Embracing His True Self
Chapter 5
Lowered Masks
Harry leaned against the wall of his cell, one foot raised and against the wall, displaying a casual stance of nonchalance as Voldemort stared at him. He would never admit that the stare was beginning to wear on him. It was as if he was waiting for something, or trying to confirm something he suspected. He was getting hungry again as well; he hadn't touched either the breakfast or the lunch they'd sent down to him. He refused to be drugged again; he'd spent the afternoon trying to remove the band but had given up that task as futile.
"What game are you playing at Voldemort?" Harry asked, his tone wary and tired. Not physically; no, it was a mental tiredness. Everything was all Topsy-turvy; nothing was as he expected it to be, and he really didn't like the mind games going on here. Nothing had happened after that potion had been spelled into his stomach, at least nothing he could feel as of yet, but he wouldn't put it past them to have some sort of delayed effect just to fuck with him more. If he went by the food, it was a day ago, surely nothing could happen now?
"Would you believe me if I told you I'm not playing any game?" Voldemort replied, his red eyes alight with amusement.
Harry merely snorted; they already both knew the answer to that question.
"Why do you follow Dumbledore? Doesn't it grate on your nerves how he adores his precious Muggles and insists they are more than the animals I claim they are?" Voldemort sneered; just mentioning Dumbledore caused him to lose control.
Harry narrowed his eyes, not liking where this was going at all; the bastard couldn't be trying to convert him to his side, could he? No, there was no way, Voldemort wanted him dead…well, he did; hell, he wasn't sure anymore and he was beginning to think he was being played big time. Why on earth would he think bringing Muggles up would help that matter? Unless…Harry gulped ― loudly, he suspected…no, that was impossible; nobody knew. Arching an eyebrow in Voldemort's direction he answered, "Why would it?" despite the fact his heart was hammering in his chest.
"I know everything," Voldemort stated, his tone calm and truthful; he could feel what Potter was feeling at the moment: embarrassment and fear. He'd never felt any fear up until this moment…so he knew it wasn't aimed at him, but at what he knew. Interesting, why would that bother the boy so much? "The question is, why do you follow Dumbledore around like a love-sick puppy?" The sneer was back again, he couldn't have helped it even if he tried.
Harry dropped every pretence and a vindictive smirk spread across his face, "Who says I do?"
Voldemort lost all patience, and slid into Harry's mind, wanting to see for himself whether or not the boy was lying to him. Surprisingly enough, Harry seemed to sense his presence in his mind, from the first second he penetrated his memories. He could feel futile struggling as the boy tried to get him out. For someone who was obviously a complete novice at the mind arts he was quite insistent. Some of his Death Eaters couldn't even tug with that much pressure, and they were older and more experienced. Tugging or not, the boy wasn't quite able to keep him out, he was only giving himself a headache. Which he could feel pounding into his own skull; once he had seen the memories he wanted to see... no, needed to see, he slowly withdrew. Blinking he found Potter on his knees, clutching at his head dramatically as if he'd just cursed him.
"What the hell did you just do?" groaned Harry, rubbing at his temples, had he seen everything he had? He'd rifled through his memories like a hot knife sliced through butter. Still disoriented, he used his hands to push himself off his aching knees and sat on the bed. Once the ache left his mind he glared at Voldemort, remembering himself.
"The official name is Legilimens, for when someone can read other people's minds. Legilimency and Occlumency are the terms for reading and blocking one's mind. Occluding is the term for when someone can close their mind against external penetration," Voldemort answered, his answer curt curiously absent of any mocking.
"I always knew he could read my mind," Harry muttered, shaking his head. Snape and Dumbledore; it hadn't felt anything like what Voldemort had just done though. If he got out of this he was definitely going to read up about Legilimency and Occlumency and learn them. Harry wanted to scoff at his thoughts, as if he would ever get out of here; for whatever reason, he was being kept alive and relatively sane. No, his luck had run out, there was no way he could beat Voldemort without a wand.
