshold, before another, slowly making his way towards the centre of the room, his green eyes casting glances into the shadows warily.
"This is where the old coot is keeping the so-called Philosopher's Stone? One of the most powerful and mystical artefacts of the wizarding world. One which could reap havoc if found in the wrong hands and they decide to leave it in a school full of defenceless children? How stupid does he need to be? Does he not care for his student's safety? Oh, sorry, of course he doesn't. Why would he care about the people he is just going to meld into good little light soldiers for his war!"
The small raven-haired boy releases a loud sigh, expelling some of his frustration as he continues to walk towards a familiar mirror which stands precariously in the middle of the otherwise empty room.
"Wow, conspicuous Dumbledork. Might as well have hung a couple of LED signs indicating where you have 'hidden' the stone. What next? It seems to me that you are either attempting to discourage the thief or you just want one of your students to come out of this with third degree burns."
Sarcasm laces the child's words as he shoots a subtle glance around the chamber, his Avada green eyes scanning the shadows thoroughly. Knowing that Professor Quirrell is watching him from deep within the black pattern-like shadows dancing across the walls, hoping to catch a clue about how to reach the stone. Harry smirks as he thinks back to Professor Snape's suspicions about their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, his actions assisting Harry in figuring out who wanted the stone.
Harry allows a smirk to pull at his features, probably heard me talking to myself in the corridor. Stopping a mere meter away from the Mirror of Erised, Harry looks expectantly into the glass not quite sure what it is he is supposed to be looking for, nor what he is going to see this time round. Knowing only that his parents will not be making another appearance.
His parents had made regular appearances throughout the year, well before Dumbledore had decided that it was in his best interest to move the mirror to, apparently, this chamber.
I do believe the old fool said that I was never going to see this mirror again. That he was going to put it somewhere no one would be able to fall pray to their deepest desires once more. Yet, here it is, standing in front of me in a chamber in which he sends me. Such a manipulative old man!
Now, however, Harry no longer sees his parents in the mirror's reflection. If asked, Harry would simply explain that he had thought long and hard about the circumstances surrounding his parent's death, their actions leading up to it and the actions of their most trusted. After giving it months of consideration and finishing his fair share of research into that night Harry had concluded that the death of his mum and dad was really no one's fault but their own.
Yes, Harry had initially blamed Lord Voldemort when he had first been told the story behind his orphaned state, though this was mainly due to surprise. He had spent nine years of his life listening to his muggle aunt and uncle referring to his parents as 'good for nothing drunks' and 'lazy layabouts' who dies one day due to their bad habits. A traffic accident which had led to his infamous lightning bolt scar.
But no, who should tell him, at the tender age of eleven, that a supposed mad man, a maniac, the worse Dark wizard in British history aimed a bright green killing curse at his mum and dad but a bumbling oaf of a giant. Renowned 'light' supporter, completely devoted to the headmaster, all because the old coot gave him a job after his release from Azkaban. Allowing him to do small bouts of magic, even though his wand had supposedly been broken decades ago.
So, what made young Harry potter conclude that his parents were to blame? Firstly, his parents had decided to bring a child, himself, into the world during one of the worse wizarding wars in the history of magic and didn't even have adequate protection in place.
Secondly, they had gone into hiding yes. They had the Fidelius charm placed upon their house, okay, but did they really trust their secret keeper that much? Every book he had read about his parents deaths, and the Fidelius charm had said that the secret keeper would be the only one to know the location of the home besides the occupants and anyone used to cast the spell in the first place. That is a lot of trust to place in someone during a war where supposedly no one could be trusted. Why did they not just agree to have Dumbledore their secret keeper? If he is the almighty light lord, the only one Lord Voldemort is said to be afraid of, then why not use him? Why did they not have an emergency portkey on hand for when Voldemort did bypass their wards? His parents, he is sad to claim, were far too Gryffindor, always hoping things were going to work out for the best, no need for self-preservation or back-up plans.
He had researched a man named Sirius Black as soon as multiple books claimed that he had been his parent's secret keeper and he was surprised to find that the man had been the disowned son of Walburga Black. That he had, all through his life, renounced his families ties to the Dark Arts, heavily resented anything with links to his family, including all Slytherins. Harry was surprised that this man would all of a sudden switch to a side he had heavily fought against for most of his life. He wasn't entirely certain that this Sirius Black had been his family's secret keeper.
