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! Sorry this took so long, but there were some difficulties in uploading. Thanks once again to everyone that reviewed.

EDITED: May 2017


Chapter 7

Evening, 31st October 1995.

Malfoy manor was a fairytale that night. An almost unrealistic display of wealth and status, all tied together by the incredible hosting talents of Narcissa Malfoy. A socialite to her bones, she had personally overseen every detail of the decorations and planning for the party, as she had every year since Harry had known her.
Narcissa, a middle-aged blonde beauty who didn't look a day over thirty (probably owing to her powerful Black ancestry famous for their longevity), was wearing an elegant black dress. It was long, tied over one shoulder, and revealed a good portion of her lower back. It had intricate brocade inlaid with what was, undoubtedly, actual diamonds. Narcissa, as always, was the very face of old pureblood money. When the boys arrived – appearing out of thin air on the veranda, having been delivered by port key – her delicate features broke into an unrestrained smile.

"My darling son," she said affectionately, as she opened her arms to him.

Draco rolled his eyes, as if embarrassed by his Mother's show of affection, but Harry knew how much Draco missed his mother when he was at Hogwarts. He quickly enveloped his mother in his arms, having grown taller than her since this time last year.

"Mother," he responded formally, but with a tender warmth that characterized the two's relationship.

Narcissa's gaze lingered on her son's face for a moment, as if trying to discern any changes in him in the two months since she had last seen him. A heartbeat later, she turned her attention to Harry and Blaise.
"And if it isn't my two trouble-makers," she smirked, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

"Lady Malfoy, you wound me!" exclaimed Harry, grinning at the woman. "I do not make trouble, it merely finds me."

"And I somehow end up involved whenever I try to stop trouble 'finding him'" grumbled Blaise, a serious young man by all accounts, who resented the reputation garnered by being best friends with Harry Potter.

"Well see to it that it doesn't find you tonight, young man." she warned, smiling fondly.

When Harry had first met Narcissa, he knew she'd had her doubts about him. She wasn't keen on her son being so close to a half-blood, let alone one whose family had been so closely affiliated with the wrong side of the war. However, over time, she had come to enjoy his 'mischievous charm' and recognize his talent. Harry also believed she appreciated the affection he had for Draco. Harry had yet to allow Draco to be harmed in their adventures, despite the amount of times that he, himself, had ended up in the hospital

Narcissa turned her attention to all three of them. "Now, I really do want you all on your best behaviour tonight. The Dark Lord is here – "

Harry and Blaise threw Draco a significant look. They knew, of course, that his Father was a Death Eater. It was still a surprise, however, for the Dark Lord to be present. From what they knew, it was rare for Voldemort to frequent social events. It was momentarily stunning to be reminded of exactly how important Draco's family was.
"- And he's not one to tolerate wild teenagers. Do try to be good. Now, if you make your way to the parlour, an area has been erected for you all to put on your glamours for the masquerade part of the evening."
Narcissa, obviously pleased with herself, gave the boys a final smile before making her excuses and going to greet the next arrival.

When the boys left the veranda, they were welcomed by a large entrance hall. Wizards and witches of all ages buzzed around the room, making light conversation and taking liberal advantage of the free-flowing champagne. The room had a grand feel to it: a varnished wooden floor covered in intricately patterned green and silver rugs, old stone walls were covered in tapestries and portraits of Malfoy ancestors. There was even a long table filled with an assortment of entrees, in case any of the guests couldn't wait until the elaborate feast served during the second half of the evening.

The people present were obviously wealthy. Harry had enough experience of these parties by now to make a few educated guesses about the guest list. Politicians and foreign dignitaries, old pureblood aristocracy, new money and just about anyone with an iota of influence in the European wizarding world. They displayed this wealth in their finely made robes, clearly cut from expensive fabrics, and in jewels too, that the women wore, subtly enough as to not appear gaudy. Mostly, though, they showed off their wealth and power in the way they held themselves; confident, as if they had been born knowing the world was at their feet.
To the right of the room, next to a pair of heavy oak doors, a servant was directing stragglers through to the parlour area. Draco held a hand out as they approached the door, turning towards them.