"Surface thoughts only, he would never risk going any deeper," Voldemort sneered, he too had been a victim of Dumbledore's mind reading. It had annoyed him as a young boy, but as soon as he had acquaintances he found out just what the Deputy Headmaster and Transfiguration Professor was doing. He had realized just how dangerous the old man was then, but he had gotten even more dangerous after defeating Grindelwald. Nobody could think ill of him, with his disgusting display of being a champion to Muggles and Mudbloods. They didn't even seem to care that the quality of education had gotten worse, not better, since he became Headmaster. The amount of legislation he had seen passed forbidding certain magics, books, and potions was immense. The Dark and grey side of the Wizengamot wasn't big enough to see Dumbledore's legislations denied. He didn't just mean the idiots in the Order, but the old 'light' families; most were smart enough never to get directly involved in the war.
Harry shook his head, feeling very odd; he was actually sitting here having a genial conversation with Voldemort. Or what could be passed as one at any rate. He knew everything now, and Harry honestly didn't know what the hell to say or do. Voldemort didn't even need confirmation, he'd read it all from his mind. Did it matter? It wasn't as if he would get out of here. He was a bloody captive; removed from the very place Dumbledore insisted he was 'safe'.
"You want to know why Dumbledore would send you back to the Dursleys, sets up traps to test you, that could potentially have killed you…yet expects you to defeat me?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes filled with fire― as if the boy would be able to defeat him as he was. Then again, Dumbledore didn't want to train him; he knew why. Voldemort watched as the boy's head snapped up to glare at him, unable to hide his curiosity fully. Oh, he knew how much Harry dwelled on that. It was in his mind nearly all the time, but he'd resigned himself to never knowing the full extent of why Dumbledore was manipulating him. He was going along with it just to remain in Hogwarts, aware that Dumbledore could see him expelled at any given moment.
Harry gritted his teeth, did Voldemort know? How would he know? He'd just come back from being a spirit for thirteen years. Unless…unless it had something to do with the fact Voldemort went after him in the first place. Oh, he knew Voldemort hadn't been after his parents, just him; had known since last year, thanks to the Dementors. He had so many questions he didn't have the answer to, but the one Voldemort had just asked was definitely on the top of the list. The second one was why Voldemort had asked his mother to step aside, she was after all a Muggle-born, and Voldemort didn't care about them, wanted to see them dead… didn't he? When the silence continued he realised Voldemort wanted him to ask! Well he would be in for a long wait, he wasn't about to beg or ask Voldemort for anything. It wasn't as if it mattered anymore anyway, not unless Dumbledore figured out where he was and rescued him but that thought was ludicrous. If it had been that easy to find Voldemort, the war would have been over long before he was born.
"Haven't you wondered why you have the ability to speak Parseltongue?" Voldemort hissed, becoming amused as Harry twitched. He was beginning to enjoy any genuine emotion he could elicit from the boy. Especially after seeing him defy him for years, then seeing him practically impassive during his rebirthing ceremony. He must admit, he was glad to have a body, but he wanted his true self back; not only would it remind his Death Eaters of their original goals, they might respect him again. He wasn't stupid; he could see how disgusted they were by his new appearance, which hadn't been this bad before this boy had left him nothing but a spirit.
"How can you do that without a snake being nearby?" cried Harry, too surprised to censor his mouth.
"You did it in the graveyard," Voldemort sneered, not as irritated as he ought to have been. At least he had an answer as to why the boy had his ability, they were equals, and once the boy got used to being here then he would be treated as such. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy had other traits that belong to him; one day he would find out.
Oh, he had no idea.
Harry's eyebrows scrunched down as he tried to remember, had he really spoken Parseltongue? He could never tell when he was, could it be because the ability had only been transferred? It certainly seemed like Voldemort had full control of it, but Harry hadn't been able to practice; he'd never used the ability since he was twelve years old. It had been an unbearable year, and he had no wish for it to continue. That was before he'd gotten so sick of the magical world and the people in it, trying to mould him into something they all wanted, yet were perfectly content to let him be a scrape goat. It had been this way for four years now, they either hated him or liked him, and he was tired. None of the other students were treated like he was; it was inevitable really, and people could only take so much.
"You, Harry Potter, are my Horcrux," Voldemort said, his voice smug, sinful, and satisfied, as if he was admitting something extremely forbidden. He couldn't wait until he figured out what it was. The expression on his face…just imagining it made him smirk in a self satisfied way. Perhaps he should let the boy read the book for himself.