Pulling himself from his thoughts, Harry realises that he has been standing in front of the mirror for some time and shakes his head minutely. Deciding to walk around the mirror, inspecting the item for any clues about how he was going to collect the stone, Harry tucks his hands back into his pockets, delicate fingers curling around the slick wood of his wand. As he makes his way around, a shift from the shadows in his peripheral vision alerts him to the movement of a cloaked figure, His tall frame half hidden behind one of the many pillars out skirting the chamber.
Ignoring the other for now, Harry focuses back on the artefact, trying to curb the bubble of laughter wishing to break free at the poor attempt at concealment. He had already figured that his professor was going to be down here, knew that the man was going to watch him, but did he have to make it so obvious? Shrugging off the man's presence, Harry shakes his head once more, slowly making his way around the mirror as his thoughts drift once again.
"Stupid Dumbledore. Who does he think he is, sending children down into this death trap, expecting me to fend off however is down here? Because I certainly have enough magic and experience to fight against a follower of the Dark Lord, let alone Voldemort himself. I barely even had time to learn the first-year spells with everything that has gone on this year and yet he still wants me to save the Stone? Why the hell should I? No one came to save me these past nine years; no one bothered to check to see if I was happy and looked after. Fed and loved properly. Especially when I found that I had been left with those despicable muggles. Their precious saviour left to fend for himself, never knowing about his heritage until a mere month before being thrown blind into a new world. He will survive, surely. Starve the boy. Neglect him. Beat him for things he doesn't understand. He will be perfectly fine."
Harry snorts as he comes to stand in front of the mirror once more. His small fists clenching tightly at his sides as he tries to breath through his rising anger at the wizarding world. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, not wanting to give his enemy anything concretes to use against him. Though it seems to have worked out in his favour as he watches as the figure steps hesitantly closer, his frame becoming clearer as the shadows seem to retreat.
Well, I have his attention now.
"Why did that old coot have to force me into becoming friends with that filthy Weasel and bucked tooth Mudblood. Ronald Weasley? A sorry excuse for a pureblood wizard if I ever did see one. Not ever the brains nor the respect to hold up some of the most important ancient wizarding traditions; rites of passages to help them connect more with Mother Magic. Favouring muggle celebrations which stem from religions that condemn our kind. His barely concealed jealousy; if he wants my fame that bad, he can have it. I never asked for it and I don't want it. The weight of the entire wizarding world on my shoulders? No, thank you. It is not my fault that his parents decided to have more children than they could afford."
Almost forgetting about the man listening to his every word, Harry begins to pace back and forth, his anger and frustration leaking into his tone as his hands clench tighter, his wands being held between white knuckles. His skin begins to prickle with raw magic as power swirls in his Avada eyes, making them glow in the dim chambers. Sparks flying around him in concentrated waves making his hair stand on ends as the figure draws in a sharp breath at the amount of magical energy, he can feel from such a young child.
Harry lets out a humourless laugh as he turns on his heels, dragging a hand tirelessly through his unruly hair, trying to draw his magic back into his core as he watches his reflection in the surface of the mirror once more. Taking a deep breath as he pushes his anger back.
"Don't even get me started on that know-it-all. Thinks she has to prove herself, to show that she is the best just so she can feel as if she belongs in the wizarding world. Well, if she wants to belong then maybe she should stop trying to force her muggle customs on us all the time. Maybe she should adapt and practice some of the more traditional celebrations and rituals of the wizarding world."
Harry shuffles his feet across the dry stone floor, staring at his reflection in frustration, irritated silence fills the chamber as he falls silent for a few seconds, the air pressing around him as if trying to offer what little comfort it could to the small, depressed wizard. Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry releases a heavy sigh letting go of his anger before allowing a small Slytherin-like smirk to rest on his lips.
"Both are abominations to the wizarding world. Wouldn't you agree Professor Quirrell?"
Leaning to the left, Harry peers around the edge of the mirror, smirk widening as the shadowy figure of his Defence teachers steps completely out of his hiding place, walking around the pillar and towards the small child. A matching smirk on his own face.
"That was a very… informative speech, young Harry Potter. I can tell the old coot hasn't changed much from my time here at Hogwarts."
Harry's smirk turns into a small bashful smile, shocking his professor, as he looks curiously up at the man standing no less than two meters from his much smaller stature. A man who had taught his Defence for the past year. He notices an underlying shine of… is that pride… in his professor's eyes? Shrugging it off for a moment, Harry turns his attention back towards the Mirror of Erised, letting his mask of indifference fall back into place, watching his reflection carefully while keeping a cautious eye on the room's other occupant.
