Embracing His True Self
Chapter 9
The Truth
"I did not call you," Voldemort stated, narrowing his eyes on Severus as he entered his office. He looked extremely irritated, a look he normally only sported after having to endure an endless Order meeting in the past, and even then it was never this obvious. Turning his chair around slightly, he observed the normally composed wizard, actually fascinated by the fact Severus had lost his composure so much that he was displaying it to him. It was as rare as Lucius Malfoy running around naked, that is to say not at all. He didn't seem to have the locket, so the possibility of it being due to an Order meeting was slim to none.
"Forgive my impudence, My Lord," Severus said quietly, walking towards Voldemort and bowing swiftly. This was the only warning Voldemort had to know this conversation was going to be long and gruelling. Severus did not have to bow; the only reason he would be doing so was because he was going to tell him something he would not like ― at all. "What are you doing with Harry Potter?"
"How did you come by this information?" Voldemort demanded, hissing out the words in anger. The bigger ―and more immediate― question was did Dumbledore know? Was his hideout compromised? It had better not be, he always had the junior Death Eaters meeting at various locations, mostly Malfoy Manor, to throw off anyone figuring it out if they were tempted to betray him. Only his closest and most trusted knew about this place; was his trust misplaced? There were only a few people who knew about this place so far, and the man in front of him was one of them. Quite frankly his desire to know was the only thing staying his twitching palm from cursing Severus into next week.
"On my own, My Lord," Severus rushed to answer, slightly surprised that he wasn't being tortured. While the Dark Lord he'd known back in the day had taken suggestions, he would never allow anyone, not even his second or third in command, to question his decisions no matter the occasion. "I've learned a lot of disconcerting information, especially regarding Harry Potter."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes further until they were nothing but slits. "Why would you be searching for Harry Potter so earnestly?" he demanded. And so urgently? He did not like where this was going; unbidden, the memory of a teenaged Severus kneeling before him wishing him to spare the life of Lily Evans flashed before his eyes. Yes, he was keeping up pretences, but to go to such great lengths? Something wasn't right there.
Severus tensed, knowing he would just have to be truthful and hope for the best…there was no alternative. "I swore a Vow to keep Harry Potter safe." Oh, there was something worse than curses…the silence, the long seething silences.
"So you did betray me, Severus," Voldemort stated with a feigned calmness.
"My Lord, all I asked when I joined was for Lily Evans' life to be spared; her son was all that was left of her. My allegiance has always been to you, never Dumbledore," Severus said quietly. "Upon your defeat, Dumbledore requested that I take a Vow and protect the child to my best ability."
"I see," Voldemort replied, his anger building into epic proportions. He was trying to lay the blame at his feet? He had tried to keep his word but the bloody woman hadn't moved aside. Not only that, she'd given her stubborn nature to her son.
"Ever since the Vow was created, I've been unknowingly breaking my word," Severus added, sweating slightly at the unbearable hotness in the room due to his Lord's magic. "I recently discovered that Potter was abused, and that isn't the worst of it… I believe Dumbledore has been manipulating the boy from the moment his parents died."
Voldemort's anger faded, as he arched an eyebrow; knowing Severus as he did… it probably involved mind reading. "You have proof?" Perhaps Lucius had been the wrong one to go to after all.
"Of his abuse?" Severus questioned, his tone cautious and surprised.
"The manipulation," Voldemort replied grimly.
"Only my word, and of course the memories should you wish to see them," Severus answered. He couldn't have been more surprised that he wasn't being cursed; he wasn't sure what on earth was going on. This wasn't how he had envisioned this conversation going, he had yet to be cursed to the floor.
"Put them in the pensieve, Severus," Voldemort directed, his tone dark, trying to stop himself from punishing the dark wizard for his actions. The only thing that stopped him was the sense of truth he could feel coming from Severus; he was loyal to him, and Dumbledore had forced him to make the Vow. Now that the boy was firmly within his grasp, it would ensure that Severus remained on his side; oh, he knew Severus would keep his word and protect the boy ― the perfect body guard. He summoned the pensieve and left it afloat for Severus to put the memories in. The question remained whether to trust Severus or not, he'd already hidden much from him and the thought of being betrayed made his blood turn to ice.
Severus was unable to help himself. He glanced at the Dark Lord, trying to gauge his mood but those red eyes seared into his own filled with raw fury. Calming himself, he began to remove the memories that he required. He was desperate to ask why he hadn't killed Harry, but he didn't dare; he had gotten away with questioning him earlier, he wasn't about to tip him over the edge. The Dark Lord wasn't exactly known for his patience. Once the memories were in, the silence continued.
"My Lord?" Severus questioned, his tone hesitant.
"Leave, Severus; if anyone finds out…" Voldemort trailed off purposely; he had no need to finish his sentence for the wizard to understand what he meant.
"My Lord… my Vow…" Severus added, swallowing thickly and wondering if he should just kill himself and be done with it now.
"The boy will not be harmed," Voldemort hissed in irritation, he did not like being questioned. Watching the wizard stand and turn towards the door, his hands twitched as he suppressed the urge to lash out. Instead he waited until Severus was at the edge of the door before speaking, finding amusement in the way he stiffened. "Do not return without the locket."
"My Lord," Severus nodded his agreement before sliding out, still feeling out of sorts; he hadn't been cursed and that thought kept rattling around in his mind. He would not think on anything else here, not until he got to the safety of Spinners End.
After lunch Harry was just about to leave when instead he turned and spoke to Voldemort.
"Where's my trunk?" Harry asked, giving Voldemort a glare just for old time's sake; he didn't want the wizard under the impression he was just going to play along. He was stuck here, a prisoner, so he was going to make damn well sure he made every day torture. Hell, even his glasses ―not that he needed them― had been taken from him when he was put in the dungeons, and he knew that they had taken the trunk― it was the only explanation for why they would think he ran away. "And my owl?" If they'd hurt Hedwig, he would make sure Pettigrew didn't last another day. He would twist the head clean off the rat's bloody body, and relish every second of it.
Voldemort turned to look at Harry arching an eyebrow, clearing not about to grace him with an answer. The boy did not get to demand things from him, he was Lord Voldemort... he couldn't even be bothered finishing his own thoughts. Potter didn't care who he was, or how he threatened him, apparently; he would just do as he pleased. It irritated the hell out of him, yet at the same time he felt a smidgen of respect flaring in his body. Nobody other than Dumbledore and his Order dared to defy him, and even then the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't actually dare to rile him up the way this boy did. "Just what makes you think I have it?" Voldemort asked coldly, giving the boy one of his fiercest glares ― one, he might add, that would have his Death Eaters almost peeing themselves in fear.
"They think I ran away; the only reason they'd think that is if my stuff is gone, just like last time," Harry told him, his lips pursed as if to stop himself adding anything else.
"Let me guess, you didn't get far?" Voldemort smirked sardonically, "Someone you know showed up afterwards to keep an eye on you?"