A Horcrux? What the hell was that? And he wasn't Voldemorts! Why would Dumbledore care about him being whatever the hell a Horcrux was? He'd never come across anything in reference to a Horcrux before. The way Voldemort said it though... it must be bad to get that kind of reaction from him. Is that why he'd decided not to kill him? How the hell had he figured out he was some sort of Horcrux anyway? Did it have something to do with the potion he'd given him earlier…or the spell he'd cast on him? If it was so bad why hadn't Dumbledore just killed him?
"Come," Voldemort said, opening the cell door. Harry just threw him a look of incredulity. He didn't wait for the boy to follow him; he left the dungeons. It wasn't as if he could get out of the manor wards anyway. It would just entertain him watching the boy try to leave, as much as it would entertain him watching Harry figure out what being HIS Horcrux entailed. He had to go to the library anyway, he wanted to look up on getting his body back; if it brought his loyal Death Eaters closer to him again he would do it in a heartbeat. He didn't want any more betrayals, and he would certainly make an example of Karkaroff in front of everybody.
Harry watched Voldemort leave; had the wizard gone completely insane? Why was he letting him out? Unless he knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to escape. His green eyes went straight to the band around his ankle and his heart sank; could it be? He would find out sooner or later, but he had a feeling that's what it was. Cursing under his breath, he weighted the pros and cons of getting out of this damn cell. He might not get another opportunity, then again Voldemort might be toying with him, it might slam shut as he approached it. Groaning he stood up, edging his way over and grasping onto the cell door; nothing happened, so he stepped outside and began wandering. He was very surprised to find that he wasn't underground; the entire floor was level. So when he left the 'dungeon' door he wandered straight into a grand hallway. It was beautiful, even he had to admit that.
There was a door open to his left, he could hear hissing inside. He stood there for long moments, looking longingly at the front door to his right. Where did he have to go? The Dursleys', to be locked up too? Or to Hogwarts, if they'd even noticed him gone? No, they'd never let him go to Hogwarts, he'd be locked up somewhere else. What difference did it make where he was? At least here he was getting information, although he knew deep down he wasn't going to like what he found out.
"If you are thinking about running, you won't get far," Voldemort stated, smirking at the boy in feral amusement as he watched from the open left-hand doorway.
"Even without this I wouldn't anyway," Harry said, pointing towards the band. Seeing the red eyes flash with some sort of emotion he knew he'd been right, the bloody band would stop him getting away.
"You are smarter than anyone gives you credit for, Potter," Voldemort said. Even he had underestimated the boy, and his intelligence, something he would elect not to do in future. Voldemort moved away from the door and removed books from the shelves, floating all but one over to the desk he was using. He knew curiosity would get the better of Harry; he would want to know what a Horcrux was.
Harry stared back at the front door before cursing under his breath; finally he walked towards the library, dragging his feet. He couldn't believe he was standing a few feet from Voldemort and still alive. It was madness, complete and utter madness. Once he entered the library he noticed that it was huge, bigger than Hogwarts' own library, a lot of the books were dusty old tomes. Nagini was there, that explained the hissing he'd heard earlier. He eyed the snake suspiciously; who could blame him? The bloody snake wanted to eat him. Every snake Voldemort interacted with wanted to eat him, just take the basilisk for example. A book was floating in mid air, although not for long; it actually moved towards him and Harry caught it in reflex when it fell abruptly.
Harry looked at the front, finding the title: Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullock. Darkest Arts? Great, he didn't have a good feeling about this at all. The large black tome was faded and peeled, on the back was the date it was written; it was old ― ancient old. He felt those intense red eyes boring into his head, but he wasn't going to give Voldemort the satisfaction of thinking he was getting to him. He didn't care what was in this thing, he wouldn't react, and he wouldn't let Voldemort win.
Opening the index page he found the writing was faded and old, possibly medieval. Information on Horcruxes was on page one hundred and eight. It was, Harry found, completely impossible to try and read such a heavy tome while standing. Staring at Nagini and Voldemort he edged around the furthest corner of the room, keeping his distance from the pair of them. Not that it would save him if he was to be a snake dinner, or if Voldemort decided to curse him, really. It was just his way of letting them know he didn't trust them as far as he could throw them.
Sitting down on the chair he pulled it towards the desk he'd settled at, and laid the book down, flipping until he found the page he required. He had barely read two sentences when he wanted to slam it shut. Yet he couldn't, he kept reading in fascinated horror. His stomach almost wanted to rebel; his mind flashed back to the diary in second year…Voldemort had done this when he was seventeen years old?
