Synopsis: AU. In a world where Sybil Trelawney is never born, the prophecy remains, but goes unheard. How different will Harry Potter's life be growing up in a world where Voldemort won? How long until a brilliant young man is noticed by the ever more brilliant Dark Lord?
Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Grainger, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Luna Lovegood.

AN: Hello everyone! Oh my, I got 21 reviews on the last chapter! Thank you so much for your encouragement and support. So many of you wanted another chapter that I couldn't resist writing this a little sooner than intended. I'm sure you won't mind, haha.

Just a quick thing; I debated putting this into the actual text, but couldn't find a reason to mention it without suspicion. Professor Crouch is Barty Crouch Jr (although I'm sure you could have guessed that), and Professor Black is Regulus Black.

PS. I really need to find a beta, so if anyone is interested and has done so before, inbox me!

Now, since I've gone on a bit already and if you're anything like me, you probably skipped the authors notes anyway:
Here's Chapter 5! Dedicated to everyone who faved, followed or reviewed

AN (April 2017):

This chapter has been updated with some small changes.


Chapter 5

September 3rd 1991

"Harry...?" came a voice in the oblivion. "Harry, can you hear me?" It was a female voice, he registered blearily, and he recognised it.

"Mr. Potter, are you awake?" came another voice, male this time.

Harry just wanted to sleep. Was that such a big thing to ask? He let out a low groan, registering that his body felt sore and tingly. He caught the scent of the cool air around him, noting it had the crisp, clinical smell he'd known at St. Mungo's. He'd spent a lot of time there as a child, being a rambunctious kid that was forever breaking limbs and doing accidental magic. He'd once been so determined to win a game of 'hide and find' that he'd randomly apparrated into a tree, only to immediately fall out of it. Yes, the matron had gotten very sick of taking him to the hospital. The hospital. A hospital?
His eyes snapped open in surprise, as the last clouds of unconsciousness slipped away as he became aware of the figures standing over the bed he'd ended up in. He seemed to be in the hospital wing.

"Harry!" Hermione flung her arms around him excitedly, her eyes damp. "Harry, I've been so worried."

Harry patted her back reassuringly, even through his confusion at the situation. His head of house, Professor Crouch, was stood at the other side of the bed leaning against a curtain rail.

"Well finally," he said, flashing him a startling smile. "The Dark Lord would have had our heads if we'd lost a student on the first day. It's usually at least the fifth." He winked, and Harry smiled despite himself. Hermione threw the teacher a scathing look, and Harry was amused by her ability as an eleven year old to scold a fully-grown man and Professor.

"What happened?" he asked finally, taking the glass of water Hermione was offering him and taking a sip. It tasted sweet.

"Well," began the Professor. "For one thing, you gave yourself a pretty nasty concussion."

Harry groaned. He knew a few things about concussions, and enough to know he'd have a headache for the next week. Strangely though, he didn't currently feel any pain.

"But how? The last thing I remember is…" he reached back in his mind, biting his lip to recall the details. "Dark arts. I cast… Expulso? Oh Morgana, what did I do?"

"It was pretty incredible really," continued Hermione, nervously. "I mean, you blew up half the classroom."

"The classroom?" he asked, startled. "But the wards around it?"

"-were not set up for the amount of power you tossed at it," finished Professor Crouch, seriously. "Which is interesting to say the least."

"I don't understand," Harry replied, his head still hazy.

"When you cast the spell-" Hermione said, slowly. "You used a remarkable amount of magical energy. More than anyone our age has any right to, really. In fact, Professor Lestrange said that many lower-rank death eaters couldn't have blown that ring out easily. Since it blew out the ring, it took the wall behind it out too. It all happened very quickly, but the Head Mistress managed to get a shield charm around everyone but you – you were too close. It was the stone of the wall that knocked you out; you were showered with it."

"Oh," responded Harry dumbly, entirely unsure of what to say. It was true that he'd always known he had a decent amount of magical potential, given the signs from his prepubescent magic, but he'd not imagined himself to be so unusually powerful. Especially not compared to all the pure bloods here at Hogwarts.

