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: Oh look an update. Sorry if it's a bit bad on the grammar; I am sans beta at the moment.
Chapter 15
It took a grand total of fourty-eight hours before Harry felt anything but relief, pride and vindication at his performance in the qualifiers. The two days were a whirlwind of parties, press conferences and alcohol; he scarcely had a moment to consider his current situation, before he was dragged to another common room party, or Hogsmeade pub. His face was beginning to hurt from the amount of grinning he'd been doing. On the morning of the third day, however, he had woken to the grim faces of Blaise and Draco, shoving a copy of the Daily Prophet before him.
Youngest Qualifier in British History: My Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter
by Rita Skeeter
In the excitement of the International Duelling Competition, it's been hard to miss headlines about little Harry Potter. The boy, aged just sixteen, is not only the youngest of only fifty witches and wizards to pass into this years British Championships – but the youngest ever to compete at National Championship level. For you, my dear readers, I've got the scoop on what makes the newest teen heart-throb tick.
We begin our interview at the championship press conference. With ten renowned Death Eaters in attendance, and previous international competitors, it's understandable that a young boy like Harry Potter might be nervous. In an intimate conversation, Harry reveals that he's using fire whisky to drown out his nerves at the event. This sets the tone for the rest of our interview; Harry Potter, all smiles for the camera, is a troubled soul. When asked if he's used addictive substances to deal with stress before, Harry reveals that he has been doing so from as young as fourteen. Marked as a prodigy from his first year, it's no wonder Harry has trouble living up to the expectations of his peers.
"Coming from Malfoy Orphanage, I was just a face in a crowd. It's nice to have some recognition." But how far is Harry willing to go for the love he was denied as a child? In our conversation, Harry revealed that he was willing to go to any length to win the competition, and the affection of his new fans. "I want to make my mark, you know?"
Harry Potter, my research has revealed, is the child of war criminal James Potter and muggle-born wife Lilly Potter. The two were members of the infamous Order of the Phoenix, led by the late megalomaniac, Albus Dumbeldore. One has to wonder if some
of little Harry's ambition comes from a desire to redeem his parents. "I hope to be a Death Eater someday," he proclaimed at the press conference, when asked about his plans after Hogwarts. In our conversation, one can see the ghosts of their guilt in the little boys eyes.
Harry came fifth in his category at the qualifiers, narrowly avoiding defeat in several of his matches. For a child his age, it was of course impressive, but one has to wonder how he'll cope in the big leagues. "I'm hopeful," said Mr Potter, grinning. "I still have a few tricks in the bag."
Mr Potter might need more than a few tricks with the competition he's likely to come against come February. For this troubled teenage idol, let's hope his luck holds out in the championship.
Harry stared through the page blankly for several long seconds, before the first flames of a furious anger began to bubble into his stomach. He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say, but knowing it was unlikely to be at any polite volume. Draco interrupted.
"Father has requested you join him at the manor, immediately," he said, simply.
Harry opened his mouth again, shut it, opened it again, and then sighed. "How angry is he?"
"Livid, but mostly not with you. Skeeter has a famously convuluted relationship with facts"
Harry nodded, dragging himself out of bed with a groan as the memories of the night before made itself known. Blaise silently handed him a particularly potent hangover potion, which he took in wordless thanks.
"Oh, and apparently, you went skinny dipping last night-" added Draco, some mix of irritation and amusement evident on his face.
"-with a bunch of Ravenclaw girls," added Blaise with a smirk.
"Christ, did-?" Harry began.
"The entire faculty saw. Reports say it was hard to miss, given halfway across the lake you took out your wand and cast mosmordre into the sky," added Draco dryly.
"I don't even want to know where you were storing your wand," muttered Blaise.
Harry's cheeks burned a deep red and his eyes widened at the prospect of the staff, including three Death Eaters, having seen him… disrobed. Disrobed below a symbol of the Dark Lord, which he didn't even have the legal right to cast.
"And how deep a shit am I in?" Harry asked with a sigh, pulling on his trousers and shoes quickly.