"H-how?" Harry muttered, unable to look away from the book; he didn't want Voldemort to see the fear written across his face.
"The book is pretty self-explanatory," Voldemort said, feeling the horror, fear, and exhilarating curiosity through the band.
"No, how am I still here? The diary was killing Ginny, so how hasn't your soul overtaken me?" croaked Harry, and why the hell was he asking Voldemort this instead of running far and fast? But where would he go? Dumbledore obviously knew this... transferred some of his magic into him indeed! What a lot of bullshit! The test in first year hadn't been to make him stronger, or to see how powerful he was…had Dumbledore wanted him to die? Had he hoped he would die at the Dursleys'? Why was he keeping him alive? He just didn't understand…
"It doesn't work like that, albeit there hasn't ever been a human Horcrux before…it is a unique situation; if there has been one in the past, it was certainly never written about. The Ministry of magic tried to destroy all books pertaining to Horcruxes a long time ago, along with all other books on Dark magic. As hard as it may be to believe, Dark magic doesn't automatically mean evil. During Dumbledore's tenure as Headmaster, over ninety books have been removed from the library at Hogwarts. Instead, he has been filling it with books about filthy Muggles, and light magic, and let's not forget all the other classes he's stopped," Voldemort admitted. "The soul-fragment has never affected you before; I doubt it will do so now, it merely gives you the ability to speak Parseltongue... unless of course we are related."
Harry grimaced at the thought, causing Voldemort to chuckle evilly, but his mind flashed towards the Chamber, they had looked so alike…it wouldn't have surprised him if they were distantly related.
"If he knew, why was he keeping me alive? And why the hell haven't you killed me?" Harry hissed, fuming.
"Because you were prophesized to be my downfall," Voldemort said, speaking softly, as he always liked to do when he wasn't hissing.
"Huh?" was the only sound Harry could make, as he stared dumbfounded at the Darkest Wizard in Britain. That was the last thing he'd expected; he was prophesized to defeat Voldemort? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, how the hell could he defeat Voldemort? Well, he already had, but that hadn't really been anything to do with him, had it? He was finally getting the answers that Dumbledore had refused to tell him. "Say what?"
"A year before you were born, a prophecy was uttered, but my spy was only able to hear half of it before he was discovered and thrown from the premises. It stated that someone with the power to defeat me approaches, born to those who have thrice defied me, born as the seventh month dies," Voldemort whispered, watching the teenager's eyes widen in shocked incredulity.
"They defied you three times?" asked Harry, his lips twitching in amusement.
Voldemort stared at him... not the slightest bit amused. More confounded than anything, the boy was speaking about his parents as if he wasn't hurt at their loss. Then again, he knew you couldn't miss something you never had; yes, it might be his fault, but it was their choice to join the Order and engage in war; he would never have touched them if they hadn't. Well that wasn't true, if the prophecy had still been uttered he would have gone after them, Order members or not.
"Surely I'm not the only wizard or witch that was born as the 'seventh month dies'," Harry muttered petulantly.
"No, there were two boys that were close enough to fit the prophecy," Voldemort explained, "You of course, and Neville Longbottom. I chose you because you were the most like me. A half-blood; I saw myself in you before I even met you."
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, you agree that Half-Bloods are more powerful, but you want to go out and kill all the Muggles and Muggle-Borns?!" cried Harry, rubbing his temples; he just didn't get Voldemort's logic at all.
"Who said anything about killing Muggle-Borns?" Voldemort sneered.
"You did, at the graveyard: champion of Muggles and Mudbloods, ring any bells? Muggle-borns are smarter, more motivated, and more powerful than any of your Death Eaters, and you can't deny that!" Harry snapped, glaring at Voldemort.
"Dumbledore IS a champion for Muggles and Mudbloods," Voldemort calmly said, staring Potter down.
"You don't get it! We need new blood, without it we will all end up like Crabbe and Goyle," Harry blurted, disgusted at the thought, almost laughing at the face Voldemort pulled. "Keeping the family 'pure' comes at the expense of squibs, near-squibs, and the pureblood lines are going to fade out."