"Oh indeed," responded Crouch, nodding. "We're going to have to run some tests, and take some precautionary measures to ensure it doesn't happen again. But all in all, I'd be happy Mr. Potter. You're a very powerful Wizard."

Harry nodded his thanks, feeling too surprised by this turn in events to do much else. Professor Crouch had stayed a little longer, instructed him on the medicine he'd need to take and informed Harry of the homework that had been assigned in the two days that he'd been out. He also told him that he wouldn't be expected back in class until tomorrow. He'd then bid him goodbye, but not before giving him an intense look that made Harry feel uncomfortable.

Hermione stayed with him for the next couple of hours, chattering away about their classes and the teachers. She was a big fan of Professor Lestrange and Crouch, and Professor Black who taught charms. Actually, Hermione seemed quite fond of all her teachers, even Professor Snape who she described as 'strict but fair'. Eventually, she had to leave for a class and Harry was left alone to the ministrations of the mediwitch.

Much later, he was released from the Hospital wing with stern orders to take it easy. He figured he'd get something to eat since it was almost dinner, and quickly went back to his dormitory to change. By the time he had taken a quick shower, dressed, and attempted to comb his wild hair, he was starving. Really starving. He tucked his wand into his pocket, and gave the empty room a last glance before jogging down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.

When he entered the great hall, he'd made a beeline for his house table. He could see Ron and Neville already with a plateful of food, and was eager to fill his stomach. He didn't get far, however, before his way was blocked by a familiar blonde.

"Potter." Malfoy began formally, as ever. "Zabini is sitting with us today, and we'd like to extend an invitation to yourself."

Harry was a little taken aback by this. It seemed so silly and formal, he was 'invited to sit' with them, as if they thought themselves to be royalty? He did recognize that Malfoy was attempting to be polite though. He sighed lightly, and then forced a smile.

"Sure. I'm starving though, so I hope there's enough pheasant and caviar to go around."

Draco smirked, looking at him askance as they walked to the Slytherin table. He seemed to appreciate Harry's sarcasm. Harry was relieved the boy could at least take a joke at his expense. He quickly found himself seated with Malfoy, Zabini, Theodore Nott and Vincent Crabbe. There was also a girl present, a Ravenclaw that he hadn't met before. She was a beautiful girl, with blonde hair and an aristocratic air about her.

"Daphne Greengrass," she offered, smiling prettily at him and giving him a little wave. He was glad to see someone on this table didn't have a stick up their arse.

"Harry Potter," he nodded at her, giving her a small smile in return. He noticed Hermione was sat further up the table, reading a book as she ate.

"So Potter. I take it that you've recovered from your mishap in Dark Arts?" began Zabini neutrally.

"Well, apart from the fact I haven't eaten in two days." Harry was already beginning to put food on his plate, and the rest of the boys were following suit – if a little more gracefully.

"Was certainly a show you put on, Potter," said Malfoy. "Did you know that it was going to happen?"

"Yes, Malfoy. I intentionally took a brick to the head, and knocked myself out for two days. Didn't fancy potions." Harry rolled his eyes.

"It was surprising. We didn't think a half blood even could be as powerful as that," Nott continued, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Now now," corrected Malfoy. "Let's not forget that he's also a Potter; they were a strong pureblood line, even if they were on the wrong side."

Harry felt his hackles rise, but ignored the provocation. His parents had been on the wrong side of the war, and he hadn't known them. "It's nothing to do with that," Harry retorted, keeping his temper. "Didn't you hear about the Welbeck study that was released last year? There's no proven correlation between blood status and intelligence or magical ability."

"Corre-what?" asked Crabbe.

"Correlation. Link."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I did. I even know that it may lead to real change in our legislative process one day, but we'll see about that. Mudbloods could still become a threat. Their loyalties are still divided."

"Divided loyalty?" Harry questioned, bemused. "Have you met Hermione?"

Malfoy glanced towards the girl that was so engrossed in her reading further down the table. "Decidedly not," retorted Malfoy.

"Well, that girl is my best friend, and she'll undoubtedly be the best witch Hogwarts has seen in an age. There is no one more loyal to the magical world than her; being a witch was her birthright."