After standing in comfortable silence for a few seconds, Harry turns his head back to his professor, cocking his head to the side as he regards the man intensely.
"Good evening, Professor. Would you be so kind as to allow me to speak to your Lord? There is something which I must discuss with him."
A small movement caught in his peripheral vision snaps Harry's attention back away from his jittery professor and towards his reflection in the mirror. With barely concealed glee, Harry watches as his mirror image carefully drops a smallish blood-red stone into his trouser pocket. Preventing himself from bouncing on his heels when he feels the added weight instantly. Quirrell, unaware of the small child's glee hesitates a fraction wondering just how Harry Potter knew about his Lord. His eyes flicker around the chamber nervously before meeting the bright emerald eyes.
"I don't know… I don't know what… what you mean young… young Mister Potter."
Harry narrows his eyes, glaring scornfully at his Defence Professor, fingers tightening on his wand which he now somehow holds in his hand, knuckles turning white as he wills himself not to cast. His feet shuffle into a defensive stance, preparing to defend himself in the need arises. His green eyes swirl with supressed power as he mentally laughs when the stuttering professor jumps backwards, squeaking in fright.
"Would you kindly stop that infernal stuttering. You know full well what I am speaking of. Though you seem to think you have a choice in this matter. There is nothing I want from you, nothing that you could offer me in any case. Now, let me speak to the Dark Lord before I curse you into oblivion."
Eyes growing impossibly wide at the pure hatred bleeding into the boy's voice, and even though he was an inexperienced eleven-year-old with only a year of magical education under his belt, Quirrell didn't doubt that if angered the young boy would follow through on his threat. After a second of tense silence, another voice; this one cold and weak, echoes through the otherwise abandoned chamber.
"Let me speak to the boy."
Harry feels his smirk return as he watches as terror overruns ever other emotion flickering through his defence professor's wide eyes with pleasurable glee. Taking a small step forward, watching in fascination as Quirrell begins to unwind his purple turban, letting the ugly, thick fabric fall almost gracefully to the dust-covered floor. Eyes alight with curiosity, Harry stares as his professor turns around, a quiet gasp falling from his lips when the distorted figure which had once been the Dark lord faces him. Seemingly growing out of the back of Quirrell's head.
"Ah, Harry Potter. It has been too long."
"Yes, 10 years I do believe. How have you been?"
Harry shrugs nonchalantly, standing in front of the Dark Lord, supposedly the evilest wizard in all British wizarding history; seemingly not at all bothered by his presence in the slightest. Though Lord Voldemort, astonished to sense the underlying tone of amusement lacing the young wizard's voice, watches the raven-haired child. Harry notices, but choses to ignore, the silent calculating gaze roaming his stature even as he sends the older wizard a small, pleased smile.
Lord Voldemort scrutinises the young child for any signs of fear, unease or discomfort being hidden but is pleasantly surprised when he finds none. Despite there being no such emotions in Harry's form, nor his eyes, he can see that he has yet to relax his grip on his wand, the small stick of wood being subtly directed towards his borrowed body. Ready to leap into action if the need should rise.
"Indeed, Mr Potter. What has bought you down to these chambers so late in the school year?"
Voldemort smirks when he sees the subtle glance Harry directs towards the mirror of Erised before those bright green orbs are focused back on himself.
"I am guessing it is the same reason you find yourself impersonating a professor for the entire year. Though seen as you are still down here and not made your escape, not to mention that you have been watching my every move since I have entered this chamber. I am guessing that you have had little success in procuring the Stone."
Lord Voldemort finds himself staring at the young wizard in front of him once more, wondering why he has not felt the urge to hex or curse the reason for his initial downfall all those years ago. Maybe it was because young Harry Potter reminded him of himself when he had first entered Hogwarts? Or maybe it was because even his most trusted followers couldn't look at him without a small hint of fear in their stances? Admitting to himself that he was becoming rather fond of the boy, he walks forward awkwardly, placing Quirrell's hands on the boy's thin shoulder as soon as he is close enough. Intrigue pulls at his gut when he spies the small flinch the child gives at the action, his features twisting in fear before the expression is quickly covered up by a soft, almost shy, smile.
