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: First of all, I apologise in advance for like a million different things. This chapter is probably full of horrible spelling/grammar/layout mistakes, but I'm literally leaving the house any minute and I really wanted to get this up. Secondly, I'm sorry for the two month wait! I'm overloaded with exams at the moment, but they'll be over in about a month and then it'll be back to regular updates. Thank you so much to everyone for your support!
EDIT: May 2017
Chapter 10
2nd November 1995
Twenty-four short hours later, Harry found himself sat in a highly uncomfortable straight-backed chair, being scrutinized by the highly intimidating Dark Lord. Icy blue eyes raked over him, a look of bored disdain gracing his ethereal features.
Harry shied away from the look. He picked a point on the wall just above Voldemort's head, and concentrated hard upon it. Much like a vicious animal, it seemed unwise to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.
This had been going on for the past five minutes. Harry fidgeted, adjusted his position on the chair, and ran his fingers nervously over the side of his neck. That had been a habit of his since he was a child; he always rubbed his neck when he was nervous or frightened. Professor Lestrange had once chided him for it, and remembering this – and also the lecture he'd once received from Lady Malfoy on the importance of maintaining composure – he returned his hands to his lap.
By contrast, the Dark Lord's posture couldn't have been more relaxed. The man still wore the dark dress robes from the night before, and the air of easy authority they gave him suited him. Voldemort lounged back in the plush leather chair he had summoned, one leg over the chair-arm and his arms were relaxed. He held his wand with a lazy grip in his right hand. Only the intensity of his expression showed he wasn't readying for a nap. Somehow, this lackadaisical appearance made Harry uncomfortable. He looked like a young wolf considering his next meal, a young deer that would take very little effort to snare.
Finally, after what seemed an excruciating amount of time, the Dark Lord spoke.
"Your name is Harry James Potter." It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyway. "Your parents. A blood-traitor and a mudblood."
"I suppose," Harry responded, shifting uncomfortably.
"You suppose?" The Dark Lord's sharp eyes focused on Harry, electric blue boring down into killing curse green.
"Well I don't remember them. I know only what others have told me." Harry was pleased that his voice sounded far calmer than he felt.
Voldemort nodded, considering. "And do you wish you had known them, Harry?"
The voice he used was deceivingly sweet, deceptive in it's calm, encouraging manner. Perhaps it was partly hysteria, but a smile bubbled up inside of him before he could stop it. The Dark Lord acting as any kind of counselor was just too ludicrous. Irritation flashed across the Dark Lord's features, and the smile died on his lips. "Something funny, child?"
"No, my Lord," he responded quickly, clearing his throat. He improvised. "It's just a ridiculous notion to me. I have no love for traitors or rogues."
The Dark Lord held his eyes, and Harry steeled himself to keep eye contact. After a moment, Voldemort looked away.
"I see," said Voldemort, slowly. "So you reject all things muggle?"
Harry nodded vehemently.
"Your disappearing act at Malfoy Manor," he withdrew a vial from the inner pocket of his robes and set it on a small table to his right. Harry recognized it as veritaserum. "You seemed genuinely at a loss as to how to explain it. I almost believe you. I'll give you a final opportunity to tell me the truth of your own free will before I give you this." His words were calm, impassive.
"I honestly have no idea how it happened. It just did."
Voldemort nodded, too calm. "You remind me of a child from an old story. An apprentice that enchants a broom to do chores for him, but quickly loses control." He said this casually, "perhaps you know it?"
Harry thought back. He did remember the story vaguely, but he couldn't remember where from. Perhaps one of the carers back at the orphanage.
"… Yes. Didn't…the broom split in two? Start breaking everything?"
Voldemort's calm expression quickly melted away into a vicious, smug look.
"Well that answers my first question," said the Dark Lord, standing up and looming over him. He reached back into his cloak, and drew another item. A small pill that Harry recognized.
"A boldness pill?" It was exactly what Hermione had used the other evening at the party. "What? And what question?" Harry felt too bewildered to be polite.
Voldemort glanced at the pill, and smiled maliciously. "Ah yes. Those Weasley boys are quite the inventors. I'll be having them sworn into my ranks the minute they're out of Hogwarts. Keep them out of trouble." He set the pill down beside the vial. "And the question of your honesty, boy. The story is, in fact, muggle."
Harry paled. An instant vision of '101 Fairy Tales' that graced his bookshelf back in the marauders room coming to mind. How had he been so stupid? A slip like that in front of the ever-astute dark lord.
"So where did you hear it?" demanded the Dark Lord, still looming over him.