Reluctantly, Malfoy gave Hermione another considering look, before breaking his gaze away. "We'll see, Potter. If she's everything you seem to think she is, then Slytherin will have no choice but to welcome her. I just hope she doesn't prove to be a disappointment."

"She won't be," Harry responded, his tone more intense than he realised. He was always filled with this sort of fervor when he defended his friends, especially Hermione.

Draco kept eye contact with Harry for a long moment, before breaking it with a soft smile. "Well then. If Slytherin must have a mudblood, then we should at least have the best one."

Dinner continued in much the same fashion after that. The group chatted idly about everything from Quidditch to lessons to music, and Harry found that he and Blaise had more in common than he'd anticipated. They both supported Tutshill Tornadoes – Nott had scoffed at this, muttering 'glory supporters' in a whisper they were obviously meant to hear – and they both were big fans of the band 'Dread Dragon'. Malfoy had been completely bemused by this, as it was seen as quite alternative, and he apparently hadn't known this about Blaise. He'd even tried poking fun about it until the delightful Daphne chimed in, pointing out the time Draco had been staying at her manor and had been caught listening to Celestina Warbeck. Blaise downright broke down in laughter at this, and Harry could see himself liking the boy more when he loosened up. Harry dug into the food more eagerly than he ever had, having not eaten for two days. He piled his plate high with mashed potatoes, sausages, and delicious onion gravy. Afterwards, when the dinner had been magically removed, and replaced with the desserts, he'd ate his weight in vanilla cheesecake.

"I'm beginning to think the food is actually better over here," he said when he was quite sure he'd eaten enough to burst.

"Wouldn't surprise me," replied Malfoy, taking a drink of Pumpkin juice.

"I'd be surprised if it weren't..." Blaise muttered, darkly.

"Is it true then, about Slytherin getting better treatment?" Harry enquired, keeping his tone light.

"Perhaps," said Malfoy with a shrug. "I mean, I think our rooms are bigger, but then the dungeons are larger so that's not unreasonable. As for the food, it might just be because you're clearly starving."

Harry nodded, nonplussed. Blaise looked affronted at this, since he was clearly still offended to be a Gryffindor.
Talk eventually turned, once again, to what had happened in Dark Arts on Monday. It was clear that this was the real motivation behind him being asked to sit with them; Harry might not be a Slytherin, but he wasn't blind to their agenda.

"You must have known," insisted Nott, while Crabbe nodded. Crabbe seemed more suspicious of Harry than the others, and didn't speak much.

"If I'd have known, I wouldn't have done it!" insisted Harry.

"So you're saying that you'd never cast a spell before that moment?" Daphne questioned, clearly dubious.

"Of course I'd cast a few spells before, but not that spell. I mean, the others had been a bit overpowered. Like, I tried to cast Wingardium Leviosa on my pillow and ended up lifting the whole bed…" he grimaced at the memory of one of the caretakers at the orphanage coming in to find his bed against the ceiling. "But nothing so destructive. I'd never cast that particular spell before." The group nodded, seeming to believe his explanation to varying degrees of certainty.

"I wonder what they're going to do to you," mused Blaise, thoughtfully.

"Do to me?" Harry asked, a creeping sense of worry coming over him. What could they do to him? It wasn't like he had done it on purpose.

Blaise shook his head at his expression. "I don't mean as in a punishment. No teacher here would punish you for being powerful, especially not Lestrange."

"The only thing Aunt Bella minds is mediocrity, and your display was anything but boring," chimed Draco, and Harry made a mental note that the two of them were related. That was strange, seeing as the demure, sophisticated young blonde wasn't anything like his wild haired, eccentric Aunt.

"I just mean," continued Blaise "It isn't as if they can let you carry on blowing up classrooms and levitating large pieces of furniture. They're going to have to put a lid on it somehow. No idea how though, I haven't heard of people accidently overpowering their spells before."

"I have," Malfoy volunteered. The group turned to look at him curiously, but Malfoy took his time having a long sip of his pumpkin juice before continuing, enjoying the attention. "Aunt Bella. My Mother says that Bella was forever blowing up furniture, and setting fire to the manor when they were growing up."