"Yes, I do believe you are correct Harry Potter. The old fool must have some trick on the mirror, a protective ward. I want that stone; it is my hearts desire to have it and use it to create a new body for myself, but I don't know how to retrieve it."
The Dark Lord squeezes Harry's shoulders gently, watching the child's innocent smile twist into a knowing smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief with only a hint of uncertainty. Turning around slowly, Harry looks up at the man who had killed his parents, large hands still resting on his shoulders offering him a strange sense of security. He tilts his head to the side, giving off an air of complete innocence.
"What if I told you that I could get the stone for you?"
His voice wavers, lacking its usual confidence; clouded with doubt and nervousness, almost as if the child feared being reprimanded or ridiculed for his enquiry. Lord Voldemort raises an eyebrow at the small boy, eyes flickering between him and the ancient mirror behind him, wondering how Harry would bypass the wards set by Dumbledore himself. A sneer pulls at his lips.
"And pray tell how a mere child would be able to retrieve such an artefact?"
"Trust me? I know how to get the stone out of the mirror, it is rather simple really. It is just the little matter of an exchange, if you will. I'll give you the stone if you agree to do something for me."
"A proposition? What would give you the impression that the Dark Lord compromises with anyone?"
Harry raises an eyebrow at the Dark Lord, smirking at the switch to third-person speech before slowly reaching into his trouser pocket with deliberate movements. Making sure that the older wizard's attention was on him completely, he pulls the large red stone out of its confines. Holding the ancient artefact up for the other to see, Harry watches with barely veiled amusement as Voldemort's gaze fixates on the object hungrily.
"I want to bargain with you."
Lord Voldemort growls low in his throat as he watches the boy playing with the stone absently, his small fingers tracing each crack as he moves away from the Dark Lord's grip, taking a couple of cursory steps backwards. His Avada green eyes never leaving that of Voldemort's ruby ones.
"Why should I not kill you and just take the stone?"
"I don't think you really could at this point. Not in your current situation anyway. You are no doubt a powerful wizard, I can feel the power swirling around you, but you can't hurt me. Whether it is because you simply can't because you are not in your own body or because you won't I am unsure. I could easily place the stone back into the mirror where you are unable to reach it. Though I am sure Mister Voldemort, that you would easily be able to kill me under normal circumstances, but these are not normal circumstances."
Lord Voldemort finds himself staring, almost slack jaw at the small Gryffindor now sitting upon the floor in front of him, his mouth twitching with the urge to form into a warm smile as he studies the child. He watches as Harry makes himself comfortable upon the cold, stone floor, despite being trapped between the mirror and the Dark Lord himself. His green eyes focusing on the stone held gently between his hands, fingers tracing the small cracks.
"Bloody Gryffindor should have been in Slytherin…"
The Dark Lord mumbles, making Harry chuckle softly, still regarding the magical artefact in his small hands as he absently nods his head solemnly.
"Well I think you should know that I almost was sorted into Slytherin; took me a while to argue with that hat and make it put me in Gryffindor. Stubborn thing!"
Lifting his head, Harry once again finds himself laughing at the now gobsmacked expression on Lord Voldemort's face.
"Well since I came into the wizarding world, especially as soon as that oaf Hagrid told me about my infamous scar and how everyone knew me as the boy-who-lived, I knew people would have certain expectations of me. And seen as both my parents were the epitome of Light Wizards, I knew that I had to go into Gryffindor if I didn't want to be watched constantly. A lion is easily spotted in the snake's pit, but a snake is hard to find in the lion's den."
Harry pushes himself up off the floor, clutching the stone in one hand as he turns to face the Dark Lord face on once more, scrutinising the older wizard.
"Look. Do you want this stone or not? I don't think it would be a good idea for you to stay here for long seen as the Mudblood ran off to find a teacher and I am sure they will be turning up soon."
Voldemort eyes the small child for a few seconds longer silently, sighing inwardly as Harry simply smiles up at him innocently.
"Alright, Little Snake."
He makes Quirrell crouch down in front of the child, resting a hand awkwardly on the boy's small, bony shoulder offering up a soft reassuring smile.
"What is it that you would like in exchange for the Stone?"
He watches as the eleven-year-old's eyes widen in surprise before they drop to the floor, his trembling hands gripping the Stone tightly as his shoulders hunch forward. His small form begins to shake in what Voldemort could only guess to be fear.