Harry blinked, stiffening notably; he had a feeling he was missing something, and it was something big. How the hell would he know something like that? And he said it like it was a bad thing… part of him had thought at the time that they came because he was there; the Weasleys could barely get by without staying at the Leaky Cauldron when they had a perfectly usable house. He'd assumed it was to keep him safe from Sirius Black, who at the time was thought to be a traitor and had led Voldemort to his parents... resulting in their deaths.
"Let me guess, Order members?" Voldemort was sneering ferally now.
Harry shrugged indifferently; they kept saying that as if they expected him to understand everything about it. From what he could gather it seemed as if they were people Dumbledore had got together to fight against the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Like he knew who they were... the war had only just started up again. Although admittedly he could make a few good guesses as to who was in it. His parents had probably been members. Moody, the Weasleys, Sirius, Remus probably. Either way, they didn't give a shit about him. They knew about the abuse obviously, since Moody had threatened his uncle, yet they had done nothing... just made him go back to Privet Drive and endure it. Always listening to Dumbledore… maybe Crouch did have a point about his hold on the magical world.
He didn't know, Voldemort realized, quite shocked to be frank but he shouldn't be. Evidently Dumbledore had kept it from him, or he'd been able to at least get some information on them at least to make a guess. "Didn't you ever wonder how they found you, how they always managed to find you?" Voldemort enquired dangerously, standing up and circling the boy, trying to intimidate him.
"I wasn't exactly hiding," Harry pointed out simply; moving to make sure Voldemort was always within his sight.
"Tracking charms," hissed Voldemort, his red eyes gleaming. "On everything you hold most dear."
"Guess you and Dumbledore are alike then," Harry stated, calm as you please, his leg jerking where he currently had the band around his ankle that prevented him from leaving. No doubt there was a tracking charm in that as well, so Voldemort knew where he was; it certainly explained the doors getting closed closest to where he was, trapping him within.
Then suddenly Harry fell to the floor, a startled scream leaving his lips before he controlled it by biting down on his lips. Just as he had, the spell let up. Groaning, he looked up at the wizard. Oh boy, he'd found what pissed him off, it seemed: being compared to Dumbledore reduced Voldemort to a murderous rage. The spell hadn't even been on that long, just a few seconds, certainly not as long as it had been in the graveyard. It had been a warning, a powerful one at that since he'd done it without speaking or his wand. Grunting, Harry got to his feet, crudely wiping away the blood that had formed where he bit his lip, staring at him and refusing to let his fear rule him or let Voldemort think he was intimidating him. He was used to pain; it was all he knew, so he was using the wrong incentives to get him to do anything he wanted this way.
"That was just a taste, boy," Voldemort snarled, right in his ear, "Do not test me on this." He was already seething from Severus' visit.
"I'll say," muttered Harry, loud enough for Voldemort to hear. "How did you do that? You didn't even say the spell... you don't even have your wand." He couldn't help but be awed, although a slight whine could be heard as he spoke. Wandless, Wordless spells, and he could do whatever he wanted when he wanted. He'd thought you could only do that before Hogwarts and it was accidental magic.
"It's something that will no doubt come easy to you, Harry," Voldemort stated dangerously. "From what I've heard, you are exceedingly good at the Dark Arts at school. I can only imagine how much that must have irritated Dumbledore."
Even saying his name caused Voldemort to get furious. Being so close to him Harry could feel his magic spike as he said 'Dumbledore' with more consternation than when Snape said his name ― not something he'd ever thought possible.
"Actually, it's a class everyone expected me to be good at," Harry muttered bitterly. Merlin, his body hurt; he just wanted to sit, or preferably lie down, and rest his aching muscles. He would not show weakness, he absolutely refused to, not here, not now.
"Your classmates perhaps," Voldemort replied, nodded briefly, "Not Dumbledore." Of that he was one hundred percent certain. What normal thirteen-year-old could successfully cast a fully fledged patronus charm? Or what fourteen-year-old could beat the Imperius Curse cast on him by two powerful wizards, and yes, Barty was powerful ―he didn't take on mediocre wizards, only the best― unless of course they had a certain value or use to him, such as Pettigrew.
"Can't you just remove the tracking charms on my stuff and give it back to me?" Harry asked, irritated, getting back to his original purpose. He didn't want to talk about Dumbledore; he wasn't any more 'fond' of him than Voldemort was.
"Idiotic boy, I already removed them!" Voldemort hissed. As if he was stupid enough to leave tracking-charmed items on his property. He might as well shoot the Dark Mark into the sky and declare this was where he lived for all to see. No, he didn't want Dumbledore finding out about this property. He would let him assume he would be using his Death Eaters' residences as he had done in the past. No doubt he'd have people watching those areas hoping for signs of activity. What the hell was so special in the trunk that he had to have it back? He had ensured there was nothing in it that could be used as a weapon or aid in his escape.
He sounded like Snape, was Harry's first thought, or had Snape got it from Voldemort? He was curious, but enough to find out? No; he'd already antagonized Voldemort today, after a short rest he would focus his energies on Pettigrew. Unfortunately the git was just as good at hiding here as he had been at hiding out from the entire magical population. He belatedly realized that Voldemort hadn't told him how he was able to use magic without a wand and without words; in a weird way he'd even complimented him! Now wasn't that bloody weird?
"Amita!" Voldemort curtly stated. "Bring Potter's trunk to his room."
"Yes, Sir," said the House-elf who appeared, then promptly disappeared again.
Harry stared at the space where the House-elf had previously been, a calculating look on his face.
"Don't bother trying to get the House-elves to help you; you will not like the consequences if you do," Voldemort added as he reclaimed his seat. He'd had enough of the boy for today, hopefully he would have the sense not to antagonize him further; he was furious as it is.
'Suspicious much?' thought Harry, before turning and leaving, deciding against saying anything... he would wait until tomorrow. Although he definitely wouldn't be comparing Voldemort to Dumbledore again; as he'd told Voldemort in the graveyard, he wasn't a masochist. Plus he wanted to see if any of his things were missing. Only when he got to his room did he realize that he had not gotten an answer about Hedwig; Merlin, he hoped she was okay.
Harry made his way quickly to what had been evidently called his 'room' like he was a guest and not a prisoner. Although to be frank, he was more of a prisoner at Privet Drive or at Hogwarts where he was closely monitored. If he were to choose one out of the three, he would definitely pick Hogwarts. The ambient magic surrounding the school helped him, kept him as safe as it could and truthfully he would miss the school. Despite Dumbledore, his manipulations, and everything bad that had happened, the school in a way had been his home. Sighing softly, he sat down on the edge of the bed. His trunk had been brought just as instructed. It hadn't passed his notice that the House-elf looked well cared for. He found it ironic really, Dobby was a fine example of what the Dark side was capable of.
Nothing was what he expected it to be, he couldn't help but think as he looked through his trunk, making sure everything was there. The things he cherished most, the cloak, photo album… but there was one thing missing. Panic settled in; every single spell, charm, and potion he had created was written in a little black book he had stolen when he was eleven, just after the summer started after his first year at Hogwarts. "Please, no!" Harry thought, beginning to rummage through his trunk, until it was empty. "No! no, no, no, no!" Harry muttered, before forcefully calming himself down, and beginning to put the items back in the trunk one at a time, until everything was in it except his photo album; there was still no sign of his black book.