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised. Bellatrix had been like this? He could only hope that meant he could be as powerful as she was one day, although that seemed rather too ambitious at this early stage. This quickly turned into a conversation about the International Dueling competition, and being young boys, they were eager to say how they were all planning on entering and winning as soon as they were seventeen. Even Daphne, who seemed rather more mature than her male counterparts, reminded all of them that she would most certainly beat all of them in a duel.

By the time they had to leave for their common rooms, Harry felt surprisingly companionable with the Slytherins. Even Draco had a certain stuffy charm, once you looked past the childlike snobbery. He also felt he knew Blaise better, and liked the boy more having seen him relaxed around people he was obviously comfortable with. The rest of the night passed comfortably. Blaise had reluctantly agreed to a game of chess with Ron in the common room, Neville had gone straight up to bed, and Harry had curled up in the window seat that looked over the black lake with a book. He was reading "History of the Light Arts," a book Professor Crouch had recommended while he was in the Hospital Wing. He was soon engrossed in tales about Merlin, the original Light Lord, and the night slipped away. He didn't even notice it was time to go to bed until Blaise shook him out of his reverie.

"Come along, bookworm," Blaise said, his usually icy tone a little warmer than it had been in the days previous. "You have potions first thing, and Snape will gut you if you oversleep."

Harry, daunted by the idea of angering the bat like Professor, went right to bed.


September 4th 1991

The next morning, Harry found himself outside the Potions class with his friends (he'd just about convinced himself that Blaise could be considered a friend, although he wasn't going to broach the subject with Blaise himself for a long while). They were sharing this lesson with the Ravenclaws, and Daphne had come over to talk to them. She even gave Harry a quick run down of the warnings the Professor had given them about misbehaving, foolish wand waving, and something about brewing death that she couldn't quite recall but definitely remembered was a little creepy.

By the time the Professor arrived and swooped into the classroom, barking at them to follow, Harry was cowed into behaving as well as he possibly could. The potions classroom consisted of many two person desks, where small cauldrons had been placed above unlit burners. There was a cacophony of scraping chairs and rustling paper as the class settled into their assigned seats, and Harry found himself sitting alone. It seemed there were an odd number of people in the class, and Harry had not been present when the seating plan had been set. His anxiety only grew at this, since he would surely be expected to do double the work. The Professor wasted no time in writing the name of the potion they would be making today, and the page number in their potions book to turn to. Not daring to complain about his lack of partner, he set to work finding the potion and then collecting the ingredients. Half an hour past without event, and he was pleased to see his potion at least somewhat matched the colour that was stated in the book. Around this time, Professor Snape, who had been making his rounds about the classroom reached his desk.

"Mr Potter." he said stiffly, peering into the cauldron impassively. "This isn't as terrible as I expected, but the shade shows you have stirred it once too many times counter clock-wise."

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry responded, sincerely. He'd always found it difficult to concentrate for long periods of time, and the potion required it to be stirred counter clock-wise 107 times.

"Just pay closer attention next time, Mr Potter," he responded, sternly. "I trust you were informed of the essay due tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir," responded Harry, offering a tentative smile. Perhaps he'd misjudged the man? He wasn't friendly by any means, but he wasn't being the beast he expected.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at this. "Well you can add an extra five inches on the importance of due attention in potion making." The Professor walked away, and Harry glared at his back. 'I take it back, he is a snarky old bat.'

Harry completed his potion in the hour and it was deemed acceptable by Snape. Harry was quite proud of this, seeing as Neville's potion had exploded and a couple of Ravenclaw girls' potion had been vanished in disgust by the Professor. He was therefore in quite a good mood as he got to his next lesson. Light Arts with his Head of House, Professor Crouch.

They piled into the classroom; they shared this class with the Hufflepuffs, and so he and Blaise sat together, not having many close friends in that house.
Professor Crouch stood at the front of the classroom, leaning casually against a black board and observing his class. When everyone had finally sat down, he began to speak.

"Welcome back, firstyears, to Light Arts 101!" He grinned.