"Right, gentleman – " he paused, giving Harry a wry smile. "-And Harry. What kind of glamours will you be wearing?"

"That would be ruining the fun, Draco," responded Harry, smirking.

"Well we need to be able to recognize each other, surely?" asked Draco, perplexed.

"No, I don't think we do. I'm going to mingle." Harry chuckled darkly, and Blaise began to look alarmed.

"Oh Morgana. Just don't tell anyone who you are after you've finished harassing them," came Blaise.

"In fact, how about not harassing anyone at all?" suggested Draco. "How about you sit in a corner, alone,
on your hands?" Harry rolled his eyes, and together they made their way into the parlour room.

It was a small, comfortable room, with a fireplace at its centre. A large sofa next to a bookcase against one side gave it a homely feel, and in fact, Harry had spent long nights in this room. Whenever he came to stay at Malfoy Manor he seemed to end up reading here, when the other guests had long been asleep.
Against one wall, several large screens had been erected. Wizards and witches would disappear behind them for a few seconds, and then an entirely different person would re-emerge. As Harry watched, a pair of middle-aged female twins disappeared behind the screen for a long moment, and then reappeared as two identical Celestina Warbecks.
Harry, suppressing the urge to cheer, shouldered Draco.

"Look, your girlfriend is here, Draco." Harry laughed. It was no secret that Draco was a huge fan of the singer.

"How did they even do that?" Draco asked, surprised.

"I imagine they used polyjuice potion," replied Blaise, equally confused.

"Where did they get some of Celestina Warbeck's hair!" demanded Draco.

Harry and Blaise laughed for a long while at his fan-like response, until Draco's pout became quite severe, and then Harry bid them goodbye.

"I'll see you lot at the feast. I'm going to have some fun."

Slipping behind the screen, Harry waited until he heard Draco and Blaise do the same. Quickly, he lifted his wand to his face. First, he cast a charm on his hair, turning the inky black colour to a pale blonde and shortening it slightly. Next, he turned his green eyes to a brown colour, adding a few distinctive gold flecks. These sort of charms were precise work, but Harry had always been good at spells he could use for mischief.
Pulling a potion out of the pocket of his robes and uncorking it, he read the instructions a final time. Ageing potion. Taking a single gulp, he felt himself grow several inches and broaden. He had taken enough of the potion to reach his late twenties. Observing himself in the mirror, he cast a final spell to tan his skin. He looked vaguely Australian, like the surfers he had read about in one of the magazines hidden beneath the floorboards of the marauder room. He grinned at his reflection, and he assumed were the figures of Draco and Blaise were still hidden behind their respective screens, so he took the opportunity to leave the parlour before them. Making his way back to the entrance hall, he was shown by a servant to the 'dancing hall'. What a place the dancing hall was, too.

It was a huge room; the one they used every year for these functions. This year, it seemed to be more richly decorated than ever. Music was being played in the rear corner of the room, and most of the population were milling about rather than actually dancing. This was always the case until everyone got enough drink in them. Harry, who now looked quite old enough to do exactly that, was offered a firewhisky by a passing waiter. He smiled by means of agreement, and downed a tumbler quickly, before joining the population of the room.

"Why hello there, young man," came a woman who had attempted a terrible makeover charm as her 'mask'. It was poorly done; Harry could see the shimmering image of a pretty blonde, but beneath, the real image of a frumpy middle-aged woman with a warty nose shone through. "And who might you be?"

"Well, that would be telling, madam." Harry said, with a wink. "And yourself? I don't believe I've seen such a pretty young creature here before."

Harry didn't think it hurt to stroke the ego of a woman that could obviously do with the boost.

"I won't tell if you won't," she winked, chortling to herself. "Although I will say this: I am rather important!"