He froze momentarily; where had he put it? Had he managed to sneak it past his uncle? Or kept it in his trunk? If he hadn't put it in his trunk then there was a good bet that it was still at the Dursleys'. If they were looking for him… they might find his hiding place, they would find his book. All his work was in that thing, it was the one thing he was most proud of. It was solid, tangible proof that he wasn't Dumbledore's golden boy, not completely, that he was his own person with his own beliefs. He couldn't let it get into the wrong hands, especially after everything he'd learned about Dumbledore ― Harry wouldn't put it past him to use the spells and potions he'd created now. Damn it, he couldn't think clearly, the days at the Dursleys' were always murky due to the fact he mostly always ended up with a head injury. Mostly from Vernon, but Dudley didn't help matters any either; honestly, he couldn't remember anything clearly as soon as he stepped foot in that house.
Groaning in despair, he realized he was going to have to ask Voldemort.
The thought left a thoroughly disgusting taste in his mouth.
Standing up, he moved out of the room, wondering why he was even doing this. There was no way he was going to let him out of this place… and he'd laugh himself silly if Voldemort went himself. Maybe he would send the House-elf; he really wanted that book, enough to ask Voldemort apparently, he thought with consternation as he began to search for him. Peering in the extremely large and extravagant dining room, he saw nothing, shrugging his shoulders he moved through the landing, wondering where he could be… the library? With a new destination in mind he quickly moved, remembering where it was and what he had learned the last time he had been there.
Opening the door he grunted in frustration, why the hell couldn't he use the damn scar to find him? It hadn't let him down before! Always tingling like an annoying reminder that he had survived an attack somehow that nobody else had been able to. Just then he felt dizzy, grasping a hold of the door only for it to slam shut on his fingers, but he felt nothing as his mind was… there was no other word for it, transported to another… the room was dark, in front of him was paperwork, Nagini was purring ― did snakes purr? In front of the fireplace. Just as abruptly as it started it stopped, making him jump and grimace in agony, cradling his hand as he fought to stop himself screaming. Fuck, that hurt; he used his shoulder to rub at his head. What the hell had happened? What had he just seen? It was like first year all over again, the time he'd seen Quirrell in his mind.
"Potter," Voldemort hissed staring at the boy, furious beyond all measures at the audacity of what he had just done. How dare he? It didn't help that he'd been unable to prevent the access to his mind. All the occlumency shields in the world had been useless against the attack, and it hadn't even been a vicious attack, just a probing, seeking reach. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just end your life right now?" He was seriously tempted to do it, he didn't care that Potter was his Horcrux; it was a violation of his privacy that he could not condone.
Harry stared at Voldemort, eyeing the wand in his hand. He wasn't known for his patience, so he was surprised he was still standing there and not under the Cruciatus. He'd never once bothered to keep his anger at bay, so why was he doing it now? And the other times he'd been in his company? Could it be because he was his Horcrux? He nixed that idea immediately, he'd cursed him earlier so why stow his twitching palm now? He hated being confused, which was admittedly his primary emotion since being brought here.
"Believe it or not… I didn't mean to; this isn't the first time it's happened," Harry said deciding to be completely truthful ― maybe he would be willing to let him get his book if he did. "I heard you and Quirrell talking in what I thought was a dream. I didn't remember it when I woke up, didn't believe it. I put the pieces together after, and I just thought my scar acted as stupid early warning system. There's no need to snort; I was eleven and I had no idea how else to explain it! It hurt like blazes whenever you were near… well, until now." He scowled darkly at the wizard for being such a derisive arse. "It usually happens when I'm asleep. I saw you when you were this disgusting baby thing; you killed that Muggle when Nagini told him on like a tattler." He doubted he'd ever grow fond of Nagini, but being threatened as food wouldn't help that.
Voldemort's lips disappeared at the comment about him and his familiar; fortunately he was more curious and cautious, if truth be known, about this connection between them. "Did it ever occur again?"
"I don't know, I think so; it might have been the same night but I saw Crouch as well," Harry admitted, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember exactly what happened last year and what he had seen. "There was talk about the Quidditch World Cup, and you feeding me to Nagini," he added, thinking back and finding it was probably the last time he'd seen anything. "I was just looking for you and then I felt myself falling, I must have grabbed for the door and it shut on my hands but I didn't even notice. All I saw was a room; it was dark with a few candles, documents spread out, and Nagini in front of the fireplace."
"What were you thinking about?" Voldemort snapped, speculation circling, as ideas began to thrum through him.
"Er…" Harry started, he under no circumstances wanted to admit he was thinking about him when it happened. "Just… you know, nothing… I was looking for you." Biting his tongue, he stared at Voldemort without emotion, cursing himself inwardly.
"Interesting," Voldemort muttered distractedly wondering how he could stop it from happening again.
"I don't think so," Harry said bitterly, still clutching at his hand which was thumping in agony.
"Give me your hand," Voldemort demanded imperiously.
Harry gave him the same look as he had when the dark wizard had asked for his blood.
"I do not have time for games, give me your hand or keep it that way," Voldemort's patience was gone, replaced with anger.
Well, when he put it that way… Merlin, he hated how smug Voldemort always was, then again when it came to magical abilities, he had every right to be. Moving his wrist he held it out his mask crumbing only slightly, as Voldemort took a hold of his wrist and began to mutter under his breath. Almost immediately the pain abated and the swelling went down.
"Now why did you wish to see me?" Voldemort was admittedly curious about that.
"I need your help," Harry grumbled, looking as if he would rather eat horse manure than actually go through with this… asking him for help.
"Well?" Voldemort stated, arching an eyebrow, impatiently, things weren't going well with the creatures; as of now they seemed to wish to remain neutral, and he couldn't have that.
"Did you take any books from my trunk?" Harry asked, already suspecting the answer.
"No, Potter, I did not," Voldemort sniped, indignantly, but he quickly remembered that nobody knew about his past… well, this boy didn't at any rate, he thought, thinking about Dumbledore with distaste.
"There's something I want from the Dursleys'; it's hidden… would you let me go for it? Or send someone?" Harry asked, not showing just how precious the item was to him ― that would be guaranteed to raise a lot of questions he didn't want to answer. They were still standing outside the library; the house was quiet, so quiet in fact you wouldn't believe that there were two other people here. Well, one and a disgusting rat he had oddly enough not come across since he'd attacked him… if it could be called attack. The look on Voldemort's face was the only answer he needed. Desperate now, he quietly spoke, "I'll owe you a boon as long as it's not to kill or harm someone." The only exception he'd make to that is if it was Dumbledore or the Dursleys.
"That is a dangerous proposition to make Potter," Voldemort warned, his lips twitching. The boy certainly was snake in sheep's clothing if he knew about the Slytherin house system and how the house was run.