Harry thought, and had noticed before, that there was a glimmer of the same madness in Crouch that there was in Lestrange. It wasn't as potent, or as chilling, but it was definitely there. He gave off the impression that at some point in his life, he'd cracked.
Crouch spent the next part of the lesson going over everything that they were going to learn that term. He also gave an extensive lecture about the usefulness of light arts in battle, and warned that although dark arts was a potent tool – it was a fool that didn't recognise light arts as just as vital.

"Of course, that being said, most of you will probably find yourself performing better in one or the other. Although little can be said for definite about the nature of the magical core, we can be almost certain that it has some intrinsic preference for one type of magic or the other. Of course, a powerful witch or wizard will be able to perform either type at an advanced level, but will almost always be more naturally able in one." Although the rest of the class seemed bored at this speech, Harry was paying rapt attention. He'd always found magical theory interesting. When finally the class ended, he was stopped by Professor Crouch.

"Harry, the Head Mistress wants to see you in her office. Do you know where to find it?" Harry nodded, giving the Professor a perplexed look.

"You'll see when you get there," he said, reassuringly. Harry nodded and set off towards the office. When he arrived, some ten minutes later, he came across a stone gargoyle. He knew from an earlier conversation with Ron that this was the entrance to the office.

"Erm. Excuse me, the Head Mistress asked to see me," he said to the Gargoyle. The Gargoyles stone head lifted, giving him a once over.

"And you are?"

"Harry Potter."

The Gargoyle nodded, and then began to shift. It revealed a stone spiral staircase, which he began to ascend as it twisted. He must have climbed two flights by the time he reached the entrance to the office. As he went inside, he found Professor Lestrange sitting on top of her large oak desk in deep conversation with a portrait of a dark haired gentleman.

"Professor? You asked for me?" Harry began, tentatively.

"Oh Harry!" responded Lestrange, giddily. "How are you? Entertaining start to the year."

"That's one word for it…" Harry grumbled, rubbing at his still sore neck.

Professor Lestrange pouted. "Oh Harry, love. Sorry I couldn't shield you in time, but then it was rather unexpected."
He shrugged, not having blamed her or expected an apology.

"Come sit!" She kicked a chair out from beneath the desk she was sitting on, and Harry sat upon it. It was strangely nerve-wracking having the Head Mistress sat above him on the desk like this, but he dismissed that thought as irrational. She could kill him wherever she sat, if the desire came upon her.

"I'm quite excited about this years batch." Bellatrix mused, running her wand through her hair and twisting it around her curls. "My nephew is performing well. That's his Black blood; Lucius is many things, but a dueler isn't one of them."
Harry nodded, unsure of what to say to that. The Head Mistress seemed to be talking to herself more than him anyway.
"And you and the mudblood were such a surprise. You being as powerful as that, and the girl being so talented. Reminds me of myself at her age. I never though I'd say that about a mudblood." Bellatrix laughed. "I'm glad I didn't murder you, Harry."

"I... thank you?" Harry responded, incredibly confused

.Bellatrix seemed to come back to herself then, shaking herself from her thoughts. "Anyway, as to the reason you're here." She leaned back over the desk, and reached into her top drawer. Pulling out what appeared to be a locket, she sat back up. Harry blushed as he saw a little too much of her stockings as she leaned over, but the woman appeared not to notice. "This is a talisman. Old fashioned name really, but it's function is to prevent anything like what happened Monday happening again." Unceremoniously, she popped it over his head. The chain was silver and the locket was gold with a green 'S' set into it in emeralds. He turned it over in his hands curiously, noting it felt warm to his touch. "Essentially, it will block most of your magic."

Harry looked up, alarmed, and she held a calming hand out and smiled.

"Don't worry, it's only while you're wearing and you'll only have to keep it on until you're grown. Your body is too small, and your mind too fragile to hold that kind of power as of yet. However, I warn you; this locket will serve to train you also. When it detects that you're attempting to overpower a spell, it will punish you with pain."

Harry gawked, wanting to refuse to wear the thing, but paused when he noticed the steely look in the eyes of the Head Mistress and then deflated.

"Trust me." She said, unusually soothing for the eccentric woman. "It will be better in the long run, and it will help stop far worse accidents in the future. I, myself, wore this locket." Harry looked up at her, surprised. He remembered that Draco had mentioned her having similar issues at his age.

