Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. This fic is based on 'The Darkness Within' by Kurinoone, Harry's background story as well as Damien belong to her.

A/N: This quarantine sucks. I don't know what else to say. I hope everyone and their families are alright. Hopefully this pandemic will end soon, and things can get back to normal. The start of this chapter almost feels like it wrote itself, sometimes I feel like the characters are just telling me what happens. Like the story creates itself. Also, as of now every old chapter has been edited so you can go back and read the whole thing. I would like to say a well, that this chapter felt like a tribute to my favorite artist, who saved me from my inner demons and whose music continues to save me to this day. I had the honor and privilege to attend one of his concerts before he passed away. Rest in peace Chester Bennington, lead vocalist of Linkin Park. Anyways, thank you for reading and please, please, pretty please, review / favorite / follow. You have no idea how much it helps me write when I see the favorites and follows go up and when I read what you think, or how it made you feel.

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling I can't seem

Crawling – Linkin Park

The sound of their frantic footsteps resounded in the narrow corridor. Black hair was all she could see as she ran behind Bellatrix. She barely even noticed as they turned around the corner, heading towards a part of Riddle Manor that she was unfamiliar with.

The bottles and vials held in her arms clanged against each other as she ran. Vials filled with Essence of Dittany, Blood Replenishing, Wiggenweld and other powerful healing potions.

Her magic was distraught, it felt like waves clashing violently against the shore. She could feel the waves ready to retreat at any moment, ready to make space for the tsunami that was about to come.

Adrenaline was running through her veins. What the hell had happened to Harry? Was he seriously hurt? He had to be; Bella would never act this way if it was only a small thing. He had never been hurt in an assignment before. But who could even manage to hurt him? Did his assignment involve fighting someone like Dumbledore? Her mind couldn't comprehend a scenario where Harry was even threatened by any other wizard.

She heard the grunts of agony as soon as she and Bella passed the heavy oak doors, entering a chamber. The magic inside of her stilled as it latched on to his.

Before she knew what was happening, she had pushed past Bellatrix as she raced towards the door in the far corner. The door swung open and she took in the sight before her, her loud gasp echoing.

Harry was laying across the bed on his back, drenched in his own blood. He was biting hard on a rag, the muscles of his clenched jaw twitching. His chest was exposed and there was a huge tear on the right side of his pants. There, on the side of his leg, Daphne finally saw the long and bloody gash. Thick red blood dripped from it. His foot was twisted abnormally, bending sideways at a ninety-degree angle. His face was as pale as a corpse. The rest of his body was shaking uncontrollably, eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

His pants moved as if caught in a breeze of wind and a small whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it. It had been hidden by the fabric of his trousers before, but now it was clear for all to see. The absence of flesh in his ankle. The lean muscles in his leg were torn. Jagged black and red cuts were covering what little of his flesh remained. Ghostly white bone was sticking out.

Harry's magic was raging, it felt like it was just moments away from violently snapping at anything that dared to go near him. She reached out with her own and at once, his magic shifted, twisting around hers, enveloping it with his own as if trying to protect her too. Almost instantly, her own heavy breathing fell in sync with Harry's. Deep breaths connected and both began to slow down. Piercing green eyes snapped open, looking straight at her from across the room. It wasn't nearly enough, but at least he was a bit more relaxed now.

The hairs in the back of her neck stood up. As one, blue and green eyes turned towards the source. Two orbs of shocking red stared back at her. She didn't know how she hadn't notice before, but the Dark Lord was already next to the bed — watching her intently — dark curiosity dancing in his eyes as his lips were turned upwards.

Kneeled beside him, on the carpet right next to the bed and with his back towards the Dark Lord was a man Daphne had never seen before in her life. He was running his wand over Harry's wounds as if scanning to see where his injuries laid and inspecting them carefully. All the while mumbling under his breath, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Bellatrix cleared her throat loudly from behind her.

At once, the man stopped his mumblings as he stood up and turned to face them. He was bald and well-built, with dark olive skin and slightly stern features matching his dark eyes. This all contrasted with the uncharacteristically bright white and lime-green robe he was wearing.

"Ohh, thank you very much young lady — you too, Miss Black" he said, reaching towards the multiple vails in her hands, before doing the same with Bellatrix's.