Harry laughed along with the woman, as if she had told a particularly funny joke. Inside, however, he felt a little disgusted. There weren't many here that didn't think of themselves as important, and there was a good few that actually were. To say it so blatantly was desperation at its finest, and no one, no matter how kind, liked to look upon desperation. Harry forced himself to speak to the woman for a while; it became apparent she was the head of some ministry office or another, and eventually, Harry made his excuses. Aiming straight for the drinks table, he was quickly joined by a gentleman who had given himself a rather outlandish appearance. With red skin, short dark horns and black eyes; the man had made himself look like the demons from old mythology. It was a little spooky, but also quite a talented bit of transfiguration. The demon man gave Harry a knowing smile, as he gulped down another tumbler of whisky.

"Got stuck with Madame Travers, did you?" asked the man, offering Harry another tumbler. "She's a dreadful bore. This damn masquerade is making it all the harder for me to avoid the people I don't like. Then again, I suppose that's the point."

Harry laughed. "Yes. Narcissa seems to have gone to great lengths to force the usual factions to mingle."

"You're on first name terms with Lady Malfoy?" the man raised an eyebrow. "I'd say that I don't recognize you, but then that's just a testament to your charms skill I suppose. Are you just using superficial alteration charms?"

"And an ageing potion," Harry responded, flashing the man a bashful smile.

"And I take it you aren't usually given such easy access to the firewhisky?" responded the man, shrewdly. "Do take it easy then, my boy. There's a reason adults don't spend all their days blind drunk. Sometimes the consequences aren't worth it."

The man lifted a glass of champagne, and toasted the air in front of Harry. "Do enjoy the evening, my young friend. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime."
The man swanned off into the crowd, and Harry felt a certain sense of relief that someone at this party could be interesting. It helped that the buzz from the alcohol was starting to make him feel a little more playful. He wasn't drunk yet, of course – much experience of drinking contraband with his friends, hidden away in the room of requirement had given him an iron liver – but he was getting rather merry.

Forty-five minutes past in much the same way for Harry. He spoke to many people, wearing varying degrees of disguise. Some were interesting; they tended to have well placed disguise charms, and liked to drop subtle hints as to their occupations. He was quite sure that he'd met the German Minister for Magic earlier, and liked to think he'd made a rather good impression. The man had even said that if Harry ever fancied a career in international relations, he should contact him. When Harry had asked for a confirmation of who the mysterious man was, and where to reach him, the man had merely tapped his nose. 'If you want to work for me, boy, then you'd better figure out how.'
Some turned out to be rather boring. Ministry busybodies, and pureblood toffs. One woman was very clearly Pansy Parkinson's aunt, since she had only bothered to change her hair, and she went about talking obnoxiously about the appalling number of half-bloods present. The woman had irritated him so much, that by the time he came to speak to a violet haired girl that asked him which books he preferred, he was almost too bored to realise it was clearly Hermione. After a few minutes of conversation, he asked her directly.

"Sorry, I don't suppose you're that insanely clever girl from Hogwarts?" Harry asked, smirking.

"I. Erm. That is to say – " began the violet haired girl, embarrassed.

"You know, amazing dueller, gorgeous, bested only by the incomparable talents of Sir Harry Potter."

The violet haired girls eyes widened with surprise, and then mock irritation as she batted him.

"Harry!" she scolded, with a smile on her face.

"Hermione," he smiled. "I'm so glad I found you. These stiffs were getting old. Weren't you meant to be with Draco?"

Hermione nodded. "But I think I arrived before you three, and then I was in disguise, and I assumed you were too. This masquerade business is rather confusing."

"It is, isn't it? Makes it more fun than the usual dry start," he reasoned.

"Dry? But you lot always go on about how fun the Malfoy parties are!" she asked, confused by his unusual reticence.

"Oh, they are! But not the part that's organized by dear Lady Malfoy. This part we just use for all the free alcohol."

"I don't think I follow?" she asked.