"They used this in the old world, then?" he asked, curiously. He got the distinctive feeling that there was something dark about the locket.

Bellatrix cackled, shaking her head. "This? Do you think old Dumbeldore gave this to me?"

Harry stared, confused. "Dumbeldore?"

"Nevermind. No, it was the Dark Lord himself that gave this locket to me." Harry's eyes stilled and realization came over him, his fingers on the locket became more careful and Bellatrix smiled.

"Yes, I was lucky enough to be found by our Lord as a young girl. He himself wore this in his Hogwarts days, and the original wearer was none other than Salazar Slytherin." She said both the name of the Dark lord and of Slytherin with absolute reverence, and Harry was too stunned to think straight.

"But why… why are you giving this to me?" he asked, quietly.

"Two reasons," she smiled indulgently. "Firstly, because I formed that ring you smashed myself. Anyone with the power to break it is welcome to everything my school and talents have to offer; you'll be an asset to my Master one day." Harry nodded, letting the locket fall against his skin and smiling as warmth flourished through him.

"And secondly?" he asked.

"Secondly, I don't want my castle blowing to bits, and this is the most powerful talisman available," she winked.

Shortly after giving him a warning of exactly what she would do to him if he ever lost the locket, she sent him back to his lessons. Harry got through his remaining classes in a daze, completely disbelieving that he was now in possession of a millennia old locket made by Slytherin himself. He slept deeply that night, dreaming of days when he would be a renowned death eater, and even the dark lord would know his name.


Far away, in a minor castle in the south of England, the Dark Lord could not concentrate. Before him, spread across a grand mahogany desk, were war maps. The Americans were not cooperating with him, and it would be just a matter of time before he was forced to invade their ministry and take control by force. It would be messy, but it would be quick; he had more wands on his side, and his wands were better trained and disciplined. Whereas in the muggle world, muggle America had more "fire power" than muggle Europe; it was quite the opposite in the magical world. Their Head Wizard knew they would be forced to submit, but was refusing on matter of principle. His principles being, of course, that the middle eastern Wizarding association were bribing him; they knew without the support of America, they too would fall beneath his wand.

Despite this, he couldn't seem to keep his mind on the task at hand. This irked him. He was usually a very focused, calculated man; he found no difficulty in concentrating for long periods of time, and didn't allow petty things to distract him from his goals. Today had proved different. He sat back in his soft, black leather arm chair and surveyed the room without really seeing it. This was his personal sanctuary, where he never allowed his death eaters to enter. It contained his most secret plans, his most beloved books, and magical artifacts that had been hard won. Beyond the desk and arm chair, the rest of the room was covered by a thick red carpet and the walls were lined with cedar bookshelves that were piled high with tomes. There were a few more chairs around the room, for when he wanted to relax. At the other side of the room was the door to his bedchamber, another place he never allowed another soul to enter.

The reason or his distraction was as perplexing as it was obvious. Days before, his little 'problem' had come to a climax. The emotions he had been sensing at the edges of his mind had been becoming gradually more intrusive; they weren't unpleasant, they were usually rather light and warm, but they were unwelcome simply by being of such an unknown origin. He had been debating how to go about finding their source, when it had happened. A blinding surge of terror had filled him for a moment; the presence at the edge of his mind had become suddenly prominent and clear, and he felt the rush of warmth through his chest as he could practically taste the magic of the invader. If he had not been so caught off guard by the apex, he'd have been able to 'grab' the magic he was sensing and apparrate to its source. Yet, as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Frustrated, the source had become the gentle humming he was accustomed to for the next two days. Voldemort waited, and waited; if it were to happen again, he would be ready.

But it never came. The surge did not repeat itself, and then, hours ago the humming had stopped entirely. It was as if the source were dead, if it were indeed a living thing. Voldemort had not realised how much he'd grown accustomed to the presence until it was gone entirely. It solved his problem. If whomever or whatever was causing the disturbance to his cool, intelligent mind was dead then he didn't have to bother seeking them out. He logically reminded himself that this was a positive development.

The only mystery that remained now, was why he felt such an acute sense of loss.


If life is like a box of chocolates, then reviews are like finding out there's a second layer.