Voldemort stared blankly at the boy, not sure what to think at the moment. Honestly he was confounded; Harry never reacted like he expected him to. It was as if he was on a different frequency than everyone else; he'd just found out he was a Horcrux and here he was going on about Muggles and Muggle-borns. Even speaking about his parents had done nothing but caused him to smirk and state 'They defied you three times?' as if nothing had amused him more in his life. Yes, there was something about the boy, and he found it impossible to retain his disdain for him. Harry was speaking to him out of turn and he actually didn't care, other than to feel respect that the boy wasn't cowering before him? Why? How could that be? Anyone else would be on the floor screaming in agony at this point, so why was he different? Was it because he recognized that the boy was his equal of sorts? Because he knew the boy was a Horcrux? Unfortunately not, he had grudgingly respected him and his stoic display in the Graveyard.
"There is no such thing as a Mudblood! Or a Muggle-Born; their magic came from somewhere. I'll bet you ten Galleons that you'll find my mother is a descendant from a pureblood line somewhere," Harry snapped, irritated that Voldemort was just looking at him without reacting to anything he was saying.
"You shouldn't make bets you will never win," Voldemort replied, his red eyes gleaming dangerously.
"What's wrong? Scared I'm right?" Harry ground out through gritted teeth.
"This bargain won't get you out of the manor in an effort to escape," Voldemort stated, why was the boy so adamant about this? Did he seriously think it would stop his plans from going forward?
Harry blinked in surprise, both at the fact Voldemort had seemingly accepted the wager and the fact that, for some reason, Voldemort thought it was an escape attempt. He just kept staring the older wizard down, refusing to budge; he would be proven right, and Voldemort would have to rethink some of his strategy. If it saved people's lives in the process then he would consider it a double win; when he was proven right, surely Voldemort wouldn't continue this vendetta he had against Muggle-Borns. Although he wasn't quite sure what his problems against them were, if he was honest. He didn't know much actually, only what he'd picked up during his four years at Hogwarts. Nobody had told him how bad Voldemort was, what his goals had been, or anything of the sort. He'd just been the wizard who had killed his parents and tried to kill him.
"Very well, let's go," Voldemort announced standing up; he found himself enjoying the wary look the boy sent him. Harry had every right to be cautious; he was unpredictable, vicious when he needed to be. The boy didn't have anything to worry about, but he wasn't going to tell him that. He deserved to worry about when he would strike, after everything he'd done. He had to give him his due, when Nagini snaked forward, Harry didn't even twitch.
They walked in the direction he'd come into the library, but instead of entering straight ahead, Voldemort opened a door to the right. It was a potions lab, Harry realized. There was something oddly familiar about the set up, from the way the drying racks were set up, to the bin in the corner, and even the position of the corks in the middle of the table. His heartbeat pounded faster; of course, it shouldn't have even taken him this long― he was an idiot. It was almost an exact replica of Snape's private potions lab, where he had scrubbed clean the cauldrons during detentions, although sometimes that was held out in the Potions classroom. Snape was a spy, but who was he playing? Voldemort or Dumbledore? Did that mean Dumbledore was aware that he was missing? Or kidnapped, more like. What would happen to him if he was removed from here with the band on him? Knowing Voldemort... he actually didn't want to know. It would probably involve more pain, or death actually; Voldemort wouldn't want him to get away.
He gaped when Voldemort set up a cauldron and actually began to brew a potion! There wasn't even a book in sight; he was brewing it from memory. Moving his hand, he pinched his leg and winced, he was definitely awake then, yet he didn't want to believe this was real. This had to be the most absurd day in his life; considering what all he'd gone through to date, that said a great deal. Why the hell was he here? Damn it, he wanted to get away… yet his bloody mind continued to remind him he had nowhere to go.
"No need to look so surprised," Voldemort snapped, irritated at the look he was receiving from the boy, as if he couldn't do anything for himself. "I surpassed Dumbledore's O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s; one didn't become Head boy by being insignificant or incompetent."
Harry's lips twitched, he sounded just like he did in the diary, although the one in the book was much easier on the eyes. "Yet instead of taking control of your inheritance and going through the Ministry to get your changes made, you took the path of least resistance, leaving carnage and death in your wake?"
"Do you think anyone would have been willing to listen when they had their hero Dumbledore in charge?!" Voldemort snarled, red eyes gleaming with raw hatred for the meddling old fool.