"I want it," Harry replied strongly, he wasn't about to back down. If he had to find a way to leave on his own then so be it, he would get his damn book back if it was the last thing he did. He wasn't about to sit around until the Order found it and realized just how far his deception went. He wasn't exactly sure why he cared whether they found out or not, he had just gone so long that it was instinctive for him now to be this way. For his own survival people had to underestimate him; even Voldemort still did. Plus it was his; nobody else should get their grubby hands on it.
"It must be of greatest importance to you," Voldemort said speculatively.
"Yes," Harry stated eye twitching slightly, but nothing else gave him away - or so he thought he had no idea Voldemort could sense his emotions due to the band across his ankle.
"If we go, the Muggles die," Voldemort spat, he had seen the boy's memories, or rather his Aunt's and Uncle's, if they had a right to be called as such; he had seen what they'd put the boy through thanks to Severus' use of Legilimency when confronting them.
"Is that your idea of collecting the boon?" Harry asked, almost hopeful that was all he wanted.
Voldemort stiffened. Oh, there was nothing Gryffindor about this boy at all, and he revelled in it really. If and when this got out, he hoped to see the look on the old fool's face. He had done it again; with his manipulation he had caused another powerful wizard to crave nothing but vengeance in his heart. He had no doubt the boy wasn't completely evil; he had a problem with needless death. He did wonder if the manipulation went deep or if it was how he honestly felt on his own. Would that be his boon? He wondered; perhaps it could build trust, but he suspected the boy would accept his terms whether it was the boon or not… and he was an ultimate Slytherin himself. "No," he told him.
Harry's lips pursed, before he reluctantly nodded. He had known as much even as he asked. "Alright." Could he even leave? Or was Voldemort going on his own? "If you're going, how will you get passed the wards?"
Voldemort smirked, "There are no wards." He failed to tell him they had; in fact the blood sacrificial magic had settled around his hideout ― probably due to the fact he wanted to protect the boy and keep him alive; it sensed that. It would keep his place safer than any ward he could place. The Order would never find it ― Dumbledore would never find it.
"What do you mean?" Harry's voice went low in anger, green eyes blazing with righteous fury. His magic reacted to his anger much like the time when Marge had said his mother was 'bad blood', with Petunia agreeing with her like a simpleton, not realising it was her blood too.
Voldemort just arched an eyebrow, not bothered in the least by the powerful magical display… alright, maybe he was, just a little. He was used to it; he used to do it when he was a young boy in that disgusting Muggle orphanage. Used it to scare the hell out of the other children and make them so terrified of him that they would never tell ― they would do his bidding. This boy was supposed to be his equal, magical equal; he could see that being the case. This was another proverbial nail in Dumbledore's coffin he thought entirely too smugly. By the time he was finished with the boy, he would be wishing, no, begging to be allowed to participate in Dumbledore's death. "Exactly what I said," he replied just as darkly. Admittedly he didn't have the whole story, but he would soon acquire it from the fifthly Muggles.
"It's under my bed, there's a loose floorboard," Harry revealed, hoping he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life.
"There is no need to tell me," Voldemort stated, looking out of the window. "We shall depart under the cover of darkness,"
Harry stared at him for the longest time, judging him, seeing if he was serious… or if he was playing with him. Unfortunately he couldn't get a read on the older wizard. Despite his youngish looks, he gave nothing away; he had an inscrutable mask perfected to a T. Harry nodded his head, only time would tell if he was serious or not. Either way, he had feeling this would teach him a valuable lesson: whether he could trust him. With that he walked away without so much as a thank you. It was his fault it had been left there in the first place, he didn't deserve a thanks. Yet he was allowing him to get it… turning around just before he exited the corridor he turned back and grudgingly said "Thanks," albeit even if it was grudgingly before he was gone, cursing himself for being an idiot.
A smug smirk twitched at Voldemort's lips. The boy didn't have much of a defence in his mind; he could clearly see what he was thinking. So this was a test, was it? It was a good job he was going along with it. A boon from Harry Potter? Well, of course he would, just for that alone. It was too bad he had stipulations on it, but it should go well in the end, he was confident. He always got what he wanted; the boy would be his, at his side willingly before the end. He wouldn't need to manipulate him either, just showing him the manipulation that the so-called light side had heaped upon him would do it for him. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it; they were giving him Harry Potter on a silver platter. Chuckling to himself, he turned swiftly and went back to his study and revaluated his plans.
Things were getting good ― very quickly.
Later that night
"I assume you have your cloak with you?" Voldemort stated standing in the doorway of Potter's room, finding him spread out on the bed reading a book, wholly unconcerned about being with him, if the laxness of his body and location of his wand at the beside table were anything to go by.
"What?" Harry said looking up. The book was so good he'd lost himself in it for… three hours, he realised as he looked at his watch.
"The proper way to address someone when you did not hear them is excuse me or pardon," Voldemort commented, irritated by his manners.
Harry laughed; he couldn't help himself, he just burst out laughing at the hilarity of this situation. "All things considered, I'm surprised I turned out the way I did; you'll see for yourself." The Dursleys liked to act all uppity but they weren't.
"Indeed," Voldemort drawled quite bemused and not showing it. Most people cowered at the sight of him, for good reason admittedly. Yet this boy had no problem speaking to him as though he was not an evil wizard who had the dark side under his thumb… dare he say, as an equal? He wasn't used to it, and quite frankly he had no idea how to react to it. Sarcasm he was fine with, but actually taking without sarcasm… well, it was decidedly odd. When it became apparent that the boy would say nothing more― never mind excuse his manners― he repeated himself. "Invisibility cloak, now."
"Aren't you worried I'll run away?" Harry remarked as he stood up with grace that wasn't normally present due to his injuries.
"No," Voldemort stated sharply. He would punish him severely if he tried, but even if he did he would not succeed, the ankle bracelet he had put on the boy would prevent it.
As if sharing his thoughts, Harry looked down gazing at the green band, his lip unconsciously curling.
"Move," Voldemort reminded him curtly, they couldn't wait any longer.
"Alright," Harry said, without grumbling. He wanted the book too much to risk annoying the hell out of Voldemort; he could do that later. Maybe even test his spells out on Pettigrew… the thought brought a wicked smirk to his face as he grabbed his cloak from his trunk. It fell back down with a thump but neither took any notice of it ― too used to the sound since they were eleven. "Why right now?" He sensed that it wasn't just because it was dark.
Voldemort just gave him a steely look. Right now there was only one wizard at Privet Drive guarding the place, the rest were out 'looking' for the boy. Not that they would ever find him of course, but this was the best time to get to the Dursleys' and make them regret the day they'd lifted a hand to a wizarding child. He honestly didn't understand why the boy wasn't darker than him; he'd had a worse childhood than him and that was saying something. The wizard on guard happened to Mundungus Fletcher… he wasn't even worth killing; he was a waste of magic.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, impervious to Voldemort's glare as he moved out of his bedroom. Boy, that was really strange saying that still. At Privet Drive he always thought of it as Dudley's second bedroom; his only bedrooms had been here and his cupboard. One second they were moving through the manor, the next second he was grabbed and Apparated; it was tough enough being warned but when you weren't it was ten times worse. "This isn't Privet Drive," Harry said his tone guarded.