"Protection- "
The voice which comes out is timid and quiet, unlike what the Dark Lord had come to expect from the young child through their brief contact. The sound so quiet that he would have missed it if he hadn't been consciously listening out for it. He watches in silence for a few moments as Harry begins to fidget uncomfortably. Placing his other hand on the boy's shoulders in what he hopes is a calming gesture, he smiles softly when wide, terrified green eyes look up at him in surprise.
"What do you need protection from, Little Snake?"
Lord Voldemort watches as Harry looks back down at his feet, the toe of his battered shoes scuffing along the floor, kicking up dust. His eyes fill with tears which he refuses to let fall, he would not look any weaker in front of the Dark Lord. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he looks back up into the crimson eyes of Voldemort, trying to keep his emotions under wraps.
"My relatives. – the word is injected with so much venom that Lord Voldemort almost reels back in shock – "They are Muggles of the worse kind, they hate magic and by association, me. I get beaten and starved for what they believe are mistakes. I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs and have done for as long as I can remember. I was left outside on the doorstop in nothing but a basket and thin blanket. My Cousin Dudley and his gang love to play a game called 'Harry Hunting' and if they catch me, they always beat me up. Aunt Petunia hits me with her frying pan or burns my hand on the hob when I make mistakes cooking any meals for her family. Uncle Vernon is the worse though, he thrashes me whenever things go wrong at work, if I make better grades than Dudley or if I don't finish all of my chores on time."
Harry's voice breaks towards the end, the tears he had so desperately tried to hold back now begin to stream down his cheeks as his shoulder shake. The raven-haired boy stays silent, valiantly trying to stop his tears from falling to no avail. He makes no sound apart from the occasional sniffle.
Lord Voldemort uses the opportunity, and Harry's vulnerability, to slip gently into the boy's mind, investigating the flashes of memories flying through the young boy's thoughts. Some which he had alluded to while others were almost too disturbing and horrendous to witness. Pulling out, Voldemort's eyes flash with barely restrained rage. The old fool had done it again. Refused to take adequate care of a magical child entrusted into his care. Had he not learnt his lesson from what had happened with Severus Snape or himself during their youth? The Dark Lord was angry, the temptation to murder the old fool that very moment increasing, but before he could entertain the notion, he had an emotionally distressed child to deal with.
Slowly, so as to not frighten the child, the Dark Lord makes Quirrell reach forward, placing the professor's hands under the child's arms, lifting him carefully off the floor before standing up once more. Placing the much too small child comfortably in his arms, rubbing a hand calmly across Harry's back, whispering in his ear hoping to stop the tears.
"It is okay, Harry, they cannot reach you here. I promise that I will try to get you away from those despicable muggles as soon as I can, Little Snake. You will never have to be hurt by them again if I have anything to say about it."
Never in his life had Voldemort felt so saddened to see anyone crying like this before but there was something special about the child in his arms that got to him. Swaying on the spot, Voldemort tightens Quirrell's arms, hugging Harry closer to his chest while lying his cheek against the unruly dark locks. When he feels that Harry has calmed down enough, he pulls back stroking a hand down the boy's cheek, smiling gently when he leans into the touch.
"Alright Harry, I will not allow you to stay there any longer than you have to, alright? I will offer you my protection but if you are agreeable, I would be willing to offer you something more."
Nodding his head slightly, Harry accepts the white, silk handkerchief that Dark Lord pulls out of Quirrell's robes and wipes his eyes whispering a soft 'thank you' when Voldemort motions for him to keep it. Wrapping his thin arms around the man's neck, Harry smiles shyly, feeling slightly strange for hugging his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
"What did you have in mind, oh Dark One?"
Harry lets out a quiet giggle when red eyes fill with amusement as they roll back towards the ceiling playfully; alongside a muttered 'cheeky brat' under his breath; Lord Voldemort cards a gentle hand through Harry's hair smiling at the look of contentment relaxing the child's features.
"I am proposing an adoption of sorts. I will first need to complete the ritual to regain my physical form but once that has been completed, I will be able to come and collect you from your relatives' house. It should hopefully only be a couple of days up to a week, but I want you to remember that no matter how long it takes I will come and get you. If you consent with the adoption then we can go through with the blood ritual which will make you my son in both Magic and Blood; though we will need some witnesses or the ritual, I was thinking of Lord Malfoy and Severus Snape."