"Essentially, after the feast, us and anyone we like – mostly Hogwarts students, and a few interesting extras – sneak off to one of the closed off bits of the manor, get blind drunk, and have some actual fun."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and then shook her head, adamantly. "No. No way can I do that. This is the first time I've been invited to one of these things? I can't possibly get into trouble with Bellatrix's sister."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, last summer, Bellatrix was one of the extras."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh. "Bellatrix? Really? You got drunk with our Head Mistress – right hand to the Dark Lord – Master Dueler? She willingly came and had drinks with you."

"She even invented a drinking game that may have scarred me for life. You should know your new guardian can't stand to be bored. Isn't she always telling you to misbehave a little more?"

"I suppose," Hermione relented, still looking a little nervous.

"Here," Harry said, pulling a couple of shots of indiscernible origin from a passing waiter. "This will take the edge off."

They downed the shots together, and Harry offered her an encouraging grin. "That's my girl. We'll have you thoroughly embarrassing yourself in no time."


By the time the feast was called, Harry had indeed gotten himself rather drunk. As Hermione shepherded him to their table with Draco, Blaise, Daphne and Astoria, he noticed he was the only one still wearing his glamour.

"Harry?" asked Draco, bemused.

"Yep!" he answered, sitting down heavily.

"He's had a little too much whisky, I'm afraid. Don't trust him to point a wand at himself at the moment" concluded Hermione, holding up Harry's wand. She herself had a bit of a blush to her cheeks.

"Him and half of everyone here," muttered Blaise.

Indeed, it did seem as thought many of those that attended the ball were tipsy. Some of the conversations were a little too loud to be polite, and the usually regal crowd had actually become rather pleasant. Harry barely noticed when the first course – thick white bread with some sort of broth – was served.

"Eat, Harry," ordered Draco. Harry obeyed, and began to shovel thickly buttered bread and hot broth into his mouth.

By the time the main course was served, the fog around Harry's mind was beginning to lift. He began to notice his surroundings a little more, and noted that the Dark Lord was sat at the 'head table' with Narcissa, Lucius and a few others. The man appeared obviously bored, and Harry couldn't help but stare. With short brunette hair, dark blue eyes and a perfect, fair complexion; the Dark Lord was beautiful. He was aristocratic; a combination of cool indifference and radiating power making him stand out from the rest of the room. That, and the deference he was treated with by everyone around him. Harry was momentarily stunned. He found himself, for the second time in his life, in the same room as the man who ruled half the world. He forced himself to look away, before anyone noticed his gawking.

"So who's coming to our private party this time?" asked Daphne, smiling sweetly.

"Well," Draco answered. "You and your sister. Myself, Blaise and Harry – and of course, you're invited Hermione – Theodore Nott is coming, with his younger brother. Viktor Krum – Oh don't grin like that, Daphne – and some of his entourage. And anyone you might want to drag along. We'll leave for my private lounge as soon as the feast is over."

"Won't your mother mind, Draco?" asked Hermione, tentatively.

"Oh, she knows what we get up to. She doesn't mention it though, so neither do I."
Hermione nodded, comforted by this thought.


It took an hour for the feast to finally finish, and for the guests to begin to filter to the ballroom. The ballroom was larger than the dancing hall, with more seating areas, and a more formal appeal. This part of the evening would be far more political; promises would be made, exchanges, and thinly veiled threats. These kind of parties were only half about the alcohol and gossip, for the upper-classes present. Harry wanted nothing to do with this dreary part of the evening, and luckily, neither did any of his friends. Within ten minutes of the feast concluding, they found themselves sprawled around Malfoy's lounge.
Harry grabbed a handful of pillows from Draco's bed in the adjoining room – much to his dismay – and distributed them across the floor, before perching himself on one. Blaise lit a fire, and conjured several board games. Draco ordered his house elf, Dobby, to steal as many drinks from the kitchen as possible. Hermione, much to everyone's surprise, produced a whole bagful of trick sweets. These were an interesting line that had recently been banned from Zonko's for their uses outside the realms of pranks. There were five kinds of sweets: one that made you only able to tell the truth, one that made you able to tell only lies, one that made you inhumanly bold, one that made you energetic, and one that filled you with nostalgia. The effects were short-lived, but entertaining.