"It must have been…I mean, maybe another child? I don't," he struggled to find a lie that wouldn't end in pain.
"Don't lie to me, boy." Voldemort snapped, venom lacing his words. "Anything I want to know, I can just rip from your mind. Leglimens!"
And then Voldemort was out cold.
Voldemort had 'locked' the boy away almost as soon as they had returned to the Riddle Wreck the day before. This was the name he had given the castle he had taken shortly after the Light's defeat. Mostly, the name was for his enjoyment. Not that he attached any significance to the surname due to familial sentiment – he had murdered his Father after all - but because he remembered being a very young boy with the name 'Tom Riddle' and dreaming of power and glory. It also helped that the ominous alliteration kept the public wondering what unimaginable tortures happened here.
In fact, his home was rather comfortable. The vast majority of the rooms had thick carpets, comfortable chairs and large windows. He enjoyed his comforts as much as the next man.
The room he had put the boy in was his least luxurious, and even that was still livable. It still had a double bed, a bookshelf, a desk and an en suite bathroom. It was a rather chilly room, however, as he didn't want the child to be too comfortable. He had ordered the house elf to deliver the child some bread and water in the evening, just to add to the 'prisoner' atmosphere. Voldemort wasn't above a little drama.
Morning had brought it's own excitement. Bellatrix arrived outside the wards of the castle just after eight am; Voldemort had been awake since precisely six am, as always, and had somewhat expected her arrival. Ever security conscious, he apparrated the woman inside, and soon after they had been sharing breakfast together, as Bellatrix shared his love of breakfast steak; rare, of course.
"The American didn't even put up a fight. He came out wandless and begged for his life, tried to bargain a treaty agreement. It was disgusting." Bellatrix nose wrinkled, and Voldemort chuckled. His right-hand woman had a well-known respect for talent, but a lesser-known respect for bravery. The American Head Wizard had neither talent nor bravery, and so the vicious witch had eliminated him without a second thought.
"One of your more tactical Death Eaters," Bellatrix sneered. "Found some papers. She believes the muggles were paying the American wizards for help in their wars."
'Tactical' was a tame word for Bellatrix, and it's use was probably because anything more derisive might seem like a criticism of the Dark Lord's recruitment methods. They were his Death Eaters that had been inducted due to their wits alone, not because of any particular magical skill or bloodline. Although Bellatrix was a clever witch, she was also a warrior to her bones. She couldn't abide anyone that didn't have at least a working knowledge of the combative Arts.
"It wouldn't surprise me if that were the case. Their ministry was even more corrupt than the old British ministry," he conceded.
They finished their meals while they spoke of future plans for their newly attained territory. Bellatrix was the only person he was ever so casual with, because she was truly his right-hand. He needn't induce fear or respect in her, because it was a given. She was a sycophant, loyal to him to her last breath, and he trusted that madness.
"I have a boy from Hogwarts here," he began.
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow curiously. "Here? In this castle?"
He nodded. "It's a long story that you don't need to know the details of," he began, aloof. "His name is Harry Potter. I believe you probably recognize the name?"
Bellatrix nodded seriously. "Yes. The Potter boy is one of my favorites, actually. He's strong. Clever."
"Is he really?" Voldemort lounged back in his chair. "He didn't seem too impressive to me."
Bellatrix shrugged. "He's a Gryffindor. He doesn't have an ounce of cunning about him, but his ability to grasp complex ideas, see patterns and master spells is aweing. He's a prodigy."
This was an interesting development for Voldemort. At least the child wouldn't be boring.
"What else can you tell me about him?" he asked. Bellatrix knew better than to ask him why he had the child, or why he was asking those questions.
"He was raised in the orphanages. His Father was James Potter, and his mother…that mudblood girl. I forget her name. He's close to the Malfoy and Zabini boys, and my Hermione. He's the one that has your talisman."
Voldemort held a hand up, quieting her, while he considered this. So the boy wore his Horcrux. He had known, of course, that a child at Hogwarts had it. It was useful for dampening powerful magic, and from what Bellatrix had told him, the child had that in spades.
"And where do you think his loyalties lie?" he questioned.
"With you," she answered, no doubt evident. "He's a mischievous kid, and I've had him whipped more times than I can count, but he's loyal to the regime." Voldemort nodded, glad to have more information to work with.
Shortly after, he'd dismissed Bellatrix and summoned the boy to the drawing room. This would be an interesting conversation indeed.
Harry had never panicked quite as much as when he was faced with an unconscious Dark Lord.