"You were smart, you could have become the Minister of Magic, and then proceeded to make any change you wanted!" Harry protested. "You would have had the entire female population following you around like puppies, and charmed the men into thinking you were Merlin reincarnated! They're nothing but sheep! They do what they're told and believe everything they hear!"
"I'm sure they would have allowed all Mudbloods to be barred from the magical world. And all the filthy Muggles exterminated," Voldemort retorted sardonically, regaining control of himself just in time to add the next ingredient into the cauldron. Thankfully the potion wasn't a complicated or time consuming one, and soon he would be able to prove Potter wrong. It was however, extremely expensive, due to several of the ingredients that were required within it.
"What is it with you and Muggles and Muggle-Borns?" Harry cried in exasperation. He looked around the lab until he found a seat and walked over to it. His ribs were killing him; he wouldn't remain standing much longer. Sitting down on the stool he continued watching Voldemort. Would the wizard answer him?
Voldemort didn't answer him, deliberately ignoring the question; he did not have to answer to Potter. He didn't like the familiarity the boy had with his youngest Horcrux. He seemed very sure that he could have made the changes he wanted, aware of the inheritance he had, not that it was much. Just a Slytherin vault that the Gaunts mustn't have known about and of course the land and a few properties. They may have been Slytherin descendants, but they were stupid; they didn't even think to ask the goblins or enquire about potential vaults. Harry had even alluded to the fact his looks would have had women and men all hanging on to his every word. If he could get a hold of his diary he would be able to collect the memories of his soul part even if the horcrux itself was 'dead'. If it was even possible, although if there was anything he knew about Dumbledore, it was that he would keep it 'safe' in his office. He was an old fool, predictable but powerful, one that had seen right through him even at the age of eleven. Then he'd kept an annoyingly close watch on him, although nowhere as annoyingly close as after he'd had Hagrid expelled.
"The potion seems easy; I've never heard of it," Harry mused, peering into the potion, before remembering who he was in here with and backed off a bit.
"You wouldn't, it's one of the potions your precious Dumbledore made illegal," Voldemort responded.
"He's not mine," Harry replied through gritted teeth. "Why?"
"Because it requires blood," Voldemort sneered, "He's made all potions that require blood illegal, even if the blood is required to be willingly given."
"Ever thought it was so he could continue the war?" Harry asked raising an eyebrow, crossing his arms, and examining both the potion and the dark wizard. "That potion would allow every single Muggle-Born to see that they had pureblood relatives; if the direct lines were gone they could be in for a substantial inheritance. Dumbledore isn't stupid; he could have prevented your last war."
"You are extremely sure about that," Voldemort said acerbically. "Have you brewed this potion right under Dumbledore's nose?" That thought made him extremely gleeful, more than anything else had since his resurrection. Dumbledore thought he had the perfect little weapon; little did he know he was being played expertly by a fourteen-year-old, who had been playing the game since he was eleven. Sending the boy to the Dursleys to be abused was the single most stupid thing he could have done. The old bastard was under the impression that abuse makes people malleable, desperate for approval, easy to mould and control. He had severely miscalculated; abuse made you strong, defiant, un-bendable like steel, and it was so easy for them to blend into their environment. In other words, Harry had adapted his behavior to what the people at Hogwarts wanted to see, wanted him to be, like a chameleon changing his appearance.
"No; number one, they don't have three of the ingredients required at Hogwarts; number two, it's never been in any book I've read, and three…I wouldn't dare risk it even to prove my point, not at Hogwarts," Harry said. "Until now, my biggest scheme was to stay under Dumbledore's radar until I could get away from both him and my relatives. Which meant my playing by his rules and only doing small things that would be seen as innocuous." What the fuck? Why had he just confessed that? Was he out of his mind? But Voldemort had already seen everything in his memories, so he was only telling him what he'd already seen. This was Voldemort! He'd wanted him dead for as long as he'd been alive. If he didn't kill him eventually, one of the Death Eaters would! They probably hated him just as much as Voldemort did. His days were numbered either way.
Of course, Harry would underestimate the hold Voldemort had over his Death Eaters and how much he valued his own soul.
"Give me your hand," Voldemort demanded imperiously.