"Granger, you are full of surprises!" admitted Theodore, grinning.

"These should be fun." Harry agreed, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Where on earth did you get black market pranks?"

"Bellatrix," said Hermione, shrugging.

Daphne picked up a pillow and laid herself on the floor. Astoria followed suit next to her, and Hermione sat cross-legged across from them, by Harry. Everyone had just sat or laid themselves into a messy circle, when Dobby appeared with a huge basket full of drinks.

"For yous, young masters," said Dobby, plopping the basket down in the centre of the circle. "Yous be enjoying your youth tonight!"

The giddy elf disappeared, and Draco merely shrugged, muttering something about the elf always being quite strange. Squealing happily, Astoria pulled a few crystal glasses from the basket, and a bottle of butterbeer. She began to serve herself, before offering it around the circle.

"Butterbeer?" asked Draco, sneering. "You're such a lightweight, Astoria!"

"My fourteen year old sister can be as much of a lightweight as she pleases," scolded Daphne, declining the offer of butterbeer, and instead picking some strawberry champagne.

Hermione peered into the basket, and then smiled, pulling out a bright yellow bottle. "My favourite, limoncello! Oh, no one ever has this at parties. How lovely." She began to pour herself a glass.

"It's my favourite too, you know," said Blaise, offering Hermione a rare smile. "It's served at every party, back in Italy."

"Ah yes, I almost forgot you were our resident Italian," remarked Daphne, grinning.

"Will someone just pass me some firewhisky?" said Harry, his easy smile contradicting the impatience of his words. He reached for basket, only to have it snatched away from him.

"Absolutely no one give him any more firewhisky," warned Draco.

As they were speaking, another figure entered the room. Viktor Krum, who had been absent up until now, entered with two companions.
"Apologies, friends," he said, in his thick Bulgarian accent. He discarded his fur coat as he spoke. "It took me a while to get away from my Mother."
Many of those in the circle nodded sympathetically, having similar parental situations of their own. Draco took the time to make introductions, since a few present hadn't met Viktor before. He also pointed out that Harry was Harry, and hadn't bothered to take off his glamour yet.

"Who are your friends, Viktor?" asked Harry, smiling welcomingly towards the pair. He had met Viktor several times before at parties, and had even once played against him at four-a-side quidditch, one hungover Sunday morning. If it weren't for the fact that he attended Durmstrang, Harry knew they'd have been fast friends.

"This is Vladimir Borisova." He gestured to the tall, dark haired male to his left. Then he put his arm around the waist of the young lady to his right "And this is Anastasia Karkaroff."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You didn't tell me you were courting, Krum. A pleasure to have you here, Miss Karkaroff. You too, Mr Borisova."

Harry chuckled, still very merry. "Draco, how can you pull off that poor blood formality bollocks when you're shit-faced and laying on your stomach?" Draco rolled his eyes, and Viktor and his girlfriend smirked.

"We're engaged, actually," replied Viktor, casually. Harry was surprised by this, but then again, Viktor was several years their senior. It wasn't so unusual for a nineteen year old to be engaged in the pureblood population. A round of congratulations came from the circle, and the three sat themselves down. The boys flung off their formal jackets, and unbuttoned the top of their shirts, irritated by the stiff collars.

Harry laid on his back, sighing dramatically. Blaise and Draco threw him amused looks, secretly enjoying his antics.
"Viktor, Draco has prevented me from enjoying my sacred right to limitless firewhisky. I don't suppose you have some vodka hidden away in that ridiculous coat?"
Draco looked mortified, but Krum merely laughed. Harry was very good at becoming comfortable with people quickly, almost never using any semblance of formality.

"I'm afraid your weak English body couldn't stomach a drink made in my country, Harry. You seem to be drunk already." His thick eastern european accent was full of wry amusement.