Voldemort refrained just slightly from rolling his eyes at the obvious statement. After a few seconds, he grabbed the boy again before Apparating once more. This time it was just at the entrance to Privet Drive. "Cloak on," Voldemort stated warningly.
"Why aren't your Death Eaters here? You don't normally go somewhere alone." Harry was feeling very perturbed by this turn of events, it contradicted everything he thought he knew about him.
"No? Evidently you do not know me very well, Potter," Voldemort insisted, disillusioning himself so he couldn't be seen. "Go. Be careful once we get to your house, there is an Order member on duty just in case you return." His tone for that single one was utterly patronising.
"You're actually acting concerned," Harry muttered knowing that he wasn't.
"Whether you believe it or not, nobody magical should be left with filthy Muggles; not even you, my young nemesis, should be left to be abused… you would think Dumbledore would learn his lesson after the first time, not repeat it an additional two times," Voldemort admitted, as they walked, Voldemort just slightly behind the boy, sensing where he was and every step he took.
"Three times?" Harry rasped, stopping moving as he digested what he had learned.
"Move," he hissed irately; he had a timeframe and did not wish to remain longer than necessary.
Harry started walking without another word. He knew the way to number four blindfolded. Three times? Voldemort was obviously one of them, and he must know of the other person he had done it to also. Dumbledore was old, why didn't he ever learn from his mistakes? Unless it was a calculated move? A risky move to be sure… how quick would the wizarding world turn on Dumbledore if they learned the truth? What if he could convince Voldemort that destroying Dumbledore's reputation was the way to go? To get him out of the picture and take over without killing people? Hopefully he would put his distaste aside for Muggle-borns when he realizes the truth that they were from a magical line… a squib line, but magical nonetheless. His mind calculated all the possible ways to succeed in his new found mission.
He was so deep in thought that he almost missed the house, but he made it seem as though he hadn't, thankfully not needing to backtrack. Unfortunately he backed into someone, they were invisible too so either they were concealed or were using an invisibility cloak as well. Cursing quietly under his breath, he froze, then the person did remove a cloak, looking around suspiciously. "Potter, is that you?" Mundungus asked, cautiously, knowing about the boy's invisibility cloak.
Harry rolled his eyes; he was a bloody idiot, whoever he was. Just then a red curse barrelled into the now visible wizard; now that did surprise him, why a stunning curse?
Voldemort ambled over to the unconscious wizard, pressing his wand to his temple, murmuring, "Obliviate!" and manipulating his memories to make him think he had simply fallen asleep on the job. "Remove the cloak." They were safe for now.
"Who is he?" Harry asked actually curious as he peered at him. He was filthy and smelled absolutely foul. "He smells worse than the Leaky Cauldron," he admitted, his nose screwed up slightly at the smell of alcohol and stale smoke. He hadn't met a wizard or witch yet who smoked, or even smelt like that. He gasped in shock when he heard a quiet chuckle, Voldemort had laughed? A genuine laugh but still a laugh! Not that evil sarcastic one.
"This waste of space is Mundungus Fletcher," Voldemort sneered, his voice filled with distain. "A member of Dumbledore's precious Order."
"Err… why do you consider them a threat?" Harry murmured in confusion, even he could have taken him down. He was actually quite disappointed in Dumbledore if this was the best he could get. Maybe it wasn't, perhaps he thought it unlikely he would come here again, using his better resources elsewhere.
"I do not," Voldemort replied calmly, sounding slightly insulted.
Harry bit down the, 'no, just Dumbledore,' but refrained; he didn't want to be cursed, thank you very much… nor did he want to be dragged back without his book. Keeping his cloak tightly held beside him, he crept closer to the house and opened the door as lightly as he could. He knew from experience that they were more than likely watching TV which was always loud. Harry's gaze went straight to the cupboard his eyes hardening slightly before he began to walk up the stairs.
Voldemort had seen the boy's reaction, but it was nothing he didn't already know. Ten years of being kept under the stairs in a cupboard; he may have killed the boy's parents but he wasn't in any way responsible for what Dumbledore had done. There was bound to have been plenty of wizards and witches salivating at the possibility of raising the last Potter heir. Dumbledore's need for constant control over everyone had led to this. Curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to the cupboard and opened it. His eyes were drawn to the childish scribbling; 'Harry's room,' written in crayons if he wasn't very much mistaken. His red eyes flashed in fury. This boy might have been his nemesis―he should have revelled in it―but truth was he didn't condone abuse. It was no laughing matter, and in this he could safely say he was better than Dumbledore.
Hearing booming laughter coming from the living room caused him to close the cupboard door and make his way to the bedroom where Potter was. He would deal with the Dursleys soon, but death was too good for the likes of them, perhaps a few weeks under his property would be good for them. Oh, how he would love to let Bella have at them, there was no other more inventive, perhaps except Severus. He just arrived at a door filled with padlocks when the boy exited the room with a book.
"All this for a book?" Voldemort said dryly.
"It's not just any book," Harry said defensively.
"Clearly," Voldemort replied, before a sadistic glint came to his eyes and he made his way downstairs.
"Are you going to do it here?" Harry whispered as they both went down the stairs once more.
Was that excitement he heard in Potters' voice? Surely it couldn't be? Perhaps he had imagined it. "I thought you said no killing or hurting anyone?" He voiced his thoughts with rancor; the boy was a hypocrite it seemed.
Harry paused for a moment before he admitted, "Some exceptions deserve to be made."
Voldemort had to nod curtly at that, he had killed many but none had been better than those who'd abandoned him: his father and grandparents. "To answer your question, no, not here,"
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because there is an Order member stationed here to keep an eye on you, Potter, and has been since you arrived here." Voldemort internally smirked knowing this was another strike against the light side.
"Who?" Harry growled, and a little too loudly as the TV volume went down as if someone in there had heard them.
"Nothing, must have been a stray outside," boomed Vernon, before the volume increased.
"Arabella Figg," Voldemort revealed, sneering as he thought of her, "A squib."
Harry sat on the step shocked to the core as he tried to come to terms with this new piece of information. Figg? The batty cat woman? Was that even her real personality or was she just playing the part? She had babysat him so many times, saw the bruises, gave him food knowing he wasn't getting enough… showing him pictures of all the cats she'd owned… and all this time… all this time she'd known… had she told Dumbledore? He wanted answers, so much so he was tempted to go and get them. A shriek of surprise broke him out of his thoughts before he jumped up and ran down the remaining stairs. Peering into the living room, he found them all stunned.
"I want Figg taken too," Harry stated, green eyes cold as ice. "She lives in Wisteria Walk."
"Are you offering another boon, Potter?" Voldemort was impressed despite himself. He hadn't planned on revealing that nugget of information yet… but it had evidently struck a chord in the boy, one that drove home his vengeance with brutality.
Harry narrowed his eyes, "I've already gave you one." He didn't want to offer up any more.
"I'll take that as a no then," Voldemort stated, just to see how much Harry wanted it. Any hit to the Order was good in his book, but the boy didn't need to know that. "Amita?" he called, gazing at the Dursleys, his lip curled slightly. He didn't even want to touch them, let alone move them, hence his idea to use his House-elf.