The second the vials touched his flesh — and with a subtle wave of his wand — they began to levitate and order themselves with an ease and fluidity that only came with years and years of practice.

"What's your diagnosis, Healer Bonham?" asked the Dark Lord in an uncharacteristically neutral voice. If Daphne didn't know any better, she would've sworn there was even a little bit of respect in his tone.

"Well my lord, it appears he was hit with a rather powerful cutting hex. I imagined his mind must have been temporarily disorganized as a result of the pain, or there was simply no other choice as he knowingly took the risk of splinching when he apparated himself here. It seems however, that he did splinch himself — pretty badly I might add — as there is a clear lack of muscle tissue as well as damaged nerves around his right ankle, even a broken foot. Very, very painful, but nothing life threatening. I should be able to heal him and there will be little to no scarring. Apart from that, there were some minor bruises that I healed just now as we waited for the potions," answered Healer Bonham. Not even taking his eyes off Harry for a second.

Little to no scarring? Echoed through Daphne's mind. FROM THAT?

This must be one of, if not the best healer in Magical Britain for that to be the case.

Healer Bonham turned to address Harry. "Are you sure you don't want to be unconscious for this?" He paused with a grimace. "It will painful," he explained.

Harry shook his head; his jaw was still trembling. "Then I'll scream."

The healer looked apologetically towards the Dark Lord, whose gaze never left his heir. For once in her life, Daphne could read his emotions clearly, he was proud.

Bonham addressed Harry again. "Unbearably painful."

"Then my scream will be unbearably loud," was the only answer he got.

Harry's body had gone back to twitching, resulting in his eyes being squeeze shut again. Daphne tried to reach out with her magic again before the excruciating healing process could begin, only to feel him pull back.

She gritted her teeth.

She knew what he was doing. Once the potions took effect, the pain would increase, and he didn't want her to feel it through him.

Daphne couldn't help but sneer at him.

Chivalrous bastard.

And why the hell was everything so fucking blurry? Since when did she have any problems with her sight?

A drop of water landed on the back of her hand.

Was it raining? Inside the manor? None of the other occupants of the room seemed to share her confusion.

No, no that wasn't possible.

Another drop, this time on her forearm.

She turned to look up. The roof was a beautiful, an intricate mix of different coloured stones. A least a dozen elegant candles were floating around, illuminating every single part of the room.

But it clearly wasn't raining.

Something dripped down her cheek.

It took a moment for her to internalize that there was no rain. Her eyes were wet, that's why she everything was blurry. How odd, she hadn't shed a tear in public since she had been a small child; yet, the first time she cried in the presence of others, it was in front of not only Bellatrix but the Dark Lord himself. Oh, how her mother would have been ashamed of her. She could almost see her perfect, elegant figure staring down at her warmly.

A pureblood princess doesn't cry Daphne.

She shook her head as she forced herself to stop the tears, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. No one had said anything, but it was still a weakness she couldn't allow herself to show, even if it was for Harry.

Daphne realized with a jolt that she had never been to this part of the manor. A slow realization made its way into her mind. There was only one place in the manor that she hadn't been to. This was the Dark Lords private chamber. With a gulp she turned took in her surroundings. A magnificent ornate wardrobe stood in the corner. Next to it was a beautiful desk. Parchments and books where littered all over it. On top of them was a quill resting in a pot of ink, and next to that was a small pebble. It looked out of place. She wondered what purpose it could possibly serve.

Harry's hand reached for her own, bringing her out of her observations. Healer Bonham had finished giving him the correct dosage of the potions and was taking to the Dark Lord and Bellatrix in small whispers on the other corner of the room.

Harry's wound where slowly starting to heal, and yet he never once screamed. His teeth were clenched with so much force Daphne was afraid he would break them.

The muscles in his leg were extending. It looked like the flesh itself had come alive, raw flesh twisting and turning into thousands of tiny snakes. They moved, wrapping their bodies around each other, connecting and uniting. It was truly astonishing, incredible magic. Daphne felt her respect for Healer Bonham skyrocket. Was that dark magic? Was it even possible to even heal using dark magic?