Harry gave him a look that suggested he was completely insane. He just knew if Voldemort had a nose it would be flaring dangerously…but as it stood he didn't have one ― which made him slightly more intimidating.
Hissing under his breath, he passed over the needle. "Three drops into the cauldron," Voldemort commanded, his red eyes warning Harry that he was pushing the limits. While the boy had a point to distrust him, he was beginning to tire and quite frankly he'd never been very patient. He was not going to allow Potter to realize how easily tired he was in this borrowed body. Hopefully Severus would bring the potions soon, so he could begin the ritual to reabsorb himself, the main soul fragment from one of his Horcruxes. This would give him his appearance at the age he had been at the time of creating whichever one he used. Snape was the only one he honestly trusted to brew the potion; not even he had the confidence to brew such a complicated potion.
Harry weighed the pros and cons of complying with Voldemort's order. He had nothing to lose; he wanted to prove his point (which by the way he hoped was actually proven), otherwise he would feel like a right idiot. Wait, were those pros or cons? They sounded like cons, but really…they were his pros; he had no cons that he could think of. He was stuck here, there was nothing he could do about it…he would just have to adapt. He'd adapted to Hogwarts well enough, learned how to behave the way they wanted him to. He could never be the boy he'd been for four years here; to be honest, he didn't think he could be that boy ever again. It had been such a struggle during his last days at Hogwarts. Everyone was avoiding him, thinking he had killed Cedric Diggory.
"Stubborn boy," hissed Voldemort, seconds away from cursing the brat; this had been his idea.
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Harry snarled, his magic flaring and making his green eyes glow eerily, reminding Voldemort of the night he'd lost his body. Stepping up to the workbench, he prodded the needle into his thumb with more force than necessary, but Harry was used to pain; it didn't hurt all that much. What had he said? Three drops? Well, thought Harry, here goes, time to prove Voldemort wrong... he hoped. Squeezing his thumb over the cauldron, he allowed the three falling drops of blood to blend into in the potion, turning it a vibrant red.
"Watch who you are talking to, Potter," Voldemort spat, breathing heavily, his wand clutched in his hand; of all the impudent things! He had the brass knickers to talk to him that way? Oh, he was so very tempted to curse the boy, and wondered briefly when it would stop. Potter kept pushing his luck, and one day he would snap. He finally forced himself to calm down, still glaring at the unrepentant teenager who looked just as furious as him just because of the word boy. Then again, he had just been in the boy's memories; he had seen things, but it didn't mean he knew everything. He hadn't realized the word would spark such a fury in him. "Dumbledore calls you that all the time; as sickening as it is, you do not react so negatively to him."
"Do you know how hard it was to sit there with a smile on my face when all I wanted to do was punch that smug face and snarl at him not to call me that?" Harry grimaced, shuddering in disgust. "To add insult to injury, I had to make sure my thoughts were what he expected when I met his eyes."
"You knew about it?" Voldemort was extremely surprised.
"I suspected they were reading my thoughts, yes," Harry murmured with a sigh. "I didn't have any definitive proof, but I did the best I could. And considering I was never caught out, it was obviously good enough."
"They?" This time Voldemort caught it, unlike the time he said it in the cell.
"Mmm," Harry said, not elaborating. Was he actually trying to protect Snape, or was he just not willing to give any more information up? Or was he actually thinking Snape would save him? That thought made him want to laugh. Snape was a dark wizard, and the chances of him honestly spying FOR Dumbledore were next to nothing. It made more sense that he'd duped Dumbledore into thinking he'd changed his coat and managed to get the wizard to think he was spying for him, Not for Voldemort. "What happens next?" He wanted to laugh; here he was, asking Voldemort what happens next. Yeah, he was either insane or had begun feeling the first stages of Stockholm syndrome…he didn't know which would comfort him more. Stockholm syndrome didn't happen that quickly anyway, did it? Probably, but he didn't see himself as a victim… but that was a stage of the phenomena about the Syndrome itself. Then again, one could argue he had felt it stepping into the magical world; Dumbledore was an abuser as well. At least here he wasn't expected to sacrifice himself… although the torture might come later…who knew?
"Accio blank parchment!" Voldemort chanted, and as quickly as the summoned item flew at him, as he snatched it out of mid-air.