His first instinct was to run like a bat out of hell. Apparrate once he was beyond the walls, and leave the country, and never come back.
His second thought was that he could literally kill the Dark Lord. He didn't quite know where that thought came from, because he actually respected the Dark Lord immensely, but the idea was there nonetheless.
His third idea, and the one he went with, was to kneel next to the Dark Lord and gently enervate him. He had the sense to stand well back as his eyes opened.
The Dark Lord looked confused for a split second, before jumping up, fluid as a feline, and pointing his wand directly at Harry's throat. Harry bowed his head. Still on his knees, he placed his palms flat down on the floor in front of him and kept his head low. It was a deliberate act of submission.
"Please, my Lord. I have no idea what just happened," he said, his voice level.
After a moment, Harry felt the Dark Lord shift and then he was pulled to his feet roughly by his clothes.
Wordlessly, the Dark Lord withdrew a knife. Harry stayed perfectly still, shocked into motionless silence. Voldemort then dragged the knife through the top buttons of Harry's shirt, sending them flying across the floor. In a single motion, Voldemort pulled the Slytherin Locket from around Harry's neck.
Several things happened in that moment.
Firstly, Harry was filled with an indescribable, violent pain. He was barely conscious of his knees hitting the floor, the tears running down his face. He grabbed his temples and screamed. There was no logic, no thought, just the pain. Secondly, the talisman evidently grew hot in Voldemort's hand, because he dropped it to the floor with an uncharacteristic yelp and his hands had a reddened look to them as though scolded. Thirdly, Voldemort looked completely bewildered. Something Harry was in far too much pain to register, but would have shaken him to the core had he been more aware.
It could only have been moments later when Voldemort straddled his thrashing form, and forced the talisman back around his neck. The pain abruptly ceased.
The intense memory of the pain kept him clouded for a good minute, before he became fully aware of the strangeness of the situation. Voldemort, the Dark Leader of the Wizarding World, was straddling his chest. Not only that, but the man was panting – appearing flustered and out of sorts. Harry blushed deeply, daring not ask the man to move. Luckily, he did so himself moments later.
"It would appear," began Voldemort, "that my… talisman, has grown rather attached to you."
Voldemort sat on the floor next to wear Harry was laid. The Dark Lord was sat on the floor! Harry sat up, too, eyeing the man curiously. Voldemort was looking at Harry oddly now, as if seeing him in a whole new light. There was something unguarded in the way he stared.
"You are a curious one, Harry Potter." Voldemort said, finally. He stood up, and Harry followed.
"I suppose I'll have to rely on veritaserum alone. It would appear that the talisman offers some protection from leglimency."
Harry nodded, surprised. He wondered vaguely how much more the locket could do. Did this mean he should tell the Dark Lord of his suspicions? He sat down in the chair once again, and took the vial and pill as they were given to him. Swallowing them both, he shivered at the vaguely unpleasant sensation that came over him. It was like an uncomfortable buzzing in the back of his head.
"What is your full name?" began Voldemort, once again watching him intensely.
"Harry James Potter." The answer came from his lips, but he couldn't remember consciously giving it. It was like it was being pulled from inside him. He didn't like it.
"Are you loyal to me?" purred the Dark Lord.
"Loyal enough. I'm not disloyal to you." Harry felt dismay overcome him. He couldn't even control how the truth was phrased, and he could feel the boldness tab kicking in. His ability to filter his words, slipping away.
"When did you find out you were a Parselmouth?"
"Two nights ago."
"Why were you near my rooms?"
"I was exploring."
"And you didn't know my rooms were there?"
"No. I didn't know. I mean, I thought they might be. I wanted to get a glimpse of you, maybe. I don't know." He wanted to choke himself.
"Why did you want to see me?"
"You're the Dark Lord," he said, simply.
"Do you think you're special, Harry?" Voldemort asked, a small, almost smug smile gracing his features.
"Yes," He tried desperately to inject some humbleness into his next sentence, to no avail. "I am special. I am far more clever, more talented and more powerful than even the best Hogwarts had to offer. Even Hermione. I love her though, bless her, and she's very clever too."
Voldemort chuckled, and Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks.
"Do you think you're more powerful than me, little one?" the Dark Lord asked, wry amusement evident.
"I don't know. I want to find out though. That's why I want to duel you one day. I hope not, though."
Voldemort cocked his head, bemused. "Why do you want me to be more powerful?"
"Well, then I'd be bored, wouldn't I?" The boldness tab was literally a taste in his mouth at those words.