"Me? Drunk? How dare you! I'd duel you, but Hermione has confiscated my wan," Harry pouted.

"A wise decision by a wise woman," said the girl, Anastasia, speaking for the first time. "Hermione... Are you Hermione Granger, by any chance?"

"I am," responded Hermione, surprised at the recognition.

"I saw you at the junior qualifiers last year!" exclaimed Anastasia. "You were magnificent. That spell you invented was genius."

"I… Well, thank-you." Hermione blushed, never having been good with compliments. "I mean, Harry was better. He did win."

Anastasia looked towards Harry, and a flash of realization passed over her. "You're Harry Potter? I didn't recognize you, of course. You too, were incredible. Such powerful spells, and you were so young. A fourteen year old with the arsenal of most grown death eaters. My father was spitting that you both went to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang."

"Don't let him fool you," came Draco, lazily. "Beneath the genius, power and cleverness; he's really a complete idiot."

The group fell into animated discussion. They talked about everything from sports, to politics, to the latest society gossip. They were all invited to Viktor and Anastasia's wedding next summer. As they talked, the drinks flowed. Everyone got a little braver, and sillier. Eventually, Daphne demanded that Hermione break out her supply of prank sweets.

"Right," said Daphne, giggling. "This is how we'll do it. Everyone has to be assigned a number between one and – " she counted those present. "Nine. I'll turn around while you do so. Then I'll pick a number, and whomever it is, has to have a truth sweet."

There was a roar of agreement and refusal, but eventually, everyone was cowed into playing the game. Daphne turned around while they assigned numbers. Harry was number seven, which he took as a good omen. A minute later, Daphne turned around.

"Alright. Number… Nine," she said, with a smile.

"Seriously?" demanded Blaise, paling. "No one ever picks the largest number."

Everyone laughed, and forced a truth sweet into Blaise's hand. He looked mildly mortified, but had no way of backing out. He ate the sweet, followed by a large gulp of limoncello, for courage.

"Who was your first kiss?" began Astoria, grinning.

"Alba De Luca. We were six."

"What's your favourite colour?" asked Anastasia.

"Red."

"Who's the better seeker, me or Draco?" asked Harry, grinning at Draco.

"You, but you're not half as good as you think you are."
Viktor laughed himself to tears at this comment, and Harry scowled, only half playfully.

"Who do you fancy?" asked Daphne, with a vicious grin.

Blaise seemed to be physically fighting with himself to not answer that question, but the sweet forced him. Harry realised it was quite similar to veritasirum, which made it's banning little surprise.

"You," he said, gritting his teeth.

"Oh." said Daphne, seeming utterly surprised. "Oh, right."

Everyone in the circle looked away, clearing their throats at the awkwardness. Blaise looked positively fuming at the forced admission.
"How about we steer clear of the truth ones for a while?" offered Hermione diplomatically, and everyone agreed.

The evening past enjoyably after that. No one mentioned what Blaise had said, although Daphne kept throwing him thoughtful glances. They played games, primarily drinking games, told stories and chatted the night away. Everyone present was staying the night in the manor. Viktor and his guests by invitation of Lord and Lady Malfoy, and the rest of them by Draco's.

"You could sleep in one of the bedrooms in this wing." offered Draco, late into the night. "Save you trying to get to the other side of the manor in the early hours of the morning." It was clear the party was going to continue for quite some time.

"I would." said Viktor, thoughtfully. "But we have all left our things there already."

Draco waved this protest away. "Nonsense. My elf will move them. Dobby?" There was no answering pop this time, and Draco looked puzzled. "Dobby? Oh, he must be serving Mother and Father. They've probably retired to the drawing room with their own friends by now."

"It's too far to accio them too," said Daphne, from by the fireplace where she was chatting with Anastasia and Theodore.

"I'll go." Harry offered, standing from his place on the sofa. He had been idly playing chess with Blaise, but had just been beaten for the third time.