Voldemort sucked up some of the potion into a dropper, then as quickly as possible spread it across the top of the parchment. Immediately it hardened to a crust, as if it was wax and unable to stay in liquid form without heat. Voldemort tapped his wand against it, saying nothing, but sparks shot out of his wand indicating some sort of non-verbal magic had just been used. Immediately writing began to pen itself out on the parchment, bleeding down further to where it was still rolled up. The parchment got wider and longer as the text went along, accommodating itself for the apparently long family line that belonged to Harry Potter. Handing the competed parchment over, Voldemort didn't try to keep from smirking, he was so sure he would be on the receiving end of ten galleons soon.
Harry accepted the parchment scroll and went to an empty table and unrolled it, surprised at the length it was. He didn't pay any attention to his father's long line, but rather he studied the line belonging to his mother. The further up he got, the more disheartened he felt when he didn't recognize any of the names. There might be one there, but he didn't know all the names; Voldemort might have more luck. Then he saw it; his heart sank, and he wished he hadn't done it ― at all. He stared at the name, unable to comprehend it; he knew the name well, it was imprinted into his mind.
"Well?" Voldemort impatiently snapped when the boy continued to stare at the geneology vacantly.
"You owe me ten galleons," Harry muttered distantly, distractedly.
Voldemort came around the bench; it must be bad, he mused when the boy didn't automatically move away from him like he had been doing. His red eyes widened in frank astonishment when he saw where the boy was looking. The Potter family had been removed from the sacred registry for not being 'truly pureblood', but that was clearly a lot of drivel now. Lestrange; Harry Potter's maternal great-grandfather was a bloody Lestrange. He must have been adopted by the Evans family, since the next name that appeared was Marcus Evans, followed by Harold Evans, then Petunia and Lily Evans. To top it off, Potter's grandmother on his father's side was a Black; the Malfoys made an appearance up the Lestrange side as well. However, the Gaunts name caught his attention; he stared at his own name in disbelief. There were the Peverell brothers, and then the Slytherin line. So much for Potters being in Gryffindor as long as the line had been going. It might not even be due to the Horcrux that Harry had the ability to talk to snakes. They had turned out to be very, very distant cousins. So much for killing off his entire family... well, he had done for at least his immediate line.
Quite frankly, he didn't know what the hell to think. "This isn't to say it's the same for every Muggle-Born," Voldemort stated, not ready to totally concede the point just yet.
Harry grinned at him, and it took Voldemort a second to catch up on why, and he wanted to curse, he'd just said Muggle-Born! Glaring at the boy, he silently told him there would be swift retribution if he dared mention it to anyone or anything. "Still not ready to admit defeat?"
"Do you even know who the Lestranges are?" Voldemort sneered, his red eyes gleaming in triumph. Would the boy be so smug about all he'd learned when he found out they were his most loyal followers? Oh the look on his face would be worth remembering, that was for sure.
"Yes, they tortured the Longbottoms into insanity; they were sentenced to Azkaban for life for being Death Eaters…very loyal to you…they claimed rather loudly that you would be back and they'd be free. That you would reward them most faithfully for trying to find you; the Longbottoms are purebloods!" Harry said pointedly.
"They are," agreed Voldemort. "How do you know what they said?"
"Dumbledore's pensieve," Harry smirked, his green eyes glinting deviously. "The sanctimonious old fool thought I got accidentally sucked into it."
Voldemort chuckled gleefully, he really was beginning to like this side of Potter very much.
"Even if I hadn't, you mentioned them in the graveyard. It wouldn't be hard to figure out they were Death Eaters," Harry pointed out.
"Do you have any idea how many of the sacred lines run through you?" Voldemort asked, feeling almost envious.
"Sacred?" Harry asked blankly.
"Yes, the name for what was thought to be the Twenty-eight pureblood families still 'pure', but the name Potter can be added right back to it," Voldemort stated. "The Lestranges are one of them, as are the Blacks and Malfoys and the Gaunts, which we are the last living descendants from. Sixteen of those families are loyal to me."
"I assume the four founders are part of that?" Harry frowned; Merlin, this pureblood mania was driving him insane.
"No," Voldemort stated. "There is a book written about it by Cantankerus Nott; you may read about it, if you wish."
Harry snorted, greatly amused by the horrific name. Still, he was interested in reading it, to see the situation from someone else's point of view despite the fact it differed from his own beliefs.
R&R please.