She stepped forwards, coming to a stop next to the bed and grabbing his hand with her own, interlocking their fingers. She knelt on the floor next to him, stroking his bloodied messy hair. He looked much better now, with the potions and the healing magic circling his system. A bit of colour had returned to his face.

"What happened to you?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Well," he answered, still grimacing. His entire body ached, not just his legs. He gritted his teeth, forcefully swallowing the tearing pain. "It appears I might have underestimated James Potter."

Daphne's blood froze. She hadn't expected that at all.

"You fought James Potter?" she said quietly.

"Fought implies he had a chance in the first place," corrected Harry, his lips turned upwards.

Daphne raised one eyebrow — signalling towards his leg — which was still rapidly healing.

"Alright, so he managed to hit me with a cutting hex. But that —" he said, pointing to his ankle. "— I did by myself."

"You sound proud of that," she responded with deadpanned humour.

He shrugged in a way that in suggested he didn't really care in that slightest, before a wave of pain shot through his spine again. He gritted his teeth, the bloodied rag he had been biting on laid forgotten a top the bed. His knuckles turned white.

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. "So, your assignment was to take out James Potter? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Not exactly," stated Harry. "I took out Jason Riley, a former associate of ours. Potter just somehow managed to get there before I did. He was there with Black, Kingsley and two other Aurors, nothing I couldn't hand-dle-e" he stumbled to say the last word as his face contorted in agony. His lips trembled and his hand wrapped around her left forearm tightly. A second later — and with a loud crack — his foot was back to its normal position.

"Of course," she gestured towards his open wound again.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Daphne fixed him with a blank stare.

Abruptly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end again. She felt something inside her freeze.

"I have to agree with Miss Greengrass. Your actions were reckless indeed. Even if you completed your assignment, try not to splinch yourself next time," said a distinctly familiar cold voice from behind.

The Dark Lord was standing behind her, she could feel him now. The almost uncomfortable coldness his presence radiated. She hadn't heard a single footstep. Had he been there all this time?

In the other corner of the room, Healer Bonham was discussing Harry's treatment. Bellatrix was beside him, listening to the specifics of Harry's condition and future treatment.

"Yes, father." Harry said, somehow still having enough strength to roll his eyes.

"Am I to assume then, that James Potter is finally dead?" asked the Dark Lord. Daphne could see the hint of a smile out of the corner of her eyes.

"No," answered Harry, his voice quiet but furious.

"It's understandable. He is your biological father after all," said Voldemort. The corners of his mouth turned downwards.

Daphne couldn't contain her small gasp. For the Dark Lord to explicitly remind Harry of that fact, he had to be seething inside that frighteningly calm face.

Harry's reaction wasn't any better, he hissed at his father. "Take that back!"

"Harry. . ."

"Fuck that! I'm your son! Now and always!" yelled Harry.

The Dark Lord walked closer. He placed one hand in Daphne's shoulder and the other in their locked forearms. His red eyes were shinning with some emotion she couldn't identify. She tried not to show her nervousness.

"Now and always," he repeated.

Harry dropped his gaze. His wound was almost fully healed now. Just like Healer Bonham had said, there was no scar tissue. "The cutting hex messed with my aim," he began. "I couldn't believe I was seeing him in the flesh, after all these years."

"Never mind, son. Next time you'll be ready."

"I will," agreed Harry.

For the first time in her life, Daphne saw the Dark Lord smile as he starred down at them. It didn't look like his usual smirks, it looked like a genuine smile.

"I have gifts for you both," he said, looking between her and Harry. "I'll wait until you have recovered to give them to you" and with that, the Dark Lord turned to leave.

Gifts? For them both? That was new.

Harry's brows were still furrowed in discomfort. The new flesh on his leg was throbbing with stabbing spikes of pain that shot through his whole body. "So, how was your visit to Knockturn Alley?" he asked her.

Was he being serious? There was no way she was going to let him change the subject. Specially not right after he had made her panic like never before in her life. It had been terrifying, the uncertainty of not know what had happened to him.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again. You're all I have left." Her hand grabbed the side of his face and she pronounced the next words slowly, speaking to him like he was a five-year-old child. "I should've gone with you. You are NOT immortal."

Harry's grimace of pain slowly transformed into a smirk. "How sure are you about that, love?" He said, holding her forearm like his life depended on it.