"Yes Master? How can Amita help?" she spoke clearly, it was obvious to Harry that Voldemort couldn't stand ill manners.
"Take them to the lower dungeon," Voldemort demanded. If Potter thought his abode had been bad… well, it was nothing on the lower dungeons. Those were for his true enemies, those that would not come out of it alive; they never did. Anyone he wanted dead always ended up dead, with one obvious annoying exception.
"It's an Order member, are you really going to pass that up?" Harry asked shrewdly. His hands still clutching the book close to his chest. "Dumbledore obviously trusts her, or she wouldn't have been sent here." Bitterness coated each word. "He'd probably be furious," Harry added, playing to his need to see Dumbledore suffering to get him to do it.
Voldemort just smirked sadistically, finding himself genuinely amused. Either it was due to his mental state being more stable or just how the boy could make him actually want to take the woman without collecting on a boon. He knew the right thing to say, although everyone knew of his hatred of Dumbledore. Everyone liked to think Dumbledore was the only wizard he was scared of, which did annoy him to no end. "Very well, Potter, I'll take her, but in return I would like to see what's so special about that book of yours." it must be something, he'd granted him a boon of all things, definitely wasn't something to lightly give anyone never mind the Darkest Wizard of the age.
Harry scowled at the ultimatum, staring down at the book and just thinking of Figg made his decision for him. "Fine." he gritted out, showing his displeasure at what he was having to do.
"I do believe I upheld my end of the bargain, Harry," Voldemort purred, his hand extended, red eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. He shouldn't enjoy this so much, but it was fun, and he didn't do fun. A verbal sparring partner that wasn't afraid of him… it was a new experience. Both infuriating and liberating, in equal measures, he was unsure of how to feel about it but as always he put it down to his returned sanity and Potter stubbornness. Or should he say the Evans stubbornness in the boy? Lily Evans might have thought she was just a Muggle-born but she wasn't, she was a Lestrange― a light Lestrange, as laughable as that sounded. Between the Potter and the Lestrange blood running through his veins, along with the Black and distant Malfoy, it was little wonder he had such a hot-headed yet stubborn creature. He did not even touch upon the fact they were related, that was just too annoying to contemplate.
With a long suffering sigh, Harry thrust his hand out, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the book. He would get it back, he knew that. Yet the fact Voldemort was going to be looking at everything he'd ever written was worrisome. Nobody had seen inside that book, absolutely nobody and Voldemort was really smart; a genius really, he outdid Dumbledore's scores while at Hogwarts. Part of Harry worried about being laughed at; what was worse was he shouldn't care what Voldemort did or said. He should have expected something like this to happen when he asked to go to Privet Drive to get the book. It was better than owing him another boon; he was surprised that Voldemort didn't enquire where he got his knowledge of Slytherins though.
Voldemort grasped a hold of the book, amused by the boy's reluctance; he had agreed to it after all: Figg captured with the stipulation he got to see the contents of the book. He was very curious as to what the boy could place so close to his heart to give him a boon, considering he'd already been through his trunk―and yes, every single item had been touched and inspected thoroughly for charms; those found were swiftly removed… helped by the ward that dampened the pinpoint accuracy of tracking charms. After all, he had been unaware of how quickly Dumbledore might realize his precious saviour was missing. Not quickly enough, he thought with savage amusement. This book wasn't something of sentimental value; he had seen the boy's photo album. He honestly couldn't see it being anything worthy of his attention but he was unable to curb his own curiosity. Then, one finger at a time, Potter finally let it go, looking extremely disgruntled and possessive. That he understood all too well, he didn't like anyone touching his things either. His private books stayed in his study; the library was filled with the others books he wasn't too possessive of.
"You may read any book that strikes your fancy; if you find it in here, it remains in here, is that understood?" Voldemort said feeling generous. He doubted the boy would be able to understand many of them, at least not for a few years yet; they were extremely advanced texts.
Harry stared at the side of Voldemort's head, wishing that he still looked like snakeface; he didn't know why but having him look like Tom from the chamber, only older, was very unnerving, he couldn't quite figure out why yet. He couldn't help but wonder why he was allowing him to do this; he had a feeling that people rarely got in here. Most meetings were held in the hall they ate their food in, at least he assumed so; he didn't know for certain since he was always shut away whenever someone else entered the Manor. He just had a feeling not many people were afforded this courtesy. Only time would tell.
"Do you have anything on Occlumens?" Harry enquired, gazing around. The books were old; Granger would have loved it in here.
"Occlumency," Voldemort corrected, all the while silently summoning a book to him. "Here," he gestured for the boy to collect it without even looking up.
Harry took it, giving Voldemort an irritated look, although he wasn't sure why. After all, he couldn't see it. Huffing silently, he was determined that he wasn't leaving this room without his book back, so he moved over to the couch that was in the middle of the room. Sitting down cross legged he placed the book in the middle and opened it. He wouldn't have been able to do that before, he idly realized, as he began to read the introductory page that explained what Occlumency was. He couldn't believe Voldemort of all people had been the one to correct his eyesight; if there was a potion, why hadn't anyone told him? Hermione? Madam Pomfrey? He just didn't understand; why not just tell him?
Voldemort couldn't have been more surprised when Potter actually sat down in his office and began reading. Everyone went out of their way to avoid him as much as possible, with good reason: he had always had trouble controlling his temper. He couldn't tolerate fools; thankfully his Death Eaters weren't all insipid idiots, just a select few he though with derision, Pettigrew being the primary one. He had his uses; he'd brought him back, and he awarded loyalty with loyalty. The rat would get no better than that from him. Until he did something to screw that protection up, and this was Pettigrew he was thinking about; he always ended up doing something idiotic. Turning back to the book, he flipped to the second page since the first 'index' page was empty.
He froze, staring at the page and writing ―Muggle pen; this wasn't done with a quill and ink― these were spells. "You started your own Grimoire?" he asked, feeling speechless. How was this boy just fourteen? Going by the writing, he suspected the boy had begun even earlier than that.
"A Grim what?" Harry asked distractedly, this book was very informative; he wanted to continue reading it.
"A Grimoire," Voldemort repeated, very patiently continuing, "A Book of Spells; they're usually handed down from family members, the ancient families have a family Grimoire, or they did. Not all of them have one anymore. Many were either lost in time or destroyed by vengeful or paranoid relatives that didn't want their descendants to have their knowledge, or felt they were unworthy. There is also the case where families publish their findings, and making the Grimoire essentially useless."
"Oh," Harry muttered; well, that made sense. "I guess." He hadn't done it for anyone else… just himself. He had nearly three months of boredom every summer, stuck in a room unable to do anything, so it was only natural that he wanted to take his mind off it, and that was what he had done.
Voldemort was quietly amazed. Very few families had the knack for spell-crafting; the Princes were the ones well known for that, hence why Severus found it very easy to create his own. That wasn't the only reason; Severus was brilliant, even if he would never tell the wizard that. He picked his favourites and trained them. While Bellatrix was… attentive, and sought praise for her work, which was rightfully earned, Severus had been able to learn much faster.
