All rights to the original story and characters go to J.K Rowling.
Voldemort was angry. He was absolutely furious. He needed someone to crucio right about now, or else he was going to destroy his whole headquarters, which is something he really didn'twant to do. Again.
The attack on Diagon Alley by those imposters could have easily destroyed all of his carefully laid plans. If he had not had some of his minions on the working in the ministry, ready to convince them it was a false alarm by someone trying to inspire fear and not an actual Death Eater attack, he could have been exposed.
He could not allow the ministry to know of his continued existence before he had moved forward with a few of his plans. Not that those fools would actually stand a chance against him. But it was more convenient that they didn't know.
A tentative knock cut him out of his raging. "Enter." He demanded. The door opened slightly allowing a person to slip through. It was one of his lower ranking Death Eaters who was sent to deal with the imposters.
The Death Eater immediately approached him and dropped to the ground in a low bow, kissing the bottom of his robes and then backed up again, out of his immediate presence as was commanded.
"M-My Lord, we have managed to capture the p-person who attacked Diagon Alley, he is in the dungeon right now." He stuttered. Voldemort's eyes gleamed in satisfaction making the Death Eater whimper.
"Who is it?" Voldemort said harshly. He had thought that perhaps it was the Order trying to convince the wizarding world that he was back, but he knew that they didn't have the stomach to commit the atrocities the imposters performed.
"M-My Lord, w-we have been u-unable to identify who the wizard is." He muttered trembling. A flick of his wand and a muttered crucio and the Death Eater was writhing upon the ground, ripping his throat raw with his screams. Voldemort felt some of his anger unravel and let up on the curse.
"Leave me." He commanded to the panting Death Eater causing him to scramble out of the room as quickly as he could, after a low bow.
Voldemort strode out of the room, thundering down the corridors of Slytherin Manor, noting with triumph the way his Death Eaters scrambled out of his way and dropped to the floor grovelling as he passed them. He descended deeper into the bowels of the manor until he reached the dungeons.
He expanded his magic, searching for signs of life, to figure out which cell the prisoner was placed in, only to recoil when he was met with an immense force of unimaginably dark magic, tightly wound around a small figure, seductively calling for his magic to embrace it. He growled lowly and strode towards it.
When he came upon the cell he was surprised to find a small figure sitting on the ground, leaning casually against the back of the cell with his arms loosely loped around a bent knee. What was more surprising was the casual way in which he read the Daily Prophet.
The man, no boy, looked up at him in curiosity and Voldemort had to refrain from allowing his breath to catch at his frankly angelic appearance. A smooth velvety voice purred, "Have you read the emergency edition of the Daily Prophet? They had quite a quick response. I suppose that was your intention though, I guess you didn't want to let your existence be known before you were ready." Voldemort was able to catch the large bold headline of the newspaper which read, 'ATTACK ON DIAGON ALLEY, IMPOSTERS INSPIRE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF ALL' and felt a slight sense of relief that he had not been exposed. He never knew whether he could really count on his Death Eaters to do their job properly. He guessed he shouldn't have underestimated Lucius's influence and Fudges adamant denial of anything to do with his return.
Voldemort snarled, "Where did you get that." He flicked his wrist and the cell door slammed open allowing his to stride in. The boy looked up from the paper where he had been reading an article on nifflers.
He raised an eyebrow, "Someone seems to be a bit pissed." He said slightly condescendingly, "did I do something to you?" Voldemort growled and raised his hand, picking the boy up and slamming him against the wall with sheer will and magic, leaving him dangling with his feet a few centimetres above the ground, pinned by his arms. He stalked towards the child until he was a breaths distance away from him and their faces were almost touching.
The boys brilliant eyes were beautiful, almost causing him to lose focus. They shone brightly, displaying had an uncanny resemblance to the Avanda Kedavra curse. Up close, Voldemort could see every curve and plane of the boys face, and to his frustration, it looked as flawless up close as it did from far away. He refocused.
"Who are you to be disrespecting me. I hold your life in my hand and you presume to think you are free to say as you wish." He whispered menacingly. He had expected the boy to be frightened or at least flinch, what at he had not expected was the complete deadpan look sent his way.
"I just figured that we had a nice record going. You attacking me and me disrespecting you, then you getting all high and mighty, 'I am the Dark Lord' and all of that nonsense, then I will act like an impertinent brat and banish you until next time we meet where it starts all over again." The boy raised an eyebrow challengingly. Voldemort's mind was working furiously trying to understand. The boy tilted his head slightly, causing the hair covering his forehead to shift and Voldemort froze upon seeing the Lightning shaped scar displayed.
"Potter." He snarled, leaning even closer, so that their lips basically ghosted over each other's, and grabbing his biceps tightly. "It seems my Death Eaters have brought me the wrong person, however I must say that this is much more... appreciated." His thin lips turned up slightly in a malicious smirk.
Harry Potter merely smiled lightly back at him, "Well, it's a pleasure to be here Tom." He said dismissively, "Its always nice to know your appreciated. However, you have got something wrong." He said shortly. Voldemort suppressed a shiver at the ghosted touch of lips moving near his own, and tried to compose himself. However, the upward tilt of the other lips, showed that he had noticed.