Daphne fixed him with another blank stare.

"I reckon, that since I just singlehandedly took out five Aurors, I'm as close to immort —" Harry's next words were interrupted as she held his mouth open a little too forcefully, shoving another blood replenishing potion down his throat.

A birds high-pitched screech echoed through the chamber. The ground shook. A streak of bright orange light lit up the room. With a flash of fire, Dumbledore appeared, hands raised in the air — grasping Fawkes' tail.

He stopped. An odd sight greeted him.

One of the two hospital beds in the room was empty, the one meant for the Potter patriarch. Just minutes before Dumbledore arrived, James and Sirius had wanted to stop feeling sorry for themselves after being healed — St Mungo's Hospital brought back a lot of bad memories after all — and so they began discussing their glory days in Hogwarts. Where, in their sixth year, they had started a pranking war with each other — bored of pranking other people who didn't prank back. That had quickly escalated into a childish fist fight regarding who had actually won the prank war. James, who was convinced he was the clear winner, had leaped across the hospital room to Sirius' bed when his best friend had sacrilegiously stated that he had won. Hence, the childish fist fight, and the reason James was now on top of Sirius — who was currently in a headlock — as James laughingly ran his knuckles through his hair.

They had stopped as soon as the headmaster appeared, staring unblinkingly at him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, should I come back later?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

James' faces quickly turned red as embarrassment started to set in. There was a bandage wrapped around his torso and one on his wrist all the way up to his elbow. There were dark circles around his eyes. But aside from that, he seemed to be fine.

On the other hand, Sirius also looked like he had been through hell and back, but even so, he was looking a bit better than his best friend. There was only one bandage on him, wrapped around his knee. A nasty bruise on his cheek was in the process of healing.

James inwardly groaned when he caught sight of Sirius' mischievously smirk. "Yes, you see, we were just about to —"

Sirius was interrupted when James elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Dumbledore smiled at their playfulness. Unlike Minerva, he always held a soft spot for good natured Gryffindor teasing. It reminded him of old times, of an old friend he still cared for.

Gellert.

An impossible fantasy.

"Will you tell me what happened?" He asked them, before he started reminiscing about old times.

Sirius abruptly frowned in anger. "It was that kid. We underestimated him, by a landslide." He snarled.

"Kid?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, not exactly a kid but —" said James. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Why don't you start at the beginning James," interrupted Dumbledore. He drew his wand, waved it and with a flick of his wrist he conjured an enormous armchair. He brushed down his robes before sitting down.

"As you know, our squad has been tracking a number of Death Eaters for some time now," began James. "We had a witness claiming they had seen Jason Riley staying at an abandoned warehouse. He had been living there for a few days when we showed up. It wasn't much of a fight to be honest. Riley was good, but against the five of us, one of them being Kingsley, he had no chance. Hard as he tried to fight us off, we managed to subdue him pretty quickly. Nevertheless, Kingsley was forced to injure Riley in order for us to pin him down," said James. He sighed and his gaze lowered, looking thoughtful.

"Was he unconscious?" Dumbledore asked. His brows raised in surprise. Normally, Death Eater arrests played out in two ways. Either the Aurors were forced to kill the Death Eater, or they somehow manage to stun them long enough to restrain them and apparate or portkey back to the Ministry for a quick trial. Some were so dangerous; they didn't even get trials. Bureaucracy was a hell of a thing. It wasn't uncommon for evidence to be swept under the rug.

"No, he was perfectly conscious. As soon as we restrained him, he started mumbling to himself. I remember because it felt so out of character for a Death Eater. I expected him insult us, to scream his throat out or something," James pinched the bridge of his nose. If only Death Eaters were as one dimensional as he first believed. Jason Riley wasn't even a Slytherin, he was a Ravenclaw for Merlin's sake, and a good one at that. Top of his graduation class in Hogwarts. He had only been a few years younger than James. It might have taken him a while, but James remembered him. He was smart and he must have had good career prospects after finishing Hogwarts. So, why in the world had he become a Death Eater?

"Anyway," he continued. "We couldn't apparate or portkey with him in that condition, or we ran the risk of splinching him and maybe even accidentally killing him. It just wasn't worth it. So, we decided to walk back to the Ministry. We were going to meet with another squad on the way." He looked at Dumbledore for reassurance. The headmaster gave him a small nod.