Now these spells, the ones that Potter had created, were very Dark in nature, extremely so. They were spells that had one single objective in mind: torture, in every manner possible; they made the Cruciatus Curse pale in comparison. Perhaps that was because the results would actually BE physically there, only to be healed once the curse ended. And this was only two pages of them; the book looked well worn and thumbed through, so he was assuming there were a lot more of them. His red eyes gleamed wickedly; he honestly wanted to use them.
"Have you ever thought about destroying Dumbledore's reputation rather than killing him?" Harry asked, bringing Voldemort out of the perusal of his book.
"Oh? How do you propose I do that?" Voldemort replied dryly.
"By revealing the truth," Harry told him confidently. "Spin it the right way and they'll be threatening to pull out their children from Hogwarts. The Ministry would rather have Dumbledore removed than allow that to happen. Hell, even go so far as to say he was indirectly responsible for Myrtle's death by allowing you to continue your quest. If the papers anything to go on, it will be really easy right now. They're already calling him all the names under the sun." And him as well. "Away from the protection of Hogwarts and the teachers… well, he would be vulnerable."
"And you think I care for playing games?" Voldemort sneered, despite the fact he actually thought the idea was a rather ingenious one. He'd always wanted to destroy Dumbledore… he hadn't once thought about removing him from the protection of Hogwarts ― he would be, as Harry said, vulnerable, easy to kill.
"Really?" Harry scoffed, "What was last year? Instead of just getting Crouch to kidnap me at the start of the year you put me in a bloody tournament that could have killed me before you got your precious blood." Harry sneered at Voldemort, watching his hand clench from the effort of controlling his fury. "You take unnecessary risks, needless risks." It was stupid, but he definitely wasn't going to say that out loud. "You also put your Death Eaters in harm's way for no reason. Crouch wasn't even fit for something like this, either; I'm surprised he pulled it off without revealing who he really was."
"Until you figured it out and outed him to everyone?" Voldemort argued; his argument was weak at best, and he didn't like that. He didn't care for an argument on what could have been anyway; the boy obviously still didn't know just how closely he was monitored, but that would come out in time and the squib would help with that. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with the boy, he honestly found it difficult to keep his eyes off that Grimoire of Potter's. He would never have expected this of Potter, he thought he'd been too busy playing Dumbledore's golden boy. He'd only said he hadn't cast anything while at Hogwarts… he should have seen the omission for what it was.
"I suspected something was going on for months, I just didn't understand what was happening. Not until after I was kidnapped did I put the pieces together," Harry hissed, which was the truth. "If I had just figured out how the damn map worked sooner…" He wouldn't be here, Moody-Crouch would have been caught, and he would have probably endured another endless summer at Privet Drive. He didn't know which he preferred in all honesty. He was locked up here as he was at Privet Drive… he wouldn't be able to go back to Hogwarts… he honestly had no idea what his future looked like at the moment. But he wasn't treated too badly here, in fact it was the best he'd been treated all his life. He'd take Voldemort's Cruciatus curse to being in agony from being beaten by a Muggle. Speaking of his dearest uncle, he took savage pleasure in knowing he would suffer.
"Just how small is the lower dungeon?" Harry asked distractedly, forgetting his earlier argument with the Dark Wizard. Unbeknown to him his face was reflecting his dark desires.
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. Honestly the boy baffled him to the core; one minute he had the nerve to argue with him, the next he was asking him questions. One minute he wanted to curse him, the next laugh uproariously at the fact Dumbledore had actually been deceived. Even he hadn't been able to fool or manipulate Dumbledore, the old wizard had seen through everything he'd tried. Admittedly he had been less than tight lipped about what he could do when Dumbledore first appeared―his first mistake. Still, the boy insisted he didn't want to kill or harm anyone, yet this Grimoire declared otherwise. Obviously his earlier Cruciatus hadn't gotten through to the blasted boy that he wasn't going to allow himself to be disrespected.
"Small enough," Voldemort stated, gazing shrewdly at the dark look on Harry's face, "Tell me, Potter, why is it that you are so reluctant to kill anyone when this book is a compilation of spells that claim you do?"
"I couldn't show it," Harry confessed, shrugging his shoulders, "Not at Hogwarts, nor at the Dursleys'. I had two different masks I used to survive; I never got to be me unless I was in my room…"
"It was your way of letting off steam," Voldemort deduced; imagining his spells doing what they should was his only way of remaining sane. "You do realise how dangerous that was? You could have cracked under the strain and ended up with multiple personalities." He didn't care, he just enjoyed reprimanding Potter, or so he tried to convince himself.
"What does it matter? I did what I had to, to survive and that's that," Harry commented. "Where are the lower dungeons? I didn't see a way down."
"You have not seen the property in its entirely," Voldemort said dismissively, facing away from the teen, no longer interested in their conversation. Potter's book was much more interesting, for the moment at least. A few pages in he began to notice a deviation; not only was the writing becoming more legible, but neater and tidy. More importantly it wasn't just curses, but also charms and potions. One in particular seemed created to bulk someone up… interesting. It would do exactly as it said, he realized, reading the instructions. Potter must have planned on using it at some point; he wasn't by any meals skeletal, though, probably due to his Quidditch training, if the Gryffindors trained like the Slytherins did in his day. So yes, he would say his form wasn't too bad. He had seen the memories from the Tri-Wizard tournament, which of course included the second underwater task. Severus would actually find these recipes very interesting; from what he'd been told, the boy was useless at Potions. Evidently they had been misled in that respect as well.
He could say with certainty that he actually looked forward to getting to know the real boy under the masks.
"It says here you'll know when you find your centre so that you can begin erecting your rudimentary occlumency barriers; it doesn't explain how. Does that mean it's different for everyone, or so noticeable that you can't miss it?" Harry asked, unaware that over half an hour had passed as they lost themselves in their current reading materials.
"Both; finding your centre is extremely easy, finding what holds your barriers is uniquely individual," Voldemort replied, surprised the boy had understood that. The book didn't make it easy; it was a difficult art to master. He himself was one of the best; he would say Severus was next to him in terms of impenetrable barriers.
"So it's not just a matter of magic holding it then," Harry deduced.
"It could be; do not dismiss the idea. Magic is the most primary defence in keeping your mind secure, Think of the elements when you meditate, or somewhere that you feel safe," Voldemort stated, irony seeping into his voice. He didn't think Potter had been safe anywhere; he doubted the boy considered here safe, despite the fact he actually was. He wouldn't allow anything to happen to him, he was far too important for that.
Harry nodded his head in contemplation, before going back to the book, ignoring the niggling feeling of rightfulness that he felt at this situation. This was not right, he had been kidnapped. It didn't matter that someone actually wanted him to learn magic for once in his life… that they were helping him… no, he didn't want to think on it. He'd never been able to read a book in peace; if he picked anything up, Ron would complain and whine, wanting to do 'something'. Not that it had been any decent book either, just his school book for the year. That and making sure he didn't do too well with his homework, with the exception of DADA. He also liked the fact he could ask questions without getting talked down to, as if he was a stupid idiot.