"Well I think Bellatrix and Crouch might have been persuaded to let it go-"
"- Although Severus was spitting feathers -"
"- Until you decided to try and ride the giant squid-"
"- in your inebriated state -"
"And Bellatrix had to go in after you herself."
"Anyways, you're to report to her office after Father."
"Fuck."
As it turned out, Harry did not have to wait until after his visit with Lucius to see his dear Headmistress. After flooing directly into the dining room of Malfoy Manor, as per Draco's instructions, he found himself in some very interesting company. Sat around the table was Bellatrix - flanked by a surprisingly cheery looking Hermione - Severus, Narcissa, and one other woman. The last woman came as the greatest surprise to Harry, when he immediately recognised her as none other than the Death Eater he had duelled and lost to just three days ago – Verona Selwyn. When Harry appeared, she offered a smile so sincere and welcoming that Harry was almost taken aback. Thankfully, he was distracted by the almost instantaneous shrieking of Bellatrix.
"Why, you little brat!" she caught him with a lashius before he was even aware she was gunning for him, and he yelped, involuntarily putting a hand to his thighs.
"Bella!" he hissed, rubbing the spot.
"Don't you 'Bella' me, Potter!" she cast again. "There was no part of me that wanted to spend my evening fishing drunkard half-bloods out of a fucking lake while a squid decided I looked like a nice date for the evening!" she cast the spell again.
"Ow!" he responded. She could really pack a sting with that spell.
"Ow!" she mimicked, rolling her eyes. She cast the spell one more time, before sighing dramatically, muttering something about tentacles and never being able to eat calamari again, and sat down with a huff. It was all Hermione could do not to giggle, and her adoptive Mother threw her a venomous expression, before her mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles too.
The interaction said much about the relationship between Harry and Bellatrix. Bellatrix had jumped into a lake to rescue Harry from his own drunken misbehaviour, and though had clearly quite enjoyed causing him pain for that fact, had not used a spell one could not quite reasonably use to reprimand a naughty first year. Harry, though quite able to defend himself from such an attack, had not raised his wand once even to raise a shield. There was an affection there, no matter how loudly Harry complained about not being able to sit in polite company for a week.
Selwyn had clearly noticed this, as her eyes sparkled with mirth as she looked between the two. The woman seemed all too amused by Harry's antics. The same could not be said of Severus Snape.
"Detention Potter, every Friday for the rest of the term." Harry groaned, but a sharp look from Severus silenced him.
Suddenly, the room was quiet. Harry took a seat at the long oak table as an elf pulled it out for him, and he adopted a more sombre expression as Lucius began to speak.
"I am disturbed by the headlines today, Mr Potter," Lucius began silkily.
"It's all lies," said Harry, earnestly. "I've never even spoken to that witch!"
"Oh?" Lucius continued, eyes dangerous. "And you have a very clear memory of the last few days, do you?"
Harry dropped his gaze, and flushed slightly. "I know I've had a little fun, but-"
"A little?" asked Selwyn, eyes full of laughter.
"But honestly, I'd never say the things she's written. I do not have a drinking problem! And all this about giving a flying fuck about my birth parents-"
Lucius waved him into silence. "Language. I'm quite aware of Rita Skeeter's journalistic ethics, Mr Potter. The issue is that you are not handling the press in the way one must when in the spotlight. You're sixteen years old, you cannot be drinking or..." he paused, sneering. "...being intimate, in public."
"Being intimate?" he questioned, his face paling.
"Our contact at the Prophet only just stopped this being printed alongside the front page," said Narcissa, quietly, floating a photograph before Harry.
It was him, entwined with some man. He recalled it. He recalled the first person he had kissed since he had been forced to abandon Michael; recalled through a drunken haze the emptiness of it, the desperation. Recalled the man gushing about his duel as Harry crashed his lips against his, dominating him. The picture showed Harry having pinned the man's hands above his head, his knee between his legs, in a back alley of Hogsmeade. The man had been boring, really. Some graduated Hufflepuff who worked in accountancy at the Ministry. He didn't remember his name.