Harry merely stares up at the man, Lord Voldemort. The man who killed his parents; a man the entire wizarding world fears and yet here he was proposing to adopt the boy-who-lived. A boy who was the supposed reason behind his downfall, who thwart his attempt at gaining control over wizarding Britain. Tears of happiness form in the corners of Harry's eyes, flinging himself forward he wraps his arms tightly around Lord Voldemort's (Professor Quirrell's) neck laughing quietly through his tears.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
The Dark Lord laughs softly hugging the small child closer to his chest. Honestly, he breaths a sigh of reprieve, Dark Lord or not, he had been apprehensive that Harry Potter would not wish to be adopted by the man who had taken his first, true family away; the man responsible for his current placement. Yet, here he stands, hugging a tearful boy-who-lived, who is thanking him profusely.
"I will take that as a yes?"
Harry nods his head vigorously before pulling back, his head bowing as the Dark Lord watches as a shadow of doubt begins to form across the child's features.
"I mean only if you want me. I don't want to be a burden…"
Harry startles from his self-deprecating thoughts when a calloused handcards through his hair before being replaced by a soft feather-like kiss on his forehead, directly above his scar.
"I would be honoured and proud to call a child as intelligent and brave my son and heir Harry and I don't want you to think otherwise. You are special, you have shown me that this evening. You are kind, caring and smart and yet cunning and sly when you need to be. The perfect little Slytherin."
Lord Voldemort once again brings Harry closer, rocking back and forth when fresh tears fall from the boy's eyes, the small head burying itself into the crook of his neck. He smiles softly when he feels the small child nodding against his shoulder causing a warmth to spread through his chest.
"Thank you. Thank you, I would be happy to call myself your son."
Before the Dark Lord can respond to the joyous child, whose excitement is rolling off him in waves, mixing with his magic and manifesting itself in the air around them, thunderous footsteps can be heard through the chamber leading to the entrance at a hurried pace. Lord Voldemort freezes, holding his soon-to-be-son protectively against his chest as he waits in silence for the stranger to approach.
"Mr Potter, you are harder to track down than a…"
Turning sharply at the sound of the familiar voice, Voldemort allows a smirk to play on his lips as his eyes roam up and down the skinny stature of the newcomer. He finds himself watching in guarded amusement as one of his most trusted followers surveys the scene before him, falling to his knee when comprehension dawns. Bowing his head lowly and placing a hand across his chest in a sign of respect, his silky baritone voice drifts through the chamber.
"My Lord."
Harry looks down at his potion's professor in wonder, his green eyes wide as he studies the man with a slither of curiosity in his gaze before he turns to face the Dark Lord. Harry tilts his head to the side in silent question, not sure if he is allowed to ask anything just yet and not really wanting to talk too much in front of Snape.
Looking towards his new charge, Voldemort takes pity on the small child whose eyes shine with underlying fear, answering his question in a gentle tone much to Snape's surprise.
"I informed you earlier about how Severus here is one of my most trusted followers?"
The Dark lord questions, watching in satisfaction as Harry nods his head slowly, his gaze turning back to the still kneeling Severus as the Dark Lord continues, directing his speech towards the dour man, his voice turning sharp.
"And I dare hope that his allegiances have not wavered in my sudden and extended absence?"
"Of course not, My Lord. I have always remained faithful to yourself and our cause. I have managed to gather a range of information about Dumbledore and his order, as well as gain Dumbledore's unwavering faith and trust in your absence."
Professor Snape looks up from where his head is bowed, a question on his lips as his gaze flickers to the way his master is holding the Potter spawn protectively to his chest. The confusion must have been clear on his face as his gaze lingers on the young boy longer than the Dark Lord himself; his eyes taking in every detail, noting the slight reddening around his eyes and the tension in his small frame. His is broken out of his exploration by Lord Voldemort, meeting the pale blue eyes of his colleague of the past year.
"Severus, I would like for you to meet my soon-to-be-son and heir. I have heard and seen a multitude of memories and stories about his abysmal living arrangements and refuse to allow another wizarding child to be abused at the hands of ignorant muggles."
Lord Voldemort watches his follower with calculating eyes; seeing the shock playing through his potion master's eyes, his face still retaining his expressionless Slytherin mask. He watches in silent amusement as Snape looks between the child and himself, his face shifting into one of confusion, as if deluding to the inner battle with preconceived notions of Harry's behaviours and his home life.