Voldemort rolled his eyes, but the amusement didn't leave his features. Harry only hoped this was a positive sign.
"How did you disappear that night when I was pursuing you?"
"I don't know," Harry tried to bite his tongue now, but it failed miserably. "But I have a theory! The locket. It helps me. It helps me out of danger."
If Voldemort had looked perplexed before, it was nothing to how he looked now. "Helps you…?"
"I can't explain it. Sometimes I feel like it guides me out of difficult situations. Sometimes I'm sure it's prevented spells reaching me. It even speaks to me, now and again."
"Speaks to you?" Voldemort literally had widened eyes at this. "What does it say?"
"At first it was just babbling, strange hissing sounds. Then over time, it was as if it learned English, and-" Harry paused, his own eyes widening too. "Actually, no. No it didn't learn English, did it? I learned Parseltongue. That's impossible, though."
Voldemort sat back, silently taking in Harry. The effect of the pill and veritaserum making him literally shake, like a child who'd had too many sweets.
"Bellatrix was right to call you clever, child."
"Bellatrix was here?" he questioned, "Well, she is your right hand, isn't she? She's brilliant. I reckon I could take her though." He clamped his hands over his mouth, but Voldemort only laughed, a deep, surprised laugh.
"I think I like you better bold, boy. Although I'd watch your tongue around her. You're still only a little boy really, and she'd pick her teeth with your bones."
"She would, too. I can actually imagine her doing that. I bet she was fierce during the war."
Voldemort nodded. "That she was. Where were we?" he paused. "Ah yes. It talks to you. What does it say?"
"Mostly nothing intelligible. It's like a string of consciousness. It talks about an orphanage sometimes, and a cave. Sometimes it talks about Hogwarts, some girl called Myrtle Warren." Harry shrugged. "It only rarely seems to know me, and only in dire situations and then it's generally an order."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "How did you know that muggle fairy tale?" he questioned.
"There's a room in Hogwarts. It's called the Marauders room. It's filled with muggle artifacts, diary entries from some guy during the war. Muggle books, magazines, newspapers and photos. I've read all of it." Harry had the forethought to look abashed, as Voldemort looked sternly at him.
"You realise keeping that kind of contraband is incredibly illegal, child." Voldemort began, almost as if to scold Harry.
"I'm sorry, my Lord. I was just curious." Harry bit his lip, looking like the naughty school boy he was.
"And have these… findings… altered your opinion of muggles?" he said, scathingly.
"It's just made me curious, my Lord. Not really altered my world view."
Voldemort sighed, flashing the boy an irritated look. After several minutes, he stood up. "I think that's all I needed to know."
"Will… Will you let me live then, my Lord?" Harry asked, tentatively.
The Dark Lord flashed him a dark smile. "Yes, child. I'll have you returned to Hogwarts this afternoon. However," his gaze grew serious again. "There are several conditions you will obey."
Harry nodded, eager to agree to anything that meant he could return to his normal life and pretend this had not happened.
"First of all, you will tell no one of your new ability," Voldemort began. Harry, still affected by the pill, interrupted.
"Hermone, Draco and Blaise already know," he interjected.
Voldemort growled. "Children gossip far too much these days. Fine. No one else, and you will warn them under pain of death to tell no one."
"Okay," Harry agreed.
"Secondly, I will be sending one of my snake's offspring with you to Hogwarts. This is to keep an eye on you, and to help develop your new ability. You may to speak to her, but only in privacy or in front of those three that already know." Harry nodded.
"Thirdly. I don't know why the talisman has took such an interest in you, but I have a feeling your prodigious mind has much to do with it. I need as many talented Death Eaters as I can under my command, so consider yourself marked. That means I expect the best from you."
Harry frowned. "But I'm already the best?"
"Lashius," Voldemort said boredly. Harry yelped and bit his lip, though it was considerably less painful than when it had been cast before.
"Then be even better. Impress me. Learn new magicks. Expand. Hogwarts need not be your comparison for greatness. When I was your age, I was already building an army."
"Should I-?"
"No, you shouldn't build an army!" Voldemort responded, exasperated and amused. "What I'm saying is, be impressive. Don't bore me, child."
Harry nodded, seriously.
"I'm a busy man, Harry Potter. I have a world to conquer, and I don't have time to chase school children. Behave yourself and stay out of trouble. How old are you now, boy?"
"I'm fifteen, my Lord."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "Seven is a good number, is it not? Yes, seven. Come to me on your twenty-second birthday. Impress me with your growth. Then, child, we'll see about that duel."
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