"A smart and sensible decision James, neither you nor Sirius should blame yourselves for the unexpected ambush," reassured Dumbledore as he looked pointedly between them.

"That's when the kid showed up," whispered Sirius in a quiet voice, looking down at his hands in his lap. A small frown upon his face. "He was just. . . brilliant, Albus. Like nothing I have ever seen before. One second we were walking, and the next Riley was thrown through the air like he was weightless. A spell caught him in the back, none of us sensed anything. I don't know what he did but, for a brief moment, we were all paralyzed — a huge, and I mean HUGE tree fell down on us. I pushed Nathan out of the way and Kingsley injured his knee."

"That's not all Headmaster," said James in a hurry. "There was only one attacker. It was a boy, Riley called him 'Dark Prince', I thought it was the most ridiculous nickname but then. . . Riley called him Voldemort's son!" snarled James indignantly, baring his teeth. His eyes were hard as he scowled at the floor. His Harry was dead, and Voldemort—

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised in surprise. "He called him what?" He was speechless, His eyes were wide without their usual twinkling, and his jaw was left gaping. How had he missed this? "A boy you say?"

"We call him that but. . . he really wasn't one. We could tell he was a teenager. It's just. . . he wiped the floor with us," explained James looking up at the headmaster, full of frustration. He couldn't describe the fight in any other way. He turned to Sirius to see him nodding in agreement. Grudgingly accepting their defeat. "He did wandless magic like it was the easiest thing in the world. He turned water into icicles with just one hand. He conjured Fiendfyre Albus! The way he moved; he was nothing but a blur at times and his shield. . . I've never seen anything like it. It stopped everything we threw at him. We call him a boy but. . . no boy can do that," finished James.

"There's something else too," confessed Sirius. "He was also kicking our asses with his fists. . . muggle style. It was the weirdest thing, the son of Voldemort fighting us like that."

James turned to look down again. He hadn't even thought about that. The Dark Prince had indeed bested them in hand to hand combat too. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down. This so called 'Dark Prince' was not Voldemort. He was Voldemort's son. He was a victim too. He needed to look at this logically.

"He wasn't intimidated by us at all, not one bit. He just went right through us," he stated.

Dumbledore was listening. His mind racing and his heart pounding. Tom had and heir, a son. How was that possible? Obviously, he knew how it was biologically possible. Tom could be very charming if he wanted to, but to share something so intimate with someone. . . that's something he never thought Tom would do. Had he misjudged the relationship Tom had with Bellatrix? She was married, but that couldn't really mean much to Tom. If she was indeed the mother, that boy would be heir to the Slytherin line as well as the Black one. Was she the mother? Where did that fit in the prophesy? More importantly, was Neville ready to face not only Riddle but also his heir? No, of course he wasn't, not yet anyway.

"What happened to Jason Riley?" he inquired.

"He killed him right in front of me Albus. He didn't even flinch. No hesitation, no mercy, nothing" said James, shaking his head in disbelieve. "Just like that. Like Riley meant nothing to him, like he was just some bug, not another human being."

"Are you surprised?" questioned Sirius. "He is the SON of Lord Voldemort. Of course, he doesn't know mercy or remorse."

James dropped his head. He had seen the fury beneath the boy's eyes, but he still didn't want to believe it. The familiarity of his voice was also troubling. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but his voice had reminded him of Damien.

"I know, it's just. . . I think if he really wanted to kill us, we would all be dead. He only attacked me when I stopped him from running away and he only aimed for my vital organs once I gave him a nasty cut" he told them.

"It does seem likely James," Dumbledore told him. "As I understand it, you were the only one with potentially deadly injuries. From what you've just told me, this boy was very powerful and even if his objective was only to kill Riley, he certainly sounds like he could have — or at least tried to — kill you all as well, if he wanted to."

"Yes, Albus."

"Let's just be thankful that that was not the case. But first, I need to confirm if this boy is indeed Tom's heir. I'll talk to Severus. He must know something. In the meantime, try to rest," said Dumbledore while throwing them another pointed look.

A birds high-pitched screech and a streak of orange light later, he was gone.