"And that was?" He drawled, raising a hairless eyebrow.
Harry leaned closer, tilting his head to avoid their noses touching, his hooded eyes, flickering to Voldemort's thin lips. Voldemort's eyes in turn flickered towards the soft, blood red lips and then quickly back up to the enchanting green eyes. "Your Death Eaters didn't capture the wrong person." Potter murmured.
Voldemort abruptly stepped back and incidentally, let Potter free of his magical restrains causing him to land daintily on his feet, not surprised in the slightest. Voldemort composed himself, reigning in the faint lust he felt at being pressed so close to the lithe body. "What do you mean by, 'they didn't capture the wrong person', you cannot be saying that you were the one to attack Diagon Alley," He snorted in disbelief, "Disregarding the fact that the lights icon would never have the nerve to terrorise innocents, you still wouldn't be able to amass such a large following, especially right under Dumbledoresnose." He said incredulously and severely confused, although he would never show it.
Harry chuckled slightly and wandered over to the metal bed in the back corner of the dungeon, opposite to where they were standing, seemingly unconcerned with turning his back to the most dangerous Dark Lord in centuries. On the way he casually shrugged off his cloak and let it fall to the floor, where it disappeared before it could touch the ground. He sat down on the bed and leant against the wall, resting his chin on a knee. He stared at Voldemort, his unnervingly bright green eyes, sparkling with amusement.
"Ah, you seem to have the misconception that those were real people." He said with realisation, "No, my dear Tom. Those were golems." Voldemort blinked.
"Those... Beings were much too life-like to be golems." He growled and stalked forward, only to stop himself when remembering how the close proximity to Potter affected him. "Do not presume to lie to me, Potter." He said, spitting out his name.
"I guess they are quite life-like, aren't they?" Potter said understandingly. The boy was the epitome of relaxed serenity, not perturbed in the least by the seething Dark Lord, not three feet away. "Nevertheless, they are golems, just not your run of the mill, zombie impersonating, golems. No, I created these ones myself. I call them golems 2.0."
"Golems 2.0?" Voldemort asked, shocked and perturbed.
Potter sighed, "Yes, I must admit, not the most creative of names. No matter how creative I am, once I get to the names of my creations, I loose all imagination." He sighed again and shook his head in disappointment.
Voldemort spluttered, "No, that's not what I-" he cut himself off and shook his head in frustration, suddenly though he realised something, "Those 'golems' we're using magic! Are you saying that you were able to give animated objects the ability to use magic?" He said with utter disbelief.
"Ah, no." Harry said, shaking his head, "they merely channel my magic through a link connected from them to me."
"That is impossible." He snarled, "The sheer power it would take to control even one of those, should have drained your magical reserves." Voldemort was beginning to believe that this was all just a bizarre dream, however he dismissed that thought.
He didn't dream.
"Yes, well, that is true." Potter admitted, "for the average person that is. But for a wizard of my caliber, or even your caliber, it is quite possible. Although it does leave you quite sleepy afterwards. Thankfully though, your Death Eaters knocked me out, and now I'm fully rested." He finished cheerfully.
Voldemort had stopped listened when the boy compared his pathetic self to him, Voldemort. He struggled to contain his anger. "Are you insinuating that you are on par with me?" Voldemort seethed furiously.
"Well actually, I was insinuating that I'm better than yo-"
"You impertinent brat." Voldemort lashed out, his magic pulsing dangerously, "you are naught but a school boy with a below average power level. We are not even close to being similar and you could never be on par with me, let alone better." He spat. Before he could continue on with his tirade be was cut of by the sound of a low chuckle.
Harry stood gracefully from the bed and prowled towards the Dark Lord until he stood not a meter away. "We aren't?" He asked curiously, tilting his head. An oppressive, seductive force suddenly overwhelmed Voldemort, surrounding him, pressing in on all sides, caressing him. He involuntarily stumbled back. He belatedly realised this was the same magical aura he has felt when entering the dungeons and cursed himself for all but forgetting about it.x
Potter followed after him and he found himself stumbling away until his back rammed into the cells wall. The boy continued forward until they were once again so close that he could see every inch of his face. Voldemort's breath got caught in his throat, still affected by the sheer power rolling of the boy in waves.
Harry's head tilted up and emerald green clashed violently with blood red. "I think," Potter breathed, "that we are much more alike than you think, Tom." Voldemort could feel the warm breath against his lips. A hand came up to rest gently on his cheek and he almost shuddered at the mere contact. Potter smiled lightly.
"And that why I think we would make an excellent team." He purred. Voldemort's mind raced with the implications that this held and made his decision, his anger rapidly disappearing.
"I... I think I quite agree with you, Mr Potter." He was able to get out. The hand on his cheek trailed downwards, leaving fire in its wake, until it came to rest light lightly on his jawbone. Harry Potter's blood red lips twisted into a parody of a smile.
"Wonderful." He breathed.