"Are you sure, Harry?" asked Hermione, concerned that Harry was still tipsy.

"I'm fine, 'Mione. The only thing left of my inebriation is a headache, unfortunately."

"Thank-you, Harry," said Viktor, clapping him on the back. "I couldn't navigate this place if I tried. I'll remedy your headache with some vodka, upon your return. See how long it takes for you to beg for your English drinks." He winked, and Harry smiled. He liked Viktor.
Hermione gave him his wand back, with a warning about casting while under the influence. Truthfully, Harry was glad for the walk. His head still felt a little fuzzy, and he liked to explore the manor. He'd done it many times before, but there were always new places to explore. Last time, he had discovered a library entirely devoted to the dark arts. The time before that, he had stumbled upon a dungeon.

He made his way in the vague direction of the guest wing, having been instructed by Draco of which rooms were given to the Krums. On the way, he opened all the doors that looked interesting; he always listened first, of course, and checked the doors for wards or alarms.
It was when he was listening to one such door, that he heard something very strange.

"No mice in this place at all. Master should let me eat one of the humans. I shall ask him."

The words were very strange, and Harry resisted the urge to leave. Being a Gryffindor to his bones, his sense of self-preservation wasn't as powerful as his curiosity. He also felt protected by the glamour he still wore. If someone caught him, they wouldn't know him.

"I hate this room. It's too small. I want to hunt," complained the voice.

Harry leaned closer to the door, his breathing hitched. Was someone being held prisoner? Someone who… ate mice? The voice sounded rasping, hissing almost.

"I smell food. I smell a human. Who's there?!" demanded the voice.

Harry's instincts told him to back away quickly, but he knew that if he did, curiosity would eat him up.
"Hello?" he called out, ready to bolt if necessary.

There was a pause from the voice, before it came again moments later. "Who are you, that you speak my language? Show yourself."

"Your language?" Harry asked, confusion masking his concern. "You're speaking English."

Another pause. "No. No I am not, young speaker. Open the door."

"Since I heard you talking about eating humans, I don't think that's a good idea," said Harry, beginning to back away.

"I would not eat a speaker. They are rare. They are powerful; kin even," the voice responded, quickly and angrily.

Harry edged towards the door. As insane as it was, he believed the voice. He also felt a powerful curiosity, a pull. He reached out his hand, and twisted the door knob. It was locked. Harry pulled out his wand, and attempted to unlock it, but it was to no avail.

"It's locked," he said.

"I thought so," said the voice, sounding particularly menacing. "No matter. My Master approaches."

"Your Master?"

Harry stood bolt upright and away from the door. Just as he did so, a man strode around the corner, towards him. For a moment, it seemed the man hadn't noticed him, but then he lifted his head and narrowed his eyes.

It was the Dark Lord. Harry's heart beat faster, as he rushed to make his explanations.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I didn't know these were your rooms," Harry stammered, thanking the fates that his glamour remained in place. That was, if he got away alive.
Voldemort held up a hand to silence him, and Harry felt himself be pushed back against the wall. Panic bolted through his body; adrenaline tingled in his fingers. He didn't dare go for his wand. He would die, he knew.

"Why are you here, boy? Why do you disguise yourself?"

Harry, completely unable to coherently form a response, stumbled over his words. Voldemort eased the force holding him to the wall, letting it go as he glared at Harry.
"I… I heard a noise. Please. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll just go," Harry began to back away, and the Dark Lord appeared to be dismissing him. Perhaps thinking him just some fool, beneath his notice. He probably would have gotten away from the powerful man easily too, if not for the traitorous voice behind the door.

"He's a speaker, Master. He's speaks our language. He's a Parselmouth!"

Harry paused long enough only to see those cold blue eyes meet his. Confused as he was, he was running long before Voldemort raised his wand.


Do you know what makes writers post chapters quickly? Reviews. Reviews do. ;)

But seriously, I hoped you like it. I know this chapter might beg a lot of questions, but I assure you, they will be answered - eventually.