"My Lord, Dumbledore had informed the staff that Mr. Potter here had been sent to live with a light wizarding family who treated him as if he were their own, that he had been spoilt and wanted for nothing. He told me that he was just like his father…"
Professor Snape breaks off uncertainly, his voice wavering as he watches his Lord shaking his head in sorrow, one hand rubbing almost absently, up and down the child's back as he begins to once again tremble with repressed emotions. Though the Dark Lord does relax slightly when he sees no more tears.
"I am afraid to say Severus that you have been gravely misinformed. Young Harry here has been neglected, starved and beaten within an inch of his life, he has been mistreated since he was sent to live with his Mother's sister, I do believe, at the tender age of 15 months. Did you, or his other teachers, never notice how thin and small he is in comparison to the others in his year? Why he wears glasses when any normal wizarding family would have bought an eye correcting potion to fix his eyesight? Why he shies away from most physical contact and shrinks in on himself when he has more attention than he could want?"
A look of abstract horror shapes Severus' features, his eyes widening at the implication behind his Lord's words as he stares at the hidden form of Harry Potter, the child of his childhood tormentor. His thoughts tumble around each other as he pictures some of the treatment the young boy must have suffered through, acts that no child, no matter who sired them, should face. Pinching the bridge of his nose in order to stave of the impeding headache, Severus glances towards his Lord, desperation shining in his eyes,
"I am sorry, My Lord but please tell me you didn't just say that this boy was sent to live with his Mother's sister?"
At the affirming nod he releases a strangles sound from the back of his throat; a mix between a shout of disgust and a sob of despair. Hanging his head down, shiny black hair obstructing his pale, drawn face as he clears his throat. Voice coming out strained and broken.
"Please Merlin tell me this child has not spent the last 10 years in the care of Petunia Evans and her despicable husband."
Harry pulls his face out of Voldemort's shoulder, eyes shining bright with unshed tears even as he stares at his potion's professor in curiosity.
"You know Aunt Petunia?"
The boy's voice is quiet; timid but Severus catches the underlying enquiry, an innocent question the boy is too afraid to ask outright. He quickly concludes that he had misjudge Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter terribly; that he isn't the spoilt, cocky, disrespectful brat he had been led to believe. He looks at Harry, prejudicial lenses shattering as he realises that he had failed in his promise to Lily, failed to protect her child.
"I met your mother, Lily a few years before we entered Hogwarts. She was one of my only true friends here and I treasured her dearly. Your aunt, on the other hand, was a jealous, horse-faced girl who despised the fact that her sister was special; that your Mother could do magic while she could not. Petunia Evans wrote multiple letters to Headmaster Dumbledore begging to be allowed to study at Hogwarts as well, but he refused."
Harry stares at his professors, eyes alight with interest as he listens with rapt attention, loving the fact that he could hear about his Mother instead of just his Father. He doesn't notice when his tremors ease with every word from the dour man and Lord Voldemort cannot be more grateful for that fact. The Dark Lord watches the interaction in wonderment, attention snapping down to the small child in his arms when he feels a small poke to his arm. Harry smiles shyly, leaning closer before whispering something into the Dark Lord's ear making him chuckle, much to Severus' amazement. Lord Voldemort gestures for his follower to stand and walk forward, watching carefully as Harry shifts to better see the approaching man.
Stopping just short of his master, Severus looks down at his potion-stained fingers, clenching his hands together in front of his waist, fearing the punishment he is sure to receive for treating his Lord's future Son the way he had this past year. He takes a deep breath, knowing that he would deserve nothing less.
"Professor?"
Snape looks up instantly at such a quiet, insecure call, his eyes filling with deep remorse and regret as he lifts his head to regard the much too small child in his master's arms. Watching in silent amazement as Harry slowly, unsurely untangles his arms from around the Dark Lord's neck, reaching out towards his potion's professor. Quickly looking towards his Lord, Severus allows a small smile to grace his lips when the man merely nods towards Harry and with one final glance at Harry's eyes, Lily's eyes, Severus has an armful of the small raven-haired child.
Clutching the boy to his chest, Severus lets out a small chocked sob, rocking his body from side to side as he settles Harry against his chest; one hand cradling the back of Harry's head, bringing it to rest against his shoulder as he buries his face in the raven locks. His other hand wrapping tightly around Harry's waist, bring him tighter against his chest as if protecting him from the world.
"I am so sorry Harry. So very sorry, I was too blinded by my schoolboy hatred of your father to see who you truly were. I do not ask for your forgiveness because I know that I do not deserve it, but I promise that I will always protect you from now on."