Verona eyed the picture, and if anything, looked more delighted. Bellatrix barked a short laugh - "Well that explains a lot," she added – and Severus' eyebrows had raised almost into his greasy hairline. Harry was somehow pale and blushing at the same time.
"I-" he stammered out, his neck hot. "I didn't… I'm not-" he began.
Narcissa interrupted impatiently. "Honestly, Harry. The problem here is not that you are inclined towards Wizards."
"That particular prejudice is just a mudblood pollution. Witches and Wizards have never cared about sexual orientation," added Lucius, firmly.
"The problem," continued Narcissa, her tone as prim and measured as always. "is that you're not betrothed, or even of age. What you do in private is your business as long as you're discrete, but alleys are entirely inappropriate."
"Not only are you very close to my son, and niece," he nodded to Hermione. "You're also representing the Malfoy name. We would not tolerate this sort of wild behaviour from our son, and we will not tolerate it from you," he said sternly.
"You have always protected my son, Harry," added Narcissa. "Please think of our family name in the same way."
Harry maintained eye contact with Narcissa for a long moment before nodding seriously. "I am sorry, Lord and Lady Malfoy. I may have gotten carried away with the celebrations and forgot my responsibilities. It will not happen again."
Narcissa looked at him searchingly for another moment, before nodding and smiling warmly. "Then we shall consider this matter forgotten."
"And I'll have a quiet word with Ms. Skeeter," added Selwyn, still smiling.
Hermione Granger sighed dramatically, glaring at herself in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She was wearing a dramatic green dress, with puffed sleeves and lace brocade. She had no doubt that once, this dress had been fashionable. She just didn't know when, or how, or if it had been fashionable in some previously unknown coven of blind witches – unable to see that they looked like giant, silk-ridden bogies. With a wave of her wand, the thing joined the growing pile of dresses and robes that littered her unreasonably large bed and she was left standing in her underwear with a deep frown on her face. In a fit of temper, she waved her wand once more and the whole pile set alight. The dresses didn't burn of course; the flames were harmless illusions, but it did something to soothe her growing temper. With a flop, she laid sprawled in the fake flames atop the mess of discarded robes and considered the ceiling of her bedroom at Lestrange Manor. Honestly, being a teenage girl was far more work than it had any right to be.
"Well," came an amused, and altogether unexpected voice from the doorway. "This isn't quite what I expected."
Hermione jumped up, quickly casting her wand over the bed to cease the flames. Blushing, she gave her adoptive Mother an embarrassed smile. After conjuring some pyjamas onto herself, she sat back down once more trying to look less put out than she felt.
"I couldn't find what I was looking for at Hogwarts, so I thought I'd pop over. I hope you don't mind, I thought you'd be at the castle."
Bellatrix came into the room, throwing herself down atop the pile of clothes and grinning.
"Mind? Little girl, this is your home. Why would I mind? I was at Hogwarts, but when the wards alerted me to you coming here, I thought I'd see if you were alright."
It was at times like this that Hermione wondered at the startling depth of Bellatrix. Fierce war veteran, and widely thought of as a talented lunatic, she was unexpectedly warm towards her. Hermione knew that Bellatrix saw family as vitally important; when Hermione had become part of said family, she had gained access to a side of her that few others ever saw. Even so, she bristled at the 'little girl' endearment. The last thing she wanted was to look like a little girl today.
"I'm fine," she muttered, with a sigh. "It's just – oh nevermind, it's silly."
Hermione grew more embarrassed. It was one thing to be this distressed about your appearance and quite another to disclose that fact to your war hero, death eater Mother.
"'Mione, I spend most of my time planning military tactics and rangling wayward students. I could do with some silly now and then," said Bellatrix, encouragingly.
"It's just," Hermione began, flushing. "Draco Malfoy made me an offer; he'd teach me all about Pure Blood customs and etiquette, and I'd help him with classes. It seemed like a good idea at first, but he's invited me to a restaurant tonight to go over the details and well I – I don't know what to wear."
Bellatrix, as warm as she was to Hermione, could do very little in terms of concealing her emotions. She made no attempt to as she threw her head back against the bed and laughed. Hermione's mouth set into a hard line, and before she knew what she was doing, she had smacked her with a pillow.