Why did he have to have friends that listened to Dumbledore? Harry thought with despair. Was it so wrong to want someone loyal to him? He would give anything to find out what they had been discussing in the old fool's office; the chances of finding out were slim to nothing unless he made some Veritaserum and Obliviated them afterwards once he knew what was going on. He hadn't used the spell, but he'd read about it sneakily while looking at books to help him with the Tri-Wizard tournament. Sneakily… what the hat had said to him came back to bite him in the arse: he would find his true friends in Slytherin… yeah, he didn't want to think on this anymore, he thought before concentrating on the book in front of him.
"How did you keep this hidden so successfully, Potter? Did you take it to Hogwarts with you?" Voldemort enquired. He could feel magic on the book, he just couldn't figure out what spell it was. If he couldn't, the chances were it had been spelled that way using one the boy had invented.
"Yes; I didn't bring it out often, though, I rarely got to be left alone," Harry admitted. Sometimes his mind couldn't help but come up with something and he just had to figure it out and write it down. "Last year at Hogwarts was good for a while, mostly because nobody was talking to me because they thought I'd put my name in the cup," Harry sent a glare at the older wizard for doing it in the first place.
"What spell did you put on the book?" Voldemort demanded, and why the hell could he read it? He had a feeling nobody else would be able to… perhaps unless they had permission, and in a way he did.
"Blood magic," Harry grudgingly told him, "Only someone with my blood can read it, unless I add them to the ward that prevents the written words from being visible… it's in Parseltongue so nobody can just add themselves in a bid to circumvent the spell."
Voldemort just smirked once more. The boy had the potential to be a prodigy but instead of flourishing, his talents had been suppressed. It was wrong on so many levels, it actually disgusted him. He would teach the boy everything he would ever need to know. He had never taken on someone to train quite so young; Harry was two years younger than Regulus had been when he began training. It was also a first since the boy was not one of his followers, and he doubted the boy would willingly allow himself to be marked. Why should he? He was better than any of the others, Potter was his equal after all… and if he tried to think of him as lesser then he was only insulting himself.
"Do you plan on using some of the potions you created?" Voldemort enquired closing the Grimoire.
Harry looked up suspiciously, "Yes…" he replied cautiously.
"And if I found a suitable teacher for you, will you behave?" Voldemort asked, glaring at Harry in warning; he didn't want a cheeky reply.
"You want me to play nice with Snape?" Harry gaped, "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me here?" If Voldemort trusted Snape to be with him then there was no doubt about it… he was definitely on the dark side. He must have proof of Snape's true loyalties; Voldemort wouldn't risk him getting away… then again, he couldn't escape due to the band around his ankle. Would Snape be the same in a private setting? Or would he treat him how he usually did?
"Yes," Voldemort replied, ignoring the second part of his statement, he didn't have to tell Harry anything.
"If he doesn't start, then fine," Harry answered seeing that Voldemort's intense look wasn't going to let up until he gave him his reply. "I don't care what you do, but I won't let him treat me the way he does at Hogwarts; I won't hold back ― I have no reason to now." He had nothing to hide here; it was strangely liberating. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to like being here. Seeing the wizard holding his book out, he stepped forward to accept it. Then he saw the large scroll across the Dark Lord's desk. "Is that Azkaban?"
Voldemort rose an eyebrow, silently impressed, "Indeed; how did you figure that one?" There was no name, and he very much doubted the boy had seen the prison.
"It's surrounded by water, it's a single building, there's a boat out on the other end," Harry said, gesturing to the areas to demonstrate. "Sirius told me he had to swim to shore, those blobs I'd say were Dementors and those I'd guess were Aurors, probably at their stations…" he added pointing to the red dots, symbolic since the Aurors were always dressed in red. "Let me guess: you're going to try and get your followers out by bursting in?"
"And what would you suggest, Potter?" Voldemort commented, actually genuinely curious to see what he would come up with… probably something that didn't involve people dying.
"Well, how did Barty get out?" Harry asked, "Nobody seems to have thought anything of it when he died… so?" he prompted.
"Polyjuice potion," Voldemort replied curtly, already seeing new possibilities beginning to emerge.
"They've been in prison for what? Thirteen years? Why not use Polyjuice potion and have a mass accident that kills them before they turn back… although it would look suspicious if all of them did die at the same time… I don't suppose you have anyone working in Azkaban on your side?" Harry suggested, "It would make it easier to make it all look like natural causes if they died at different times, but they'd need the polyjuice potion continuously until they did die. Or a potion or something that makes it look like there was an outbreak of wizarding flu that killed them all? They wouldn't look too much into that, wizarding flu pandemic has happened before… or dragon pox. It would give you the time to get them better before the magical world realised you were back and they'd have a chance to recover without having to watch their backs so much; the Auror force would be out in masses trying to protect everyone."
"I thought you didn't like playing 'games'," Voldemort pointed out his lips twitching slightly in pride.
"I also said you take unnecessary risks with your followers. If you attempt something of this magnitude you'll lose at least a few…" Harry bit out; the Aurors were no slouches, look at Moody. He had brought down dozens upon dozens of Death Eaters. "Sometimes the best path is the one with least resistance, like not going in half cocked and making your presence known… that was your purpose right? To remain 'dead' while you slowly rebuilt your ranks?"
"Just where do you expect me to get thirty-five people? This isn't including anyone else who wishes to join without arousing suspicion?" Voldemort asked, leaning back his face impassive, his eyes gazing at Harry's with a hint of shrewdness in those red depths. After being dumped in Azkaban there was no doubt quite a few others would willingly join him to be free. They would have to prove their loyalty to him, but that would come afterwards, once they'd recovered from the exposure to Dementors.
"I'm guessing Polyjuice potion works on Muggles? Just collect the worst sort of Muggles and put them down in the dungeons until you need them. Not the Dursleys; I want them to suffer more for what they've done," Harry suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
"Just what is the worst sort of Muggle to you, Potter, that you would allow them to be killed in such a manner?" Voldemort enquired his voice deceptively mild. The boy really didn't stop surprising him.
Harry's lip curled, "Abusers," his voice cold and harsh as he uttered that single word. "Just think about it: Dumbledore and the Order are the only ones that believe you're back. The longer you can keep it hidden, the more it will frustrate Dumbledore to no end. Your problem is you want too much too soon, and you fight for it instead of doing it subtly."
After a few more minutes of silence, Harry spoke again, "When have you seen the Dark winning while battling it outright? There is always someone out there willing to be a hero, and powerful enough to do it too. Do something different from them and you might succeed." Life wasn't a story book; he knew not everyone wanted to be a hero, and the damsel didn't always want to be rescued... but the story was always the same… changing that changes the rules, and just maybe the ending might be different too.
With that Harry ended the conversation, took his book back and sat back down and immersed himself in the Occlumency book; he couldn't take it out of here and he desperately wanted to read it, so he had no choice but to remain here.
He again refused to dwell on how nice it felt: no pain, no masks, just peace. He couldn't believe he had found it with Voldemort of all people… but he couldn't be too picky.
R&R please.