Snape cards his hand through the child's hair, tears stinging the back of his eyes as he feels Harry's grip tightening around his waist and shoulders. Paying all his attention to the boy in his arms to notice the gentle smile spreading across his Lord's features as he gazes down at the two.
"It is okay, Professor. My father must have been really horrible to you when you were in school, I am sorry he was mean to you. Everyone is always telling me how great a man he was, how Light he was, but how can he have been if he bullied someone for who they were or what house they were in."
Harry glances over his shoulder to smile at Voldemort who nods his head slightly towards the potion's master to which Harry nods in return. Returning his gaze to the dour man, Harry speaks once more, his voice still timid and shy as he refuses to meet Severus' gaze.
"Though, I think I know a way for you to earn my forgiveness…"
Snape watches the child, startled at his ability to offer his forgiveness so easily before a smile graces his stern features. His chest warming when he feels Harry relaxing slightly in his arms.
"What is it, Harry? What would you have me do to atone for my past discretions?"
He watches, almost mesmerised, as those shining Avada green eyes flicker up to meet his own onyx ones, reminding him so much of Lily, Harry smiles tentatively at him.
"I want you to be one of the witnesses for the blood adoption ritual and I am entrusting you to make all the required potions. Along with any potions I will need to make me better and healthy."
Severus regards the child in his arms, hidden gratefulness shining in the depth of his dark eyes as he nods his head slowly, once more hugging the small child closer to his chest, placing a soft kiss to the boy's forehead his eyes catching a glimpse of the gentle smile softening his Lord's features causing his breath to stutter in his chest.
"Of course, Harry. I would be honoured to bear witness to your adoption."
Studying the gleeful child, Severus is once more amazed when Harry giggles before leaning forward to place a hesitant kiss to his professor's cheek as a pale blush covers the young boy's face. Lord Voldemort, hating to break up the tender moment, steps forward and places a hand gently on his soon-to-be-son's back and a comforting hand on Severus' shoulder smiling as the two turn to look at him. He is pleasantly surprised with how fast Severus had changed his attitude to the young wizard but put it down to him realising that Harry's childhood was so much like his own. He decided that a conversation was due between himself and his potion's master soon.
"Alright, my Little Snakelet. I promise that I will see you as soon as I can."
Voldemort says as he leans down to place a gentle kiss to the young boy's forehead before turning his attention towards his follower, smirking inwardly when he spies the semi-shocked expression accompanied by the pale blush.
"Severus, I would like for you to knock Harry unconscious for me."
Quickly catching the now terrified look on Harry's face, He begins to rub soothing circles on the child's back desperately trying to calm his down before he continues.
"Do not worry so, Snakelet. He will not harm you. It is just so the old coot thinks that you have truly fought against Professor Quirrell. It will keep you safe. I want you, Severus, to tell Dumbledore that you found Harry down here unconscious with the dead body of Professor Quirrell and the stone still in the mirror."
Severus and Harry nod along with his plan, and he reaches into his cloak pocket.
"I had the foresight to bring a replica with me so that I may place in the mirror before I go, Dumbledore will be so focused on getting the truth out of Harry that he will hopefully take you up on your word and not check the stone until it is much too late."
Seeing another nod of understanding from the Professor, Lord Voldemort returns his gaze to Harry, who despite still looking slightly unsure, smile at the Dark Lord, giggling softly when he is lifted out of Severus' arms, much to the disappointment of said professor. Voldemort hugs the child close.
"Do not worry, Little One. Severus will take care of you these next few days here at school, nothing will happen to you while under his care."
Feeling a nod against his shoulder he quickly presses on, running his hand through Harry's hair to try and keep the boy calm.
"I will also place a strong block on your memories which will keep Dumbledore from knowing anything that has happened in this chamber this evening. He won't be able to access your thoughts or feelings on the matter no matter if you are awake or asleep."
Harry nods once more, hugging his soon to be Father tightly before pulling back, offering another small smile to the man.
"Thank you, Father. I will see you soon."
Lord Voldemort reluctantly places Harry on the floor, steadying the boy as he stumbles a little. Placing on final kiss to the child's forehead before plucking the red stone offered to him out of Harry's hands, pocketing it as he turns to Severus, his eyes serious.
"Look after him, Severus."
Bowing lowly, Severus places a calming hand on Harry's shoulder.
"With my life, My Lord."