Bellatrix still took a few long moments to stop laughing.
"It's not funny! I have no idea about any of this – this stuff!"
"Oh Hermione," said Bellatrix, her eyes still watery with laughter. "Can't you see this is a teency bit funny? Here you are, the most brilliant witch of your age, capable of feats of magic and intellect many Death Eaters are not – and here you are – worrying about whether your bum looks big in your dress robes!" Bellatrix laughed once again, whilst Hermione scowled. "By Salazar, my girl, you couldn't give me all the gold in Gringotts to be your age again. It's too much work."
"You know, if you're just going to laugh at me -" began Hermione, heatedly.
"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist!" said Bellatrix, sobering slightly. "Of course I'll help you. Although I'd be lying if I said I'd ever been much better at this stuff than you are. That was always Narcissa's thing. We could floo over there?"
"To Draco's Mother?!" she demanded, face frozen in horror.
Bellatrix smirked a bit. "Well perhaps not then. You know, little girl, I'm beginning to think this is a bit more than a meeting. Do you like him?" The look she gave Hermione was almost hopeful, and she paled.
"Like him? Like, you mean like him like that? I – Of course not! I mean I barely even know him that well. I doubt he really knows I exist beyond my grades. Besides, he's a Malfoy and I'm-"
"A Black," said Bellatrix, firmly. A hard edge to her expression. "Don't forget that my girl. You are a Black now and my Daughter, more worthy than anyone, whether I whelped you myself or not."
Hermione looked as though she might argue, but one look at Bellatrix's face persuaded her otherwise.
"It still doesn't mean he'd ever see me like that. Draco is – Draco's sophisticated, and I'm – bookish, a swot really. I bet he hasn't even noticed I'm a living, breathing girl."
Bellatrix chuckled darkly. "I wouldn't bet on that."
Hermione began to question the statement, a perplexed look on her face, but Bellatrix just waved her hand dismissively.
"Right," her Mother continued. "I propose we go do a little shopping."
"You?" Hermione asked, her expression somewhere between amused and horrified. "You, Bellatrix Lestrange, shopping?"
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "I have been known to shop now and then, you know. I don't just transfigure the curtains."
Hermione smirked, eyeing her Mother's ankle length black dress. "I assumed you just raided the odd mausoleum."
This time, Bellatrix smacked her with a pillow and Hermione laughed, wandlessly conjuring several more pillows that began to batter her Mother. Bellatrix, with a lazy flick of her wand, set them on fire. Unlike Hermione, they were very real flames.
"Come on, daughter mine. Let's get you properly outfitted for your date!"
"It's not a-"
But Bellatrix had already seized her wrist, and apparated them away.
In the early evening, Harry found himself quite alone on the grounds of Hogwarts. His friends were all otherwise preoccupied, and for once he was glad of the peace. Days of revelry, followed by the chastisement in the morning, had left him feeling wrung out. Before long, he found himself perched on a fallen tree trunk at the very edge of the forbidden forest, feeling broody and irritated. It was not a particularly safe place, but it was a solitary one. The air had turned to a crisp chill abruptly in recent weeks, and since the sun had set there wasn't another student to be seen on the grounds. He had even left Ember in the warm confines of his room.
Rita Skeeter might be a contemptuous woman; by all accounts, a downright parasite, but she had a point. Harry had barely managed to scrape through the Qualifiers. If he hoped to compete and win at the Championships, then his current level was not enough.
He shifted his position, laying down across the trunk precariously and glaring up at a sky that was just beginning to fill with stars. Harry spent some time deep in thought, going over his performance again and again trying to pinpoint where his weaknesses were. As the night grew cooler, he ignored his bodies desire to use a heating charm and instead used the cold to help him concentrate. He grew more and more agitated. He missed Michael; he missed muggle cigarettes. He wanted to win the IDC and prove himself, but suddenly felt young and inadequate. What good was it being known as a genius at Hogwarts if he got wiped out at Championship level? Why hadn't he used wandless magic more? Why hadn't he reacted faster, used more of his repertoire. Why?
"It's good to know I'll have less competition to worry about when you freeze yourself to death," came a wry voice from close by. Harry almost jumped out of his skin, so deep and still had the silence been. He was on his feet with his wand in his hand in a second flat.
"And it'd be convenient given you've got better reflexes than most Death Eaters." From the nearby trees emerged a familiar woman, her face visible beneath a deep green cloak. It took Harry a moment to put a name to a face.
"Dora?" he asked, uncertainly.
"The one and only," she said with a wild grin, drawing down her hood. "I'm glad you remember me! I was worried you wouldn't, given all the fun you've been having."
Harry scowled, before growing suspicious. "What are you doing here?"
Dora smiled tightly, before taking a seat on the trunk Harry had previously been perched on. Her hair was a bright shade of purple, and as she sat it shifted to a deep blue. "I've come to talk to you, actually."
This only put Harry more on his guard. "It's hardly normal for visitors to come via the forbidden forest, you know," he pointed out.
She grinned crookedly. "Well that's good, as I'm hardly normal. Besides, couldn't have the ol' cranks up at the castle knowing I'm about. They could hardly tolerate it when I went here myself."
Her demeanour was easy at first, but then as she turned to look at him again, she became cold. Suddenly she wasn't quite meeting his eyes. Rather, she was staring intensely at what he first thought to be his chest, but realised moments later was his locket.
"Nice jewellery," she commented, her voice noticeably flat.
"Thanks..." he replied, uneasily, unconsciously touching the chain. "Look, Dora, why are you here? Is it about the competition?"
Dora seemed to come to her senses, shaking herself from whatever had caught her attention so fully. She smiled, though it seemed strained. "In a sort of a way," she said. "There are some people that want to meet you, Harry. Friends of mine. They could help you with the competition… And other issues you might be having."
"Your friends… want to meet me?" he gave her a look that he hope conveyed his utter confusion, and she threw a furtive look towards the castle.
"I'm not explaining this right," she said with a sigh. "Fortunately, that was anticipated. Here," she drew an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. He took it, inspecting the front that simply said Harry in writing he did not recognise. This night was getting stranger and stranger, and he kept a tight hold of his wand in his pocket. Nymphadora cast a tempus, and just as he was about to tear open the missive, she put a hand out to stop him.
"Not yet, not while I'm here. Let's talk a little first," she gave him another tight smile, and he nodded uneasily. His unease must have been there for some time, as he noticed for the first time that his necklace had grown warmer than usual, as it sometimes did when he was in strange or uncomfortable situations.
"How do you like Hogwarts? Are they good to you?" she asked, quickly. It seemed as though the question had been thought of on the spot, and for the life of him he couldn't fathom why this woman he had met only once had broken into Hogwarts just to make pleasantries with him.
"Yeah," he said, quickly. "Listen, I've got to get back to the common room. I'll read your letter."
For a moment, Dora looked alarmed. "Wait, no. Just, talk to me for a little bit longer?"
He sighed, growing irritated. "Seriously, what is this about-"
And then the ground was ripped from under him.
He recognised the lurching pull of a port-key, and had just a moment to think of several choice expletives before he landed heavily on a wooden floor.
"Expelliarmus!" A female voice shouted, just as he was staggering to his feet and drawing his wand.
He looked around wildly, taking in the scene. His heart was catching up quickly with the gravity of the situation, and seemed to be trying to beat its way out of his chest. It wasn't common for IDC competitors to use underhanded tricks to eliminate competition, but it certainly wasn't unheard of.
The room around him was simple, but elegant. It was small, perhaps fifteen feet by ten, and contained only two sofas. To one side was a window, showing a bright blue sky. This in itself was deeply concerning, given that it was well into the evening in the timezone he had just left.
He had little time to take in the surroundings however, as the two figures before him had almost all of his attention.
One was a witch, who bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. It was definitely not Bellatrix – Harry could tell not only by the fact that Bella would never wear white, but also some difference in bone structure and colouring. Still, the likeness was too uncanny to be coincidental. The woman also had the confident and superior stance of a witch raised in the House of Black. Beside her, was a rather shabbier and diminished looking man. He was wearing clean, but poor quality robes – his face was gaunt, almost starved in appearance, as though he had been living on the streets. Harry took all this in within seconds. There was no where to run, it appeared, but this didn't seem to matter. His kidnappers, though holding their wands out and on guard, were not looking at him with any degree of hostility. The woman's face was decidedly impassive, and the man's seemed almost awed.
As positively unnerving as the situation was, he was struggling to keep his attention fully on the two kidnappers, as the locket had gotten significantly hotter in the last few seconds alone and was beginning to burn – almost throbbing against his chest. If it was trying to warn him of danger, then it was a little damn late.
"Harry-" began the man, lowering his wand slightly. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this. It seems it was the only way to get you here without alerting anyone."
The man's voice was gentle, but Harry was positively furious. He had been abducted and disarmed, and the man dared to try to be soothing!
"Give me my wand," Harry said slowly, his voice a hard edge.
"I'm afraid I can't, Harry, not yet. Not until we've had a chance to talk. It's very important that we talk," continued the man, hurriedly, his hands gesturing as though to calm him.
"We can talk when you give me my damn wand!" Harry glared, and small tendrils of magic were licking over his skin. He felt damned helpless here.
The woman shifted slightly, her impassive face flickering for a moment with something more, before she raised her wand back to it's original position.
"Harry, listen to me. You… You are being lied to."
"Lied to?" he demanded, his frustration evident. Why didn't any of these people speak plainly.
"About everything. About the war, about who you are, about your parents-"
"-my parents?!" Harry interrupted furiously. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I was their friend, Harry. I was their friend, and the things those… those monsters have told you about them. It's wrong, Harry. It's all wrong."
There was a desperate sadness in the eyes of the man, but Harry only grew more heated. His parents had been war criminals, working for the Albus Dumbledore. None of that mattered nearly as much as that they had continued to fight, even knowing they had a one year old in tow. That they had been willing to give their lives for that mad man's project and leave him orphaned. Something occurred to him then, even as the locket was growing more and more difficult to ignore. Even as it began to actually burn his skin.
"You-" he asked, suddenly. "Who are you?"
"My name is Remus Lupin," replied the man, calmly. "I was friends with your parents, Harry."
"And this," Harry gestured, almost in shock. "You. You're a part of the resistance, aren't you?"
Slowly, Lupin nodded, and bile rose in his throat.
"Take me back to Hogwarts. Now." he demanded, his voice full of anger.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, Harry," Lupin explained, his face full of obvious nerves. "You see, you're going to have to stay here with us for a little while. Just while we explain some things to you."
They weren't going to let him leave. They were going to trap him here, without his wand. The locket throbbed harder, more urgently. Suddenly it was like an itch in his chest, a terrible, deep itch.
"Where are we?" he demanded.
Lupin looked at the woman for a moment, wordlessly communicating, before looking back at him. "We're on an island called Mindoro. We've been here for some time, and I'm afraid you'll have to remain here for a while. It's heavily warded, Harry, but I promise you'll be free to go once we've spent some time showing you the truth."
"Give me my wand," he demanded once again.
"No, I can't-"
"I. SAID. GIVE. ME. IT!"
Finally giving in to the terrible itching heat of the locket, Harry flung his hands to his chest, wanting to wretch off the damn chain. The moment he touched it, however, he was once again aware of a terrible lurching, tugging, as the elegant sunlit room disappeared from view.
Picking himself up off yet another floor moments later, he thought he might be sick. The motion alone had been enough to tie his stomach in knots, let alone the implication. Once again he staggered to his feet, taking in a small, cosy study filled with books. In a disorientated rush, he became aware of a man before him, seated at a desk with several heavy tomes open. It was the unmistakably the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord who's jaw was literally hanging open, just a moment before he drew his wand in a fury.
"How the fuck did you get here, you impudent brat?" Voldemort demanded, his eyes red with fury.
Harry, already dizzy, inexplicably exhausted, and terrified managed only the words "My Lord, I think I just found the resistance."
Then he promptly fell unconscious.
I know it's been a while, but please do review!
